King Ludwig and the Empress Elisabeth
Ludwig's spite against a single member of the House of Hohenzollern
destroyed the good relations with his relatives in Berlin. By way
of off-set, the sympathy he felt for the Empress Elizabeth had the
effect of causing his relations with the House of Hapsburg to be
very friendly.
His betrothal to his cousin, Sophie Charlotte, had left behind it
bitter memories. Although it was he who had dissolved the connection,
and although she would hardly have been capable of making him
happy, it is a fact that he became the slave of melancholy after the
engagement was broken off. The Duchess had much to forgive him; and
yet it appeared to the sick King, who condemned himself to loneliness,
that it was he who was the injured party. In one of the rooms which
he usually occupied hung the portrait of a woman, over which he had
caused a thick silken veil to be hung. He would stand sunk in thought
before this picture, walking slowly when he turned away, as if it cost
him an effort to leave it. No outside personage was ever permitted
to see it, and no one knew whom it represented. It was supposed that
it might be a portrait of Marie Antoinette of France, for whom he
cherished a great admiration; but many also thought that the painting
represented the Duchesse d'Alençon, whom he had never forgotten.
Nearly the whole of the royal house had taken the side of his former
fiancée, and were with reason annoyed at his fickleness. In spite
of the wrong which had been done the ducal house, one of Sophie's
brothers and one of her sisters had been indulgent towards him. Duke
Karl Teodor, the oculist, had scrutinised his cousin with the eye of
a doctor; he had found excuses for his action in his diseased mental
condition. Elizabeth of Austria had understanding even of aspects of
his character which could not possibly have been sympathetic to her,
and she was attracted by qualities in him which had displeased and
alarmed her sister.
It is difficult to say whether it was Sophie's likeness to Elizabeth
which had awakened his feelings for the Duchess, or whether a
half-unconscious longing for his former betrothed knit the tie
firmer between the Empress and himself. It is remarkable, in any
case, that the King, who was otherwise so reserved towards women,
should have formed a lasting friendship with her. The outward likeness
between the two sisters was very great; the inward harmony, however,
was not in the same proportion. Despite her beauty and her carefully
developed talents, Sophie was an ordinary woman, whereas Elizabeth's
mind was rich, though her soul was crushed. Hardly judged by many,
understood by few, and yet admired by most, she was the woman, if
anybody could have done so, to have fitted into the King of Bavaria's
life. Both had the same restlessness in their blood, at the same
time as they had both a need for solitude. The "horror of the crowd"
which dominated him in so great a degree was also a characteristic
of her. They were burdened with the same morbid tendencies. Even in
their exterior there was similarity between the two cousins, who were
gifted with such unusual and spiritual beauty. Neither of them had
known the joys of youth; the sceptre had been placed in their hands
while they were yet undeveloped children. The power which too early
both had become possessed of had in both developed an unwillingness
to sacrifice a tittle of their convenience. Ludwig never opened the
door to the deep and unusual qualities of his personality; Elizabeth,
too, kept her inmost thoughts in conscious shade. However eagerly the
crowd might seek, among the hum of reports which were ever afloat,
it never knew for certain what it was that inwardly moved them. But
they found mutual healing in opening their hearts to one another on
the unfulfilled wishes and hidden disappointments which the world
did not see.
Their inherited nervous sufferings were the sorrow-laden undercurrent
of their lives. Insanity which was inherent in their race was
to both of them a threatening spectre, which, sooner or later,
would attack them too. But in the case of Ludwig this fear had
in a greater degree than in the case of Elizabeth weakened the
power of will. Proud almost to the verge of megalomania, they were,
nevertheless, friendly towards the country people they met with. By
nature they were exceedingly generous; but the sufferings of their
neighbour did not, either in him or her, drive away their thoughts
from themselves. Both Ludwig and Elizabeth were eccentric in their
sympathies and antipathies. Elizabeth was unhappy in her marriage;
she sought a panacea for love in friendships with women. Ludwig could
suddenly, and apparently without reason, take up with men who were
far inferior to him in character. Both, as a rule, were disappointed
in, and quickly tired of, these favourites for a day. Both the King
and the Empress fled to the world of books, and when they met their
literary interests bound them still faster together. A result of
their mutual affection was that they exercised influence one upon
the other. Elizabeth was older and had more knowledge of the world;
she did not exceed her cousin in intelligence, though she may have
done so in energy. Her power over him was, therefore, greater than
his over her. The Empress's influence was not altogether for good. She
impressed upon Ludwig that "one can do everything one likes," and the
young Wittelsbach was very receptive to this kind of teaching. Where
it might have been good and useful, he was, on the contrary, less
willing to follow her advice: the Empress went early to bed, rose
every morning at five, and went out of doors. The King spent his
nights in music and reading, and not till day began to break did he
retire to rest. Both had been passionately fond of riding, but had
been obliged to give up this sport. She went instead walks of many
miles, whereas he took his daily constitutional in a closed carriage.
Elizabeth spent part of her summers in Feldafing, in the vicinity
of Ludwig's castles. They met one another by appointment on the
Roseninsel, in the lake of Starnberg; or, as not seldom happened, she
would suddenly appear in his study at Schloss Berg or Neuschwanstein,
and remain sitting many hours with him. She brought with her a stream
of beauty and harmony into his quiet apartments. Even in his last
darkened hours, when otherwise he received nobody, he liked to have
her visits.
Prince Leopold of Bavaria had married in 1873 her eldest
daughter. Ludwig had on this occasion emerged from his customary
retirement. Princess Gisela was one of his few women relations who
could boast of his amiability. Flattering as this might be, it was
at times exceedingly inconvenient; for the King, who turned night
into day, sent her presents and bouquets of flowers in the night. He
would not alter his habits either for her or her mother's sake.
The Empress's youngest daughter, Marie Valerie, expressed the wish
to make her "uncle's" acquaintance, and Elizabeth was at some pains
to induce him to receive her favourite child. But he would not be
disturbed in his quiet. "I don't know why the Empress is always telling
me about her Valerie," he said to one of those near him. "Valerie
wants to see me, she says; but I don't at all want to see her Valerie."