Investigating King Ludwig II’s Mysterious Death: Schizophrenia, Conspiracy, or Misdiagnosis?

Was King Ludwig II Mentally Ill, the Victim of a Coup, or Misunderstood?

Jan 28, 2025

The Subject

Ludwig of Bavaria was known by the nickname Märchenkönig, the Fairy Tale King. On the surface, the name was fitting. He was a romantic who lived in a fantastical castle and was passionate about the arts. Sadly, while Ludwig lived much of his life stuck in his fantasy world, this story does not end with a happily ever after.

When Ludwig was born in 1845, Germany was made up of dozens of sovereign states, the largest of which were Prussia, Austria, and Bavaria. Ludwig’s grandfather, Ludwig I, sat on the Bavarian throne. He was a lover of the arts, a passion he passed to his grandson and namesake Ludwig II. He was also a great lover of women; in particular a woman by the name of Lola Montez, who was not his wife. Lola was a dancer and as far as royal mistresses go, Ludwig the elder could not have chosen a worse woman to shower with gifts and affection. She was universally disliked by the Bavarian people, and her association with the king almost cost him the throne on several occasions. Unfortunately for Ludwig I, having an unpopular mistress and being at odds with his subjects was not a recipe for a successful and long-lasting reign. In 1848 a "series of republican revolts against European monarchies [broke out], beginning in Sicily and spreading to France, Germany, Italy, and the Austrian Empire" (Britannica). By March of that year, the movement had found its way to Bavaria. Ludwig I abdicated the throne, making his eldest son Maximilian, and Ludwig II’s father, the new king of Bavaria.

Ludwig II was 3 years old when he became the crown prince. His childhood had all the trappings of a typical upbringing for a royal in his time: rigorous studies, strict schedules, absent parents, and isolation from children his own age. Ludwig’s days were so packed with studies and homework that he was often pushed to episodes of “nervous exhaustion” as a child, and he found no consolation from his parents. When the young prince was not being forced to study history, languages, and military strategy, he was buried in fairy tales or the operas of his favorite composer, Richard Wagner. It is why Ludwig was given the nickname of Fairy Tale King, because he preferred to live in a world of pretend than the reality around him.

He had no socialization with peers and as a result, formed close attachments to his governess and the tutors who raised him. He demanded absolute loyalty from anyone he deemed to be a friend, both male and female, and was often disappointed when his affections were not reciprocated whole-heartedly. Throughout it all, Ludwig was constantly reminded of his exalted position and his divine right to rule. The combination of his strenuous academic curriculum, isolation, and inflated sense of self seems to have formed a young man who could be emotional and intelligent but also “high strung and over-sensitive, frequently causing him to take offense at an innocent gesture or look, condemning the often unaware culprit for years” (King).

In late 1863, when Ludwig was only 18 years old, his father, King Maximilian, fell seriously ill with a mystery ailment. After months of uncertainty, Maximilian passed away in March of 1864. The Bavarian people, though sad over the loss of their king, were hopeful for the future. Those closer to Ludwig had mixed reactions to the new young owner of the Bavarian crown. One court secretary said “we now have an angel on the throne,” but Ludwig’s former tutor remarked that “Maximilian II’s death was the worst possible tragedy which could have befallen Bavaria” (King). Quite the spectrum of opinions we have here. So, who was right?

Most of Ludwig’s subjects saw a tall and handsome king, who looked the part and seemed to have a great interest in the running of the government and strengthening Bavaria’s standing among the German states. The logical next step would be for their king to marry and ensure the continuation of the Wittelsbach line. Although Ludwig was entranced by the love stories of his beloved fairy tales, he made it widely known that he did not have any interest in marrying. And so it came as a shock to many when he proposed to his cousin Sophie in 1867. Grand preparations for the wedding were made and commemorative souvenirs were adorned with the couple’s faces. But while Sophie was busy planning for the day that she had undoubtedly dreamt of her whole life, Ludwig was regretting his choices. The thought of marrying Sophie became too much for the king, and he delayed the wedding, eventually cancelling it altogether. Needless to say Sophie was crushed, but Ludwig stood by his decision not to go through with the marriage. In fact, he wrote in his diary that he "longed to awake from [that] terrible nightmare" (King).

Although Ludwig did not find happiness with his cousin Sophie, there was one person in his life who was his greatest source of joy (and at times his greatest source of misery). That person was the composer Richard Wagner. Today he is famous for operas like Tannhäuser, Lohengrin, and Tristan und Isolde, and is still much celebrated in Europe. Ludwig had been enraptured by Wagner’s work since he was a boy, and as king he used his resources and influence to bring Wagner to Bavaria. They began a decades-long partnership where Ludwig supplied the cash for Wagner to produce and stage his performances. Seems innocent enough, except for the fact that this “partnership” was more like obsessive admiration and devotion on Ludwig’s part. In addition to the endless amount of money the king dished out to make Wagner’s operas a reality, Ludwig also rented him a home and paid off an astounding amount of the composer’s debt.

Ludwig did not make much of an effort to hide his disinterest in his position as king, often choosing meetings with Wagner and private concerts over his royal duties. And it didn’t help that Wagner was widely viewed as a money grabber who was having an affair with the wife of his fellow composer, which resulted in two illegitimate children. It was not long before Ludwig’s government ministers were calling for Ludwig to kick Wagner out of Bavaria and wipe his hands clean of his beloved friend. Just as Ludwig’s grandfather almost lost his throne over his association with Lola Montez, Ludwig’s relationship with Richard Wagner was so unpopular that it became a national scandal. Eventually Ludwig caved and sent Wagner to live in Switzerland, but he set him up in a nice house and continued to stay in touch.

In addition to the government’s unhappiness with Ludwig’s proclivity for funding the arts (even though the money came out of his own allowance), they were equally unhappy with the vast amount of money he spent on building and updating his homes at the expense of the country. The most famous of Ludwig’s architectural projects is Neuschwanstein Castle, a project that took so long that it was not completed during Ludwig’s lifetime.It was also Walt Disney’s inspiration for Cinderella’s castle. While tourists may love and appreciate this enchanted castle today, for Ludwig’s peers it was yet another example of Ludwig’s excess spending and oddnes. The eccentric design became a backdrop for Ludwig’s equally eccentric behavior, from dressing up and reenacting various Wagner works to becoming nocturnal.

Despite Bavaria’s frustration with Ludwig’s eccentric taste and extracurriculars, things did not come to a head until 1866. When Ludwig ascended the throne, Prussia and Austria were the strongest German states. Ludwig’s Bavaria was in third, and inevitably this meant that if (and when) the big guns butted heads, they would expect Bavaria to choose a side. In 1866, Prussian Prime Minister Otto von Bismarck set his sights on a unified Germany with Prussia at the helm. Austria was not pleased.

While Prussia was puffing its chest, Bismarck was busy sweet-talking Ludwig into joining his team. Ludwig responded in the only reasonable manner as the sovereign of a country at the brink of being sucked into war: he ran and hid. The Bavarian king absolutely hated the idea of going to war against fellow Germans and so he abandoned his duty and left his government ministers to try to track him down at one of his many castles. Ludwig’s disappearing act during this critical moment did not instill any confidence in him as a leader.

Eventually the decision was made for Ludwig when Prussia declared war on Bavaria. The sides were set: Prussia, Italy, and some smaller German states on one side and Austria, Bavaria and additional smaller German states on the other. The war was over in seven swift weeks with Prussia declared as the undisputed German heavyweight. The war ended with the Treaty of Prague on August 23, 1866, which kicked Austria out of what had been known as the German Federation. From this moment on, Austria was its own entity, and Prussia was one step closer to unifying the rest of the German states. They were lenient with Bavaria considering that Ludwig’s country had taken up arms against them, but the Bavarian king’s mishandling of the situation did not win him any admirers.

Of course, once Prussia had a little taste of power, it was only a matter of time until it wanted more. Prime Minister Bismarck was highly ambitious, as was the Prussian King Wilhelm I. Although this is a story about Ludwig, in many ways, he was at the mercy of the history-altering decisions that Bismarck and Wilhelm made. Bavaria was not strong enough to challenge Prussia alone, and after the Seven Weeks’ War, they had signed a treaty with their German nemesis to team up for future conflicts. The future ended up not being that far off, and within four years, Prussia was stepping into the ring with France. Once again, Ludwig fled. Although he eventually honored Bavara’s agreement to fight alongside Prussia, he absolutely refused to participate as the head of the Bavarian army. This was an important duty of any king, if for nothing else than bolstering the troops’ morale. Again, this move did not win him any fans among his family and government ministers.

Prussia and its German allies were victorious, handing France a crushing defeat. The outcome of the Franco-Prussian War changed the landscape of Europe forever. Prussia’s King Wilhem was declared emperor (or kaiser) of Germany, and Bismarck became the “First Chancellor”. Ludwig’s power and influence as king of Bavaria was greatly diminished, and he refused to attend the celebration of Germany’s victory at Versailles in France. All around, it was not a good look.

As Ludwig was losing prestige and the trust of his ministers, he was gaining one thing: massive amounts of debt as a result of his elaborate building projects. Ludwig’s creditors began to pursue him, which threw the debacle into the public light and “the spectacle of a reigning monarch being sued in open court by his creditors exposed the royal family to scorn” (Greg King). Even worse for the Bavarian king were his rather unethical attempts to procure more money by pressuring his government ministers to magically come up with large sums, which “imperiled the continued operation of the state” (Greg King). Ludwig had managed to make enemies of the government through his lackluster performance of his royal duties, and now his embarrassing financial situation had turned his royal family members against him. The time had come to do something about their Neuschwanstein-sized problem.

In 1885, the 21st year of Ludwig II’s reign, his own uncle, Prince Luitpold, began to conspire with the Bavarian prime minister Johann von Lutz to remove the king from his throne. As Greg King explains, Luitpold and von Lutz had to come up with an airtight explanation for their coup, or risk the king’s remaining supporters rioting in the streets. And so the men who gathered to betray Ludwig built their case around three elements: Ludwig’s risky financial habits, his horrendous record of performing his royal duties, and, critical to our story, his mental health.

Luitpold and von Lutz needed a doctor to make a diagnosis. That man was Dr. Bernhard von Gudden, a psychiatrist who was also the doctor of Ludwig’s troubled brother, Otto. There seems to be evidence that Otto did actually suffer from severe mental illness, which perhaps made it easier for Ludwig’s enemies to attribute some of the same symptoms to the king. In today’s society of standards and protocols when diagnosing and treating mental illness (although far from perfect), it is astounding to learn how Ludwig went from King of Bavaria to prisoner in his own castle. Without personally examining Ludwig, von Gudden delivered a diagnosis to Luitpold and von Lutz that “confirmed” the king was unfit to continue his royal duties. Under Bavarian law, the diagnosis made it legal to assign a regent (someone who ruled in the name of the king or queen in the event they were unable to). And who was the choice of the commission of traitors? Uncle Luitpold!

But Ludwig was not going down without a fight. In his later years, the king had lost the angelic good looks that had entranced both men and women when he was a young prince. He was now overweight and far from graceful, but he was still the king and he was competent enough to realize he was being set up. When the traitors cornered him at Neuschwanstein, Ludwig’s response to the charges showed that he was a reasonable and coherent man. According to records of the conversation between Ludwig and the doctor on the night of the king’s arrest, Ludwig dropped the following heat:

“How can you certify me insane without seeing me and examining me beforehand?” FACTS (Greg King)
“Listen, as an experienced neurologist, how can you be so devoid of scruple as to make out a certificate that is decisive for a human life? You have not seen me for the last twelve years!” MORE FACTS!! (Greg King)

The evidence of mental illness that the conspirators had collected included accusations that Ludwig often hallucinated or spoke to himself, was violent with his servants and often beat them, was eccentric, and had no control over his spending. Other than the spending claims, it is hard to know if the other accusations were true, as there is evidence that many of the people who made the statements were paid to do so. But unfortunately for Ludwig, none of this mattered, as he was overpowered and physically removed from his beloved Neuschwanstein and imprisoned in another one of his residences, Castle Berg. Luitpold became regent with little pushback because of the nation-wide declaration of Ludwig’s incurable illness, and Ludwig was left to live his days under the watchful eyes of von Gudden and a team of orderlies. But for Ludwig and his doctor, there weren’t many more days left.

One of the concessions that von Gudden allowed Ludwig was to have escorted walks around the Castle Berg grounds twice a day. On the evening of June 13, 1886, von Gudden and Ludwig set out on one of these walks in the midst of a storm, and never returned. Both men were found dead later that night, with Ludwig floating facedown in Lake Starnberg. What happened on that deadly walk will forever remain a mystery, as the only two people who were there to witness it died at the scene.

Officially, Ludwig’s death was ruled a suicide by drowing. But the water where Ludwig was found was only a few feet deep, and his lungs did not have any water in them, making it hard to believe that drowning was the cause of death. It is true that Ludwig had expressed suicidal thoughts from the moment he learned of his betrayal, but there were no signs of self-harm during the autopsy and it is hard to believe that Ludwig killed von Gudden and then somehow drowned himself in shallow water. This leaves us with a double mystery: was Ludwig mentally ill and what happened the night of his death?

The Science

The mysterious circumstances of Ludwig’s death read like the best of true crime, but the analyses of his mental state by medical historians read like the worst kind of academic controversy. If you manage to find an article about Ludwig’s sanity or lack thereof that has been translated to English, you will read one of three arguments: Ludwig did suffer from schizophrenia; Ludwig’s eccentricities have been exaggerated to make him seem mentally ill when he was not; or he did not have schizophrenia but did suffer from another neurological disease. The real answer? Well, it depends on who you think you can trust.

Let’s start with the schizophrenia hypothesis. We covered the neurobiology of schizophrenia in our post on Charles VI of France. To recap, the hallmark symptoms of the disease include positive symptoms such as delusions, hallucinations, and disorganized thoughts and speech, as well as negative symptoms like reduced emotional response, decreased speech, and depression-like symptoms. Ludwig’s brother, Otto, suffered from schizophrenia, or “paranoia” as it was often called at the time. Although schizophrenia shows a complex inheritance pattern, it does have a genetic component, giving some support for the claim that Ludwig was also schizophrenic.

The most compelling argument I found in support of the schizophrenia theory was published last year by German researchers Reinhard Steinberg and Peter Falkai. They cite sources like Cosima, the second wife of Ludwig’s friend/obsession, Richard Wagner. She remembers Ludwig having dinner with imaginary guests, something Dr. von Gudden also reported. von Gudden also claimed that Ludwig refused to use doors to go in and out of his estates, instead climbing through the windows. In addition, Steinberg and Falkai cite a report from Dr. Franz Carl Gerster who saw Ludwig for some dental problems in 1884, two years before his death. Gerster “determined that Ludwig had an accelerated flow of ideas, flight of thoughts, alogical stringing together of thoughts, delusions, and illusory and hallucinatory phenomena. He informed the responsible authorities, who told him clearly that his strong suspicion of mental illness ‘was interpreted and branded by all as high treason.’”

These observations make everything seem rather cut and dry. Ludwig was schizophrenic and took his own life and von Gudden’s during a psychotic episode (see the Charles VI post for more information about the stereotypes around violence and schizophrenia). But questions remain about the lucid, well-written letter Ludwig wrote the very night von Gudden diagnosed him as a paranoid maniac. Plus, the autopsy showed Ludwig had no water in his lungs, casting more than reasonable doubt on the theory that he drowned himself in a murder-suicide. And then there’s the fact that von Gudden had political ties with people that would have been very happy to see him put the two heirs to the Bavarian throne in straightjackets so an ally could come to power.

The second possibility is that, whether it was the product of a political conspiracy or not, Ludwig’s free spirit was misinterpreted as a mental illness. He was moody and mysterious and a little campy. In short, he was not what many expected their ruler to be, with his heart more on the stage than on the battlefield. Like some of our previous subjects who have been criticized for being seclusive, Ludwig preferred to be by himself. It could simply be that his personality was incompatible with his position in life.

Critics also point out how much emphasis was placed on Ludwig’s sexuality. In 1886, homosexuality was considered a mental illness (and remained so until 1973!) and a massive social taboo. It’s very possible that Ludwig’s intimate relationships with other men made him a target. A gay king would have been a huge scandal for the royal family, so it is unsurprising that Ludwig’s sexuality was not mentioned in von Gudden’s report. But the question remains of whether it played into Ludwig’s diagnosis and the decision to replace him with a regent. Defenders of the idiosyncratic king believe that Ludwig simply didn’t fit in. But instead of high school mean girls excluding him from the lunch table, he was deposed and killed, and posthumously framed for the murder of von Gudden.

There are flaws with both theories. While there were almost certainly ulterior motives for getting Ludwig off the throne, the historical records also suggest that Ludwig exhibited some abnormal behavior. Luckily, while we can’t look into Ludwig’s mind, there is someone who was able to look at his brain: Dr. Rudolph Magg, the physician who conducted the autopsy back in 1886.

The official autopsy did report signs that Ludwig suffered from neurological disease. Ludwig contracted meningitis as a baby, and while he had seemed to make a full recovery, Magg found that the bout of illness had scarred Ludwig’s frontal lobes – the region of the brain responsible for executive functions like planning, self-control, and organization. This might have something to do with his fantastical architectural schemes that left him strapped for cash.

Even more alarming was Magg’s discovery that Ludwig’s brain had atrophied, or shrunken, in the frontal lobes and in the temporal lobes, a region important for memory. Surprisingly, this frontotemporal atrophy is actually consistent with a diagnosis of schizophrenia. In the Charles VI series we talked about the synaptic pruning theory of schizophrenia, in which the normal developmental process of removing excessive connections between neurons becomes overactive. This results in altered brain connectivity, but also can lead to reduced brain volume. Want to take a guess at which regions of the brain are most affected? That’s right, the frontal and temporal lobes. In fact, in a study looking at patients at risk of developing schizophrenia, certain regions of the frontal cortex were shown to shrink faster in people who went on to be diagnosed with the disease than those who did not. Atrophy in the temporal lobe has been well-reported in schizophrenic patients, and is associated with language disturbances and hallucinations, as it contains important auditory and language areas.

This is crucial evidence supporting Gudden’s diagnosis, but there’s one piece that doesn’t fit for me. Ludwig was diagnosed with schizophrenia at 40, while disease onset in males is usually in the late teens and early 20s. Interestingly, there is one other disease characterized by frontotemporal atrophy that is often confused clinically for schizophrenia: frontotemporal dementia (FTD). FTD refers to a group of disorders that result in the neurodegeneration of the frontal and temporal lobes. The average age range of symptom onset begins at 45, much closer to Ludwig’s age than schizophrenia onset. There are two clinical subtypes of FTD depending on the primary symptom, and the behavioral variant (bvFTD) can be easily confused with schizophrenia. Patients with bvFTD have a dramatic shift in personality, with reduced inhibition, impaired social skills, increased preference for sugar and carbs, and a depressed-like mood. While FTD is more likely to be misdiagnosed as schizophrenia in younger patients today, Dr. von Gudden definitely would not have been able to make a distinction between the two, as FTD was not described until nearly a decade after his death. Based on the autopsy findings, it seems likely that Ludwig was suffering from early onset dementia. And if it’s true that Ludwig was perfectly lucid at the time of his death, and the mental illness was a ploy to get him out of power, the clues his brain left behind make it clear that it was only a matter of time before he started to change.

Of course, the reliability of my diagnosis depends upon the accuracy of the autopsy. Given that Dr. Magg noted that no water was found in Ludwig’s lungs, I am inclined to believe we can trust it; if he was in on a conspiracy, he easily could have lied and we wouldn’t be debating the murder-suicide theory all these years later. But there are some WILD accusations calling the credibility of Magg’s report into question.

I have not been able to find English sources other than splashy news outlets to verify this information, but apparently, a 2018 German documentary featured a man named Willy Behl. Behl’s dad worked as a handyman on one of Ludwig’s family’s properties. In 1961, 75 years after Ludwig’s body was found in the lake, Behl’s father was allegedly asked to burn several items that belonged to Ludwig. One of those items was a coat with two large bullet holes in it.

This story seems off to me. Why would Ludwig’s murderers have kept such a damning piece of evidence for over three-quarters of a century and then suddenly ask the handyman to burn it? However, Behl’s memory ties in with infamous claims from Magg’s own daughter that when he was dying in 1921, Magg admitted that there were “terrible bullet wounds” in Ludwig’s body. The autopsy mentions no evidence of gunshot wounds. So was he telling the truth about the frontotemporal atrophy? Or is he just another shady character in the tangled web surrounding Ludwig’s final days? Was Ludwig a misunderstood free spirit who was ill-suited to public life, or was he mentally ill and a danger to his country?

The Significance

One popular theory surrounding Ludwig’s death is that his beloved cousin and best friend Elizabeth (the sister of his former fiancée, Sophie) had managed to plan for his escape and that was the reason the king insisted on taking a walk in the middle of the pouring rain. According to author Greg King, it is possible that he attempted to flee from his doctor, fighting him in the process (von Gudden has several cuts and bruises on his face), and drowned as a result of the weather, his excessive weight, and too many alcoholic beverages. Other theories are that von Gudden tried to subdue Ludwig with chloroform, accidentally killed him and then had a heart attack as a result of the shock. We also investigated the theory that Ludwig’s death was a hit to cover up the coup. It’s possible, but if that was the plan then it was a poor one. Ludwig’s removal from the throne and almost immediate untimely death made him a martyr in the eyes of many Bavarians, and it only increased his popularity.

With Ludwig II’s death, his brother Otto technically became the king. Of course, there was no way he was going to rule since he had been deemed insane long before Ludwig had. And so, Uncle Luitpold remained regent until his death in 1912 at the age of 92. When he died, his son took over the regency as Ludwig III and became king when Otto died four years later in 1916. But Ludwig III was only king for a brief moment; following the German Empire’s defeat in World War I, the monarchy was abolished, and the royal Wittelsbach family was royal no more. As we know, the next few decades in German history were fueled by a hunger for power and a darkness that Ludwig II would have abhorred. It was perhaps for the best that he didn’t live to see what came next.

Elizabeth may have said it best when she claimed, “The King was no madman, only an eccentric living in a world of dreams!” (Greg King). Whether it was schizophrenia, FTD, or just his personality, Ludwig made the decision to turn his back on his royal duties at the most critical times, preferring to live in a version of reality that brought him peace and comfort.

Ludwig II of Bavaria famously loved to paraphrase a line from the play “The Bride of Messina”, saying, “I wish to remain an eternal enigma to myself and others”. I can think of very few people who have achieved their life goal to such a high degree. For all of the information available about the Swan King, the truth of his life and of his tragic fate died with Ludwig in Lake Starnberg, leaving him the enigma that he always hoped to be.

Uneasy Lies the Crown

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