Life in Munich was quite busy, and even from my sequester, I watched out the window as carriages came and went. Papa had agreed that while the turmoil surrounded Uncle Ludwig’s palace, we would house some paintings in our halls, and four large men hauled in an enormous picture, one replete with angels and battles and swords and blood. There was the Messiah in the very middle of this painting, about to stab Himself with a dagger, and in the very corner, a suspicious character fleeing the scene. I had heard from the maids that the villain in the painting was a Jew, and it was best that while the revolutionaries marched on Uncle’s castle, we be the keepers of that one.
In all the mayhem, most pronounced was a renewed battle between my parents. Echoing off the vast halls of our castle I could hear Papa screaming at Mummi, “You were born an old lady, Ludovica!”
And Mummi: “You have made me that way, you reckless Duke!”
Mummi did not approve of the parties day and night in Papa’s beer hall. The peasant girls he danced with. The trick riding in the newly converted circus. “And if you get trampled in a drunken heap under your horse, what then?” Mummi wanted to know.