MARCH 9th, 1868: THE LIVELIEST (and most gossipy) reportage in The Irish Times in its first decade was that of its anonymous Paris correspondent, who appears to have been well-placed in Parisian society and politics. In his or her column in today's newspaper in 1868, he or she decided to relate some news from outside France, "which, believing so devoutly in herself, is incredulous of all other nations and things". Among them was the death of King Ludwig of Bavaria and his relationship with the Irish-born courtesan Eliza Gilbert, who became famous in three continents as "Spanish dancer" Lola Montez.
BEFORE GOSSIP left Italy it should have borne its tidings of old King Louis [Ludwig], the ex-ruler of Bavaria, who lies dead in his villa at Nice – that is, if his body be not already removed to his native city of Munich, which he so glorified as an artist, and discredited as a man.
Twelve stout halberdiers – how stout, no one can know who has not studied the immense physique of beer-drinking Bavarian soldiers of Court corps d’elite – have gravely passed through France, and they are to escort the royal corpse to the kingdom of his grandson. The old King was twice in Paris during the Exhibition last summer. He was then 81 years of age, and bore his octogenarian weight of days as if he were still the boy of 60 who courted Lola Montez in 1848.
How many reminiscences have they in Munich of that clever, abandoned, vile-tempered, and by no means beautiful woman! “You see that gentleman in the stage-box, sir?” “Yes.” “He was a Minister in 1848, and is rather famous for one thing.” “His ability? His patriotism?” “No, sir; but for being horsewhipped by Lola Montez in the public streets.” “How strange: Did the King know of it?” “Yes, sir. He was told of the outrage, and said he was sorry but could do nothing; she might horsewhip himself!”
Never was there a stranger mixture of the good and bad of humanity than in this King. He loved his wife and his children; but he was an unfaithful husband to the former, and he nearly lost their royal inheritance for the latter. He was a despot and a reformer. He collected pictures and statues and built edifices worthy to receive them: and yet was so degraded in moral taste as to go openly to the play with a vulgar, thin-limbed, foul-tongued prostitute. He wrote two volumes of poetry, full of gushing enthusiasm, and replete with passionate phrases of family harmony and the domestic virtues, and he broke his poor old wife’s heart. But his length of days brought with it retribution in this life even, and it is to be hoped a sincere repentance which will save him in the next.
He lost his crown, and, what was worse, he lost his eldest son in the flower of his days. His second son, Otho, returned to him from Greece childless and exiled, dethroned and deaf, stupid and dying. He saw him to precede himself to the world of spirits. The old man’s keen intelligence must also have shown him with sorrow the position of his grandson, the present King of Bavaria – a man week to a degree, scarcely fit to form an artist, but far more suited to an artist’s than a monarch’s life.
His Majesty said many wise and many sprightly things. One alone lingers in the memory. He was complaining of his own age. Some flatterer said, “Oh, your Majesty never will be old.” “We must all feel old age,” replied the King, “if we live long: it brings many maladies with it, and I know of only one for which it is a sovereign remedy.” He sighed, and we looked enquiringly. “That one malady,” he went on, “which old age most assuredly cures is love.” This from a man of 80, who lost his crown for a woman when he was 60! When does old age commence?
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