Ludwig the Second, King of Bavaria. Clara Tschudi
the inauguration of the Wagner Theatre at Bayreuth, and the royal pension was paid without reduction out of the privy purse until the death of Wagner in 1883. Frau Cosima, however, who had been one of the causes of the friends’ separation, was unable to congratulate herself on any favour whatsoever; she might not have existed as far as the ruler of Bavaria was concerned. As a widow she sought an audience of him, to thank him for the proofs of affection he had shown her husband. Ludwig refused to receive her. “I do not know any Frau Cosima Wagner,” he said coldly.
Although he had voluntarily sent the master away, and although, as we have seen, other reasons than the voice of opinion had influenced his decision, Ludwig never forgave the citizens of Munich for the part they had taken in disturbing a friendship which had been the source to him of so much consolation and pleasure. The aversion which he showed the capital on many later occasions was first awakened by this circumstance. The severance not only left behind it a profound feeling of loneliness, but also, in his sensitive heart, a bitterness which boded ill for the future.
“His too great love for me,” wrote Wagner, on the 26th of December 1865, to Frau Wille, “made him blind to other connections, and therefore he was easily disappointed. He knows nobody, and it is only now that he is learning to know people. Still I hope for him. As I am sure of his enduring affection, so I believe in the development of his splendid qualities. All he requires is to learn to know a few more people. He will then rapidly learn to do the right thing.”
On the 1st of July 1867 he wrote in a letter to Malvida von Meysenburg:
“The only thing that kept me back in Munich was affection for my friend, for whose sake I have suffered more than for any other person. … I have saved him, and still hope that I have kept in him one of my best works for the world.”
Among Wagner’s contemporaries there were but few who were disposed to share his belief that he had saved the young King. On the contrary, public opinion affirmed that it was he who had given Ludwig a taste for the nocturnal life which entirely undermined his nervous system, and that by his exaggerated poems of homage he had laid the foundation of the megalomania which later developed in him. At the time of Ludwig’s death it was even declared that this friend was concerned in the tragedy of the Starnberger See. The latter is, of course, an unproved and improvable affirmation. With quite as much reason might it be said that Ludwig II.—morbid as he was—had need of some person who by the power of music could soothe him in his suffering condition. Certain it is that from the day when the separation from Richard Wagner took place the King’s spirit became less, and his life more joyless than it had been before.
It has also been thought that Wagner meddled in the guidance of political affairs. This, however, is incorrect. There were, indeed, many who credited him with an all-powerful influence over the King, and he himself mentions this in a letter to a friend: “I pass for a favourite who can bring everything about. The other day even a murderess’s relations addressed themselves to me!” It is also said that, at the time when war seemed to be imminent between Prussia and Austria, an endeavour was made through Wagner to induce Ludwig to remain neutral. All, however, who are in a position to know, are agreed that in the fulfilment of his duties as a ruler the young Monarch never allowed himself to be influenced by him. Wagner has on countless occasions declared that he never talked politics with the King, because the latter had forbidden him to do so. When he touched upon a topic which might in any way have led the conversation into this channel, Ludwig would gaze up at the ceiling and whistle, as a sign that he did not desire a continuation of the subject.
Finally, in summing up the relations between the two friends, it must not be forgotten that, after Wagner’s genius, it is to the affection of the Bavarian King for him that the world owes to-day the possession of the Meistersinger, Der Ring, and Parsifal. His help at a time when it was most needed, gave back to the master his strength and courage. Ludwig’s magnificent generosity enabled him to create these new and glorious works. Moreover, the royal protection did much further to attract attention to Wagner and to the music of the future. His enthusiastic admiration for the composer of Rienzi, Der Fliegende Holländer, Tannhäuser, Lohengrin, Tristan und Isolde, and the above-mentioned operas, has caused the name of Ludwig II. to be honourably connected with the history of music.
Little more than twenty years have passed since his death, in the year 1886. But the prophetic words which he uttered on the 4th of August 1865, in a letter to Richard Wagner, have become reality. “When we two are no more, our work will serve as a shining model for posterity. It will delight centuries. And hearts will glow with enthusiasm for the art which is from God, and is everlasting.”
CHAPTER VII
The Political Situation—The Schleswig-Holstein Question—The War of 1866
The sixties were in political respects a time fraught with fate for the German people.
The future Emperor Wilhelm I.—“der Siegeskaiser,” as he was called—had in 1861 succeeded his romantic, and in the end, insane brother, Friedrich Wilhelm IV., as King of Prussia. The year afterwards Bismarck was constituted the leader of Prussian politics. He had long borne within him the scheme for the federation of the German states under the Prussian sceptre; and his political watch-word was, as we know, “iron and blood.” In 1863 an opportunity occurred for the great statesman to take the first step on his projected way. The Danish King, Frederik VII., had died, and as a consequence of this the Schleswig-Holstein question had peremptorily come to the fore. Bismarck invited the hereditary enemy, Austria, to go hand in hand with Prussia in her war against Denmark. In the situation brought about by this war the position of the medium-sized and small states of Germany became serious, and the neutrality which they had adopted became more and more untenable. Bavaria had kept outside the struggle in the Schleswig-Holstein question. Its then reigning Monarch, Maximilian II., had made an attempt to negotiate between the conflicting parties, and shortly before his death endeavoured to mediate in favour of the Duke of Agustenborg’s claims.
Matters had by this time entered on a new stage: the two great powers could not agree as to the prize gained by the conquest. Dark storm-clouds gathered, threatening a more far-reaching and bloody issue than the Schleswig-Holstein one. Ludwig II. desired to take up the thankless part of peacemaker, and follow in his father’s footsteps. This was of no avail, for Bismarck wished for a decision of the question whether Prussia or Austria should play first violin, and a war was a necessary link in his scheme. Bavaria in general, and the King in particular, seem long to have considered it possible that the storm might abate without the shedding of blood. Nevertheless he issued orders on the 10th of May, 1866, for the mobilisation of the Bavarian army.
On the 22nd of May, at Schloss Hohenschwangau, one of the Ministers held a lecture before him on the position of affairs. Ludwig went a turn in the park with his counsellor, and parted from him with manifestations of friendliness, after having offered him a cigar. The Minister had hardly taken his departure before Ludwig mounted a horse, and rode off, accompanied by a single groom. He galloped to the railway station of Biessenhofen, reached Lindau unrecognised, and passed thence unnoticed into Switzerland. The journey concerned Richard Wagner, who was living at his villa “Triebchen,” close to Lucerne, and whom he wished to congratulate on the occasion of his birthday. The Landsturm was meanwhile about to be called out in Bavaria, and the King’s signature was required. Not a syllable as to his intended excursion had crossed his lips while he had been talking to the Minister. When the latter again returned to Hohenschwangau, his Majesty had disappeared. Inquiries were made; but no one knew whither he had ridden, or how long he intended to be away. After a time tracks were found leading to the lake of Lucerne, and it was discovered that two riders, late at night, had been admitted to Richard Wagner’s villa. There was no longer any doubt as to where he was to be sought. The Premier telegraphed