The Ludwig Conspiracy (55 page)

The rest of the journey passed in silence. After a little less than an hour, they had reached Munich, and finally the Westend district of the city. When they turned into Gollierstrasse, where the antiquarian bookshop stood, Steven instinctively held his breath. He felt as if he were coming home from months of traveling around the world, although only a few days had passed since his headlong flight. The police had fixed a seal to the shop door and temporarily patched up the broken display window with foil, but otherwise it looked the same as when he went away. Steven broke the seal, with apprehensive expectation, and unlocked the door. At his first glance into the sales area, a pang went through him.

What in the world . . .

He had entirely forgotten Luise’s bodyguards saying that they had searched the shop a second time. The books that he had tidied up after the first break-in were scattered all over the floor again. Broken beer bottles lay everywhere, and the place stank of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke. Obviously other hooligans had been amusing themselves here. Graffiti was sprayed on the back wall of the shop, and there was a stench of urine and vomit in one corner. Steven raised the shredded cover of a book and ran his hand sadly over the worn leather.

It’ll never be the same as before,
he thought.

“Looks as though you’ll have to clean this place up thoroughly,” said the man with the twirled mustache, who was standing in the doorway looking at the scene with disgust. “Better get someone to come and take all this garbage away.”

He gave Steven a business card. “If you have any problems with the police, you can call me at any time. And also, of course, if you come upon another such valuable find sometime. For instance, the diary of Lidl, the king’s personal fisherman, which is also lost.” He winked. “Not that I think you’ll have much success. In that case we have been extremely . . . creative.”

He made a brief farewell bow and walked back to the Bentley. Soon after that, Steven heard the pleasant hum of its engine as the car moved slowly away.

“Steven?” Sara’s voice brought Steven back to the dismal reality. He turned a gloomy face to her.

“Yes?”

“About the destruction of the original stuff from Neuschwanstein . . .” she began. “You mustn’t see it in such narrow terms. Don’t you remember what Uncle Lu said? The furnishings were never anything but cheap glass, iron, and plaster. It was a historical forgery, and now, well, it’s a forgery of the forgery.” She smiled. “Why spoil the idea of a fairy-tale castle that the people love so much?” She knelt down and began to pick up one of the overturned bookshelves. “If we hurry up, you can reopen in a few weeks.”

“Sara, forget it.” Steven dropped the wrecked cover of the book that he had been holding so tightly on the floor. “It’ll never be the same as before. And I don’t have the money for expensive renovations. I’ll be lucky if I can pay my next month’s rent. I guess I’ll have to give up the bookselling business.”

“You’re right,” Sara said, without interrupting her clearing up. “It will never be the same as before. It will be better. The place needs a new coat of paint anyway. And you could build in a trendy seating corner, and have a coffee lounge where customers can drink their
latte macchiato
while they dip into your wares.” She rolled her eyes. “Hey, Steven, this is the Westend district of Munich. If you have to sell books, then at least you might get with the times.”

Steven looked at her, bewildered. “Didn’t you understand? I simply don’t have any money, and what’s more . . .”

“Oops, what’s this, then?” With feigned surprise, Sara picked up a book from the floor. “Has it been lying here the whole time, or did it just drop out of my purse?”

She held the thin little booklet out to him. When Steven recognized it, he was speechless for quite a long time. As if in a trance, he stared at the title.

Memoirs of Theodor Marot, Assistant to Dr. Max Schleiss von Loewenfeld.

“But . . .” he began hesitantly. “How? I mean . . .?”

“You mean the book was burned in the Falkenstein hotel?” Sara’s eyes twinkled at him. “That’s not entirely so. The little treasure chest was burned, along with the photographs and the lock of hair. But the diary . . .” She held it up triumphantly. “It was lying on the floor of the throne room at Neuschwanstein with all the other books. I simply pocketed it when no one was looking. Luise was carrying its empty container around with her.”

“You’re . . . you are . . .” Steven was at a loss for words.

“Brilliant? Ingenious? Drop-dead gorgeous? How would you put it?” Sara grinned. “You’re forgetting that I’m the daughter of a thief. I’ll make you a suggestion. First thing tomorrow, we send that arrogant dope of a Wittelsbach a copy of the opening of the diary. And then we’ll see whether he isn’t ready to pay half a million euros for it.” She grinned. “Maybe even a bit more. After all, I’m an art detective, I can commission experts to take a very close look at the furnishings of Neuschwanstein. They’ll wish they never worked with me.”

Laughing, Steven shook his head. “How did I ever get by without you?” He took the book from her hand and kissed her long and hard on the mouth. Sara closed her eyes in enjoyment and suddenly pulled him over to behind one of the overturned bookshelves.

“Sara, you can’t . . .”

“Who says you have to be Ludwig the Second’s last descendant?” she asked, beginning to unbutton his dirty shirt. “The line hasn’t died out yet, not by a long shot.”

Marot’s diary fell fluttering to the floor, but Steven was past noticing it.

When I began my research for this novel, one expert on Ludwig warned me that anyone who starts studying the Fairy-tale King will end up deranged himself.

After reading a few dozen nonfiction books on Ludwig II, visiting his castles, and attending university lectures on schizophrenic disorders and megalomania, and above all after endless phone conversations with mysterious Cowled Men, owners of diaries, and other conspiracy theorists, I now know what he meant: the subject of Ludwig II of Bavaria is a morass, both bewildering and fascinating, because new pieces of the jigsaw puzzle and new inconsistencies keep surfacing. In other words, the case of Ludwig’s death is the perfect crime.

Many of the incidents described in this novel correspond to historical fact, absurd as they may sound. I have invented or embroidered upon other elements. There is no historical evidence for the character of Theodor Marot, but his superior, Dr. Max Schleiss von Loewenfeld, certainly existed. He was indeed personal physician to the king, and, according to art historian Professor Siegfried Wichmann of Berlin, wrote a diary in which he described the murder of Ludwig II. Wichmann acquired this book, with the rest of Loewenfeld’s literary estate, at an auction and placed it in an archive overseas “for reasons of security.” Like Marot’s diary in my book, it is bound in blue velvet and ornamented with ivory carvings. Whether it is written in a secret cipher I do not know, but anything is possible in connection with Ludwig’s death.

The paintings of artist Hermann Kaulbach are also said to have shown bloodstains from the king’s lungs. Professor Wichmann, at the time chief curator of the Bavarian State Collection of Paintings, had them photographed privately in the 1960s; since then, they have gone missing, along with Ludwig’s coat and his shirt, both of which allegedly show bullet holes.

Furthermore, there is solid authentication for most of the anecdotes about the Fairy-tale King and other characters in this novel: the equerry Richard Hornig, Counts Dürckheim and Holnstein, and the painter Hermann Kaulbach. And yes, the secret society of the Cowled Men does exist (and of course its present head, unlike his fictional counterpart in my novel, is in the best of health). Bavaria would be much the poorer if it had no such eccentric fraternities.

In addition, there is documentary evidence for the course of the last few days in the life of the Fairy-tale King, some of it even in the form of transcribed conversations. I mention that only because it was in those very passages that my wife several times criticized my exuberant imagination. I was always pleased when I could tell her that my account matched exactly with the contemporary reports. However, we shall probably never know exactly what happened on that last walk taken by Ludwig beside the Starnberger See.

The Wittelsbach family archive is indeed closed to the public. Anyone wishing to know about the king’s death will often find that his request falls on deaf ears. The royal family has also forbidden any investigation of Ludwig’s casket for reasons of piety. But of course it is unthinkable that the Wittelsbachs could be involved in any conspiracy such as the one in this novel. Any similarity to living persons is therefore out of the question.

To give readers some idea of what is true and what is speculation, I have provided a small glossary for conspiracy theorists. Enjoy the puzzle, working it out, and conspiring.

At this point I would like to express special thanks to the two experts on Ludwig, Erich Adami and Alfons Schweigert, whose book on the last days in the life of King Ludwig II is the best general survey of the Fairy-tale King’s death. Erich Adami also put several important books at my disposal, as well as a CD that, so far as I am aware, is the most extensive summary of the facts about Ludwig II ever to have been assembled.

Heartfelt thanks, also, to Dominik for all the information about historical and modern weapons, to my cousin Julian for IT and computer information, to the lady whose name I don’t know who was my guide at Linderhof Castle and showed me the king’s linden tree, to the kind lady in the kiosk at Neuschwanstein for her meatloaf rolls, to my father and Florian, my brother, for medical information, and of course, once again, to my first readers and proofreaders: my wife, Katrin; Marian; Gerd; and Uta. I am sorry if, this time, I have made a nuisance of myself right to the end of the book. I hope the work has turned out to be worthwhile.

Oliver Pötzsch, November 2010

Air rifle:
An air gun used by the Prussian secret police, among others. Thought to have been a possible murder weapon. There is a Girandoni brand air rifle in the Munich Museum of Hunting and Fishing.

Attempted assassinations:
Supporters of the theory that Ludwig was murdered generally base their thinking on a single would-be assassin who is said to have fired an air rifle (see above). Another theory suggests that a rustic gendarme hit the king by accident, inflicting a mortal wound, when he fired at the two men fighting in the water.

Bank raids:
Ludwig really did intend to organize raids on banks in Stuttgart, Frankfurt, Berlin, and Paris in order to finance his castles. Fortunately, these plans were never put into practice.

Berg Castle:
This might be described as Ludwig’s holiday villa. He died there on 13 June 1886. Originally the king was to be interred in Linderhof Castle, but fears of protest by the local population meant that a last-minute decision was made to keep him at Berg, which was closer to Munich.

Bismarck, Otto von
(1815–1898):
Chancellor of the German Empire and regarded as the archenemy of Bavaria. Some conspiracy theorists see Otto von Bismarck as the invisible hand behind an assassination because Ludwig, tired of the business of government, had allegedly threatened to cede Bavaria to Austria.

Casket:
Ludwig’s remains were laid to rest in the Wittelsbach crypt of St. Michael’s Church
in Munich. However, the Cowled Men (see below) claimed that the casket was empty. To this day, the Wittelsbachs refuse to sanction any forensic investigation of its contents, on the grounds of family piety.

Chloroform:
According to one of the many conspiracy theories about the death of Ludwig, chloroform was used as an anesthetic to render him unconscious before he was drowned.

Coat:
A coat worn by the king and with two bullet holes in it was apparently in the possession of Countess Josephine von Wrbna-Kaunitz until the 1970s. The countess died in a fire at her apartment in 1973, and since then the coat seems to have disappeared. The shirt worn by the king and showing the bullet entry holes, making it a piece of material evidence, is also said to have been exchanged for another and later destroyed.

Cowled Men:
A Bavarian secret society that campaigns to this day for the clarification of what its members, working incognito and disguised by cowls, regard as the murder of King Ludwig. Their legend goes back to the funeral of Frederick Barbarossa, when cowled knights in black habits are said to have followed the funeral procession. There were Cowled Men present at the funeral of Ludwig II in Munich. More about them can be found online at
http://www.guglmann.de
.

Diary:
By his own account, the former chief curator of the Bavarian State Collection of Paintings, Siegfried Wichmann, acquired the diary of the royal physician Dr. Max Schleiss von Loewenfeld in 1987 at an auction. The diary clearly stated that Ludwig II was shot. Witnesses, besides the physician himself, were the painter Hermann Kaulbach (see below), who painted a portrait of the dead king, and the two Hornig brothers (see below). The diary, says Professor Wichmann, was bound in blue velvet adorned with ivory carvings, and the most important documents are currently deposited in archives in the United States and Canada “for reasons of security.”

Drowning:
The official cause of Ludwig II’s death. However, the water of the Starnberger See was only waist-deep at the scene, and Ludwig was a good swimmer. In addition, no water was found in his lungs. All the same, he could have had a heart attack brought on by his agitation, the cold, and the large quantity of alcohol he had drunk with his evening meal.

Dürckheim-Montmartin, Count Eckbrecht von (aka Dürckheim) (1850–1912):
Ludwig’s adjutant and one of those closest to him. Because he refused to leave his king in Neuschwanstein, he was accused of high treason, but his trial was canceled four weeks later.