At a court ball which took place during one of the first years of Ludwig’s reign, he said to one of his gentlemen-in-waiting: “There are many pretty women at my court, are there not?” and added, as his glance full of tenderness sought the Queen-mother, “but my mother is the prettiest of them, and the one whom I admire most.”

Queen Marie had many good qualities, but though her sons both loved her, she had no lasting influence on them. She hardly took the trouble to try to enter into Ludwig’s train of thought, or to hide his weaknesses and peculiarities from others, nor does she seem to have had the ability to understand his strange and composite nature.

As we are aware, the young King took great interest in art and literature. At the beginning of his reign he endeavoured to influence the Queen’s taste; but when he talked to her about books, inquired her opinion of this or that work, she would usually answer: “I never read anything!—I cannot understand why people should always want to be reading.” Ludwig regarded her want of understanding as an indirect reproach to himself; and his disappointment in her had a depressing effect upon him. Both mother and son were fond of a country life. Both had a particular affection for Hohenschwangau. The Queen-mother had spent her happy married life at this place: the King’s best childish memories were connected with the castle. But even this similarity of taste gave rise to disagreements. Whereas Ludwig infinitely preferred to be alone at Hohenschwangau, the Queen-mother preferred to collect people around her. While her thrifty mind was able to content itself with a bunch of Alpine roses, picked by herself, the King required gardens and parks, created by art. Life within the family circle, however, went on in very much the same manner as in the lifetime of her husband: Queen Marie retained her housewifely habits, and the King and Prince Otto shared her life at the royal summer residences in the vicinity of the capital.

King Maximilian had built a Swiss chÂlet, “Pleckenau,” some little distance above the MarienbrÜcke, and about five miles from Hohenschwangau. During the first years of her widowhood Queen Marie regularly used this house as a resting-place on her trips in the neighbourhood, and as an object for small excursions. Ludwig and Otto, with their attendants, would come out and spend quiet evenings with her. The King’s nineteenth birthday was celebrated at Pleckenau. A meal was partaken of in the garden, and the utmost gaiety prevailed. “All the same,” said the Queen, “something is wanting to increase the pleasure of the day.” She looked inquiringly round the circle to see if no one guessed her thoughts. As she nodded at the same time to Ludwig, he said:

“You mean music, mamma! We will have some later!”

“I mean something else,” answered his mother, “something that we want particularly to-day!”

Prince Otto, then sixteen years old, suddenly called out:

“I know, mamma!”

“What is it, then?”

“Your spinning-wheel!”

Those present were vastly entertained at the Prince’s answer, for the Queen-mother’s weakness for practical occupations was the object of much amusement. This time, however, her thoughts had carried her in another direction. She confided to the circle that she had been thinking of a fiancÉe for the King.

Despite Ludwig’s youth, not only his mother, but also his people had begun to occupy themselves with the emotional side of his nature. His love of the mountains and their solitude had caused a rumour to become current that a postmaster’s or ranger’s daughter in Schliersee had taken possession of his heart. This report was entirely without foundation. Apart from his mother and her court ladies, his old nurse and his governess, he had before his accession hardly come in contact with women. As the young King he was amiable and courteous, but exceedingly retiring in his behaviour towards them. It was perhaps for the very reason of this retiring attitude that he set flame to a countless number of hearts. Many ladies wore lockets containing some souvenir of him; such, for instance, as a flower his foot had trodden on, or some of the hairs of his riding-horse.1

Some years passed by after the above-mentioned birthday party took place, and still the wish of the Queen-mother and the people was ungratified. The Empress of Russia’s matrimonial project had become known, had been much discussed, and had again been nearly forgotten. The King was now twenty-two years of age.

The world was at this juncture surprised by the announcement that he was engaged to be married to his cousin, the Duchess Sophie Charlotte. She was young, pretty, well-educated, very musical, and the possessor of a fine voice. In defiance of the feeling against him which prevailed at court, she had openly shown her admiration for Richard Wagner, and was usually present at the Hof Theater when his works were performed. Ludwig looked forward to finding in her an ally in the struggle for his friend. Although the cousins were on a friendly footing, their mutual relations had never given any ground to suppose that a matrimonial alliance between them would ever come about. The evening before the report was circulated there had been a ball in the “Museum,” at which Ludwig had been present. The young ladies belonging to the court had been remarkable for their charming dresses. Sophie, in particular, had displayed all the magic of her beauty.

At six o’clock the next morning the King hastened to his mother, and requested her, in his name, to ask the Duchess’s hand.

Queen Marie had since her marriage been on terms of warm friendship with the young Duchess’s parents and their family. She was pleased at her son’s prompt decision. She drove in the early morning hours to the palace of Duke Max and the Duchess Ludovica. Nothing had occurred to prepare the Duke or his wife for what was about to happen, but they were proud at the unexpected offer of marriage. One of their daughters was an empress,2 they had seen another of their daughters a queen.3; now the youngest of them, and the one nearest her mother’s heart, would have her place on the throne of Bavaria. The young Duchess, too, gave her consent without hesitation. Eye-witnesses have, however, declared that her face, otherwise so fresh, became exceedingly pale when she promised the Queen-mother to marry her son. At nine o’clock Ludwig himself arrived. An hour later the formal engagement was celebrated.

The news, which was rapidly spread through the capital on this morning, became certainty in the evening. On the 22nd of January, 1867, there was given at the Hof Theater a new play by Benedix. The King was present at the performance. After the conclusion of the first act, the Queen-mother came in. She and her son walked across to the ducal box, where Sophie was sitting with her youngest brother, and together they fetched the young girl to the “Imperial box,” where she seated herself between the two. There are still alive in Munich elderly persons who remember the memorable night when the Princess walked in on Ludwig’s arm, and gracefully bowed to the public.

The Duchess was born on the 22nd of February, 1847. She was often to be seen in the Bavarian national costume, which was very becoming to her; and she was considered by many to be better-looking than the Empress Elizabeth, who was celebrated for her beauty. A light blue dress of silk clung this evening to her slender figure. Her hair, which was almost too thick and abundant, was dressed in plaits. Her face was radiant and pure. A pair of unfathomable blue eyes, with dark lashes, looked up at the King.

On the 29th of January the engagement was officially announced to the Chamber, which voted an address of congratulation. It concluded with the following words: “May all the blessings which a married life can give grow forth in abundance from the alliance which it is your Majesty’s intention to contract, to the happiness of your Majesty, to the prosperity of the royal house, to the blessing of the country!” The deputation was not granted an audience; it had to content itself with congratulating Ludwig and his betrothed on the 6th of February at a court ball.

The country was surprised at the King’s choice; no one could understand why he had so suddenly taken this decision. The news was received with sympathy, but at first without real enthusiasm. The three former Kings of Bavaria had had Protestant wives, and the Protestant part of the population would have preferred Ludwig to make a similar choice. In the capital itself, however, people were very well satisfied. As he had in no way been influenced, and as there could be no political grounds for a marriage with a member of the royal house, it was assumed that inclination alone had dictated his proposal; and this assumption seemed in accord with his leaning towards the romantic. It was hoped, moreover, that the marriage would chase away his love of solitude, which had already begun to show itself, and also that the court would gain in brilliancy.

Ludwig understood how to throw glamour on his alliance; and, little by little, people began to show interest in his bride. Double portraits of the young couple were to be seen everywhere; and men and women of the populace would stand for hours in pouring rain to catch a glimpse of the Duchess. During the Carnival the young Monarch gave a series of balls; and on the 28th of February the engaged couple were present at an entertainment given in their honour by the Minister of the Royal House and of Foreign Affairs, Prince Hohenlohe. On the 23rd of March they took part in a masquerade at the Casino.

The King appointed the 12th of October as the day of his wedding; both his father and grandfather had been married on that day. On the occasion of Maximilian II.’s marriage, a respectable couple in poor circumstances, chosen from each of the provinces of the kingdom, had been given 1000 guldens from the royal exchequer. It was decided that a similar sum should be distributed on Ludwig’s marriage. In all circles of society and all parts of the kingdom wedding presents were in course of preparation. The city of Munich built a coach decorated with cupids, which cost 100,000 guldens. The Palatinate sent some fine horses from the noted stud of ZweibrÜcken, and a cask of noble wine. In the royal Palace the so-called garden suite was fitted up for the reception of the future Queen. This had formerly been used by Ludwig I. and Maximilian II.; but Ludwig intended to retain his old apartments, which were situated above those destined for Sophie. The painted ceiling in the vestibule, which dates from the seventeenth century, was tastefully restored; and the Palace was soon brilliant with truly royal lustre. In the chief workshops of the city workmen were designing, hammering, carving, and forging household utensils and articles of ornament. Commemorative medals were struck bearing the heads of the King and his bride, and the most skilful engravers of the country drew the young Duchess, in order that her picture might be spread abroad on the marriage day in hundreds of thousands of copies.

Ludwig I. was still alive: the news of the betrothal reached him in Italy. He was pleased at this marriage between his sister’s youngest daughter and his grandson. Shortly before he had seen at Pompeii a fresco depicting Venus and Adonis, and having thought to find a likeness between Ludwig and the beautiful youth, he now embodied his idea and good wishes in some verses which referred to the aforesaid picture. They conclude thus:—

The King had asked the hand of his cousin in a moment of infatuation; but it was not the fire of his senses which burned within him: his feelings were the joy of the artist at the sight of beauty. More than one trustworthy chronicler of the events of this time has hinted that the Duchess had a serious inclination for another, and that it was the desire of her parents for the marriage with her cousin which influenced her decision in favour of it. Although Ludwig was hardly her first love it was impossible that she could have been insensible to his beauty, which fascinated all women, or to the charm of his manner and personality when in his best moods. All who knew Sophie as a girl speak enthusiastically of her liveliness and buoyancy. Her goodness of heart was also praised, though this did not exclude a light vein of mockery. She was gay; but she was, nevertheless, haughty and proud, and there is hardly any ground to doubt that she was tempted by the brilliance of a royal crown.

Early in the spring the ducal family went out to Possenhofen, and Ludwig at the same time took up his residence at the chÂteau of Berg. His little yacht, the Tristan, often bore him to the house of his betrothed, where he was in the habit of spending the evenings. He showered costly presents on Sophie. Every morning the royal lover rode round the Starnberger See to offer her in person a bunch of roses. If he came too early he gave the bouquet to her waiting-maid; and on the way back from his ride, stopped to see the Duchess. Thus weeks and months passed by. The idyll had not apparently suffered any break. It was Ludwig’s hope that his future wife would be the friend of his loneliness. He talked often to her of Richard Wagner, whom he loved so dearly. He recited to her poems, ancient and modern, and scenes from Schiller’s dramatic works. She listened at first with pleasure to his declamations and outpourings; but at length grew tired of them. The King was of a suspicious nature; he suspected Sophie and himself. He sent her notes and presents in the middle of the night, exacting long letters of thanks by the returning messenger. If she forgot to fulfil a single wish of his he was sulky for days. Unwarrantable fits of violence alternated with profound melancholy. He suffered from headache; and his excited nerves required solitude. After the intoxication of the first few weeks was past, his betrothed saw in him a total stranger. His extraordinary caprices gave her anxiety; and his intellectual life was a closed book to her superficial nature. If she was wanting in the ability to follow his flights of fancy, he on his side was incapable of satisfying her need for love. There was in the whole of this connection something which was artificial, and which did not ring true. The Duchess had a hasty temper. The restless state of mind induced in her by his changing moods made her capricious and unable to govern herself. Misunderstandings which at first had gone unheeded, began to arise between the young couple; disagreements separated them still more from one another. Long before Sophie knew for certain that the engagement would be broken off, a presentiment must have warned her that it could not possibly endure.