The King had a wonderful winter garden at Munich, which was built on the roof of the Residenz. There was also an artificial lake with a painted panoramic background of the Himalaya Mountains, and when the King sat in the garden a "property" moon shed its gaseous light above the snow-capped peaks.
Queen Marie's bedroom was immediately under the winter garden, and one night the Queen, who was laid up with a heavy cold, was terrified out of her wits when she discovered that the lake was leaking through the ceiling, and that a slow but steady downpour was falling on her bed.
The unfortunate lady did not quite know what to do as she had been strictly enjoined by her doctors to keep in one temperature; she hastily summoned her attendants, however, and they brought a large umbrella under which she took shelter for two hours until the leakage was repaired. It is perhaps unnecessary to say that the Queen changed her rooms on the morrow and chose a part of the Residenz which was quite away from the danger zone.
The King used often to command artistes from the theatre to perform in the winter gardens and I remember the fate which befell Josephina Schefzky, a large, tall woman, whose one wish in life was to attract Ludwig's notice. As all the singers sang hidden behind screens, Josephina's chances of meeting the King face to face were exceedingly small; but what woman is ever at a loss for an expedient? She knew how chivalrously romantic Ludwig could be on occasions, so she decided that she would fall into the lake and entreat him to rescue her.
The eventful evening arrived, Josephina warbled her sweetest for the benefit of the listening monarch, and when the song was over plunged heavily into the lake.
There was a tremendous noise, and the water splashed to the topmost summit of the "Himalayas," but the lady remained chin-deep in the lake, whose still waters were not so deep as they looked. "Save me, save me, Lohengrin!" cried the agitated singer, but the King took not the slightest notice of her appeal.
He rang the bell. "Get that woman out of the lake and send her home," he commanded, and the dripping Josephina, sadder and wiser, walked out of the water and out of the Residenz for ever.
One day, when I was about fifteen, Ludwig and my father were discussing music, and when papa happened to remark that I had quite a nice voice the King instantly said that he would like to hear me sing. "It's a pity that the winter garden is disarranged, for then Marie could have sung to me there," observed Ludwig, a day or two later, when he had graciously expressed himself pleased with my efforts.
"Yes, indeed," I answered, "for I've always longed to see the beautiful garden."
The King said nothing, but the next day before he left Munich he sent for papa and told him that the winter garden had been put in order expressly for my benefit, and that we were all to go and see it that evening. It certainly was a pretty sight; the lake was very romantic; the moon rose without a hitch behind the pasteboard mountains, and when we returned home I was presented by the head gardener with a big bouquet of flowers in the King's name.
Countess Marie Larisch, My Past
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House for Otto 8
1999
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