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Title: The Magnificent Montez - From Courtesan to Convert
Author: Wyndham, Horace
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "The Magnificent Montez - From Courtesan to Convert" ***

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         [Illustration: _Lola Montez, Countess of Landsfeld_

       (_From a lithograph by Prosper Guillaume Dartiguenave_)]




                     _From Courtesan to Convert_


                            HORACE WYNDHAM

             "When you met Lola Montez, her reputation
             made you automatically think of bedrooms."

                                           --ALDOUS HUXLEY.

                          HILLMAN-CURL, INC.


                               NEW YORK

       *       *       *       *       *


Sweep a drag-net across the pages of contemporary drama, and it is
unquestionable that in her heyday no name on the list stood out, in
respect of adventure and romance, with greater prominence than did
that of Lola Montez. Everything she did (or was credited with doing)
filled columns upon columns in the press of Europe and America; and,
from first to last, she was as much "news" as any Hollywood heroine of
our own time. Yet, although she made history in two hemispheres, it
has proved extremely difficult to discover and unravel the real facts
of her glamorous career. This is because round few (if any) women has
been built up such a honeycomb of fable and fantasy and imagination as
has been built up round this one.

Even where the basic points are concerned there is disagreement. Thus,
according to various chroniclers, the Sultan of Turkey, an "Indian
Rajah" (unspecified), Lord Byron, the King of the Cannibal Islands,
and a "wealthy merchant," each figure as her father, with a "beautiful
Creole," a "Scotch washerwoman," and a "Dublin actress" for her
mother; and Calcutta, Geneva, Limerick, Montrose, and Seville--and a
dozen other cities scattered about the world--for her birthplace. This
sort of thing is--to say the least of it--confusing.

But Lola Montez was something of an anachronism, and had as lofty a
disregard for convention as had the ladies thronging the Court of
Merlin. Nor, it must be admitted, was she herself any pronounced
stickler for exactitude. Thus, she lopped half a dozen years off her
age, allotted her father (whom she dubbed a "Spanish officer of
distinction") a couple of brevet steps in rank, and insisted on an
ancestry to which she was never entitled.

Still, if Lola Montez deceived the public about herself, others have
deceived the public about Lola Montez. Thus, in one of his books,
George Augustus Sala solemnly announced that she was a sister of Adah
Isaacs Menken; and a more modern writer, unable to distinguish between
Ludwig I and his grandson Ludwig II, tells us that she was "intimate
with the mad King of Bavaria." To anybody (and there still are such
people) who accepts the printed word as gospel, slips of this sort
destroy faith.

As a fount of information on the subject, the _Autobiography_
(alleged) of Lola Montez, first published in 1859, is worthless. The
bulk of it was written for her by a clerical "ghost" in America, the
Rev. Chauncey Burr, and merely serves up a tissue of picturesque and
easily disproved falsehoods. A number of these, by the way, together
with some additional embroideries, are set out at greater length in
other volumes by Ferdinand Bac (who confounds Ludwig I with Maximilian
II) and the equally unreliable Eugène de Mirecourt and Auguste Papon.
German writers, on the other hand, have, if apt to be long-winded, at
least avoided the more obvious pitfalls. Among the books and pamphlets
(many of them anonymous) of Teutonic origin, the following will repay
research: _Die Gräfin Landsfeld_ (Gustav Bernhard); _Lola Montez,
Gräfin von Landsfeld_ (Johann Deschler); _Lola Montez und andere
Novellen_ (Rudolf Ziegler); _Lola Montez und die Jesuiten_ (Dr. Paul
Erdmann); _Die spanische Tänzerin und die deutsche Freiheit_ (J.
Beneden); _Die Deutsche Revolution, 1848-1849_ (Hans Blum); _Ein
vormarzliches Tanzidyll_ (Eduard Fuchs); _Abenteur der beruhmten
Tänzerin_; _Anfang und Ende der Lola Montez in Bayern_; _Die Munchener
Vergange_; _Unter den vier ersten Königen Bayerns_ (Luise von Kobell);
and, in particular, the monumental _Histeriche_ of Heinrich von
Treitschke. But one has to milk a hundred cows to get even a pint of
Lola Montez cream.

With a view to gathering at first hand reliable and hitherto
unrecorded details, visits have recently been made by myself to
Berlin, Brussels, Dresden, Leningrad, Munich, Paris, and Warsaw, etc.,
in each of which capitals some portion of colourful drama of Lola
Montez was unfolded. In a number of directions, however, the result of
such investigations proved disappointing.

"Lola Montez--h'm--what sort of man was he?" was the response of a
prominent actor, recommended to me as a "leading authority on anything
to do with the stage"; and the secretary of a theatrical club, anxious
to be of help, wrote: "Sorry, but none of our members have any
personal reminiscences of the lady." As she had then been in her grave
for more than seventy years, it did not occur to me that even the
senior _jeune premier_ among them would have retained any very vivid
recollections of her. Still, many of them were quite old enough to
have heard something of her from their predecessors.

But valuable assistance in eliciting the real facts connected with the
career of this remarkable woman, and disentangling them from the
network of lies and fables in which they have long been enmeshed, has
come from other sources. Among those to whom a special debt must be
acknowledged are Edmund d'Auvergne (author of a carefully documented
study), _Lola Montez_ (_an Adventuress of the 'Forties_); Gertrude
Aretz (author of _The Elegant Woman_); Bernard Falk (author of _The
Naked Lady_); Arthur Hornblow (author of _A History of the Theatre in
America_); Harry Price (Hon. Sec. University of London Council for
Psychical Investigation); Philip Richardson (editor of _The Dancing
Times_); and Constance Rourke (author of _Troupers of the Gold
Coast_); and further information has been forthcoming from Mrs.
Charles Baker (Ruislip), and John Wade (Acton).

Much help in supplying me with important letters and documents and
hitherto unpublished particulars relating to the trail blazed by Lola
Montez in America has been furnished by the following: Miss Mabel R.
Gillis (State Librarian, Californian State Library, Sacramento); Mrs.
Lillian Hall (Curator, Harvard Theatre Collection); Miss Ida M. Mellen
(New York); Mrs. Helen Putnam van Sicklen (Library of the Society of
Californian Pioneers); Mrs. Annette Tyree (New York); Mr. John
Stapleton Cowley-Brown (New York); Mr. Lewis Chase (Hendersonville);
Professor Kenneth L. Daughrity (Delta State Teachers' College,
Cleveland); Mr. Frank Fenton (Stanford University, California); Mr.
Harold E. Gillingham (Librarian, Historical Society of Pennsylvania);
Mr. W. Sprague Holden (Associate-Editor, Argonaut Publishing Company,
San Francisco); and Mr. Milton Lord (Director, Public Library,

In addition to these experts, I am also indebted to Monsieur Pierre
Tugal (Conservateur, Archives de la Danse, Paris); and to the
directors and staffs of the Bibliothèque d'Arsenal, Paris, and of the
Theatrical Museum, Munich, who have generously placed their records at
my disposal.

Unlike his American and Continental colleagues, a public librarian in
England said (on a postcard) that he was "too busy to answer

H. W.

       *       *       *       *       *
























       *       *       *       *       *


LOLA MONTEZ, COUNTESS OF LANDSFELD                   _Frontispiece_
























       *       *       *       *       *





In a tearful column, headed "Necrology of the Year," a mid-Victorian
obituarist wrote thus of a woman figuring therein:

     This was one who, notwithstanding her evil ways, had a share
     in some public transactions too remarkable to allow her name
     to be omitted from the list of celebrated persons deceased
     in the year 1861.

     Born of an English or Irish family of respectable rank, at a
     very early age the unhappy girl was found to be possessed of
     the fatal gift of beauty. She appeared for a short time on
     the stage as a dancer (for which degradation her sorrowing
     relatives put on mourning, and issued undertakers' cards to
     signify that she was now dead to them) and then blazed forth
     as the most notorious Paphian in Europe.

     Were this all, these columns would not have included her
     name. But she exhibited some very remarkable qualities. The
     natural powers of her mind were considerable. She had a
     strong will, and a certain grasp of circumstances. Her
     disposition was generous, and her sympathies very large.
     These qualities raised the courtesan to a singular position.
     She became a political influence; and exercised a
     fascination over sovereigns and ministers more widely
     extended than has perhaps been possessed by any other member
     of the _demi-monde_. She ruled a kingdom; and ruled it,
     moreover, with dignity and wisdom and ability. The political
     Hypatia, however, was sacrificed to the rabble. Her power
     was gone, and she could hope no more from the flattery of
     statesmen. She became an adventuress of an inferior class.
     Her intrigues, her duels, and her horse-whippings made her
     for a time a notoriety in London, Paris, and America.

     Like other celebrated favourites who, with all her personal
     charms, but without her glimpses of a better human nature,
     have sacrificed the dignity of womanhood to a profligate
     ambition, this one upbraided herself in her last moments on
     her wasted life; and then, when all her ambition and vanity
     had turned to ashes, she understood what it was to have been
     the toy of men and the scorn of women.

Altogether a somewhat guarded suggestion of disapproval about the
subject of this particular memoir.


Three years after the thunderous echoes of Waterloo had died away, and
"Boney," behind a fringe of British bayonets, was safely interned on
the island of St. Helena, there was born in barracks at Limerick a
little girl. On the same day, in distant Bavaria, a sovereign was
celebrating his thirty-fifth birthday. Twenty-seven years later the
two were to meet; and from that meeting much history was to be

The little girl who first came on the scene at Limerick was the
daughter of one Ensign Edward Gilbert, a young officer of good Irish
family who had married a Señorita Oliverres de Montalva, "of Castle
Oliver, Madrid." At any rate, she claimed to be such, and also that
she was directly descended from Francisco Montez, a famous toreador of
Seville. There is a strong presumption, however, that here she was
drawing on her imagination; and, as for the "Castle Oliver" in Sunny
Spain, well, that country has never lacked "castles."

The Oliver family, as pointed out by E. B. d'Auvergne in his carefully
documented _Adventuresses and Adventurous Ladies_, was really of Irish
extraction, and had been settled in Limerick since the year 1645. "The
family pedigree," he says, "reveals no trace of Spanish or Moorish
blood." Further, by the beginning of the last century, the main line
had, so far as the union of its members was blessed by the Church,
expired, and no legitimate offspring were left. Gilbert's spouse,
accordingly, must, if a genuine Oliverres, have come into the world
with a considerable blot on her 'scutcheon.

Still, if there were no hidalgos perched on her family tree, Mrs.
Gilbert probably had some good blood in her veins. As a matter of
fact, there is some evidence adduced by a distant relative, Miss D. M.
Hodgson, that she was really an illegitimate daughter of an Irishman,
Charles Oliver, of Castle Oliver (now Cloghnafoy), Co. Limerick, and a
peasant girl on his estate. This is possible enough, for the period
was one when squires exercised "seigneurial rights," and when colleens
were complacent. If they were not, they had very short shrift.

Mrs. Gilbert's wedding had been a hasty one. Still, not a bit too
hasty, since the doctor and monthly nurse had to be summoned almost
before the ink was dry on the register. As a matter of fact, Mrs.
Gilbert must have gone to church in the condition of ladies who love
their lords, for this "pledge of mutual affection" was born in
Limerick barracks while the honeymoon was still in full swing, and
within a couple of months of the nuptial knot being tied. She was
christened Marie Dolores Eliza Rosanna, but was at first called by the
second of these names. This, however, being a bit of a mouthful for a
small child, she herself soon clipped it to the diminutive Lola. The
name suited her, and it stuck.

While these facts are supported by documentary evidence, they have not
been "romantic" enough to fit in with the views of certain foreign
biographers. Accordingly, they have given the child's birthplace as
in, among other cities, Madrid, Lucerne, Constantinople, and Calcutta;
and one of them has even been sufficiently daring to make her a
daughter of Lord Byron. Larousse, too, not to be behindhand, says that
she was "born in Seville, of a Spanish father"; and, alternatively,
"in Scotland, of an English father." Both accounts, however, are
emphatic that her mother was "a young Creole of astonishing
loveliness, who had married two officers, a Spaniard and an

It was to Edward Gilbert's credit that he had not joined the Army with
the King's commission in his pocket, but in a more humble capacity,
that of a private soldier. Gallant service in the field had won him
advancement; and in 1817 he was selected for an ensigncy in the 25th
Foot, thus exchanging his musket and knapsack for the sword and sash
of an officer. From the 25th Foot he was, five years later,
transferred to the 44th Foot, commanded by Colonel Morrison. In 1822,
its turn coming round for a spell of foreign service, the regiment
moved from Dublin to Chatham and embarked for India. Sailing with his
wife and child, the young officer, after a voyage that lasted the best
(or worst) part of six months, landed at Calcutta and went into
barracks at Fort William. On arrival there, "the newcomers," says an
account that has been preserved, "were entertained with lavish
hospitality and in a fashion to be compared only with the festivities
pictured in the novels of Charles Lever." But all ranks had strong
heads, and were none the worse for it.

During the ensuing summer the regiment got "the route," and was
ordered up country to Dinapore, a cantonment near Patna, on the
Ganges, that had been founded by Warren Hastings. It was an unhealthy
station, especially for youngsters fresh from England. A burning sun
by day; hot stifling nights; and no breath of wind sweeping across the
parched ghats. Within a few weeks the dreaded cholera made its
appearance; the melancholy roll of muffled drums was heard every
evening at sunset; and Ensign Gilbert was one of the first victims.

[Illustration: "John Company" troops on the march in India]

The widow, it is recorded, was "left to the care and protection of
Mrs. General Brown," the wife of the brigadier. But events were
already marching to their appointed end; and, as a result, this
charitable lady was soon relieved of her charge.

Left a young widow (not yet twenty-five) with a child of five to bring
up, and very little money on which to do it (for her husband had only
drawn 108 rupees a month), the position in which Mrs. Gilbert found
herself was a difficult one. "You can," wrote Lola, years afterwards,
"have but a faint conception of the responsibility." Warm hearts,
however, were at hand to befriend her. The warmest among them was that
of a brother officer of her late husband, Lieutenant Patrick Craigie,
of the 38th Native Infantry, then quartered at Dacca. A bachelor and
possessed of considerable private means, he invited her to share his
bungalow. The invitation was accepted. As a result, there was a
certain amount of gossip. This, however, was promptly silenced by a
second invitation, also accepted, to share his name; and, in August,
1824, Mrs. Gilbert, renouncing her mourning and her widowhood,
blossomed afresh as Mrs. Craigie. It is said that the ceremony was
performed by Bishop Heber, Metropolitan of Calcutta, who happened to
be visiting Dacca at the time. Very soon afterwards the benedict
received a staff appointment as deputy-adjutant-general at Simla,
combined with that of deputy-postmaster at Headquarters. This sent him
a step up the ladder to the rank of captain and brought a welcome
addition to his pay. In the opinion of the station "gup," some of it
not too charitable, the widow "had done well for herself."

Captain Craigie, who appears to have been a somewhat Dobbin-like
individual, proved an affectionate husband and step-father. The
little girl's prettiness and precocity appealed to him strongly. He
could not do enough for her; and he spoiled her by refusing to check
her wayward disposition and encouraging her mischievous pranks. It was
not a good upbringing; and, as dress and "society" filled the thoughts
of her mother, the "Miss Baba" was left very much to the care of the
swarms of native servants attached to the bungalow. She was petted by
all with whom she came into contact, from the gilded staff of
Government House down to the humblest sepoy and bearer. Lord Hastings,
the Commander-in-Chief--a rigid disciplinarian who had reintroduced
the "cat" when Lord Minto, his predecessor in office, had abolished
it--smiled affably on her. She sat on the laps of be-medalled
generals, veterans of Assaye and Bhurtpore, and pulled their whiskers
unchecked; and she ran wild in the compounds of the civilian big-wigs
and mercantile nabobs who, as was the custom in the days of "John
Company," had shaken the pagoda tree to their own considerable profit.
After all, as they said, when any protest filtered through to
Leadenhall Street, what were the natives for, except to be exploited;
and busybodies who took them to task were talking nonsense. Worse,
they were "disloyal."

As, however, there were adequate reasons why children could not stop
in the country indefinitely, Lola's step-father, after much anxious
consideration, decided that, since she was running wild and getting
into mischief, the best thing to do with her would be to have her
brought up by his relatives in Scotland. A suitable escort having been
found and a passage engaged, in the autumn of 1826 she was sent to
Montrose, where his own father, a "venerable man occupying the
position of provost, and sisters were living."

From India to Scotland was a considerable change. Not a change for the
better, in the opinion of the new arrival there. The Montrose
household, ruled by Captain Craigie's elderly sisters, was a dour and
strict one, informed by an atmosphere of bleak and chill Calvinism.
All enjoyment was frowned upon; pleasure was "worldly" and had to be
severely suppressed. No more petting and spoiling for the little girl.
Instead, a regime of porridge and prayers and unending lessons. As a
result the child was so wretched that, convinced her mother would
prove unsympathetic, she wrote to her step-father, begging to be sent
back to him. This, of course, was impossible. Still, when the letter,
blotted with tears, reached him in Calcutta, Captain Craigie's heart
was touched. If she was unhappy among his kinsfolk at Montrose, he
would send her somewhere else. But where? That was the question.

As luck would have it, by the same mail a second letter, offering a
solution of the problem, arrived from an Anglo-Indian friend. This was
Sir Jasper Nicolls, K.C.B., a veteran of Assaye and Bhurtpore, who had
settled down in England and wanted a young girl as companion for, and
to be brought up with, his own motherless daughter. The two got into
correspondence; and, the necessary arrangements having been completed,
little Lola Gilbert, beside herself with delight, was in the summer of
1830 packed off to Sir Jasper's house at Bath.

"Are you sorry to leave us?" enquired the eldest Miss Craigie.

"Not a bit," was the candid response.

"Mark my words, Miss, you'll come to a bad ending," predicted the
other sourly.


But if Bath was to be a "bad ending," it was certainly to be a good
beginning. There, instead of bleakness and constant reproof, Lola
found herself wrapped in an atmosphere of warmth and friendliness. Sir
Jasper was kindness itself; and his daughter Fanny made the newcomer
welcome. The two girls took to one another from the first, sharing
each other's pleasures as they shared each other's studies. Thus, they
blushed and gushed when required; sewed samplers and copied texts;
learned a little French and drawing; grappled with Miss Mangnall's
_Questions for the Use of Young People_; practised duets and ballads;
touched the strings of the harp; wept over the poems of "L.E.L."; read
Byron surreptitiously, and the newly published _Sketches by Boz_
openly; admired the "Books of Beauty" and sumptuously bound "Keepsake
Annuals," edited by the Countess of Blessington and the Hon. Mrs.
Norton; laughed demurely at the antics of that elderly figure-of-fun,
"Romeo" Coates, when he took the air in the Quadrant; wondered why
that distinguished veteran, Sir Charles Napier, made a point of
cutting Sir Jasper Nicolls; curtsied to the little Princess Victoria,
then staying at the York Hotel, and turned discreetly aside when the
Duchess de Berri happened to pass; and (since they were not entirely
cloistered) attended, under the watchful eye of a governess, "select"
concerts in the Assembly Rooms (with Catalini and Garsia in the
programmes) and an occasional play at the Theatre Royal, where from
time to time they had a glimpse of Fanny Kemble and Kean and Macready;
and, in short, followed the approved curriculum of young ladies of
their position in the far off-days when William IV was King.

Although Sir Jasper had a hearty and John Bullish contempt for
foreigners--and especially for the "Froggies" he had helped to drub at
Waterloo--he felt that they, none the less, had their points; and that
they were born on the wrong side of the Channel was their misfortune,
rather than their fault. Accordingly, there was an interval in Paris,
where the two girls were sent to learn French. There, in addition to a
knowledge of the language, Lola acquired a technique that was
afterwards to prove valuable amid other and very different
surroundings. If de Mirecourt (a far from reliable authority) is to be
believed, she was also, during this period, presented to King Charles
X by the British Ambassador. On the evidence of dates, however, this
could not have been the case, for Charles had relinquished his sceptre
and fled to England long before Lola arrived in the country.

After an interval, Sir Jasper felt that he ought to slip across to
Paris himself, if only to make sure that his daughter and ward were
"not getting into mischief, or having their heads filled with ideas."
No sooner said than done and, posting to Dover, he took the packet.
Having relieved his mind as to the welfare of the two girls, he turned
his attention to other matters. As he had anticipated, a number of his
old comrades who had settled in Paris gave him a warm welcome and
readily undertook to "show him round." He enjoyed the experience. Life
was pleasant there, and the theatres and cafés were attractive and a
change from the austerities of Bath. The ladies, too, whom he
encountered when he smoked his cheroot in the Palais Royal gardens,
smiled affably on the "English Milord." Some of them, with very little
encouragement, did more. "No nonsense about waiting for

But, despite its amenities, Paris in the early 'thirties was not
altogether a suitable resort for British visitors. The political
atmosphere was distinctly ruffled. Revolution was in the air. Sir
Jasper sniffed the coming changes; and was tactician enough to avoid
being engulfed in the threatened maelstrom by slipping back to England
with his young charges in the nick of time. Others of his compatriots,
not so fortunate or so discreet, found themselves clapped into French

Returning to the tranquillity of Bath, things resumed their normal
course. Sir Jasper nursed his gout (changing his opinion of French
cooking, to which he attributed a fresh attack) and the girls picked
up the threads they had temporarily dropped.

Always responsive to her environment, Lola expanded quickly in the
sympathetic atmosphere of the Nicolls household. Before long,
Montrose, with its "blue Scotch Calvinism," was but a memory. Instead
of being snubbed and scolded, she was petted and encouraged. As a
result, she grew cheerful and vivacious, full of high spirits and
laughter. Perhaps because of her mother's Spanish blood, she matured
early. At sixteen she was a woman. A remarkably attractive one, too,
giving--with her raven tresses, long-lashed violet eyes, and graceful
figure--promise of the ripe beauty for which she was afterwards to be
distinguished throughout two hemispheres. Of a romantic disposition,
she, naturally enough, had her _affaires_. Several of them, as it
happened. One of them was with an usher, who had slipped amorous
missives into her prayer-book. Greatly daring, he followed this up by
bearding Sir Jasper in his den and asking permission to "pay his
addresses" to his ward. The warrior's response was unconciliatory.
Still, he could not be angry when, on being challenged, the girl
laughed at him.

"Egad!" he declared. "But, before long, Miss, you'll be setting all
the men by the ears."

Prophetic words.


During the interval that elapsed since they last met, Mrs. Craigie had
troubled herself very little about the child she had sent to England.
When, however, she received her portrait from Sir Jasper, together
with a glowing description of her attractiveness and charm, the
situation assumed a fresh aspect. Lola, she felt, had become an asset,
instead of an anxiety; and, as such, must make a "good" marriage. Bath
swarmed with detrimentals, and there was a risk of a pretty girl,
bereft of a mother's watchful care, being snapped up by one of them.
Possibly, a younger son, without a penny with which to bless himself.
A shuddering prospect for an ambitious mother. Obviously, therefore,
the thing to do was to get her daughter out to India and marry her off
to a rich husband. The richer, the better.

Mrs. Craigie went to work in business-like fashion, and cast a
maternal eye over the "eligibles" she met at Government House. The one
among them she ultimately selected as a really desirable son-in-law
was a Calcutta judge, Sir Abraham Lumley. It was true he was more than
old enough to be the girl's father, and was distinctly liverish. But
this, she felt, was beside the point, since he had accumulated a vast
number of rupees, and would, before long, retire on a snug pension.

Sir Abraham was accordingly sounded. Hardened bachelor as he was, a
single glance at Lola's portrait was enough to send his blood-pressure
up to fever heat. In positive rapture at the idea of such fresh young
loveliness becoming his, he declared himself ready to change his
condition, and discussed handsome settlements.

With everything thus cut and dried, as she considered, Mrs. Craigie
took the next step in her programme. This was to leave India for
England, during the autumn of 1836, and tell Lola of the "good news"
in store for her. She was then to bring her back to Calcutta and the
expectant arms of Sir Abraham.

Honest Captain Craigie looked a little dubious when he was consulted.

"Perhaps she won't care about him," he suggested.

"Fiddlesticks!" retorted his wife. "Any girl would jump at the chance
of being Lady Lumley. Think of the position."

"I'm thinking of Lola," he said.




Among the passengers accompanying Mrs. Craigie on the long voyage to
Southampton was a Lieutenant Thomas James, a debonair young officer of
the Bengal Infantry, who made himself very agreeable to her and with
whom he exchanged many confidences. He was going home on a year's sick
leave; and at the suggestion of his ship-board acquaintance he decided
to spend the first month of it in Bath.

"It's time I settled down," he said. "Who knows, but I might pick up a
wife in Bath and take her back to India with me."

"Who knows," agreed Mrs. Craigie, her match-making instincts aroused.
"Bath is full of pretty girls."

The meeting between mother and daughter developed very differently
from the lines on which she had planned it. Contrary to what she had
expected, Lola did not evince any marked readiness to fall in with
them. Quite undazzled by the prospects of becoming Lady Lumley, and
reclining on Sir Abraham's elderly bosom, she even went so far as to
dub the learned judge a "gouty old rascal," and declared that nothing
would induce her to marry him. Neither reproaches nor arguments had
any effect. Nor would she exhibit the smallest interest in the
trousseau for which (but without her knowledge) lavish orders had been

Poor Mrs. Craigie could scarcely believe her ears. For a daughter to
run counter to the wishes of her mother, and to snap her fingers at
the chance of marrying a "title," was something she had considered
impossible. What on earth were girls coming to, she wondered. Either
the Paris "finishing school" or the Bath air had gone to her head. The
times were out of joint, and the theory that daughters did what they
were told was being rudely upset. It was all very disturbing.

In her astonishment and annoyance, Mrs. Craigie took to her bed.
However, she did not stop there long, for prompt measures had to be
adopted. As it was useless to tackle Sir Jasper Nicolls (whom she held
responsible for the upset to her plans) she sought counsel of somebody
else. This was her military friend, who, as luck would have it, was
still lingering in Bath, where he had evidently discovered some
special attraction. After all, he was a "man of the world" and would
know what to do. Accordingly, she summoned him to a consultation, and
unburdened her mind on the subject of Lola's "oddness."

"Of course, the girl's mad," she declared. "Nothing else would account
for it. Can you imagine any girl in her senses turning up her nose at
such a match? I never heard such rubbish. I'm sure I don't know what
Sir Abraham will say. He expects her to join him in Calcutta by the
end of the year. As a matter of fact, I've already booked her passage.
The wedding is to be from our house there. Something will have to be
done. The question is, what?"

"Leave it to me," was the airy response. "I'll talk to her."

Thomas James did "talk." He talked to some effect, but not at all in
the fashion Mrs. Craigie had intended. Expressing sympathy with Lola,
he declared himself entirely on her side. She was much too young and
pretty and attractive, he said, to dream for an instant of marrying a
man who was old enough to be her grandfather, and bury herself in
India. The idea was ridiculous. He had a much better plan to offer.
When Lola, smiling through her tears, asked him what it was, he said
that she must run away with him and they would get married. Thus the
problem of her future would be solved automatically.

The luxuriant whiskers and dashing air of Lieutenant Thomas James did
their work. Further, the suggestion was just the sort of thing that
happened to heroines in novels. Lola Gilbert, young and romantic and
inexperienced, succumbed. Watching her opportunity, she slipped out of
the house early the next morning. Her lover had a post-chaise in
readiness, and they set off in it for Bristol. There they took the
packet and crossed over to Ireland, where James had relatives, who, he
promised, would look after her until their marriage should be

"Elopement in High Life!" A tit-bit of gossip for the tea-tables and
for the bucks at the clubs. No longer a sleepy hollow. Bath was in the

It was not until they were gone that Mrs. Craigie discovered what had
happened. Her first reaction was one of furious indignation. This,
however, was natural, for not only had her ambitious project gone
astray, but she had been deceived by the very man she had trusted. It
was more than enough to upset anybody, especially as she was also
confronted with the unpleasant task of writing to Sir Abraham Lumley,
and telling him what had happened. As a result, she announced that she
would "wash her hands" of the pair of them.

While it was one thing to run away, it was, as Lola soon discovered,
another thing to get married. An unexpected difficulty presented
itself, as the parish priest whom they consulted refused to perform
the ceremony for so young a girl without being first assured of her
mother's consent. Mrs. Craigie, erupting tears and threats, declined
to give it. Thereupon, James's married sister, Mrs. Watson, sprang
into the breach and pointed out that "things have gone so far that it
is now too late to draw back, if scandal is to be avoided." The
argument was effective; and, a reluctant consent having been secured,
on July 23, 1837, the "position was regularised" by the
bridegroom's brother, the Rev. John James, vicar of Rathbiggon, County
Meath. "Thomas James, bachelor, Lieutenant, 21st Bengal Native
Infantry, and Rose Anna Gilbert, condition, spinster," was the entry
on the certificate.

[Illustration: _Her Majesty's Theatre, Haymarket, where Lola Montez
made her début_]

After a short honeymoon in Dublin, first at the Shamrock Hotel, and
then in rather squalid lodgings (for cash was not plentiful), Lola was
taken back to her husband's relatives. They lived in a dull Irish
village on the edge of a peat bog, where the young bride found
existence very boring. Then, too, when the glamour of the elopement
had dimmed, it was obvious that her action in running away from Bath
had been precipitate. Thomas, for all his luxuriant whiskers and dash,
was, she reflected sadly, "nothing but the outside shell of a man,
with neither a brain that she could respect nor a heart she could
love." A sorry awakening from the dreams in which she had indulged. As
a matter of fact, they had nothing in common. The husband, who was
sixteen years his wife's senior, cared for little but hunting and
drinking, and Lola's tastes were mainly for dancing and flirting.

It was in Dublin, where, much to her satisfaction, her spouse was
ordered on temporary duty, that she discovered a ready outlet for
these activities.

"Dear dirty Dublin" was, to Lola's way of thinking, a vast improvement
on Rathbiggon. At any rate, there was "society," smart young officers
and rising politicians, instead of clodhopping squireens and village
boors, to talk to, and shops where the new fashions could be examined,
and theatres with real London actors and actresses. If only she had
had a little money to spend, she would have been perfectly happy. But
Tom James had nothing beyond his pay, which scarcely kept him in
cheroots and car fares. Still, this did not prevent him running up

The Lord Lieutenant of Ireland at that period was the Earl of Mulgrave
("the Elegant Mulgrave"), afterwards Marquess of Normanby. A great
admirer of pretty women, and fond of exercising the Viceregal
privilege of kissing attractive débutantes, the drawing-rooms at the
Castle were popular functions under his regime. He showed young Mrs.
James much attention. The aides-de-camp, prominent among whom were
Bernal Osborne and Francis Sheridan, followed the example thus set
them by their chief; and tickets for balls and concerts and
dinner-parties and drums and routs were showered upon her.

Thinking that these compliments and attentions were being overdone,
Lieutenant James took them amiss and elected to become jealous. He
talked darkly of "calling out" one of his wife's admirers. But before
there could be any early morning pistol-play in the Phoenix Park, an
unexpected solution offered itself. Trouble was suddenly threatened on
the Afghan frontier; and, in the summer of 1837, all officers on leave
from India were ordered to rejoin their regiments. Welcoming the
prospect of thus renewing her acquaintance with a country of which she
still had pleasant memories, Lola set to work to pack her trunks.

If she had followed the advice of a certain "travellers' handbook,"
written by Miss Emma Roberts, that was then very popular, she must
have had a considerable amount of baggage. Thus, according to this
authority, the "List of Necessaries for a Lady on a Voyage from
England to India" included, among other items, the following articles:
"72 chemises; 36 nightcaps; 70 pocket-handkerchiefs; 30 pairs of
drawers (or combinations, at choice); 15 petticoats; 60 pairs of
stockings; 45 pairs of gloves; at least 20 dresses of different
texture; 12 shawls and parasols; and 3 bonnets and 15 morning caps,
together with biscuits and preserves at discretion, and a dozen boxes
of aperient pills." Nothing omitted. Provision for all contingencies.

Officers were also required to provide themselves with an elaborate
outfit. Thus, the list recommended in the _East India Voyage_ gives,
among other necessary items, "72 calico shirts; 60 pairs of stockings;
18 pairs of drawers; 24 pairs of gloves; and 20 pairs of trousers";
together with uniform, saddlery, and camp equipment; and such odds
and ends as "60 lbs. of wax candles and several bottles of ink."
Nothing, however, about red-tape.

A helpful hint furnished by Miss Roberts was that "A lady on
ship-board, spruced up for the Park or the Opera, would only be an
object of ridicule to her experienced companions. Frippery which would
be discarded in England is often useful in India. Members of my sex,"
she adds, "who have to study economy, can always secure bargains by
acquiring at small cost items of fashion which, while outmoded in
London, will be new enough by the time they reach Calcutta."

A lady with such sound views on managing the domestic budget as Miss
Emma Roberts should not have remained long in single blessedness.


Those were not the days of ocean greyhounds, covering the distance
between England and India in a couple of weeks. Nor was there then any
Suez Canal route to shorten the long miles that had to be traversed.
Thus, when Lola and her spouse embarked from England in an East
Indiaman, the voyage took nearly five months to accomplish, with calls
at Madeira, St. Helena, and the Cape, before the welcome cry, "Land
Ahead!" was heard and anchor was dropped at Calcutta.

Lola's first acquaintance with India's coral strand had been made as a
child of five. Now she was returning as a married woman. Yet she was
scarcely eighteen. She did not stop in Calcutta long, for her
husband's regiment was in the Punjaub, and a peremptory message from
the brigadier required him to rejoin as soon as possible. It was at
Kurnaul (as it was then spelled) that Lola began her experience of
garrison life. Among the other officers she met there was a young
subaltern of the Bengal Artillery, who, in the years to come, was to
make a name for himself as "Lawrence of Lucknow."

The year 1838 was, for both the Company's troops and the Queen's Army,
an eventful one where India was concerned. During the spring Lord
Auckland, the newly-appointed Governor-General, hatched the foolish
and ill-conceived policy which led to the first Afghan war. His idea
(so far as he had one) was, with the help of Brown Bess and British
bayonets, to replace Dost Muhammed, who had sat on the throne there
for twenty years without giving any real trouble, by an incompetent
upstart of his own nomination, Shah Shuja.

Lieutenant James's regiment, the 21st Bengal Native Infantry, was
among those selected to join the expeditionary force appointed to
"uphold the prestige of the British Raj"; and, as was the custom at
that time, Lola, mounted on an elephant (which she shared with the
colonel's better half), and followed by a train of baggage camels and
a pack of foxhounds complete, accompanied her husband to the frontier.
The other ladies included Mrs. McNaghten and Mrs. Robert Sale and the
Governor-General's two daughters. It is just possible that Macaulay
had a glimpse of Lola, for a contemporary letter says that "he turned
out to wish the party farewell."

The "Army of the Indus" was given a good send off by a loyal native
prince, Ranjeet Singh (the "Lion of the Punjaub"), who, on their march
up country, entertained the column in a rest-camp at Lahore with "showy
pageants and gay doings," among which were nautch dances, cock-fights,
and theatricals. He meant well, no doubt, but he contrived to upset a
chaplain, who declared himself shocked that a "bevy of dancing
prostitutes should appear in the presence of the ladies of the family of
a British Governor-General." Judging from a luscious account that Lola
gives of a big durbar, to which all the officers and their wives were
bidden, these strictures were not unjustifiable. Thus, after Lord
Auckland ("in sky blue inexpressibles") and his host had delivered
patriotic speeches (with florid allusions to the "British Raj," the
"Sahib Log," and the "Great White Queen," and all the rest of it) gifts
were distributed among the assembled company. Some of these were of an
embarrassing description, since they took the form of "beautiful
Circassian slave maidens, covered with very little beyond precious
gems." To the obvious annoyance, however, of a number of prospective
recipients, "the Rajah was officially informed that English custom and
military regulations alike did not permit Her Majesty's warriors to
accept such tokens of goodwill."

But, if they could not receive them, the guests had to make presents
in turn, and Ranjeet Singh for his part had no qualms about accepting
them. With true Oriental politeness, and "without moving a muscle," he
registered rapture at a "miscellaneous collection of imitation gold
and silver trinkets and rusty old pistols offered him on behalf of the
Honourable East India Company."

A correspondent of the _Calcutta Englishman_ was much impressed. "The
particular gift," he says, "before which the Maharajah bent with the
devotion of a _preux chevalier_ was a full-length portrait of our
gracious little Queen, from the brush of the Hon. Miss Eden herself."

In a letter from Lord Auckland's military secretary, the Hon. William
Osborne, there is an account of these doings at Lahore:

     Ranjeet has entertained us all most handsomely. No one in
     the camp is allowed to purchase a single thing; and a list
     is sent round twice a week in which you put down just what
     you require, and it is furnished at his expense. It costs
     him 25,000 rupees a day. Nothing could exceed his liberality
     and friendship during the whole of the Governor-General's

A second durbar, held at Simla, was accompanied by much florid
imagery, all of which had to be interpreted for the benefit of Lord
Auckland. "It took a quarter of an hour," says his sister, "to satisfy
him about the Maharajah's health, and to ascertain that the roses had
bloomed in the garden of friendship, and the nightingales had sung in
the bowers of affection sweeter than ever since the two Powers had
approached each other."

The Afghan campaign, as ill conceived as it was ill carried out,
followed its appointed course. That is to say, it was punctuated by
"regrettable incidents" and quarrels among the generals (two of whom,
Sir Henry Fane and Sir John Keane, were not on speaking terms); and,
with the Afghans living to fight another day, a "success for British
arms" was announced. Thereupon, the column returned to India, bands
playing, elephants trumpeting a salute, and guns thundering a welcome.
"The war," declared His Excellency (who had received an earldom) in an
official despatch, "is all over." Unfortunately, however, it was all
over Afghanistan, with the result that there had to be another
campaign in the following year. This time, not even Lord Auckland's
imagination could call it "successful."

"There will be a great deal of prize money," was the complacent
fashion in which Miss Eden summed up the situation. "Another man has
been put on the Khelat throne, so that business is finished." But it
was not finished. It was only just beginning. "Within six months,"
says Edward Thompson, "Khelat was recaptured by a son of the slain
Khan, Lord Auckland's puppet ejected, and the English commander of the
garrison murdered."

Although the expedition that followed was the subject of a highly
eulogistic despatch from the Commander-in-Chief and the big-wigs at
headquarters, a number of "regrettable incidents" were officially
admitted. As a result, a regiment of Light Cavalry was disbanded, "as
a punishment for poltroonery in the hour of trial and the dastards
struck off the Army List."

Later on, when Lord Ellenborough was Governor-General, a bombastic
memorandum, addressed "To all the Princes and Chiefs and People of
India," was issued by him:

"Our victorious army bears the gates of the Temple of Somnauth in
triumph from Afghanistan, and the despoiled tomb of Sultan Mahmood
looks down upon the ruins of Ghuznee. The insult of 800 years is at
last avenged!

"To you I shall commit this glorious trophy of successful war. You
will yourselves with all honour transmit the gates of sandalwood to
the restored Temple of Somnauth.

"May that good Providence, which has hitherto so manifestly protected
me, still extend to me its favour, that I may so use the power
entrusted to my hands to advance your prosperity and happiness by
placing the union of our two countries upon foundations that may
render it eternal."

There was a good deal more in a similar style, for his lordship loved
composing florid despatches. But this one had a bad reception when it
was sent home to England. "At this puerile piece of business," says
the plain spoken Stocqueler, "the commonsense of the British community
at large revolted. The ministers of religion protested against it as a
most unpardonable homage to an idolatrous temple. Ridiculed by the
Press of India and England, and laughed at by the members of his own
party in Parliament, Lord Ellenborough halted the gates at Agra, and
postponed the completion of the monstrous folly he had more than begun
to perpetrate."

Severe as was this criticism, it was not unmerited. Ellenborough's
theatrical bombast, like that of Napoleon at the Pyramids, recoiled
upon him, bringing a hornets' nest about his own ears and leading to
his recall. As a matter of fact, too, the gates which he held in such
reverence were found to be replicas of the pair that the Sultan
Mahmood had pilfered from Somnauth; and were not of sandalwood at all,
but of common deal.


While following the drum from camp to camp and from station to
station, Lola spent several months in Bareilly, a town that was
afterwards to play an important part in the Mutiny. Colonel Durand, an
officer who was present when the city was captured in 1858, says that
the bungalow she occupied there was destroyed. Yet, the mutineers, he
noticed, had spared the bath house that had been built for her in the

During the hot weather of 1839, young Mrs. James, accompanied by her
husband, went off to Simla for a month on a visit to her mother, who,
yielding to pressure, had at last held out the olive-branch. The
welcome, however--except from Captain Craigie, who still had a warm
corner in his heart for her--was somewhat frigid.

There is a reference to this visit in _Up the Country_, a once popular
book by Lord Auckland's sister, the Hon. Emily Eden. Following the coy
fashion of the period, however, she always refrained from giving a
name in full, but would merely allude to people as "Colonel A," "Mr.
B," "Mrs. C," and "Miss D," etc. Still, the identities of "Mrs. J" and
"Mrs. C" in this extract are clear enough:

     _September 8, 1839._

     Simla is much moved just now by the arrival of a Mrs. J, who
     has been talked of as a great beauty all the year, and that
     drives every other woman quite distracted.... Mrs. J is the
     daughter of a Mrs. C, who is still very handsome herself,
     and whose husband is deputy-adjutant-general, or some
     military authority of that kind. She sent this only child to
     be educated at home, and went home herself two years ago to
     see her. In the same ship was Mr. J, a poor ensign, going
     home on sick leave. He told her he was engaged to be
     married, consulted her about his prospects, and in the
     meantime privately married this child at school. It was
     enough to provoke any mother; but, as it now cannot be
     helped, we have all been trying to persuade her for the last
     year to make it up. She has withstood it till now, but at
     last has consented to ask them for a month, and they arrived
     three days ago.

     The rush on the road was remarkable. But nothing could be
     more satisfactory than the result, for Mrs. J looked
     lovely, and Mrs. C has set up for her a very grand jonpaun,
     with bearers in fine orange and brown liveries; and J is a
     sort of smart-looking man with bright waistcoats and bright
     teeth, with a showy horse, and he rode along in an attitude
     of respectful attention to _ma belle mère_. Altogether, it
     was an imposing sight, and I cannot see any way out of it
     but magnanimous admiration.

During this visit to Simla the couple were duly bidden to dine at
Auckland House, on Elysium Hill, where they met His Excellency.

"We had a dinner yesterday," wrote their hostess. "Mrs. J is
undoubtedly very pretty, and such a merry unaffected girl. She is only
seventeen now, and does not look so old; and when one thinks that she
is married to a junior lieutenant in the Indian Army, fifteen years
older than herself, and that they have 160 rupees a month, and are to
pass their whole lives in India, I do not wonder at Mrs. C's
resentment at her having run away from school."

Writing to Lady Teresa Lister in England, Miss Eden gives an
entertaining account of Simla at this date:

     Everybody has been pleased and amused, except the two
     clergymen who are here, and who have begun a course of
     sermons against what they call a destructive torrent of
     worldly gaiety. They had much better preach against the
     destructive torrent of rain which has now set in for the
     next three months, and not only washes away all gaiety, but
     all the paths, in the literal sense, which lead to it.... I
     do not count Simla as any grievance--nice climate, beautiful
     place, constant fresh air, plenty of fleas, not much
     society, everything that is desirable.

In another letter, this indefatigable correspondent remarks:

     Here, society is not much trouble, nor much anything else.
     We give sundry dinners and occasional balls, and have hit
     upon one popular device. Our band plays twice a week on one
     of the hills here, and we send ices and refreshments to the
     listeners, and it makes a nice little reunion with very
     little trouble.

       *       *       *       *       *

A further reference to the amenities of Government House at Simla
during the Aucklands' regime is instructive, as showing that it was
not a case of all work and no play:

There are about ninety-six ladies here whose husbands are gone to the
wars, and about twenty-six gentlemen--at least, there will, with good
luck, be about that number. We have a very dancing set of
aides-de-camp just now, and they are utterly desperate at the notion
of our having no balls. I suppose we must begin on one in a fortnight;
but it will be difficult, and there are several young ladies here with
whom some of our gentlemen are much smitten. As they will have no
rivals here, I am horribly afraid the flirtations may become serious,
and then we shall lose some active aides-de-camp, and they will find
themselves on ensign's pay with a wife to keep. However, they _will_
have these balls, so it is not my fault.

       *       *       *       *       *

After she had left Simla and its round of gaieties, Lola was to have
another meeting with the hospitable Aucklands. This took place in camp
at Kurnaul, "a great ugly cantonment, all barracks and dust and guns
and soldiers." Miss Eden, who was accompanying her brother on a tour
through the district, wrote to her sister in England:

_November 13, 1839._

     We were at home in the evening, and it was an immense party;
     but, except that pretty Mrs. J, who was at Simla, and who
     looked like a star among the others, the women were all

[Illustration: _Benjamin Lumley. Lessee of Her Majesty's Theatre_]

A couple of days later, she added some further particulars:

     We left Kurnaul yesterday morning. Little Mrs. J was so
     unhappy at our going that we asked her to come and pass
     the day here, and brought her with us. She went from tent to
     tent and chattered all day and visited her friend, Mrs. M,
     who is with the camp. I gave her a pink silk gown, and it
     was altogether a very happy day for her evidently. It ended
     in her going back to Kurnaul on my elephant, with E.N. by
     her side, and Mr. J sitting behind. She had never been on an
     elephant before, and thought it delightful.

     She is very pretty, and a good little thing apparently. But
     they are very poor, and she is very young and lively, and if
     she falls into bad hands, she would laugh herself into
     foolish scrapes. At present the husband and wife are very
     fond of each other, but a girl who marries at fifteen hardly
     knows what she likes.

When she wrote this passage, Miss Eden might have been a Sibyl, for
her words were to become abundantly true.


Except when on active service, officers of the Company's Army were not
overworked. Everything was left to the sergeants and corporals; and,
while Thomas Atkins and Jack Sepoy trudged in the dust and sweated and
drilled in their absurd stocks and tight tunics, the commissioned
ranks, lolling in barracks, killed the long hours as they pleased.

Following form, Captain James (the Afghan business had brought him a
step in rank) did a certain amount of tiger-shooting and pig-sticking,
and a good deal of brandy-swilling, combined with card-playing and
gambling. As a husband, he was not a conspicuous success. "He slept,"
complained Lola, feeling herself neglected, "like a boa-constrictor,"
and, during the intervals of wakefulness, "drank too much porter." The
result was, there were quarrels, instead of love-making, for they both
had tempers.

"Runaway matches, like runaway horses," Lola had once written, "are
almost sure to end in a smash-up." In this case there was a
"smash-up," for Tom James was not always sleeping and drinking. He had
other activities. If fond of a glass, he was also fond of a lass. The
one among them for whom he evinced a special fondness was a Mrs.
Lomer, the wife of a brother officer, the adjutant of his regiment.
His partiality was reciprocated.

One morning when, without any suspicion of what was in store for them,
Mrs. James and Adjutant Lomer sat down to their _chota-hazree_, two
members of the accustomed breakfast party were missing. Enquiries
having been set on foot, the fact was elicited that Captain James and
Mrs. Lomer had gone out for an early ride. It must have been a long
one, thought the camp, as they did not appear at dinner that evening.
Messengers sent to look for them came back with a disturbing report.
This was to the effect that the couple had slipped off to the Nilgiri
Hills and had decided to stop there.

The next morning a panting native brought a letter from the errant
lady addressed to her furious spouse. This missive is (without
explaining how he got it) reproduced by an American journalist, T.
Everett Harré, in a series of articles, _The Heavenly Sinner_: "I
suggest," runs an extract, "you come to your senses and give me my
freedom ... I am going with a man of parts who knows how to give a
woman the attentions she craves, and is himself glad to shake off a
young chit of a wife who is too brainless to appreciate him."

A first-class sensation. The entire cantonment throbbed and buzzed
with excitement. The colonel fumed; the adjutant cursed; and there was
talk of bringing the Don Juan Captain James to a court-martial for
"conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman." But Lola, as was her
custom, took it philosophically, doubtless reflecting that she was
well rid of a spouse for whom she no longer cared, and went back to
her mother in Calcutta.

Mrs. Craigie's maternal heart-strings should have been wrung by the
unhappy position of her daughter. They were not wrung. The clandestine
marriage, with the upsetting of her own plans, still rankled and
remained unforgiven and unforgotten. As a result, when she asked for
shelter and sympathy, Lola received a very frigid welcome. Her
step-father, however, took her part, and declared that his bungalow
was open to her until other arrangements could be made for her future.
Not being possessed of much imagination, his idea was that she should
leave India temporarily and stop for a few months in Scotland with his
brother, Mr. David Craigie, a man of substance and Provost of Perth.
After an interval for reflection there, he felt that the differences
of opinion that had arisen between her husband and herself would
become adjusted, and the young couple resume marital relations.
Accordingly, he wrote to his brother, asking him to meet her when she
arrived in London and escort her to Perth.

Lola, however, while professing complete agreement, had other views as
to her future. She wanted neither a reconciliation with her husband
nor a second experience of life with the Craigie family in Scotland.
One such had been more than sufficient, but she was careful not to
breathe a word on the subject. She kept her own counsel, and matured
her own plans.




Sailing from Calcutta for London in an East Indiaman, at the end of
1840, Lola was consigned by her step-father to the "special care" of a
Mrs. Sturgis who was among the passengers. He obviously felt the
parting. "Big salt tears," says Lola, "coursed down his cheeks," when
he wished her a last farewell. He also gave her his blessing; and,
what was more negotiable, a cheque for £1000. The two never met again.

But although she had left India's coral strand, a memory of her
lingered there for many years. In this connection, Sir Walter Lawrence
says that he once found himself in a cantonment that had been deserted
so long that it was swallowed up by the ever advancing jungle. "A
wizened villager," he says, "recalled a high-spirited and beautiful
girl, the young wife of an officer, who would creep up and push him
into the water. 'Ah,' he said, with a smile of affection, 'she was a
_badmash_, but she was always very kind to me.' She was better known
afterwards as Lola Montez."

At Madras a number of fresh comers joined the good ship _Larkins_ in
which Lola was proceeding to England. Among them was a certain Captain
Lennox, aide-de-camp to Lord Elphinstone, the Governor. An agreeable
young man, and very different from the missionaries and civil servants
who formed the bulk of the other male passengers. Lola and himself
were soon on good terms. "Too good," was the acid comment of the
ladies in whose society Captain Lennox exhibited no interest. The
couple were inseparable. They sat at the same table in the saloon;
they paced the deck together, arm in arm, on the long hot nights,
preferring dark and unfrequented corners; their chairs adjoined; their
cabins adjoined; and, so the shocked whisper ran, they sometimes
mistook the one for the other.

"Anybody can make a mistake in the dark," said Lola, when Mrs.
Sturgis, remembering Captain Craigie's injunctions, and resolved at
all costs to fulfil her trust, ventured on a remonstrance.

Ninety years ago, travellers had to "rough it;" and the conditions
governing a voyage from India to England were very different from
those that now obtain. None of the modern amenities had any place in
the accepted routine. Thus, no deck sports; no jazz band; no
swimming-pool; no cocktail bar; not even a sweepstake on the day's

But time had to be killed; and, as a young grass widow, Mrs. James
felt that flirting was the best way of getting through it. Captain
Lennox was the only man on board ship with whom she had anything in
common. He was sympathetic, good-looking, and attentive. Also, he
swore that he was "madly in love with her." The old, old story; but it
did its work. Before the vessel berthed in London docks, Lola had come
to a decision. A momentous decision. She would give David Craigie the
slip, and, listening to his blandishments, cast in her lot with George

"I'll look after you," he said reassuringly. "Trust me for that, my

Lola did trust him. In fact, she trusted him to such an extent that,
on reaching London, she stopped with him at the Imperial Hotel in
Covent Garden; and then, when the manageress of that establishment
took upon herself to make pointed criticisms, at his rooms in Pall

Naturally enough, this sort of thing could not be hushed up for long.
Meaning nods and winks greeted the dashing Lennox when he appeared at
his club. Tongues wagged briskly. Some of them even wagged in distant
Calcutta, where they were heard by Lola's husband. Ignoring his own
amorous dalliance with a brother officer's spouse, he elected to feel
injured. Resolved to assert himself, he got into touch with his London
solicitors and instructed them to take the preliminary steps to
dissolve his marriage. The first of these was to bring an action for
what was then politely dubbed "crim. con." against the man he alleged
to have "wronged" him.

The lawyers would not be hurried; and things moved in leisurely
fashion. Still, they moved to their appointed end; and, the necessary
red tape being unwound, interrogatories administered, and the evidence
of prying chambermaids and hotel servants collected and examined, in
May, 1841, the case of James v. Lennox got into the list and was heard
by Lord Denman and a special jury in the Court of Queen's Bench. Sir
William Follett, the Solicitor-General, was briefed on behalf of the
plaintiff, and Frederick Thesiger appeared for Captain Lennox.

In his opening address, Sir William Follett (who had not been too well
instructed) told the jury that the petitioner and his wife "had lived
very happily together in India, and that the return of Mrs. James to
England was due to a fall from her horse at Calcutta." While on the
passage home, he continued, pulling out his _vox humana_ stop, the
ship touched at Madras, where the defendant came on board; and,
"during the long voyage, an intimacy sprang up between Mrs. James and
himself which developed in a fashion that left the outraged husband no
choice but to institute the present proceedings to recover damages for
having been wantonly robbed of the affection and society of his

At this point, counsel for Captain Lennox (who, in pusillanimous
fashion, had loved and sailed away, rather than stop and help the
woman he had compromised) cut short his learned friend's tearful
eloquence by admitting that he was prepared to accept a verdict, with
£1000 damages. As the judge agreed, the case was abruptly terminated.

This, however, was only the first round. In December of the following
year, the next step was adopted, and a suit for divorce was commenced
in the Consistory Court. As neither Mrs. James nor the Lothario-like
Captain Lennox put in an appearance, Dr. Lushington, declaring himself
satisfied that misconduct had been committed, pronounced a decree _a
mensa et thoro_. All that this amounted to was merely a judicial

The report in _The Times_ only ran to a dozen lines. Considering that
the paper cost fivepence a copy, this was not a very liberal
allowance. Still, readers had better value in respect of another
action in "high life" that was heard the same day, that of Lord and
Lady Graves, which had a full column allotted it.


This was all that the public knew of the case. It did not seem much on
which to blast a young wife's reputation. Dr. Lushington, the judge of
the Consistory Court, however, knew a good deal more about the
business than did the general public. This was because, during the
preliminary hearing, held some months earlier and attended only by
counsel and solicitors, a number of damaging facts had transpired.

Mrs. James, said learned counsel for the petitioner, had "been guilty
of behaviour at which a crocodile would tremble and blush." A serious
charge to bring against a young woman. Still, in answer to the judge,
he professed himself equipped with ample evidence to support it. His
first witness was a retired civil servant, a Mr. Browne Roberts, who
had known the respondent's husband, first, as a bachelor in India, and
afterwards as a married man in Dublin. At the beginning of 1841, he
had received a call, he said, from a Major McMullen to whom Captain
Craigie had written, asking him to take charge of his step-daughter on
her arrival in London and see her off to his relatives in Scotland.
When, however, the major offered this hospitality, it was refused.
Thereupon, Mr. Roberts had himself called at the Imperial Hotel,
Covent Garden, and suggested that she should come and stop with his
wife; and this invitation was also refused.

Not much in this perhaps, but a good deal in what followed. Mrs.
Elizabeth Walters, the manageress of the Imperial Hotel, said that on
February 21, 1841, "a lady and gentleman arrived in a hackney cab,
with luggage marked G. Lennox and Mrs. James, and booked a double
room." Mrs. Walters had not, she admitted, "actually discovered them
undressed, or sharing the bed," but "she would not have been surprised
to have done so." Accordingly, when her travelling companion left the
next morning, she taxed Mrs. James with misconduct. After telling her
to "mind her own business," Mrs. James had declared that she and
Captain Lennox were on the point of being married, and had then packed
up and left the establishment.

"What exactly did she say?" enquired the judge.

"She said, 'what I choose to do is my own affair and nobody else's.'"

On leaving the somewhat arid hospitality of the Covent Garden Hotel,
Mrs. James had removed to a lodging-house just off Pall Mall, where
she stopped for a month. Mrs. Martin, the proprietress, told the court
that, during this period, Captain Lennox settled the bill, and "called
there every day, often stopping till all hours of the night."

The testimony of Mrs. Sarah Watson, the sister of Captain James, was
that her brother had written to her in the autumn of 1840, saying that
his wife had been thrown from her horse and was coming to England for
medical treatment; and that he had written to his aunt, Mrs. Rae, of
Edinburgh, suggesting that his wife should stop with her. Mrs. Watson,
having "been told things," then called on Mrs. James in Covent Garden.
"I spoke to her," she said, "of the shocking rumour that Captain
Lennox had passed a night with her there, and pointed out the
unutterable ruin that would result from a continuance of such
deplorable conduct. I begged her to entrust herself to the care of
Mrs. Rae. My entreaties were ineffectual. She positively declared,
affirming with an oath, that she would do nothing of the kind."

Among the passengers on board the East Indiaman by which Mrs. James
had voyaged to England was Mrs. Ingram, the captain's wife. "The
conduct of Mrs. James," she said, "was unguarded in the extreme, and
her general behaviour was what is sometimes called flirting." Captain
Ingram, who followed, had a still more disturbing story to recount.
"On several occasions," he said, "I heard Mrs. James address the
gentleman who joined us at Madras as 'Dear Lennox,' and she would even
admit him to the privacy of her cabin while the other passengers were
attending divine service on deck. When I spoke to her about it, she
answered me in a very cool fashion."

All this was distinctly damaging. The real sensation, however, was
provided by Caroline Marden, a stewardess.

"During the voyage from Madras," she told the astonished judge, "I
more than once saw Captain Lennox lacing up Mrs. James's stays."

"Did you see anything else?" faltered counsel.

"Yes, I also saw her actually putting on her stockings while Captain
Lennox was in her cabin!"

There were limits to intimacies between the sexes. This was clearly
among them. For a man to assist in adjusting a woman's stays, and
watch her changing her stockings, could, in the opinion of the learned
and experienced Dr. Lushington, only lead to one result. The worst
result. Hence, he had no difficulty in pronouncing the decree for
which the husband was applying.


All James had got for his activities in bringing his action was a
divorce _a mensa et thoro_, that is, "from bed and board." But, while
it was all he got, this measure of relief was probably all he wanted,
as he was not contemplating a second experiment in matrimony, either
with Mrs. Lomer or anybody else. Where his discarded wife was
concerned, she would have to shift for herself. She no longer had any
legal claim upon him; nor could she marry again during his lifetime.
Her position was a somewhat pathetic one. Thus, she was alone and
friendless; besmirched in reputation; abandoned by her husband; and
deserted by her lover. But she still had her youth and her courage.

The London of the 1840's, where Lola found herself cast adrift, was a
curious microcosm and full of contrasts. A mixture of unabashed
blackguardism and cloistered prudery; of double-beds and primness; of
humbug and frankness; of liberty and restraint; of lust and license;
of brutal horse-play passing for "wit," and of candour marching with
cant. The working classes scarcely called their souls their own; women
and children mercilessly exploited by smug profiteers; the "Song of
the Shirt"; Gradgrind and Boanerges holding high festival; Tom and
Jerry (on their last legs) and Corinthians wrenching off door knockers
and upsetting policemen; and Exeter Hall and the Cider Cellars both in
full swing. Altogether, an ill place of sojourn for an unprotected
young woman.

Exactly how this one supported herself during the next few months is
not very clear, for, if she kept a diary, she never published it.
According, however, to a Sunday organ, "she entangled the virtuous
Earl of Malmesbury in a delicate kind of newspaper correspondence, an
assertion having been made in public that she visited that pious
nobleman at his own house." An odd story (of American origin, and
quite unfounded) has it that, about this period, she established
contact with a certain Jean François Montez, "an individual of immense
wealth who lavished a fortune on her"; and Edward Blanchard, a hack
dramatist of Drury Lane, contributes the somewhat unhelpful remark,
"She became a Bohemian." Perhaps she did. But she had to discover a
second career that would bring a little more grist to the mill. Such a
course was imperative, since the balance of the £1000 her
step-father had given her would not last indefinitely. Looking round,
she felt that, all things considered, the stage offered the best
prospects of earning a livelihood. Not a very novel decision.
Nowadays, as an attractive young woman, with a little capital in her
possession, she would have had more choice. Thus, she might have
opened a hat shop, or run tea-rooms, or bred pet dogs, become a
mannequin, or a dance club hostess, or even "gone on the films." But
none of these avenues to feminine employment existed in the
eighteen-forties. Hence, it was the footlights or nothing.

[Illustration: _Lola Montez, "Spanish Dancer." Début at Her Majesty's

She had the sense to put herself in the hands of an instructress. The
one she selected was Fanny Kelly ("the only woman to whom Charles Lamb
had screwed up sufficient courage to propose marriage"), who conducted
a school of acting. Being honest, as well as capable, Miss Kelly took
the measure of the would-be Ophelia very promptly.

"You'll never make an actress," was her decision. "You've no talent
for it."

But, if the applicant had no talent, the other saw that she had
something else. This was a pair of shapely legs, which, as a
ballet-dancer, could yet twinkle in front of the footlights.

This opinion being shared by its recipient, she lost no time in
adopting it. As a preliminary, she went to Madrid. There, under expert
tuition, she learned to rattle the castanets, and practised the bolero
and the cachucha, as well as the classic arabesques and entrechats and
the technique accompanying them. But she did not advance much beyond
the simplest steps, for the time at her disposal was short, and the
art of the ballerina is not to be acquired without years of unceasing

According to a French journalist, an "English Milord" made Lola's
acquaintance in Madrid. This was Lord Malmesbury, "who was so dazzled
by the purity of her Spanish accent that he adopted her as a
_compagnon de voyage_, and shared with her the horrors of bad cooking
and the joys of nights in Granada." This fact, however, if it be a
fact, is not to be found in the volume of "memoirs" that he
afterwards published.

Still, it seems that Lord Malmesbury did meet Lola. His own account of
the incident is that, on returning to England from abroad, in the
spring of the year 1843, he was asked by the Spanish Consul at
Southampton to escort to London a young woman who had just landed
there. He found her, he says, "a remarkably handsome person, who was
in deep mourning and who appeared to be in great distress." While they
were alone in the railway carriage, he improved the occasion and
extracted from his travelling companion the story of her life.

"She informed me," he says, "in bad English that she was the widow of
Don Diego Leon, who had lately been shot by the Carlists after he was
taken prisoner, and that she was going to London to sell some Spanish
property that she possessed, and give lessons in singing, as she was
very poor."

Notwithstanding his diplomatic training, Lord Malmesbury swallowed
this story, as well as much else with which it was embroidered. One
thing led to another; and the acquaintance thus fortuitously begun in
a railway carriage was continued in London. There he got up a concert
for her benefit at his town house, where, in addition to singing
Castilian ballads, his protégée sold veils and fans among the
audience; and he also gave her an introduction to a theatrical
manager, with results that neither of them had foreseen.




Times change. When Lola returned to London a passage through the
divorce court was not regarded as a necessary qualification for stage
aspirants. Also, being well aware that, to ensure a good reception, a
foreign-sounding name was desirable, this one decided to adopt that of
Lola Montez. This, she felt, would, among other advantages,
effectively mask her identity with that of Mrs. Thomas James, an
identity she was anxious to shed.

Her plans were soon made. On the morning after her arrival, she
presented her letter of introduction to the impressario of Her
Majesty's Theatre, in the Haymarket. This position was held by an
affable Hebrew, one Benjamin Lumley, an ex-solicitor, who had
abandoned his parchments and bills of costs and acquired a lease of
Her Majesty's. The house had long been looked upon as something of a
white elephant in the theatrical jungle; but Lumley, being pushful and
knowledgeable, soon built up a valuable following and set the
establishment on its legs.

As luck would have it, Lola's interview with him came at just the
right moment, for he was alternating ballet with opera and was in want
of a fresh attraction. Convinced that he recognised it in his caller
(or, perhaps, anxious to please Lord Malmesbury), he offered her an
engagement there and then to dance a _pas seul_ between the acts of
_Il Barbiere di Seviglia_.

"If you make a hit," he said, "you shall have a contract for the rest
of the season. It all depends on yourself."

Lola, wanting nothing better, left the managerial office, treading on

As was his custom, Lumley cultivated the critics, and would receive
them in his sanctum whenever he had a novel attraction to submit.

"I have a surprise for you in my next programme," he said, when the
champagne and cigars had been discussed. "This is that I have secured
Donna Lola, a Spanish dancer, direct from Seville. She is, I assure
you, deliciously beautiful and remarkably accomplished. I pledge you
my word, gentlemen, she will create a positive _furore_ here."

In 1843 dramatic critics had the privilege of attending rehearsals and
penetrating behind the scenes. One of their number, adopting the
pseudonym "Q," has left an account of the manner in which he first met
Lola Montez. He had called on Lumley for a gossip, and was invited by
that authority to descend to the stage and watch his new acquisition
practising a dance there.

"At that period," he says, "her figure was even more attractive than
her face, lovely as the latter was. Lithe and graceful as a young
fawn, every movement she made was instinct with melody. Her dark eyes
were blazing and flashing with excitement, for she felt that I was
willing to admire her.... As she swept round the stage, her slender
waist swayed to the music, and her graceful head and neck bent with it
like a flower that bends with the impulse given to its stem by the
fitful temper of the wind."

Lumley was tactful enough to leave the pressman alone with the star.
As the latter promised to "give her a good puff in his paper," Lola,
who never missed an opportunity, made herself specially agreeable to
him. Her bright eyes did their work. "When we separated," says "Q" in
his reminiscences, "I found myself tumbled heels over head into the
profound depths of that which the French call a _grande passion_."

Lumley's next step was to draw up an announcement of the promised
novelty for inclusion in the programme:


     June 3, 1843


     Mr. Benjamin Lumley begs to announce that, between the acts
     of the Opera, DONNA LOLA MONTEZ, of the Teatro Real,
     Seville, will have the honour to make her first appearance
     in England in the Original Spanish dance El Oleano.

After the cast list had been set out the rest of the reading matter on
the programme was given up to advertisements. Some of them would
appear to have been selected rather at haphazard. At any rate, their
special appeal to music lovers was a little difficult to follow. Thus,
one was of "Jackson's patent enema machines, as patronised by the
nobility (either sex) when travelling"; another of "Mrs. Rodd's
anatomical ladies' stays (which ensure the wearer a figure of
astonishing symmetry";) and another of a "Brilliant burlesque ballad,
'Get along, Rosey,' sung with the most positive triumph every evening
by Madame Vestris."

With much satisfaction, Manager Lumley, taking a preliminary peep at
the crowded house, saw that a particularly "smart" audience was
assembled on the night of June 3. The list of "fashionables" he handed
to the reporters resembled an extract from the pages of Messrs. Burke
and Debrett. Thus, the Royal Box was graced by the Queen Dowager, with
the King of Hanover and Prince Edward of Saxe-Weimar for her guests;
and, dotted about the pit tier (then the fashionable part of the
house) were the Duke and Duchess of Wellington, the Marquess and
Marchioness of Granby, Lord and Lady Brougham, and the Baroness de
Rothschild, with the Belgian Minister, Count Esterhazy, and Baron
Talleyrand. Even the occupants of the pit had to accept an official
intimation that "only black trousers will be allowed." Her Majesty's
had a standard, and Lumley insisted on its observance.

That long familiar feature, "Fops' Alley," having disappeared from the
auditorium, the modish thing for unattached men was to make up a party
and hire an omnibus-box; and from that position to pronounce judgment
upon the legs of the dancers pirouetting in wispy gauze on the stage.
Then, when the curtain fell, they would be privileged to go behind the
scenes and chat with the coryphées.

On the evening of Lola's début one of the omnibus-boxes was occupied
by Lord Ranelagh, a raffish mid-Victorian roué, who had brought with
him a select party of "Corinthians" in frilled shirts and flowered
waistcoats. It was observed that he paid but languid attention to the
opera. As soon, however, as the promised novelty, _El Oleano_, was
reached, he exhibited a sudden interest and pushed his chair forward.

"We shall see some fun in a moment," he whispered. "Mind you fellows
keep quiet until I give the word."


A little ominous, perhaps, that the Haymarket entrepreneur should bear
the same name as the Calcutta judge who had unsuccessfully sought her
hand. But Lola experienced no qualms. As she stood at the wings, in a
black satin bodice and much flounced pink silk skirt, waiting for her
cue, Lumley passed her with a nod of encouragement.

"Capital," he said, rubbing his whiskers. "Most attractive. You'll be
a big success, my dear."

As he moved off, a bell tinkled in the prompt corner. In response, the
conductor lifted his baton; the heavy curtains were drawn aside; and,
under a cross-fire of opera glasses, Lola bounded on to the stage and
executed her initial piroutte. There was a sudden hush, as, at the
finish of the number, she stepped up to the footlights and awaited the
verdict. Had she made good, or not? In a moment, however, she knew
that all was well, for a storm of applause and clapping of hands
filled the air. Lumley, from his place in the wings, beamed approval.
His enterprise was to be rewarded. The débutante was a success. No
doubt about it. She should have a contract from him before any other
manager should step in and snap her up.

     We do not believe (scribbled a critic, hurriedly jotting
     down his impressions, to be expanded when he got back to his
     office) that Donna Lola smiled once throughout her
     performance. As she withdrew, numbers of bouquets fell on to
     the stage. But the proud one of Seville did not deign to
     return to pick them up, and one of the gentlemen in livery
     was deputed for that purpose. When, however, her measure was
     encored, she stepped down from her pinnacle and actually
     condescended to accept an additional bouquet that had been
     tossed by a fair one from a box.

     Her Majesty's Theatre (added a colleague) may now be said to
     be in its full zenith of grandeur and perfection of beauty
     and splendour, and variety and fame of the ballet. A new
     Spanish Donna has been introduced. Although the visitation
     was unheralded by the customary flourish of trumpeting _on
     dits_, it was extremely successful. The young lady came and
     saw and conquered. Many floral offerings were shot at her as
     a compliment, and the useful M. Coulos--ever at hand in such
     an emergency--assisted very industriously in picking them
     up. As for _El Oleano_, this is a sort of cachucha; and it
     certainly gives Donna Lola Montez an opportunity of
     introducing herself to the public under a very captivating
     aspect.... A lovely picture she is to contemplate. There is
     before you the very perfection of Spanish beauty--the tall
     handsome figure, the full lustrous eye, the joyous animated
     countenance, and the dark raven tresses. You gaze upon the
     Donna with delight and admiration.

It was just after the third item on her programme and while she stood
before the curtain, bowing and smiling her acknowledgments, that there
was an unexpected interruption. An ominous hiss suddenly split the
air. The sound came from the occupants of the stage box in which Lord
Ranelagh and his party had ensconced themselves. As at a prearranged
signal, the occupants of the opposite box took it up and repeated it.
The audience gasped in astonishment, and looked to Lord Ranelagh for a
solution. He supplied one promptly. "Egad!" he exclaimed in a loud
voice, "that's not Lola Montez at all. It's Betsy James, an Irish
girl. Ladies and gentlemen, we're being properly swindled!"

"Swindled" was an ugly word. The pit and gallery, feeling that they
were in some mysterious fashion being defrauded, followed the cue thus
given them, and a volume of hisses and cat-calls sprang from the
throats that, a moment earlier, had bellowed vociferous cheers. The
great Michael Costa, who was conducting, dropped his baton in
astonishment, and, refusing to pick it up again, left his desk. There
is a theory that it was this untoward incident that led him to
transfer himself from the Haymarket to Covent Garden. Quite possible.
Musicians are temperamental folk.

It was left for Lumley to deal with the situation. He did so by
ringing down the curtain, while Lola, in tears and fury, rushed off to
her dressing-room.


Perhaps they left early, but none of the critics saw anything of this
_dénouement_. What, however, they did see they described in rapturous,
not to say, florid terms:

     We saw, as in a dream (declared one of them), an Elssler or
     a Taglioni descend from the clouds, under the traits of a
     new dancer, whose fervent admirers lavished on her all the
     enthusiasm and applause with which the rare perfection of
     her predecessors has been rewarded.

     On Saturday last, between the acts of the opera, Donna Lola
     Montez was announced to appear on the programme at Her
     Majesty's. A thousand ardent spectators were in feverish
     anxiety to see her. Donna Lola enchanted everyone. There was
     throughout a graceful flowing of the arms--not an angle
     discernible--an indescribable softness in her attitude and
     suppleness in her limbs which, developed in a thousand
     positions (without infringing on the Opera laws), were the
     most intoxicating and womanly that can be imagined. We never
     remember seeing the _habitués_--both young and old--taken by
     more agreeable surprise than the bewitching lady excited.
     She was rapturously encored, and the stage strewn with

Lord Ranelagh and his friends must have grinned when they read this

"I saw Lumley immediately after the fall of the curtain," says a
reporter who was admitted behind the scenes. "He was surrounded by the
professors of morality from the omnibus-box, who said that Donna Lola
was positively not to reappear. They pointed out to him that it was
absolutely essential to have none but exemplary characters in the
ballet; but they did not tell him where he would procure females who
would have no objection to exhibiting their legs in pink silk
fleshings. As Lumley could not afford to offend his patrons, he was
compelled to accept the _fiat_ of these virtuous scions of a moral and
ultra-scrupulous aristocracy. Carlotta Grisi might have had a score of
lovers; but, then, she had never turned up her charming little nose at
my Lord Ranelagh."

It was an age when the theatre had to kow-tow to the patron. Unless My
Lord approved, Mr. Crummles had no choice but to ring down the
curtain. As the Ranelagh faction very emphatically disapproved, Lumley
was compelled to give the recruit her marching-orders.

Lola's _première_ had thus become her _dernière_.

By the way, a Sunday paper, writing some time afterwards, was guilty
of a serious slip in its account of the episode, and mistook Lord
Ranelagh for the Duke of Cambridge. "The newcomer," says this critic,
"was recognised as Mrs. James by a Prince of the Blood and his
companions in the omnibus-box. Her beauty could not save her from
insult; and, to avenge themselves on Mr. Lumley, for some pique, these
chivalrous English gentlemen of the upper classes hooted a woman from
the stage."

What was behind Lord Ranelagh's cowardly attack on the débutante?
There was a simple explanation, and not one that redounded to his
credit in any way. It was that, during her "Bohemian" period, he had
endeavoured to fill the empty niche left in her affections by the
departure of that light-o'-love, Captain Lennox, and had been repulsed
for his pains. A bad loser, my Lord nursed resentment. He would teach
a mere ballet-dancer to snap her fingers at him. His opportunity came
sooner than he imagined. He made the most of it.

Fond as he was of biting, Lord Ranelagh was, some years afterwards,
himself bitten. He took a prominent part in an unsavoury scandal that
fluttered mid-Victorian dovecotes, when a Bond Street "beauty
specialist," known as Madame Rachel, was clapped into prison for
swindling a wealthy and amorous widow. This was a Mrs. Borrodaile,
whom "Madame" had gulled by declaring that Lord Ranelagh's one desire
was to share his coronet with her. Although the raffish peer denied
all complicity, he did not come out of the business too well.

"The peculiar prominence he has attained," remarked an obituarist,
"has not always been of an enviable description. There are probably
few men who have had so many charges of the most varied and
disagreeable nature made against them. The resultant obloquy to which
he had thus been exposed is great, nor has it vanished, as it properly
should have done, with the charges themselves."

This, however, was looking ahead. The comments of 1843 came first. "In
the clubs that night," we read, "the bucks and bloods laughed heartily
when they discussed the mishap of the proud beauty who had scorned the
advances of my Lord." Lola Montez, however, did not regard it as
anything at which to laugh. She may, as she boasted, have had a dash
of Spanish blood in her veins, but she certainly had none of George
Washington's, for she immediately sat down and wrote a circular letter
to all the London papers. In this she sought to correct what she
described as a "false impression." Swallowing it as gospel, a number
of them printed it in full:

     _To the Editor_.


     Since I had the honour of dancing at Her Majesty's Theatre,
     on Saturday, the 3rd inst. (when I was received by the
     English public in so kind and flattering a manner) I have
     been cruelly annoyed by reports that I am not really the
     person I pretend to be, but that I have long been known in
     London as a woman of disreputable character. I entreat you,
     Sir, to allow me, through the medium of your respected
     journal, to assure you and the public, in the most positive
     and unqualified manner, that there is not a word of truth in
     such a statement.

     I am a native of Seville; and in the year 1833, when ten
     years old, was sent to a Catholic lady at Bath, where I
     remained seven months, and was then taken back to my parents
     in Spain. From that period, until the 14th of April, when I
     landed in England, _I have never set foot in this country,
     and I never saw London before in my life_.

     In apologising for the favour I ask you, I feel sure that
     you will kindly consider the anxiety of myself and my
     friends to remove from the public any impression to my
     disadvantage. My lawyer has received instructions to proceed
     against all the parties who have calumniated me.

     Believe me to be your obedient and humble servant,


     _June 13, 1843._

Ballet-dancers cannot, when making their débuts, be expected to
remember everything; and this one had obviously forgotten her sojourn
in India, just as she had forgotten her marriage to Thomas James (and
the subsequent Consistory Court action), as well as her amorous
dalliance with Captain Lennox during the previous year.

"In spite of the encouraging reception accorded Donna Lola Montez, she
has not danced again," remarked a critic in the _Examiner_. "What is
the reason?"

Lumley could have supplied the information. He did so, some years
afterwards, in his book, _Reminiscences of the Opera_:

     It is not my intention to rake up the world-wide stories of
     this strange and fascinating woman. Perhaps it will be
     sufficient to say frankly that I was, in this instance,
     fairly "taken in." A Noble Lord (afterwards closely
     connected with the Foreign Office) had introduced the lady
     to my notice as the daughter of a celebrated _Spanish_
     Patriot and martyr, representing her merits as a dancer in
     so strong a light that her "appearance" was granted.

     ... But this spurious Spanish lady had no real knowledge of
     that which she professed. The whole affair was an imposture;
     and on the very night of her first appearance the truth
     exploded. On the discovery of the truth, I declined to allow
     the English adventuress, for such she was, another
     appearance on my boards. In spite of the expostulations of
     the "friends" of the lady--in spite of the deprecatory
     letters in which she earnestly denied her English
     origin--in spite even of the desire expressed in high places
     to witness her strange performance--I remained inflexible.

The "Noble Lord" thus referred to in this pompous disclaimer was Lord

[Illustration: _Viscount Ranelagh, who organised a cabal against Lola


If she had a quick temper, Lola Montez had a good heart, and was
always ready to lend a helping hand to others. In this connection
Edward Fitzball, a hack dramatist with whom things were not going
well, has a story of how she volunteered to assist in a benefit
performance that was being got up to set him on his legs. It was
difficult to secure attractions; and the beneficiare, realising that,
as was the custom in such cases, he would have to make good any
deficit himself, was feeling depressed.

"This benefit," he says, "which I fully expected would prove to be a
decided loss, annoyed me sadly. I was sauntering along Regent Street
when I met Stretton, the popular singer, whose own benefit was just
coming off. He said that he had secured every attraction worthy of the
public, and that there was no hope for me, 'unless,' he added, 'you
could secure Lola Montez.'

"'Pray, who is that?' I said in my ignorance.

"'Lola Montez is a lady who appeared the other night at Her Majesty's
Theatre as a dancer, but, due to some aristocratic disturbance, has
left in disgust. The papers were full of it. I offered her £50 to
dance for me, and met with a decided refusal. Hence, I see no hope for

Fitzball, however, thinking it worth while taking a chance, hurried to
Lola's lodgings and begged her to contribute to the programme he was
offering. He had not expected to be successful, since he knew that she
was smarting under a sense of injury. To his surprise and delight,
however, she promised her services, and refused to accept any

Overjoyed at the success of his embassy, Fitzball rushed off to the
printers and had the hoardings plastered with bills, directing special
attention to the novelty:

                     Monday, July 10, 1843.

                      COLOSSAL ATTRACTION!
               (For the Benefit of Mr. Fitzball)


     During the evening the celebrated DONNA LOLA MONTEZ (whose
     recent performance created so pronounced a sensation at Her
     Majesty's Theatre) will execute, by special request, her
     remarkable dance, "El Oleano."

     N.B.--This will positively be the Donna's only appearance in
     London, as she departs on Thursday next for St. Petersburg.

"The theatre," says Fitzball, in his account of the evening, "was
crammed. Lola Montez arrived in a splendid carriage, accompanied by
her maid. When she was dressed, she enquired if I thought her costume
would be approved. I have seen sylphs and female forms of the most
dazzling beauty in ballets and fairy dramas, but the most dazzling and
perfect form I ever did gaze upon was that of Lola Montez in her white
and gold attire studded with diamonds. Her bounding before the public
was the signal for general applause and admiration. On the conclusion
of her performance, there was a rapturous and universal call for her




The "departure for St. Petersburg" was a stretch of Fitzball's
imagination. Where Lola did go when she left England was not to
Russia, but to Belgium. The visit was not a success, as none of the
theatres in Brussels at which she applied for an engagement exhibited
any interest in ballet-dancers, whether they came from Seville, or
elsewhere. A spell of ill luck followed; and, if her own account of
this period is to be trusted, she was reduced to such a pass that in
the Belgian capital she became familiar with the inside of pawnshops
and had to sing in the streets, to secure a lodging. But this "singing
in the streets" business was, if a picturesque one, not an original
touch. It is still in active use, as a stock portion of the
autobiographical equipment of every stage and film heroine who wants
"publicity." Further, if Lola Montez ever did anything of the kind, it
was not for long. A "rich man"--she had a knack of establishing
contact with them--promptly came to the rescue; and, assisted by, it
is said, the mysterious Jean Francois Montez, who had followed her
from London, she shook the inhospitable dust of the Brussels
boulevards off her feet.

It was in Berlin that, in the autumn of 1843, long delayed Fortune
smiled on her. A novelty being wanted, she secured an engagement to
dance at a fête organised by Frederick William IV in honour of his
son-in-law, the Czar Nicholas, and a posse of Grand Dukes then
visiting Potsdam. The autocrat of all the Russias expressed himself as
highly pleased with the newcomer's efforts. The Berliners followed
suit. Lola was "made"; and every night for a month on end she was
booked up to dance somewhere.

While in the German capital, she is said to have had an encounter with
the arm of the law. The story is that, mounted on a blood horse, she
attended a review held in honour of the King and the Czar; and her
steed, being somewhat mettlesome, carried her at full tilt across the
parade ground and into the midst of the royal party assembled at the

When an indignant policeman, bellowing _Verboten!_ at the top of his
voice, rushed up and clung to the bridle, he received for his pains a
vigorous cut from her whip. The next morning a summons was delivered
to the daring Amazon, ordering her to appear before a magistrate and
answer a charge of "insulting the uniform." Thereupon, Lola, feeling
that the general atmosphere was unfavourable, packed her trunks. She
managed to get away just in time, as a warrant for her arrest was
actually being made out. But if she did not leave Berlin with all the
honours of war, it is at any rate recorded that "she left this city of
pigs with a high head and a snapping of her fan."

The Odyssey continued. The next place where she halted was Dresden.
There the pilgrim swam into the orbit of Franz Liszt, who happened to
be giving a series of recitals. Born in 1811--the "year of the
Comet"--he was at the height of his powers when Lola Montez flashed
across his path. During an early visit to England, as a "boy prodigy,"
he had gathered considerable laurels. Windsor Castle had smiled upon
him, and he had played to George IV and to Queen Victoria. The chance
encounter with Lola was a fateful one for both of them. But, as it
happened, the virtuoso rather welcomed the prospect of a fresh
intrigue just then. Wearied of the romanticism of the phalanx of
feminine admirers, who clustered about him like bees, he found this
one, with her beauty and vivacious charm, to have a special appeal for
him. He responded to it avidly. The two became inseparable.

One evening, while _Rienzi_ was being performed, his latest charmer
accompanied Liszt to the Opera House, and, during an interval, joined
him in the dressing-room of Josef Tichatschek, the tenor. Hearing that
he was there, Wagner was coming to speak to him, "when he saw that his
companion was a painted and bejewelled woman with insolent eyes."
Thereupon, if his biographer is to be trusted, "the composer turned
and fled." Lola had routed "Rienzi."

Musicians will be musicians; and Liszt was no exception. With his love
affairs and his long catalogue of "conquests" in half the capitals of
Europe, he was generally regarded as a Don Juan of the keyboard. It is
said by James Huneker that, on leaving Dresden, Lola joined him in
Constantinople. In her memoirs she says nothing about wandering along
the shores of the Bosphorus in his company. Still, she says a good
deal about Sir Stratford Canning, the British Ambassador, by whom, she
declares, she was given a letter to the Chief Eunuch, admitting her to
the Sultan's harem. But this, like many of her other statements, must
be taken with a generous pinch of salt.

During that memorable summer Liszt was specially invited to Bonn, to
unveil the Beethoven monument that had been erected there. The
ceremony attracted a distinguished gathering, and was witnessed by the
King and Queen of Russia, together with Queen Victoria and Prince
Albert. It was also witnessed by Lola Montez, who accompanied Liszt.
She was promptly recognised by Ignatz Moscheles; and, when they
discovered her presence, the reception committee were so upset that
they had her barred from the hotel in which rooms had been engaged for
the guest of honour. But it took more than this to keep her in the
background. While the speeches were in full swing, she forced her way
into the banquet-hall, and won over the prudish burghers by jumping on
the table and dancing to them.

The Prince Consort was shocked at the "liberty." Frederick William,
however, being more broad-minded, cracked a Teutonic jest.

"Lola is a Lorelei!" he declared, with an appreciative grin, when the
episode was reported to him. "What will she be up to next?"

An inevitable result of Liszt's dalliance with his new Calypso in the
various capitals that they visited together during the months that
followed was to shatter the relations that had existed for years
between himself and Madame d'Agoult. The virtuoso emerged from the
business badly, for the woman he had discarded in summary fashion for
a younger and more attractive one had sacrificed her name and her
reputation for his sake, and had also presented him with three pledges
of mutual affection. Infuriated at his callousness, she afterwards, as
"Daniel Stern," relieved her outraged feelings in a novel ("written to
calm her agitated soul"), _Nélida_, where Liszt, under a transparent
disguise, figured as "Guermann Regnier."

But the pace was too hot to last. Still, it was Liszt, and not Lola,
who cooled first. "With Lola, as with others, known and unknown, it
was," observes William Wallace, "_Da capo al Segno_." The story of the
final rupture between them, as given by Guy de Pourtales, has in it
something of the element of farce:

     Liszt allowed her to make love to him, and amused himself
     with this dangerous sweetheart. But without any conviction,
     without any real curiosity. She annoyed, she irritated him
     during his hours of work. Before long he planned to escape,
     and, having arranged everything with the hotel porter, he
     departed without leaving any address, but not without having
     first locked this most wearisome of inamoratas up in her
     room. For twelve hours Lola raised a fearful uproar,
     breaking whatever she could lay her hands on.

Liszt, however, scenting this possibility, had settled the bill in

But the incident does not redound to his credit, for the spectacle of
a distinguished artist bribing a lackey to smuggle him out of an hotel
and imprison in her bedroom the woman with whom he had been living, is
a sorry one.


Having had enough of Germany for the time being, Lola decided to see
what France had to offer. "The only place for a woman of spirit," she
once said, "is Paris." Accordingly she betook herself there. As soon
as she arrived, she secured lodgings in a modest hotel near the Palais
Royal; and, well aware of her limitations, took some dancing lessons
from a ballet-master in the rue Lepelletier. When she had taken what
she considered enough, she called on Léon Pillet, the director of the

"You have, of course, already heard of my immense success in London,"
she announced with an assured air.

M. Pillet had not heard of it. But this did not matter. As had been
the case with Lumley before him, Lola's ravishing smile inflamed his
susceptible heart; and he promptly engaged her to dance in the ballet
that was to follow Halévy's _Il Lazzarone_, then in active rehearsal.

Lola's début as a _première danseuse_ was made on March 30, 1844. It
was not a successful one. Far from it. The fact was, the Parisians,
accustomed to the dreamy and sylph-like pirouettings of Cerito and
Elssler and Taglioni, and their own Adèle Dumilâtre, could not
appreciate the vigorous _cachuchas_ and _boleros_ now offered them.
When they voiced their disapproval, Lola lost the one thing she could
never keep--her temper. She made a _moue_ at the audience; and, if de
Mirecourt is to be trusted, pulled off her garters (a second authority
says a more intimate item of attire) and flung them with a gesture of
contempt among the jeering crowd in the first row of stalls.

As may be imagined, the Press was unsympathetic towards this

"We will avoid damaging with our strictures," remarked _Le
Constitutionnel_ in its next issue, "a pretty young woman who, before
making her début, has obviously not had time to study our

A much more devastating criticism was published in _Le Journal des
Débats_ by Jules Janin. He went out of his way, indeed, to be
positively offensive. Nor did Théophile Gautier, who in his famous
waistcoat of crimson velvet was present on this eventful evening,
think very much of the would-be ballerina's efforts to win Paris.

     Beyond, he wrote, a pair of magnificent dark eyes,
     Mademoiselle Lola Montez has nothing suggestively Andalusian
     in her appearance. She talks poor Spanish, scarcely any
     French, and only tolerable English. The question is, to what
     country does she really belong? We can affirm that she has
     small feet and shapely legs. The extent, however, to which
     these gifts serve her is quite another story.

     It must be admitted that the public's curiosity aroused by
     her altercations with the police of the North and her
     whip-cracking exploits among the Prussian gendarmes has not
     been satisfied. We imagine that Mademoiselle Lola would do
     better on horseback than on the stage.

An odd account, headed: "Singular Début of Lola Montez in Paris," was
sent to New York by an American journalist:

     "When, a few days ago, it was announced that two foreign
     dancers, Mlle Cerito and Mlle Lola Montez, had just entered
     the walls of Paris, the triumphs achieved by the Italian
     ballerina could not eclipse the horse-whipping exploits of
     Mlle Lola. 'Let us have Lola Montez!' exclaimed the stalls
     and pit. 'We want to see if her foot is as light as her
     hand!' Never did they witness a more astounding _entrée_.
     After her first leap, she stopped short on the tips of her
     toes, and, by a movement of prodigious rapidity, detached
     one of her garters from a lissome limb adjacent to her
     quivering thigh (innocent of _lingerie_) and flung it to the
     occupants of the front row of the orchestra....
     Notwithstanding the effect produced by this piquant
     eccentricity, Mile Lola has not met with the reception she
     anticipated; and it has been deemed proper by the management
     to dispense with her reappearance."

But to give Lola her _congé_ by word of mouth was a task which M.
Pillet did not care to undertake. "So much was the haughty Amazon's
riding-whip dreaded that a letter of dismissal was prudently
delivered. As a result, bloodshed was avoided; and Mlle Lola has
solaced herself with the reflection that she has been the victim of
the Machiavellian cabal of Russia, still angry at her routing of
Muscovite gendarmes in Warsaw."

With reference to the Warsaw episode, the slipshod de Mirecourt says
that she was dancing there in 1839. At that date, however, she was no
nearer Warsaw than Calcutta. None the less, she did go there, but it
was not until she had left Paris after her failure at the Académie
Royale. According to herself, the Czar Nicholas, who remembered her in
Berlin, invited her to visit St. Petersburg, and, having a month to
spare, she accepted a preliminary engagement in the Polish capital.

This began well enough, for, if her terpsichorean abilities still left
something to be desired, the Warsaw critics, ever susceptible to
feminine charms, went into positive raptures about her personal
attractions. One of them, indeed, became almost lyrical on the

"Her soft silken hair," was this authority's opinion, "falls in
luxuriant wealth down her back, its glistening hue rivalling that of
the raven's wing; on a slender and delicate neck--the whiteness of
which eclipses swansdown--is poised a lovely face.... Where the
proportions are concerned, Lola's little feet are somewhere between
those of a Chinese maiden and those of the daintiest Parisienne
imaginable. As for her bewitching calves, they suggest the steps of a
Jacob's ladder transporting one up to heaven; and her ravishing
figure resembles the Venus of Cnidus, that immortal masterpiece
sculptured by the chisel of Praxiteles in the 104th Olympiad. As for
her eyes, her very soul is enshrined in their blue depths."

There was a lot more--several columns more--in a similar strain.

As was to be expected, such a tribute attracted the attention of
Prince Ivan Paskievich, the Viceroy of Poland. He had a weakness for
pretty women; and, after the long succession of lumpy and heavy-footed
ballerinas occupying the Warsaw stage, this new arrival sounded
promising. When a trusted emissary reported that the critics "had not
said half what they might," he resolved to make her acquaintance. His
first step was to send her, through Madam Steinkeller, the wife of a
banker, an invitation to have supper with him at his private house.

Lola, flattered by the invitation, and less clear-headed than usual,
was sufficiently trusting to accept. She soon, however, discovered
that his Excellency's intentions were strictly dishonourable, for he
made her, she afterwards said, "a most indelicate proposition." Her
response was to laugh in his face, and to tell him that "she had no
wish to become his toy." Thereupon, Paskievich, furious at such a
repulse (and unaccustomed to being thwarted by anyone, must less by a
ballet-dancer), dismissed her with threats of reprisals. The first of
these took the form of a visit from Colonel Abrahamowicz, the official
charged with "preserving morality in the Warsaw theatres." He
apparently interpreted his responsible functions in a fashion that
left something to be desired, for Lola complained that "his conduct
was so free that I took serious exception to it."

Paskievich then dealt his next card. This was to instruct his
understrapper to fill the theatre with a rabble and have her hissed
off the stage. Lola, however, was equal to the occasion. Advancing to
the footlights, before the terror-stricken manager could stop her, she
pointed to Colonel Abrahamowicz, sitting in a box, and exclaimed:
"Ladies and gentlemen, there is the dastard who attempts to revenge
himself on a pure woman who has scorned his infamous suggestions! I
ask your protection!"

Accompanied by M. Lesniowski, the editor of the _Warsaw Gazette_, she
returned to her lodgings, wondering what would happen next. She was
soon to discover, for the angry Colonel and a squad of police arrived
with a warrant for her arrest as an "undesirable." When, however, they
announced their purpose, she flourished a pistol in their faces and
declared that she would put a bullet through the first of them who
came near her. Realising that she meant what she said, and not anxious
to qualify for cheap martyrdom, Colonel Abrahamowicz was tactician
enough to withdraw. In the meantime, the public, learning what had
happened, sided with Lola and raised lusty shouts of "Down with the
Viceroy! Long live the Montez!"

Paskievich, who had crushed with an iron hand the rebellion of 1831,
had a short and sharp way with incipient revolutionaries; and, calling
out the troops, cleared the streets at the point of the bayonet. While
they were thus occupied, Lola slipped off to the French consul and
suggested that he should grant her his protection as a national. With
characteristic gallantry, he met her wishes. None the less, she had to
leave Warsaw the next morning, under escort to the frontier.

There were reprisals for a number of those who had taken her part.
Thus the manager of the theatre and the editor of the _Warsaw Gazette_
were dismissed; M. Steinkeller was imprisoned; and a dozen students
were publicly flogged.

"Tranquillity has been restored," was the official view of the

According to Lola herself (not, by the way, a very sound authority)
she went straight from Warsaw and the clutches of the lustful
Paskievich to St. Petersburg. Considering, however, that Poland was at
that period under the domination of the Czar, it is highly improbable
that, after her expulsion, she could have set foot in Russia without
a passport. Had she been sufficiently daring to make the experiment,
she would assuredly have been clapped into fetters and packed off to

Lola's motto was "courage, and shuffle the cards." Undeterred by her
previous failure there, she went back to Paris, to try her luck a
second time.

Luck came to her very soon, for she had scarcely arrived in the
capital when she encountered a young Englishman, Mr. Francis Leigh, an
ex-officer of the 10th Hussars. Within a week the two were on such
intimate terms that they set up housekeeping together. But the harmony
was shattered abruptly by Lola, who, in a jealous fit, one day fired a
pistol at her "protector." As this was more than he could be expected
to stand, Mr. Leigh, deciding that they could not continue living
under the same roof, severed the relationship.


In 1845 the Paris of Louis-Philippe was, when Lola resumed her
acquaintance with it, a pleasant city in which to live. The star of
Baron Haussmann had not yet arisen; and the capital's vulgarisation
under the Second Empire had not then begun. John Bull still gave it a
wide berth; nor, except for a few stray specimens, were there any
hordes of tourists to gape at the "Froggies." Everything was cheap;
and most things were nice. Paris really was _La ville lumière_. Dull
care had been given its marching orders. All that was required of a
man was that he should be witty, and of a woman that she should be
entertaining. The world of the boulevards--with its cafés and
restaurants and theatres--was the accepted rallying point of the
authors and poets, the painters and musicians, and the lights
twinkling in the theatrical and journalistic firmaments, the men in
velveteen jackets and peg-top trousers, the women in flounced skirts
and shawls and elastic-sided boots. The mode of the moment.

[Illustration: _Abbé Liszt: Musician and Lover_]

Lola settled down among them, and was given a warm welcome. Among
others with whom she was soon on friendly terms was the famous (or,
perhaps, it would be better to say, notorious) Alphonsine Plessis. The
Lady of the Camelias had a large heart and a wide circle; and Liszt,
who was also back in Paris, was to be found among the guests attending
her "receptions" at her house on the Boulevard de la Madeleine. Lola,
who never cherished rancour, was prepared to let bygones be bygones,
and resumed relations with him. But this time they were short lived,
for the maestro was already dangling after another charmer, and, as
was his habit, left for Weimar without saying farewell. Lola took his
defection philosophically. As a matter of fact, she rather welcomed
it, for it solved a situation that was fast threatening to become
awkward. This was that she herself had now formed an intimacy with
somebody else.

Her new acquaintance was Charles Dujarier, a young man of five and
twenty, and a journalist of some distinction, being part proprietor
and feuilleton editor of _La Presse_. Lola met him in the friendly
atmosphere of a Bohemian café, where formal introductions were not
insisted upon. As was the custom in such an atmosphere, the friendship
ripened rapidly. Within a week of their first meeting the two set up
housekeeping together in the rue Lafitte. Before long there was talk
of marriage. But it did not get beyond talk, for Lola had put her head
in the matrimonial noose once--in her opinion, once too often--and she
had no desire to do so a second time. Apart from this consideration,
she was probably well aware that her divorce from the philandering
Thomas James had never been completed.

As Dujarier's acknowledged mistress, Lola was accepted without demur
as one of themselves by the literary and artistic "set" thronging the
cafés and salons they frequented. Gautier and Sue, with Claudin and
Méry and Dumas, were those habitués of whom she saw most; and
Ferdinand Bac (but nobody else) says that she was on intimate terms
with the austere M. Guizot.

Gustave Claudin declared that he met Lola Montez in Paris in the
spring of 1841. That she made an impression on him is evident from a
passage in his _Souvenirs_:

     Lola Montez was a charmer. There was something--I do not
     quite know what--about her appearance that was provocative
     and voluptuous, and which attracted one. She had a white
     skin, hair suggestive of the tendrils of honeysuckle, and a
     mouth that could be compared with a pomegranate. Added to
     this was a ravishing figure, charming feet, and perfect
     grace. Unfortunately, as a dancer, she had very little

     Towards the year 1845 the author of these notes saw much of
     her. She wanted him to write her memoirs, and gave him some
     material for them.... She was born in Seville in 1823, with
     a French officer for a godfather and (as is the custom in
     Spain) the city of Seville for a godmother. The adventures
     of her life were written out by her in an exercise-book. She
     told me that, at a ball in Calcutta, she had once refused to
     waltz with a wealthy gentleman who was so encrusted with
     diamonds that he resembled a snuff-box. When he asked her
     the reason for refusing to dance, she replied: "Sir, I
     cannot dance with you because you have hurt my foot." The
     would-be waltzer was a chiropodist!

Writing, as he did, nearly fifty years after the episode to which he
thus refers, Claudin's memory was a little shaky. Thus Lola Montez was
born in Limerick in 1818, not, as he says, at Seville in 1823; nor
could Claudin have met her in Paris in the spring of 1841, as she had
not then left India.

Dujarier, according to Lola, was much impressed by her political
acumen, and employed her on "secret service" for the Government,
entrusting her as a preliminary with a "mission to St. Petersburg."
The story is an obvious concoction, if merely because Dujarier, being
little beyond a penny-a-liner hack, had no power to employ anybody on
such a task. Still, Lola always stuck to it. Still, it is just
possible that she may have gone to Russia at this period, for Nicholas
was interested in the art of the ballet, and welcomed foreign
exponents of Terpsichore from wherever they came. He was a familiar
figure in the green-rooms of his capital. He patronised Taglioni and
Elssler, and was always ready to make up any deficit in the box-office
receipts. It only meant grinding more out of his army of serfs.

If she did go from Paris to Russia, Lola did not waste her time there,
for, she says, she "nearly married Prince Schulkoski," whom she had
already met in Berlin. This, she adds, was "one of the romances of her
life." But something went wrong with it, for the princely wooer,
"while furiously telegraphing kisses three times a day," was
discovered to be enjoying the companionship of another charmer. Lola
could put up with a great deal. There were, however, limits to her
toleration, and this was one of them. First, Tom James; then, George
Lennox; and now Prince Schulkoski. Masculine promises were no more
substantial than pie-crust. Poor Lola was having a sad awakening. It
is not remarkable that she formed the conclusion that men were
"deceivers ever." After such an experience, nothing else was possible.

Among other items in her repertoire of alleged happenings in Russia at
this period was one that certainly takes a good deal of swallowing.
This was that, while having a "private audience" with the Czar himself
and Count Benkendorf (the Chief of the Secret Police), an important
visitor was announced. Thereupon, and to avoid her presence being
known to the newcomer, she was locked up in a cupboard and left there
for several hours. When the Czar came back, he was "full of apologies
and insisted that she should accept from him a gift of a thousand

Other details follow:

     "A great magnate conquers her at St. Petersburg; Grand Dukes
     perform their tricks; and Circassian Princes die for her.
     But soon she has enough of caviare and vodka. What, she
     wonders, is the good of becoming fuddled with drunkards and
     wasting valuable time on half-civilized Asiatics?"

No good at all, was Lola's decision. Accordingly, she bade farewell to
Russian hospitality, and, relinquishing all prospects of wearing the
Muscovite diadem, returned to Paris and Dujarier. Her lover's
influence secured her an engagement in _La Biche au Bois_ at the Porte
St. Martin Theatre; but, as had happened at the Académie Royale, she
was a "flop." The critics said so with no uncertain voice; and the
manager announced that he agreed with them. Clearly, then, the ballet
was not her _métier_.

"Well, dancing isn't everything," said Lola, who always took a reverse
in philosophical fashion.




The evening of March 7, 1845, was one pregnant with fate where
Dujarier was concerned. He had received, and accepted, an invitation
to a supper-party at the Frères-Provençaux restaurant, given by Mlle
Anais Liévenne, a young actress from the Vaudeville company. Among the
other _convives_ gathered round the festive board were a quartet of
attractive damsels, Atala Beauchene, Victorine Capon, Cecile John, and
Alice Ozy, with, to keep them company, a trio of typical _flâneurs_ in
Rosemond de Beauvallon (a swarthy Creole from Guadaloupe, with
ambitions to be considered a novelist), Roger de Beauvoir (a friend of
Alphonse Karr, and whose other claim to distinction was that he had
once challenged Balzac), and Saint-Agnan (an individual dubbed by
journalists a "man-about-town"). Altogether, a gathering thoroughly
representative of the theatre, the press, the world, and the

Lola was invited to join the party; but, at Dujarier's special
request, she excused herself. If, however, she had gone with him, the
tragedy for which the evening was to be responsible might have been
averted. Still, nobody can look ahead.

For some time, all went merrily as the proverbial marriage bell. The
ladies were not too strait-laced; dull care was banished. Food and
drink without stint; music and lights and laughter; bright eyes and
pretty faces. Champagne corks popped; toasts were offered; jests were
cracked; and tongues wagged.

But it did not last. The clouds were gathering; and presently the
harmony was interrupted. Dujarier was to blame. Unable to carry his
liquor well, or else, under the spell of her bright eyes, he went so
far as to remark to his hostess: "My dear Anais, figure to yourself,
in six months from now you and I will be sleeping together." The
damsel's acknowledged cavalier, de Beauvallon, a stickler for
propriety, took this amiss and declared the assertion to be
unwarranted. Words followed. Warm words. Mlle Liévenne, however, being
good-tempered, merely laughed, and peace was restored.

But the patched-up truce was only a temporary one. Feeling still ran
high. A few minutes later, de Beauvallon picked another quarrel with
Dujarier, this time complaining that he had neglected to publish a
feuilleton of his, _Mémoires de M. Montholon_, that had been accepted
by him. As was to be expected, the result of pestering the sub-editor
at such a moment was to receive the sharp response that he "must wait
his turn, and that, in the meantime, there were more important authors
than himself to be considered."

With the idea of calming frayed nerves, somebody suggested that they
should all adjourn for a flutter at lansquenet, then ousting écarté.
The proposal was accepted; and, the revellers having settled down,
Saint-Agnan, having the best-lined wallet, took the bank.

Fortune did not smile on Dujarier. The luck seemed against him; and,
when the party broke up in the small hours, he was a couple of
thousand francs to the bad. Worse than this, he was unable to settle
his losses until he had borrowed the necessary billets from the head
waiter. As a result, his temper was soured, his nerves on edge.
Accordingly, when de Beauvallon was tactless enough to upset him
again, he "answered somewhat abruptly."

This, however, was not all. The "wine being in, the wit was out." A
woman's name cropped up, that of a certain Madame Albert, a young
actress in whose affections Dujarier had, before Lola Montez appeared
on the scene, been ousted by de Beauvallon. The recollection rankled,
and he made some sneering reference to the subject. With an obvious
effort, the other kept his temper and curtly remarking, "You will hear
from me to-morrow, Monsieur," left the restaurant.


"It might have been thought," is the comment of Larousse, "that, with
the fever of the wine abated, these happenings and the recollection of
the indecorous words accompanying them would, by the next morning,
have been forgotten."

But they were not forgotten. They were remembered. On the following
afternoon, while Dujarier was in his office, lamenting the fact that
he had made such a fool of himself, and wondering how he was to
explain matters to Lola, two visitors were announced. One of them was
the Comte de Flers and the other was the Vicomte d'Ecquevillez. With
ceremonious bows, they stated the purport of their call. This was that
they represented de Beauvallon, who "demanded satisfaction for the
insults he had received from M. Dujarier."

The quarrel, however, was really one between two rival papers, _La
Presse_ and _Le Globe_, which had long been at daggers drawn. Granier
de Cassagnac, the editor of _Le Globe_, was the brother-in-law of de
Beauvallon, and Emile de Girardin, the proprietor of _La Presse_, had
systematically held him up to ridicule in his columns. Hence, when the
news of the restaurant fracas leaked out among the café gossipers, the
result was that everybody said: "il n'y eut qu'une voix pour dire
'c'est le _Globe_ qui veut se battre avec la _Presse_.'"

Dujarier, who had no stomach for fighting--except with his pen--would
have backed out if he could. But he could not. Things had already gone
too far. Accordingly, he referred the visitors to his friends, Arthur
Bertrand (a god-son of the Emperor) and Charles de Boignes, and then
hurried off to consult them himself.

"Pistols for two and coffee for one," was their decision when they
heard what he had to tell them. There was, they were emphatic, no
other way by which he could satisfy his "honour." The code demanded

Clutching at a straw, Dujarier next sought counsel of Alexandre Dumas.

"I don't know why I am fighting," he said.

If it came to that, Dumas shared his ignorance. Still, he insisted
that a "meeting" was inevitable.

This was the case. For a Frenchman to refuse to "go out"--no matter
what his reason--would be to incur social ignominy. He would be looked
upon as a pariah; not a hand would be offered him; and he would have
bundles of white feathers showered upon him by his former

It was all very ridiculous. Still, it must be remembered that "the
period was one when journalists aped fine gentlemen, and killed
themselves for nothing." Ferdinand Bac declares that this practice was
"largely the fault of Dumas, who, in his romances, would describe
lovely women throwing themselves between the combatants to effect
their reconciliation."

Since a meeting could be a serious affair, the seconds were naturally
anxious to protect themselves. Accordingly, the four of them, putting
their heads together, drew up a document which, in the event of
untoward consequences occurring, would, they felt, absolve them of

"We, the undersigned, state that, as the result of a disagreement, M.
de Beauvallon has provoked M. Dujarier in a fashion that makes it
impossible for him to refuse an encounter. We ourselves have done all
we can to reconcile these gentlemen; and it is only at M. de
Beauvallon's urgent demand that we are proceeding in the matter."

As the challenged party, Dujarier had the choice of weapons. The
privilege, however, was not worth much to him. He had never handled
cold steel, while his adversary was an expert fencer, and he was also
such a poor marksman that he could not have made sure of hitting a
haystack at twenty yards. Still, he reflected that, although de
Beauvallon was unlikely to miss him with a rapier, he might possibly
do so with a bullet. Accordingly, he elected for pistols.

When Dujarier came back to her that evening, Lola, with womanly
intuition, saw that some trouble had befallen him. Under pressure, he
admitted that he was about to fight a duel for which he had no
stomach. At the same time, however, he led her to believe that his
adversary was de Beauvoir, and not de Beauvallon.

Having thus calmed her fears, for she knew that de Beauvoir was no
more a fire-eater than was he himself, he went off to have another
consultation with his seconds.

"I shall not be back until late," he said, "as I am supping with
Dumas. You must not stop up for me."

Instead, however, of returning that night, Dujarier, feeling that he
could not face Lola and tell her the truth, stopped with one of his
seconds. There he wrote and sealed a couple of letters, charging de
Boignes to "deliver them if required by circumstances." The first was
to his mother:

     If this letter reaches you, it will be because I shall be
     dead or else dangerously wounded. To-morrow morning I am
     going out to fight with pistols. My position requires it;
     and, as a man of honour, I accept the challenge. If you, my
     good mother, should have cause to weep, it is better that
     you should shed tears for a son worthy of yourself than to
     shed them for a coward. I go to the combat in the spirit of
     a man who is calm and sure of himself. Justice is on my

A more difficult, although less flamboyant, letter to write was the
second one, for its recipient would be the woman who had given him her
heart: and was even then anxiously awaiting his return:


     I want to explain why it was I slept by myself and did not
     come to you this morning. It is because I have to fight a
     duel. All my calmness is required, and seeing you would have
     upset me. By two o'clock this afternoon everything will be

     A thousand fond farewells to the dear little girl I love so
     much, and the thoughts of whom will be with me for ever.

Having written his letters, he proceeded to draw up his will. This
document left, among specific bequests to his mother and sister,
certain shares that he held in the Palais Royal to Lola Montez.


The date of the meeting was March 11, and the rendezvous was a retired
spot in the Bois de Boulogne. A bitterly cold morning, with snow on
the ground and heavy clouds in a leaden sky. As the clock struck the
appointed hour, Dujarier, accompanied by his seconds, and M. de Guise,
a medical man, drove up in a cab. They were the first to arrive.

After waiting for more than an hour, Dujarier was in such a nervous
condition that his seconds declared he would be justified in leaving
the field, since his adversary had not kept the appointment. Instead,
however, of jumping at the chance, he took a swig at a flask of
cognac. The potent spirit gave him some measure of Dutch courage, and
his teeth stopped chattering.

"I will fight," he announced grandiloquently. "I am a Frenchman, and
my honour is very dear to me."

It was to be put to the test, for a few minutes later de Beauvallon
and his seconds arrived, with a tardy apology.

On behalf of their principal, Dujarier's seconds then made a last
appeal for an amicable settlement. It was coldly received; and they
were told that "the insult offered was too serious to be wiped out by
words." There being nothing else for it, the preliminaries were
discussed, the conditions of the combat being that the adversaries
should stand thirty paces apart, advance six paces, and then fire.

The pistols were furnished by d'Ecquevillez, and it had been expressly
stipulated that his principal should not have handled them until that
moment. When, however, Bertrand examined the pair, he remarked that,
since the barrels were blackened and still warm to the touch, it was
obvious that somebody had already practised with them. As, however,
d'Ecquevillez swore that they had not been tried by de Beauvallon, the
protest was withdrawn.

The distance being measured and the adversaries placed in position,
the seconds stepped aside. Then, at a signal, the word was given. The
first to fire was Dujarier. He was, however, so agitated that he sent
a bullet wide of the mark. De Beauvallon, on the other hand, was
perfectly cool and collected. He lifted his weapon and aimed with such
deliberate care that de Boignes, unable to restrain himself, called
out excitedly: "_Mais, tirez donc, Monsieur!_" With a nod, de
Beauvallon pressed the trigger. There was an answering flash and a
report; and, as the smoke drifted away, Dujarier reeled and fell,
blood gushing from his mouth and nostrils.

When Dr. de Guise examined him, he looked grave. He saw at once that
the injury was serious. As a matter of fact, Dujarier was dead before
they returned to Paris.

As the cab reached the house in the rue Lafitte, Lola, waiting there
in an agony of suspense, heard the rumble of wheels. Rushing
downstairs, she stepped back with a cry of terror, for three men were
carrying a heavy burden into the hall. Instinctively, she realised
that the worst had happened, that her suspense was at an end.

"Mademoiselle, we have ill tidings for you," said de Boignes.

"I know it," said Lola. "Dujarier is killed. I felt sure this would
happen. You should not have let him fight."

The funeral of Dujarier, which took place a couple of days later in
the cemetery at Montmartre, was attended by characteristic pomp. The
velvet pall above his coffin was held by Balzac, Dumas, and Joseph
Méry, and a flowery "oration" delivered at the graveside by Emile de

     "Whether it endure but a single day, or be deep and
     prolonged, Man's sorrow is always barren and profitless. It
     cannot restore to a disconsolate mother, bemoaning her
     untimely loss, the son for whom she weeps, or give him back
     to his friends.... Let the words written by Dujarier: 'I am
     about to fight a duel for the most absurd and futile of
     causes,' never be effaced from our memory. Farewell,
     Dujarier! Rest in peace! Let us carry away from the
     graveside the hope that the recollection of so lamentable an
     end will last long enough to shield others from a similar
     one. Let all mothers--still astounded and trembling--derive
     some measure of confidence from this hope, and pray to God
     for poor Dujarier with all the fervour of their souls!"

As may be imagined, talk followed. A vast amount of talk, in the
newspapers and elsewhere. "The topic was discussed," one reads, "at
the royal table itself by the family of Louis-Philippe; and Queen
Amelie and Aunt Adelaide stigmatised the conduct of this wicked hussy,
Lola Montez, in severe terms."


After such an experience, Lola felt that she had had enough of France
for a time. Accordingly, she went back to Germany. There she resumed
relations with Liszt, who took her to a second Beethoven Festival at
Bonn. While allowance could be made for the artistic temperament, this
was considered to be straining it, and caustic remarks on the subject
appeared in the press.

During the absence of Lola from Paris, the relatives of Dujarier had
not been idle. Unpleasant whispers were heard that the dead man had
not fallen in a fair fight; and that the fatal bullet had come from a
weapon with which his adversary had already practised. As this was
contrary to the conditions of the encounter, the arm of the law
reached out, and de Beauvallon and his seconds were called upon for an
explanation. The one they furnished to them was deemed adequate by the
authorities. Still, if "honour was satisfied," the friends of de
Beauvallon's victim were not. Accordingly, they set to work, and,
pulling fresh strings, managed to get the official decision upset.

[Illustration: _Fanny Elssler. Predecessor of Lola Montez in Paris_]

An article on the subject that appeared in _Le Droit_ took a severe

"The grounds alleged to be responsible for this deplorable business,"
declared an editorial, "were utterly frivolous. As a result, the
public prosecutor has instructed an examining-magistrate to enquire
into all the circumstances, and an autopsy will be held. It is
possible that other measures will be adopted."

Other measures _were_ adopted.

"All duels," was the austere comment of the examining-magistrate who
conducted the enquiry, "are marked by folly, and some by deliberate
baseness." Where this one was concerned, he hinted at something
sinister, and asked pointed questions about the pistols that
d'Ecquevillez had been obliging enough to furnish. The answer was that
they belonged to M. de Cassignac, who, for his part, declared that,
until the actual day of the meeting, they had been in the custody of
the gunsmith from whom he had bought them. The gunsmith, however, M.
Devismes, said that this was not the case; and another witness
declared that he had seen de Beauvallon having a little surreptitious
practice with them in the garden.

The next thing that happened was that, before the magisterial enquiry
was finished, de Beauvallon and d'Ecquevillez made a hurried departure
from Paris. During their absence, it was decided to abandon further
proceedings for want of evidence. Thinking himself safe, de Beauvallon
then returned. But he was not safe. The Supreme Court cancelled the
decision of the inferior one, and announced that he was to stand his
trial for murder.

As public feeling ran high, and it was felt that an impartial jury
could not have been secured in Paris, the trial was held at Rouen. The
date was March 26, 1846. Attracted by the special circumstances of
the case, the court was crowded.

"Nearly all those who were present," says Claudin, "belonged to the
world of the boulevards." Albert Vandam was among the spectators; and
with him for a companion was a much more distinguished person, Gustave


All being in readiness, and the stage set for the drama that was about
to be unfolded, the judges, in the traditional red robes, took their
seats, with M. Letendre de Tourville as president of the Court. M.
Salveton, the public prosecutor, and M. Rieff, the advocate-general,
represented the Government; and Mâitre Berryer and M. Léon Duval
appeared respectively on behalf of the accused and the dead man's
mother and sister.

As it had been suggested that de Beauvallon had purposely arrived late
on the ground, in order to have some preliminary practice, he was told
to give an account of his movements of the morning of the duel.

"I got up at seven o'clock," he said, "and went downstairs with the
pistols which had been waiting for me at the concierge's when I
returned home on the previous evening."

"The concierge remembers nothing of that," interrupted M. Duval. "This
is a fresh fact. We must certainly consider it. What happened next?"

"I went off in a cab to M. d'Ecquevillez, and handed the pistols to
him. At half-past ten I returned home, to wait for my seconds. We
arrived on the ground at half-past eleven. M. de Boignes received us
coldly, with his hands in his pockets, and said: 'You do well to keep
us waiting like this for you. Name of God! this isn't a summer
morning. We think there is not sufficient motive to fight a duel.' I
answered frigidly, but politely, that I did not agree with him, and
that I was in the hands of my seconds."

"But one of them, M. de Flers," remarked the President, "thought the
quarrel trifling and said so. Another thing. Why did M. d'Ecquevillez
tell us that the pistols belonged to him? Remember, he has given us
details as to where he got them."

"I ignore details," was the lofty response.

"If you do, we don't," returned the judge.

A vigorous denial was made by de Beauvallon to the suggestion that he
was familiar with the pistols used in the duel. To convince the jury
that he was not to be believed, the opposing counsel then told them
that he had once pawned a watch belonging to somebody else. When the
judge expressed himself shocked at such depravity, de Beauvallon, says
a report, "hung his head and wept."

Nor did d'Ecquevillez, the other defendant, cut a very happy figure.
His real name was said to be Vincent, and aspersions were cast on his
right to dub himself a "Count." He swore he had never admitted that
the pistols belonged to him, and that de Beauvallon had borrowed them
from the gunsmith, Desvismes. The latter, however, calling on heaven
for support, declared the statement to be a "wicked invention."

Believing in the efficacy of numbers in getting up their case,
forty-six witnesses were assembled by the prosecution. Mlle Lièvenne,
the first of them to be examined, brought with her an atmosphere of
the theatre, "adopting a flashy costume, in deplorably bad taste."
"This," says a chronicler, "took the form of a blue velvet dress, a
scarlet shawl, and a pearl-grey mantle." Altogether, a striking
colour-scheme. But it did not help her. To the indignation of the
examining-counsel, she affected to remember nothing, declaring that
she had been "too busy at the supper-table, looking after the

The other young women, described as "more or less actresses," who had
also been present, appeared to be suffering from a similar loss of
memory. Their minds, they protested, were absolutely blank as to what
had happened at the restaurant and very little could be extracted
from them. When they had given their evidence, they looked for seats
in the body of the court. The Rouen ladies, however, having somewhat
rigid standards, would not permit them to sit between the wind and
their propriety.

"Things are coming to a pretty pass," they declared, "when
play-actresses imagine they can sit beside respectable women like

Thereupon, the discomfited damsels withdrew to the hard benches of the
public gallery.

Dumas, subpoenaed as a witness, drove all the way from Paris in a
four-horsed carriage, with Méry as a travelling companion. When he
took his place on the stand, M. de Tourville, affecting judicial
ignorance, enquired his profession.

"If," returned the other, striking an attitude, "I did not here happen
to find myself in the country of the illustrious Corneille, I should
call myself a dramatist."

"Just so," was the caustic response, "but there are degrees among

Taking this for encouragement, Dumas launched out into a disquisition
on the history of the duello through the ages that was nearly as long
as one of his own serials. In the middle of it, a member of the jury,
anxious to be in the limelight, asked him a question.

"How does it happen," he enquired, "that Dujarier, who considered that
a man of fashion must fight at least one duel, had never prepared
himself by learning to shoot and fence?"

"I cannot tell you," was the reply. "My son, however, told me that he
once accompanied him to a shooting-gallery. Out of twenty shots, he
only hit the target twice."

Dumas made an exit as dramatic as his entry.

"I beg," he said, "that the honourable Court will permit me to return
to Paris, where I have a new tragedy in five acts being performed this

Lola Montez, garbed in heavy mourning, was the next summoned to give

"When," says one who was there, "she lifted her veil and removed her
glove, to take the prescribed oath, a murmur of admiration ran through
the gathering." To this an impressed reporter adds: "Her lovely eyes
appeared to the judges of a deeper black than her lace ruffles."

The presiding judge had no qualms about enquiring her age; and she had
none about lopping five years off it and declaring that she was just
twenty-one. Nor did she advance any objection to being described, with
Gallic candour, as the "mistress of Dujarier."

During her evidence, Lola Montez, probably coached by Dumas, did just
what was expected of her. Thus, she shed abundant tears, struck
pathetic attitudes, and several times looked on the point of
collapsing. But what she had to say amounted to very little. In fact,
it was nothing more than an assertion that ill-feeling existed between
Dujarier and de Cassagnac, the brother-in-law of de Beauvallon, and
that the quarrel was connected with an alleged debt.

Dujarier, she said, had forbidden her to make de Beauvallon's
acquaintance, or to attend the supper at the restaurant. He had
returned from it in an excited condition at 6 o'clock the next morning
and told her that he would have to accept a challenge.

"I was troubled about it," she said, "all day long. But for M.
Bertrand's assurance that the encounter was to be with M. de Beauvoir,
I would have gone to the police. You see, de Beauvoir was a
high-minded gentleman, and would not have condescended to profit from
the poor Dujarier's lack of skill."

"Did you not," enquired counsel, "say 'I am a woman of courage, and,
if the meeting is in order, I will not stop it'?"

"Yes, but that was because I understood it was to be with de Beauvoir,
and he would not willingly have harmed Dujarier. When I heard it was
to be with de Beauvallon I exclaimed, 'My God! Dujarier is as good as

"I myself," she added, "could handle a pistol more accurately than the
poor Dujarier; and, if he had wanted satisfaction, I should have been
quite willing to have gone out with M. de Beauvallon myself."

A murmur of applause met this assurance. Lola's attitude appealed to
the spectators. She was clearly a woman of spirit.

During the proceedings that followed some sharp things were said about
M. Granier de Cassagnac, the accused's brother-in-law. Some of them
were so bitter that at last he protested.

"Monsieur le President," he exclaimed hotly. "I cannot bear these
abominable attacks on myself any longer."

"If you can't bear them, you can always leave the court," was the

"This gentleman's indignation does not disturb me in the least," said
the public prosecutor. "I have already had experience of it, and I
consider it to be artificial."


After all the witnesses had been examined and cross-examined, and
bullied and threatened in the approved fashion, Mâitre Duval addressed
the jury on behalf of the dead man's relatives. In the course of this
he delivered a powerful speech, full of passion and invective, drawing
a parallel between this _affaire d'honneur_ and the historic one
between Alceste and Oronte in Molière's drama. According to him,
Dujarier was a shining exemplar, while de Beauvallon was an
unmitigated scoundrel, with a "past" of the worst description
imaginable. Having once, years earlier, pledged a watch that did not
belong to him, he had "no right to challenge anybody, much less a
distinguished man of letters, such as the noble Dujarier." The various
causes of the quarrel were discussed next. Counsel thought very little
of them.

De Beauvallon had complained that Dujarier had "cut" him. "Is it an
offence," enquired M. Duval, "for one man to avoid another? Upon my
word, M. de Beauvallon will have to kill a number of people if he
wants to kill all those who decline the honour of his companionship."
As for the gambling quarrel, this was not serious. What, however, was
serious was that, on the morning of the encounter, de Beauvallon had
gone to a shooting gallery and had some private practice with the very
pistols that were afterwards used. This gave him an unfair advantage.
"If," was the advocate's final effort to win a verdict, "M. de
Beauvallon is acquitted, the result will be not only a victory for an
improperly conducted duel, but the very custom of the duel itself will
be dishonoured by such a decision."

Léon Duval having sat down, the President turned to the defendant's

"The word is with you, M. Berryer," he said.

Mâitre Berryer, a master of forensic oratory, began his address by
contending that duelling was not prohibited by the law of France. In
support he quoted Guizot's dictum: "Where the barbarian murders, the
Frenchman seeks honourable combat; legislation on the subject is
profitless; and this must be the case, since the duel is the
complement of modern civilization."

The judges were unprepared to accept this view off-hand; and, after
consulting with the assessors, the President insisted that, whatever
M. Berryer might say, duelling was illegal in France. Although he did
not tell him so, it was also quite as illegal in England, where Lord
Cardigan had, a little earlier, only just wriggled out of a conviction
for taking part in one by a combination of false swearing and the
subservience of his brother peers.

Not in the least upset, M. Berryer advanced another point. As might
have been expected of so accomplished an advocate, he had little
difficulty in demolishing the elaborate, but specious and unsupported,
hypothesis built up by the other side. Hard facts did more with the
stolid and unimaginative Rouen jury than did picturesque embroideries.

"Is the accusation true?" demanded the President.

"On my honour and on my conscience, before God and before man,"
announced the foreman, "the declaration of the jury is that it is not

As a result of this finding, de Beauvallon was acquitted of the charge
of murder. But he did not escape without penalty, for he was ordered
to pay 20,000 francs "compensation" to the mother and Dujarier's

"He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow." Convinced
that there had been a miscarriage of justice and a vast amount of
false swearing, the dead man's friends set to work to collect other
evidence. By a stroke of luck, they got into touch with a gardener,
who said that he had seen de Beauvallon, in company with
d'Ecquevillez, having some surreptitious pistol practice on the
morning of the duel. Thereupon, the pair of them were rearrested and
tried for perjury. Being convicted, d'Ecquevillez was sentenced to ten
years' imprisonment and de Beauvallon to eight years. But neither
couple stopped in durance very long. The revolution of 1848 opened the
doors of the Conciergerie and they made good their escape, the one of
them to Spain, and the other to his Creole relatives in Guadeloupe.




Immediately after the Rouen trial, Lola left France, returning once
more to Germany. Perhaps the Irish strain in her blood made her a
little superstitious. At any rate, just before starting, she consulted
a clairvoyante. She felt that she had her money's worth, for the Sibyl
declared that she would "exercise much influence on a monarch and the
destiny of a kingdom." A long shot, and, as it happened, quite a sound

Her intention being, as she had candidly informed Dumas, to "hook a
prince," she studied the _Almanach de Gotha_, and familiarised herself
with the positions and revenues of the various "notables" accorded
niches therein.

Germany was obviously the best field to exploit, for that country just
then was full of princes. As a matter of fact there were no less than
thirty-six of them waiting to be "hooked." The first place to which
she went on this errand was Baden, where, according to Ferdinand Bac,
she "bewitched the future Emperor William I. The Prince, however,
being warned of her syren spell, presently smiled and passed on."

Better luck befell the wanderer at her next attempt to establish
intimate contact with a member of the _hoch geboren_, Henry LXXII. His
principality, Reuss-Lobenstein-Ebersdorf (afterwards amalgamated with
Thuringia), had the longest name, but the smallest area, of any in the
kingdom, for it was only about the size of a pocket-handkerchief. But
to Lola this was of no great consequence. What, however, was of
consequence was that he was a millionaire (in thalers) and possessed
an inflammable heart.

A great stickler for etiquette, he once published the following notice
in his _Court Gazette_:

"For twenty years it has been my express injunction that every
official shall always be alluded to by his correct title. This
injunction, however, has not always been obeyed. In future, therefore,
I shall impose a fine of one thaler on any member of my staff who
neglects to refer to another by his proper title or description."

But that the Prince could unbend on occasion is revealed by another
notification to his subjects:

"His Most Serene Highness and All-Highest Self has graciously
condescended to approve the conduct of those six members of the Reuss
militia who recently assisted to put out a fire. With his own
All-Highest hand he is (on production of a satisfactory birth
certificate) even prepared to shake that of the oldest among them."

Risking a prosecution for _lèse-majesté_, a local laureate described
the incident in stirring verse. An extract from this effort,
translated by Professor J. G. Legge, in his _Rhyme and Revolution in
Germany_, is as follows:


    Quite recently in Reuss
      Militia at a fire
    (I'm sure it will rejoice you)
      Great credit did acquire.

    When this, through a memorial,
      Their gracious Prince by Right
    Had learned; those territorials
      He to him did invite.

    And when the good men shyly
      Stood up before him, each
    His Gracious Highness highly
      Praised in a Gracious speech.

    A solemn affidavit
      (With parents' names and date)
    Each then produced and gave it
      --His birth certificate.

    His Highness then demanded
      The eldest of the band,
    And clasped that horny-handed
      With his All-Highest hand.

    Now, this great deed recorded,
      Who would not dwell for choice
    Where heroes are rewarded
      As in the land of Reuss?

Where Lola was concerned, she very soon put a match to the
inflammable, if arrogant, heart of Prince Henry, and, as a result, was
"commanded" to accompany him to his miniature court at Ebersdorf. She
did not, however, stop there very long, for, by her imperious attitude
and contempt of etiquette, she disturbed the petty officials and
bourgeois citizens surrounding it to such a degree that they made
formal complaints to his High-and-Mightiness. At first he would not
hear a word on the subject. Such was his favourite's position that
criticism of her actions was perilously near _lèse-majesté_ and
incurred reprisals. As soon, however, as the amorous princeling
discovered that his bank balance was being depleted considerably
beyond the amount for which he had budgeted, he suffered a sudden
spasm of virtue and issued marching-orders to the "Fair Impure," as
his shocked and strait-laced Ebersdorfians dubbed the intruder among
them. There was also some suggestion, advanced by a gardener, that she
had a habit of taking a short cut across the princely flower-beds when
she was in a hurry. This was the last straw.

"Leave my kingdom at once," exclaimed the furious Henry. "You are
nothing but a feminine devil!"

Not in the least discomfited by this change of opinion, Lola riposted
by presenting a lengthy and detailed account for "services rendered";
and, when it had been met (and not before), shook the dust of
Reuss-Lobenstein-Ebersdorf from her pretty feet.

"You can keep your Thuringia," was her parting-shot. "I wouldn't have
it as a gift."

The next places at which she halted were Homburg and Carlsbad, two
resorts then beginning to become popular and attracting a wealthy
crowd seeking a promised "cure" for their various ills. But, finding
the barons apt to be close-fisted, and the smart young lieutenants
without one _pfennig_ in their pockets to rub against another, Lola
was soon continuing her travels.

In September, 1846, she found herself in Wurtemburg, where, much to
her annoyance, she discovered that a certain Amalia Stubenrauch, a
prepossessing damsel, who would now be called a gold-digger, had
conquered the spare affections of King William, on whom Lola herself
had designs. But that large-hearted monarch had, as it happened, few
affections to spare for anybody just then, for, when she encountered
him at Stuttgart, he was on the point of being married to Princess
Olga of Russia. A correspondent of the _Athenæum_, who was there to
chronicle the wedding festivities for his paper, registered
disapproval at her presence in the district. "From the capital of
Wurtemburg," he announced sourly, "Lola Montez departed in the
_schnellpost_ for Munich, unimpeded by any luggage." Somebody else,
however (perhaps a more careful observer), is emphatic that she "went
off with three carts full of trunks." As she always had a considerable
wardrobe, this is quite possible.


When, at the suggestion of Baron Maltitz (a Homburg acquaintance who
had suggested that she should "try her luck in Munich"), Lola set off
for Bavaria, that country was ruled by Ludwig I. A god-child of
Marie-Antoinette, and the son of Prince Max Joseph of Zweibrucken and
Princess Augusta of Hesse-Darmstadt, he was born at Salzburg in 1786
and had succeeded his father in 1825. As a young man, he had served
with the Bavarian troops under Napoleon, and detesting the experience,
had conceived a hatred of everything military. This hatred was so
strongly developed that he would not permit his sons to wear uniform.
Under his regime the military estimates were cut down to the bone. The
army, he said, was a "waste of money," and he grudged every _pfennig_
it cost the annual budget. He did his best to abolish conscription,
but had to abandon the effort. For all, too, that he was a god-son of
Marie-Antoinette, he had no love for France.

[Illustration: _Porte St. Martin Theatre, Paris, where Lola was a

Ludwig's sister, Louisa, exchanging her religion for a consort's
crown, was the wife of the Czar Alexander I; and he himself was
married to the Princess Theresa of Saxe-Hildburghausen, a lady
described as "plain, but exemplary." Still, so far as personal
appearance goes, Ludwig himself was no Adonis. Nestitz, indeed, has
pictured him as "having a toothless jaw and an expressionless
countenance." But his consort did her duty; and, at approved
intervals, presented him with a quiverful of four sons and three
daughters. Of his sons, one of them, Otto, was, as a lad of sixteen,
selected by the Congress of London to be King of Greece, much to the
fury of the Czar Nicholas, who held that this was a cunning, if
diplomatic, attempt to set up a Byzantine empire among the Hellenes.
"Were I," he said in a despatch on the subject, "to give my
countenance to such a step, I should nullify myself in the eyes of my
Church." Nesselrode, however, was of another opinion. "It is
unbecoming," he was daring enough to inform his master, "for the
Emperor of Russia to question a step upon which the Greeks themselves
are not in entire accord." A remarkable utterance. Politicians had
gone to Siberia for less. Palmerston, too, had his way, and Otto,
escorted by a warship, left his fatherland. On arriving in Athens, the
joy-bells rang out and the columns of the Parthenon were flood-lit.
But the choice was not to the popular taste; and it was not long
before Otto was extinguished, as well as the lights. By the irony of
fate, he returned to Munich on the very day that Ludwig had erected a
Doric arch to commemorate the activities of the House of Wittelsbach
in securing the Liberation of Greece.

Despite this untoward happening, Ludwig remained an ardent
Phil-Hellene; and, as such, conceived the idea of converting his
capital into a mixture of Athens and Florence and a metropolis of all
the arts. Under his fostering care, Munich was brought to bed of a
succession of temples and columns, and sprouted pillars and porticoes
in every direction. The slums and alleys and huddle of houses in the
old enceinte were swept away, and replaced by broad boulevards,
fringed with museums and churches and picture galleries. For many of
the principal public buildings he went to good models. Thus, one of
them, the Königsbau, was copied from the Pitti Palace; a second from
the Loggia de' Lanzi; and a third from St. Paul's at Rome. He also
built a Walhalla, at Ratisbon, in which to preserve the effigies of
his more distinguished countrymen. Yet, although it ran to size, there
was no niche in it for Luther.

In his patronage of the fine arts, Ludwig followed in the footsteps of
the Medici. During his regime, he did much to raise the standard of
taste among his subjects. Martin Wagner and von Hallerstein were
commissioned by him to travel in Greece and Italy and secure choice
sculpture and pictures for his galleries and museums. The best of them
found a home in the Glyptothek and the Pinakothek, two enormous
buildings in the Doric style, the cost of which he met from his privy
purse. Another of his hobbies was to play the Maecenas; and any
budding author or artist who came to him with a manuscript in his
pocket or a canvas under his arm was certain of a welcome.

We all have our little weaknesses. That of Ludwig of Bavaria was that
he was a poet. He was so sure of this that he not only produced yards
of turgid verse, defying every law of construction and metre, but he
even had some of it printed. A volume of selections from his Muse,
entitled _Walhalla's Genossen_, was published for him by Baron Cotta,
and, like the Indian shawls of Queen Victoria, did regular duty as a
wedding-gift. One effort was dedicated "To Myself as King," and
another "To my Sister, the Empress of Austria"; and a number of choice
extracts were translated and appeared in an English guide-book.

Ignoring the divinity that should have hedged their author, Heine was
very caustic about this royal assault upon Parnassus. Ludwig riposted
by banishing him from the capital. Still, if he disapproved of this
one, he added to his library the output of other bards, not
necessarily German. But, while Browning was there, Tennyson had no
place on his shelves. One, however, was found for Martin Tupper.

Ludwig cultivated friendly relations with England, and did all he
could (within limits) to promote an _entente_. Thus, on the occasion
of a chance visit to Munich by Lord Combermere, he "sent the
distinguished traveller a message to the effect that a horse and
saddlery, with aide-de-camp complete, were at his service." His
companion, however, a member of the Foreign Office Staff, who had
forgotten to pack his uniform--or in John Bull fashion had declined to
do so--did not fare so well, since his name was struck off the list of
"eligibles" to attend the palace functions. Thereupon, says Lord
Combermere, he "wrote an angry letter to the chamberlain, commenting
on the absurdity of the restriction."

But Ludwig's opinion of diplomatists was also somewhat unflattering,
for, of a certain embassy visited by him on his travels, he wrote:

    "A Theatre once--and now an Ambassador's dwelling.
    Still, thou are what thou wast--the abode of deception."

A strange mixture of Henry IV and Haroun-al-Raschid, Ludwig of Bavaria
was a man of contradictions. At one moment he was lavishly generous;
at another, incredibly mean. He could be an autocrat to his finger
tips, and insist on the observance of the most minute points of
etiquette; and he could also be as democratic as anybody who ever
waved a red flag. Thus, he would often walk through the streets as a
private citizen, and without an escort. Yet, when he did so, he
insisted on being recognised and having compliments paid him. The
traffic had to be held up and hats doffed at his approach.

Nowadays, he would probably have been clapped into a museum as a

Such, then, was the monarch whose path was to be crossed, with
historic and unexpected consequences to each of them, by Lola Montez.


On arriving in Munich, Lola called on the manager of the Hof Theatre.
As this individual already knew of her Paris fiasco, instead of an
engagement from him, she met with a rebuff. Quite undisturbed,
however, by such an experience, she hurried off to the palace, and
commanded the astonished door-keeper to take her straight to the King.

The flunkey referred her to Count Rechberg, the aide-de-camp on duty.
With him Lola had more success. Boldness conquered where bashfulness
would have failed. After a single swift glance, Count Rechberg decided
that the applicant was eligible for admission to the "Presence," and
reported the fact to his master.

But Ludwig already knew something of the candidate for terpsichorean
honours. As it happened, that very morning he had received from Herr
Frays, the director of the Hof Theatre, a letter, telling him that, on
the advice of his _première-danseuse_, Fräulein Frenzal, he had
refused to give her an engagement. Count Rechberg's florid description
of her charms, however, decided His Majesty to use his own judgment.
But he did not give in easily.

"Is it suggested," he demanded acidly, "that I should receive all
these would-be ballerinas and put them through their paces? They come
here by the dozen. Why am I troubled with such nonsense?"

"Sire," returned Rechberg, greatly daring, but with Lola's magnetism
still upon him, "you will not regret it. I assure you this one is an
exception. She is delightful. That is the only word for it. Never have
I seen anybody to equal her. Such grace, such charm, such ----"

"Pooh!" interrupted Ludwig, cutting short the threatened rhapsodies,
"your swan is probably a goose. Most of them are. Still, now that
she's here, let her come in. If she isn't any good, I'll soon send her
about her business."

Brave words, but they availed him nothing. Ludwig shot one glance at
the woman who stood before him, and capitulated utterly.

A sudden thrill passed through him. His sixty years fell away in a
flash. A river of blood surged through his sexagenarian arteries. His
boast recoiled upon himself. Rechberg had not deceived him.

"What has happened to me?" he muttered feebly. "I am bewitched." Then,
as the newcomer stood smiling at him in all her warm loveliness, he
found his tongue.

"Mademoiselle, you say you can dance. Well, let me see what you can
do. Count Rechberg, you may leave us."

"Do I dance here, in this room, Your Majesty?"


Lola wanted nothing better. The opportunity for which she had been
planning and scheming ever since she left Paris had come at last.
Well, she would make the most of it. Not in the least perturbed that
there was no accompaniment, and no audience but His Majesty, she
executed a _pas seul_ there and then. It was a "royal performance,"
and eminently successful. Her feet tripped lightly across the polished
floor, and danced their way straight into Ludwig's heart.

"You shall dance before the public," he announced. "I will myself give
orders to the director of the Hof Theatre."

Luise von Kobell, when a schoolgirl, encountered her by chance just
after her arrival, and thus records the impression she received:

     As I was walking in the Briennerstrasse, not far from the
     Bayersdorf Palace, I saw a veiled lady, wearing a black gown
     and carrying a fan, coming towards me. Something flashed
     across my vision, and I suddenly stood still, completely
     dazzled by the eyes into which I stared, and which shone
     from a pale countenance that lit up with a laughing
     expression at my bewilderment. Then she swept past me; and
     I, forgetting what my governess had said about looking
     round, stared after her until she disappeared.... "That,"
     said my father, when I reached home and recounted my
     adventure, "must have been Lola Montez, the Spanish dancer."

The next evening little Fräulein von Kobell saw her again at the Hof
Theatre, where her first appearance before the Munich public was made
on October 10, 1846.

     Lola Montez assumed the centre of the stage. She was not
     dressed in the customary tights and short skirts of a
     ballerina, but in a Spanish costume of silk and lace, in
     which shone at intervals a diamond. It seemed as if fire
     darted from her wonderful blue eyes, and she bowed like one
     of the Graces at the King in the royal box. She danced after
     the manner of her country, bending on her hips and
     alternating one posture with another, each rivalling the
     former one in beauty.

     While she was dancing she held the attention of all;
     everybody's eyes followed her sinuous movements, now
     indicative of glowing passion, now of frolicsomeness. Not
     until she ceased her rhythmic swayings was the spell
     interrupted. The audience went mad with rapture, and the
     entire dance had to be repeated over and over again.

Ludwig, ensconced in the royal box, could not take his eyes off her.
During an _entr'acte_ he scribbled a verse:

    Happy movements, clear and near,
      Are in thy living grace.
    Supple and tender, as a deer
      Art thou, of Andalusian race!

"_Wunderschön!_" declared an admiring aide-de-camp to whom he showed

"_Kolossal!_" echoed a second, not to be outdone in recognising

As, however, the cheers were mingled with a few hisses ("due to the
report that the newcomer was an English Freemason, and wanted to
destroy the Catholic religion"), the next evening the management took
the precaution of filling the pit with a leather-lunged and
horny-handed _claque_. This time the bill consisted of a comedy, _Der
Weiberseind von Benedix_, followed by a cachucha and a fandango with
Herr Opsermann for a dancing-partner.

Lola's success was assured; and Herr Frays, who had started by
refusing to let her appear, was now full of grovelling apologies. He
offered her a contract. But Lola, having other ideas as to how her
time should be employed in Munich, would not accept it.

"Thank you for nothing," she said. "When I asked you for an
engagement, you told me I was not good enough to dance in your
theatre. Well, I have now proved to both Fräulein Frenzal and yourself
that I am. That is all I care about, and I shall not dance again,
either for you or for anybody else."

If she had known enough German, she would probably have added: "Put
that in your pipe and smoke it!"

Munich in those days must have proved attractive to people with small
incomes. Thus, Edward Wilberforce, who spent some years there, says
that meat was fivepence a pound, beer twopence-halfpenny a quart, and
servants' wages eight shillings a month. But there were drawbacks.

"The city," says an English guide-book of this period, "has the
reputation of being a very dissolute capital." Yet it swarmed with
churches. The police, too, exercised a strict watch upon the hotel
registers; and, as a result of their activities, a "French visitor was
separated from his feminine companion on grounds of public morality."

"None of your Parisian looseness for us!" said the City Fathers.

But Lola appears to have avoided any such rigid censorship. At any
rate, a certain Auguste Papon (a mixture of pimp and _souteneur_),
whom she had met in Paris, happened to be in Munich at the same time
as herself. The intimacy was revived; and, as he did not possess the
entrée to the Court, for some weeks they lived together at the Hotel
Maulich. In the spring of 1847 a young Guardsman found himself in the
town, on his way back to England from Kissengen. He records that, not
knowing who she was, he sat next Lola Montez at dinner one evening,
and gives an instance of her quick temper. "On the floor between us,"
he says, "was an ice-pail, with a bottle of champagne. A sudden
quarrel occurred with her neighbour, a Bavarian lieutenant; and,
applying her foot to the bucket, she sent it flying the length of the


Lola certainly made the running. Five days after she first met him,
Ludwig summoned all the officials of the Court, and astonished (and
shocked) them by introducing her with the remark: "Gentlemen, I have
the honour to present to you my best friend. See to it that you accord
her every possible respect." He also compelled his long suffering
spouse to admit her to the Order of the Chanoines of St. Thérèse, a
distinction for which--considering her somewhat lurid "past"--this new
recipient was scarcely eligible.

When he heard that instructions had been issued for paying special
compliments to her, Mr. _Punch_ registered severe disapproval.

"It is a good joke," he remarked, "to call upon others to uphold the
dignity of one who is always at some freak or other to lower herself."

When she first sailed in dramatic fashion into the orbit of Bavaria's
sovereign, Lola Montez was just twenty-seven. In the full noontide of
her beauty and allurement, she was well equipped with what the modern
jargon calls sex-appeal. Big-bosomed and with generously swelling
curves, "her form," says Eduard Fuchs, "was provocation incarnate."
Fuchs, who was an expert on the subject of feminine attractions, knew
what he was talking about. "Shameless and impudent," adds Heinrich von
Treitschke, "and as insatiable in her voluptuous desires as Sempronia,
she could converse with charm among friends; manage mettlesome horses;
sing in thrilling fashion; and recite amorous poems in Spanish. The
King, an admirer of feminine beauty, yielded to her magic. It was as
if she had given him a love philtre. For her he forgot himself; he
forgot the world; and he even forgot his royal dignity."

The fact that Lola always wore a Byronic collar helped the theory,
held by many, that she was a daughter of the poet. But her real reason
for adopting the style was that she had a lovely neck, and this set it
off to the best advantage. She studied the art of dress and gave it an
immense amount of care. Where this matter was concerned, no trouble or
care was too much. Her favourite material was velvet, which she
considered--and quite justifiably--to exercise an erotic effect on men
of a certain age. She was insistent, too, that the contours of her
figure ("her quivering thighs and all the demesnes adjacent thereto")
should be clearly revealed, and in a distinctly provocative fashion.
This, of course, was not far removed from exhibitionism. As a result,
bourgeois opinion was outraged. The wives of the petty officials
shopping in the Marienplatz shuddered, and clutched their ample skirts
when they saw her; anxious mothers instructed dumpy Fräuleins "not to
look like the foreign woman." There is no authoritative record that
any of them did so.




Lola Montez had done better than "hook a prince." A lot better. She
had now "hooked" a sovereign. Her ripe warm beauty sent the thin blood
coursing afresh through Ludwig's sluggish veins. There it wrought a
miracle. He was turned sixty, but he felt sixteen.

The conversation of Robert Burns is said to have "swept a duchess off
her feet." Perhaps it did. But that of Lola Montez had a similar
effect on a monarch. Under the magic of her spell, this one became
rejuvenated. The years were stripped from him; he was once more a boy.
With his charmer beside him, he would wander through the Nymphenburg
Woods and under the elms in the Englischer Garten, telling her of his
dreams and fancies. His passion for Greece was forgotten. Pericles was
now Romeo.

    _In dem Suden ist die Liebe,
    Da ist Licht und da ist Glut!_

that is,

    In the south there is love,
    There is light and there is heat,

sang Ludwig.

Yet Lola Montez was not by any means the first who ever burst into the
responsive heart of Ludwig I. She had many predecessors there. One of
them was an Italian syren. But that Lola soon ousted her is clear from
a poetical effort of which the royal troubadour was delivered. This

    _Tropfen der Seligkeit und ein Meer von bitteren Leiden
      Die Italienerin gab--Seligkeit, Seligkeit nur
    Lässest Du mich entzündend, begeistert, befändig empfinden,
      In der Spanierin fand Liebe und Leben ich nur!_

A free rendering of this passionate heart throb would read very much
as follows:

    Drops of bliss and a sea of bitter sorrow
      The Italian woman gave me. Bliss, only bliss,
    Thou gav'st my enraptured heart and soul and spirit.
      In the Spanish woman alone have I found Love and Life!

Ludwig had a prettier name for his inamorata than the "feminine devil"
of Henry LXXII of Reuss. He called her the "Lovely Andalusian" and the
"Woman of Spain." She also inspired him to fresh poetic flights. One
of these ran:

    Thine eyes are blue as heavenly vaults
      Touched by the balmy air;
    And like the raven's plumage is
      Thy dark and glistening hair!

There were several more verses.

A feature of the Residenz Palace was a collection of old masters.
Wanting to add a young mistress, Ludwig allotted a place of honour
among them to a portrait of Lola Montez, from the brush of Josef
Stieler. The work was well done, for the artist was inspired by his
subject; and he painted her wearing a costume of black velvet, with a
touch of colour added by red carnations in her head-dress.

Ludwig's heart being large, _Die Schönheitengalerie_ (as the "Gallery
of Beauties" was called) filled two separate rooms. The one
qualification for securing a niche on the walls being a pretty face,
the collection included the Princess Alexandra of Bavaria (daughter of
the King of Greece), the Archduchess Sophie of Austria, and the
Baroness de Krüdener (catalogued as the "spiritual sister" of the Czar
Alexander I), a popular actress, Charlotte Hagen, a ballet-dancer,
Antoinette Wallinger, and the daughters of the Court butcher and the
municipal town-crier. To these were added a quartet of Englishwomen,
in Lady Milbanke (the wife of the British Minister), Lady
Ellenborough, Lady Jane Erskine, and Lady Teresa Spence. It was to
this gallery that Ludwig was accustomed to retire for a couple of
hours every evening, to "meditate" on the charms of its occupants.
Being, however, possessed of generous instincts, and always ready
(within limits) to share his good things, the public were admitted on
Sunday afternoons.

But Ludwig could scratch, as well as purr. On one occasion he chanced
to meet a lady who had figured among the occupants of the
_Schönheiten_. She was considerably past the first flush of youth, and
Ludwig, exercising his prerogative, affected not to remember her.

"But, Sire," she protested, "I used to be in your gallery."

"That, madame," was the response, "must have been a very long time
ago. You would certainly not be there now."


From her modest hotel, where, soon tiring of his society, she left
Auguste Papon to stay by himself, Lola took up fresh quarters in a
small villa which the King had placed at her disposal in the
Theresienstrasse, a boulevard conveniently near the Hofgarten and the
Palace. While comfortable enough, it was held to be merely a temporary
arrangement. There was not enough room in it for Lola to expand her
wings. She wanted to establish a _salon_ and to give receptions.
Accordingly, she demanded something more suitable. It meant spending
money, and Ludwig had already, he reflected, spent a great deal on her
whims and fancies. Still, under pressure, he came round, and, agreeing
that there must be a fitting nest for his love-bird (with a perch in
it for himself), he summoned his architect, Metzger, and instructed
him to build one in the more fashionable Barerstrasse.

"No expense is to be spared," he said.

None was spared.

[Illustration: _Supper-Party at Les Frères Provençaux. First act in a

The new dwelling, which adjoined the Karolinen Platz, was really a
bijou palace, modelled on the Italian style. Everything in it was of
the best, for Ludwig had cash and Lola had taste. Thus, her toilet-set
was of silver ware; her china and glass came from Dresden: the rooms
were filled with costly nicknacks; mirrors and cabinets and vases and
bronzes; richly-bound books on the shelves; and valuable tapestries
and pictures on the walls. French elegance, added to Munich art, with
a touch of solid English comfort in the shape of easy chairs and

To check a playful habit that the Munich mob had of throwing bricks
through them, when they had drunk more beer than they could carry, the
windows were fitted with iron grilles. As a further precaution, a
mounted officer always accompanied the Barerstrasse châtelaine when
she was driving in public, and sentries stood at the door, to keep the
curious at a respectful distance.

A description of the Barerstrasse nest was sent to London by a
privileged journalist who had inspected it:

"The style of luxury in which Lola Montez lives here passes all
bounds. Nothing to equal it has been met with in Munich. It might
almost be an Aladdin's palace! The walls of her bed-chamber are hung
with guipure and costly satin. The furniture is of Louis XV era, and
the mantelpiece is of valuable Sèvres porcelain. The garden is filled
with rare flowers, and the carriages and horses in the stables are the
wonder and envy of the honest burghers."

"The Queen herself could not be better housed," said Lola delightedly,
when she saw all the luxuries of which she was now the mistress.

"You are my Queen," declared Ludwig fondly.

While Lola, to please her patron, grappled with the intricacies of the
German tongue, Ludwig, to please his charmer, took lessons from her in
Spanish. She still stuck to her Andalusian upbringing, and is said
(but the report lacks confirmation) to have introduced him to à
Kempis. This, however, is probably a misprint for Don Quixote. None
the less, her inspiration was such that her pupil could write:

    Thou dost not wound thy lover with heartless tricks;
    Nor dost thou play with him wantonly.
    Thou art not for self; thy nature is generous and kind.
    My beloved! Thou art munificent and unchanging.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "Give me happiness!" I begged with fierce longing.
    And happiness I received from thee, thou Woman of Spain!

Notwithstanding the suggestion implied by this assurance, Lola always
insisted that her relations with the King were purely platonic. While
this view is a little difficult to accept, it is significant that
Ludwig's lawful spouse never objected to their "friendship." Her
Majesty, however, was of a placid temperament. Perhaps, too, she
thought that the fancy would not endure. If so, she was wrong, for,
with the passage of time, the newcomer was obviously consolidating her
position. "Lola Montez, of horse-whipping notoriety," remarked a
journalist, "appears to be increasing in favour at the Court of
Bavaria. The Queen calls her 'My dear,' and the ladies consider it
their duty to caress the one who has all the world of Munich at her

During the summer, Ludwig, divesting himself of the cares of state,
retired to his castle at Bruckenau, picturesquely situated in the
Fulda Forest; and Lola, attended by a squadron of Cuirassiers,
accompanied him to this retreat. There, as in the Nymphenburg Park,
Ludwig dreamed dreams, while Lola amused herself with the officers of
the escort. Halcyon days--and nights. They inspired His Majesty with
yet another "poem":


    Through the holy dome, oh come,
    Brothers, let us roam along;
    Let from thousand throats the hum
    Rise, like rivers, swift and strong!

    When the notes have died away
      Let us clasp each other's hand;
    And, to high Heaven, let us pray
      For our dearest Fatherland!

While she accorded it full value, Lola Montez did not depend on mere
beauty for her power. She had a markedly sadistic vein in her
composition; and, when annoyed, was not above laying about her right
and left with a dog-whip that she always carried. An impudent lackey
would be flogged into submission, or set upon by a fierce mastiff that
she kept at her heels. High office, too, meant nothing to her. She
boxed the ears of Baron Pechman; and, because he chanced to upset her,
she encouraged her four-coated companion to tear the best trousers of
Professor Lasaulx, the nephew of Görrez, a Cabinet Minister.

Her English bulldog (with apparently a strain of Presbyterian blood in
him) had an unerring scent for Jesuits. He seemed to disapprove of
their principles as much as his mistress did, and would attack them at
sight. This animal would also appear to have been something of a
prohibitionist. At any rate, he once bit a brewer's carman, delivering
goods to a _bierkeller_. When the victim expostulated, Lola struck him
with her whip. This infuriated the crowd to such an extent that she
had to take refuge in a shop. There she happened to jostle a
lieutenant, who, not recognising her, ventured on a protest. The next
morning he received a challenge from a fire-eating comrade, alleging
that he had "insulted a lady." Because the challenge was refused, a
"court of honour" had him deprived of his commission.


What a distressed commentator has dubbed the "equivocal position" of
Lola Montez at Munich also stuck in the gullet of the Cabinet, and
heads were shaken. Public affronts were offered her. When she visited
the Odéon Theatre, the stalls adjoining the one she occupied were
promptly emptied. "Respectable women drew back, exhibiting on their
countenances disgust and terror." But the masculine members of the
audience were less exclusive, or perhaps made of sterner material, for
they displayed eagerness to fill up the vacant stalls. "A new chivalry
was born," says a chronicler of town gossip, "and paladins were
anxious to act as a buckler."

With the passage of time the infatuation of the Wittelsbach Lovelace
became so marked that it could not be ignored in places beyond Munich.
The Countess Bernstorff grew seriously perturbed. "There has long been
talk," she confided to a friend, "as to whether King Ludwig would so
far presume on the kindness and indulgence of the Queen of Prussia as
to bring Lola Montez to Court during Her Majesty's forthcoming stay in
Munich." The problem, however, was solved by the tactful action of
Lola herself, who gave the palace a wide berth until the visit had
come to an end.

In his _Memoirs of Madam Jenny Lind-Goldschmidt_ shocked horror is
similarly expressed by Canon Scott Holland at the possibility of the
Swedish Nightingale, who was arranging to give a concert there,
encountering Lola in her audience:

     The time fixed for this visit to Munich was, in one respect,
     most unpropitious; and, for a young artist, unsupported by
     powerful moral protection, the visit itself might well have
     proved extremely unpleasant. It was impossible to sing at
     Court, for the reigning spirit in the household of King
     Ludwig I was the notorious Lola Montez, who was then at the
     climax of her ill-gotten power. To have been brought into
     contact with such a person would have been intolerable. An
     invitation to Court would have rendered such contact

But if Jenny Lind adopted a lofty attitude and refused to fulfil an
engagement in the Bavarian capital, lest she should have chanced to
rub shoulders with Ludwig's mistress, other visitors did not share
these qualms. They arrived in battalions, and evinced no
disinclination to make her acquaintance. "To the shame of the
aristocracy and the arts," says a rigid commentator, "every day there
were to be found at the feet of this Cyprian intruder a throng of
princes and philosophers, authors and painters, and sculptors and

Fresh tactics to get her out of Munich were then adopted. When,
however, somebody remarked that Ludwig was old enough to be her
grandfather, she sent him away with a flea in his ear.

"It is ridiculous to talk like that," she said. "My Ludwig's heart is
young. If you knew the strength of his passion, you would not credit
him with being more than twenty!"

As for Ludwig himself he was bombarded with anonymous letters and
warnings, calling Lola by every evil name that occurred to the
writers. She was La Pompadour and the Sempronia of Sallust in one, a
"voluptuous woman," and a "flame of desire." There were also tearful
protests from the higher clergy, who, headed by Archbishop
Diepenbrock, were positive that the "dancing woman" was an emissary of
Satan (sometimes they said of Lord Palmerston) sent from England to
destroy the Catholic religion in Bavaria.

Ludwig was curt with His Grace. "You stick to your _stola_," he said,
"and let me stick to my Lola."

A soft answer, perhaps; but not a very satisfactory one.

"It is all very well for kings to have mistresses," was the opinion of
the more broad-minded, "but they should select them from their own
countrywomen. This one is a foreigner. Why should our hard-earned
money be lavished on her?" The grievance was, as it happened, well
founded, for Lola was drawing 20,000 marks a year, wrung from the
pockets of the tax-payers.

Baron Pechman, the Chief of Police, had a bad reception when he
suggested that the populace might get out of control.

"If you can't manage the mob," said Ludwig, turning on him furiously,
"I'll get someone who can. A change of air may do you good."

The next morning the discomfited Baron Pechman found himself _dégommé_
and a successor appointed to his office.

The intrigue was too openly conducted to be "hushed up." Word of what
was happening in Munich soon filtered through to Vienna. Queen
Caroline-Augusta, Ludwig's sister, shook her head. "Alas," she sighed,
"my wretched brother is always bringing fresh shame on me." She wrote
him letters of tearful protest. They were ignored. She protested by
word of mouth. Ludwig, in unbrotherly fashion, told her to "mind her
own business." Caroline's next move was to take clerical counsel.
"These creatures are always venal," said the Jesuits. "They only care
for cash." An emissary was accordingly despatched to the Barerstrasse
mansion, to convey an offer. Unfortunately, however, he had not
advanced beyond "_Gnädige Frau, erlauben_," when he himself
capitulated to Lola's charms, and returned to the Hofburg, his task
unaccomplished. Still, he must have made out some sort of story to
save his face, for the Princess Mélanie wrote: "Our good Senfft has
come back. He was unable to speak to Lola Montez. The poor country of
Bavaria is in a sad condition, which gets worse every day."

The least disturbed individual appeared to be Queen Thérèse. Her
attitude was one of placidity itself. But perhaps she was, by this
time, accustomed to the dalliance of her Ludwig along the primrose
path. Also, she probably knew by experience that it was not the
smallest use making a fuss. The milk was spilled. To cry over it now
would be a wasted effort.

The King's favourite was good "copy" for the Bavarian press; and the
Munich journals were filled with accounts of her activities. Not in
the least upset by their uncomplimentary references to himself, Ludwig
instructed his librarian, Herr Lichenthaler, to collect all the
pasquinades, lampoons, squibs, and caricatures (many of them far from
flattering, and others verging on the indecent) that appeared and have
them sumptuously bound. It was not long before enough had been
assembled to fill half a dozen volumes. His idea was "to preserve for
posterity all this mountain of mud, as a witness of Bavaria's shame."
That somebody else was responsible for the "shame" did not occur to

A choice specimen among the collection was one entitled _Lola Montez,
oder Des Mench gehört dem Könige_ ("Lola Montez, or the Wench who
belongs to the King"). There was also a scurrilous, and distinctly
blasphemous, broadsheet, purporting to be Lola's private version of
the Lord's Prayer:

     "Our Father, in whom throughout my life, I have never yet
     had much belief, all's well with me. Hallowed be thy
     name--so far as I am concerned. Thy kingdom come, that is,
     my bags of gold, my polished diamonds, and my unpolished
     Alemannia. Thy will be done, if thou wilt destroy my
     enemies. Give me this day champagne and truffles and
     pheasant, and all else that is delectable, for I have a very
     good appetite.... Lead me not into temptation to return to
     this country, for, even if I were bullet-proof, I might be
     arrested, clapped into a cage, and six francs charged for a
     peep at me. Amen!"


Those were the days when gentlemen (at any rate, Bavarians) did not
necessarily prefer blondes. Lola's raven locks were much more to their
taste. If she were not a success in the ballet, she was certainly one
in the boudoir. Of a hospitable and gregarious disposition, she kept
what amounted to open house in her Barerstrasse villa. Every morning
she held an informal levée there, at which any stranger who sent in
his card was welcome to call and pay his respects; and in the
evenings, when she was not dancing attendance on Ludwig at the Palace,
the Barerstrasse reception would be followed by a soirée. These
gatherings attracted--in addition to a throng of artists and authors
and musicians--professors and scholars from all over Europe; and, as
Gertrude Aretz remarks, in her admirable study, _The Elegant Woman_
(with considerable reference to this one): "the best intellects of her
century helped to draw her victorious chariot." The uncultured mob,
however, dubbed her a "Fair Impire" and a "Light o' Love," and flung
even stronger and still more uncomplimentary epithets. Their subject,
however, received them with a laugh. The shopkeepers, with an eye to
business, embellished their wares with her portrait; and the
University students, headed by Fritz Peissner, serenaded her in front
of her windows.

    _Lolita schön, wie Salamoni's Weiber.
    Welch 'suszer Reis flog über dich dahin!_

they sang in rousing chorus.

Among the students engaged in amassing light and learning at the
University of Munich, there were a number of foreigners. One of them
was a young American, Charles Godfrey Leland ("Hans Breitmann"), who
had gone there, he says, to "study æsthetics." But this did not take
up all his time, for, during the intervals of attending classes, he
managed to see something of Lola Montez. "I must," he says, "have had
a great moral influence on her, for, so far as I am aware, I am the
only friend she ever had at whom she never threw a plate or a book, or
attacked with a dagger, poker, broom, or other deadly weapon.... I
always had a strange and great respect for her singular talents. There
were few, indeed, if any there, were, who really knew the depths of
that wild Irish soul."

In another passage Leland offers further details: "The great, the
tremendous, celebrity at that time in Munich was also an opera dancer,
though not on the stage. This was Lola Montez, the King's last
favourite.... She wished to run the whole kingdom and government, kick
out the Jesuits, and kick up the devil, generally speaking.

"One of her most intimate friends was wont to tell her that she and I
had many very strange characteristics in common, which we shared with
no one else, while we differed utterly in other respects. It was very
like both of us, for Lola, when defending the existence of the soul
against an atheist, to tumble over a great trunk of books of the most
varied kind, till she came to an old vellum-bound copy of _Apuleius_,
and proceed to establish her views according to his subtle
neo-Platonism. But she romanced and embroidered so much in
conversation that she did not get credit for what she really knew."

Well, if it comes to that, Leland for his part was not above
"romancing" and "embroidering." His books are full of these qualities.
"Marvels," says a biographer, "fill his descriptions of student life
at Munich. Interesting people figure in his reminiscences....
Prominent among them was Lola Montez, the King's favourite of the day,
cordially hated by all Munich for an interference in public affairs,
hardly to be expected from the 'very small, pale, and thin or _frèle_
little person with beautiful blue eyes and curly black hair' who flits
across the pages of the Memoirs."

If this were Leland's real opinion of Lola's appearance, he must have
formed it after drinking too much of the Munich beer of which he was
so fond. He seems to have drunk a good deal at times, as he admits in
one passage: "after the dinner and wine, I drank twelve _schoppens_."
A dozen imperial pints would take some swallowing, and not leave the
memory unclouded as to subsequent events.


Despite the alleged Spanish blood in her veins, Lola (with, perhaps,
some dim stirring of memory for the far-off Montrose chapter) declared
herself a staunch Protestant, and, like her pet bull dog, disavowed
the Jesuits and all their works. Hence, she supported the Liberal
Government; and, as an earnest of her intentions, started operations
by attempting to establish contact with von Abel, the head of the
Ultramontane Ministry. He, however, affecting to be hurt at the bare
suggestion, would have nothing to do with the "Scarlet Woman," as he
did not scruple to call her. Following his example, the clerical press
redoubled their attacks. As a result, Lola decided to form an
opposition and to have a party of her own. For this purpose she
turned to some of the younger students, among whom she had a
particular admirer in one Fritz Peissner. In response to her smiles,
he, together with Count Hirschberg and a number of his friends,
embodied themselves in a special corps, pledged to act as her
bodyguard. Its members elected to be known as the Alemannia, and
invited her to accept the position of _Ehren-Schwester_ ("honorary
sister"). Lola was quite agreeable, and reciprocated by setting apart
a room in her villa where the swash-bucklers could meet. Not to be
outdone in paying compliments, the Alemannia planted a tree in her
garden on Christmas Day. Their distinguishing badge (which would now
probably be a black shirt) was a red cap. As was inevitable, they were
very soon at daggers drawn with the representatives of the other
University Corps, who, having long-established traditions, looked upon
the newcomers as upstarts, and fights between them were constantly
occurring when they met in public. Altogether, Ludwig had reason to
regret his action in transferring the University from its original
setting at Landshut. On the other hand, Councillor Berks, a thick and
thin champion of Lola (and not above taking her lap-dogs for an airing
in the Hofgarten), supported the Alemannia, declaring them to be "an
example to corrupt youth." Prince Leiningen retaliated by referring to
him as "that wretched substitute for a minister, commonly held by
public opinion in the deepest contempt."

The origin of the Alemannia was a little curious. Two members of the
Palatia Corps happened one afternoon, while peering through the
windows of the Barerstrasse mansion, to see Lola entertaining a couple
of their fellow-members. This they held to be "an affront to the
honour of the Palatia," and the offenders, glorying in their conduct,
were expelled by the committee. Thereupon, they joined with Fritz
Peissner when he was thinking of establishing a fresh corps.

In her new position, Lola did not forget her old friends. Feeling her
situation with Ludwig secure, she wrote to Liszt, offering him "the
highest order that Bavaria could grant." He declined the suggestion,
and sent word of her doings to Madame d'Agoult:

     Apropos of this too celebrated Anglo-Spanish woman, have you
     heard that King Louis of Bavaria has demanded the sacrifice
     of her theatrical career? and that he is keeping her at
     Munich (where he has bought her a house) in the quality of a
     favourite Sultanah?

Later on, he returned to the subject:

     I have been specially pleased with a couple of allusions to
     Lola and this poor Mariette; but, to be perfectly
     candid--and being afraid that you would find the subject a
     little indecorous--I began to reproach myself for having
     mentioned it to you in my last letter from Czernowitz.

     In speaking of Lola, you tell me that you defend her (which
     I do also, but not for the same reasons) because she stands
     for progress. Then, a page further on, in resuming the
     subject at Vienna, you find me very young to still believe
     in justice, not realising that, in this little circle of
     ideas and things, I represent in Europe a progressive and
     intelligent movement. "Alas! Who represents anything in
     Europe to-day?" you enquire with Bossuet.

     Well, then, Lola stands for the nineteenth century, and
     Daniel Stern stands for the woman of the ninth century; and,
     were it not for having contributed to the representation of
     others, I too shall finish by representing something else,
     by means of the 25,000 francs of income it will be necessary
     for me to end up by securing.




The role for which Lola cast herself was that of La Pompadour to the
Louis XV of Ludwig I. She had been a coryphée. Now she was a
courtesan. History was repeating itself. Like an Agnes Sorel or a Jane
Shore before her, she held in Munich the semi-official and quite
openly acknowledged position of the King's mistress. It is said of her
that she was so proud of the title and all it implied, that she would
add "Maîtresse du Roi" to her signature when communicating with
understrappers at the palace. Ludwig, however, thought this going too
far, and peremptorily forbade the practice. Lola gave way. Perhaps the
only time on record. In return, however, she advanced a somewhat
embarrassing demand.

"My position as a king's favourite," she said, "entitles me to the
services of a confessor and a private chapel."

Ludwig was quite agreeable, and instructed Count Reisach, the
Ultramontane Archbishop of Munich, to select a priest for this
responsible office. His Grace, however, reported that all the clergy
in a body had protested to him that, "fearing for their virtue, they
could not conscientiously accept the post."

Disappointed at the rebuff, Lola herself then applied to Dr.
Windischmann, the Vicar-General, telling him that if he would
undertake the office she would reciprocate by securing him a
bishopric. This dignitary, however, was not to be tempted. "Madame,"
he said, "my confessional is in the Church of Notre-Dame; and you can
always go there when you want to accuse yourself of any of the
numerous sins you have committed."

Nor would His Eminence, the Primate of Poland, give any help. All he
would do was to get into his carriage and set off to expostulate with
the King. But it was a wasted effort, for Ludwig insisted that his
relations with the conscience-stricken postulant were "nothing more
than platonic." Thereupon, "the superior clergy announced that the
designs of Providence were indeed inscrutable to mere mortals, but
they trusted that His Majesty would at any rate change his mistress."
Ludwig, however, brooking no interference with his amours, refused to
do anything of the kind.

"What are you thinking about?" he stormed. "How dare you hint that I
am the man to roll myself in the mud of the gutter? My feelings for
this lady are of the most lofty and high-minded description. If you
drive me to extremes, heaven alone knows what will happen!"

His Eminence met the outburst by whispering in the ear of the Bishop
of Augsburg that the King was "possessed." As for the Bishop of
Augsburg, he "wept every day." A leaky prelate.

"It is a paradox," was the expert opinion of Archbishop Diepenbrock,
"that the more shameful she is, the more beautiful is a courtesan." A
"Day of Humiliation," with a special prayer composed by himself, was
his suggestion for mending matters; and Madame von Krüdener, not to be
outdone in coming to the rescue, preached the necessity of "public
penance." Thus taken to task, Ludwig solemnly declared in writing that
he had "never exacted the last favours" from Lola Montez, and
furnished the entire episcopal bench with a copy of this declaration.

"That only makes his folly the greater," was the caustic comment of
Canitz, who was not to be deluded by eye-wash of this description.

With the passage of time, Lola's influence at the Palace grew
stronger. Before long, it became abundantly clear to the Ministry that
she was the real channel of approach to the King and, in fact, his
political Egeria. "During that period," says T. Everett Harré, "when
she was known throughout the world as the 'Uncrowned Queen of
Bavaria,' Lola Montez wielded a power perhaps enjoyed by no woman
since the Empress Theodora, the circus mime and courtesan, was raised
to imperial estate by the Emperor Justinian." Well aware of this fact,
and much as they objected to it, the Cabinet, headed by von Abel,
began by attempting to win her to their side. When they failed, they
put their thick heads together, and, announcing that she was an
emissary of Palmerston--just as La Paiva was credited with being in
Bismarck's employ--they hinted that her room was preferable to her
company. The hints having no effect, other measures were adopted.
Thus, Ludwig's sister offered her a handsome sum (for the second time)
to leave the country, and Metternich improved on it; the Bishop of
Augsburg, drying his tears, composed another and longer special
prayer; the Cabinet threatened to resign; and caricatures and
scurrilous paragraphs once more appeared in Munich journals. But all
to no purpose. Lola refused to budge. Nothing could shake her resolve,
_J'y suis, j'y reste_, might well have been her motto.

"I will leave Bavaria," she said, "when it suits me, and not before."


For ten years Ludwig had been under the thumb of the Ultramontanes and
the clerical ministry of Carl von Abel. He was getting more than a
little tired of the combination. The advance of Lola Montez widened
the breach. To get rid of him, accordingly, he offered von Abel the
appointment of Bavarian Minister at Brussels. The offer, however, was
not accepted. Asked for his reason, von Abel said that he "wanted to
stop where he was and keep an eye on things."

[Illustration: _Residenz Palace, Munich, in 1848. Residence of Ludwig

At this date Bavaria was Catholic to a man--and a woman--and the
Ultramontanes held the reins of government. While one would have
been enough, they professed to have two grievances. One was the
"political poison" of the Liberal opposition; and the other was the
"moral perversion" of the King. In March matters came to a crisis. A
number of University professors, headed by the rigid Lasaulx, held an
indignation meeting in support of the Ultramontane Cabinet and "their
efforts to espouse the cause of good morals." This activity on the
part of a secular body was resented by the clergy, who considered that
they, and not the University, were the official custodians of the
public's "morals." But if it upset the clergy, it upset Ludwig still
more; and, to mark his displeasure, he summarily dismissed four of the
lecturers he himself had appointed. As the general body of students
sided with them, they "demonstrated" in front of the house of Lola
Montez, whom they held responsible.

What began as a very ordinary disturbance soon developed into
something serious. Tempers ran high; brickbats were thrown, and
windows smashed; there were collisions with the police, who
endeavoured to arrest the ringleaders; and finally the Karolinen Platz
had to be cleared by a squadron of Cuirassiers. The Alemannia, joining
arms, forced a passage through which Lola managed to slip to safety
and reach the gates of the Residenz. But it was, as she said, "a near

The crowd relieved their feelings by breaking a few more windows; and
a couple of Alemannia, detached from their comrades, were ducked in
the Isar.

"_Vivat, Lola!_" bellowed one contingent.

"_Pereat, Lola!_" bellowed the opposition.

Accounts of the disturbance filtered through to England. There they
attracted much attention and acid criticism.

"A lady," remarked the _Examiner_, "has overthrown the Holy Alliance
of Southern Germany. Lola Montez, whose affecting testimony during the
trial of those who killed Dujarier in a duel cannot but be remembered,
was driven by that catastrophe to seek her fortunes in other realms.
Chance brought her to Munich, the Sovereign of which capital has
divided his time between poetry and the arts, gallantry and devotion."

"What Paphian cestus," was another sour comment, "does Lola wind round
the blade of her poniard? We all remember how much the respectable
Juno was indebted to the bewitching girdle of a less regular fair one,
but the properties of that talisman are still undescribed."

The _Thunderer_, in its capacity as a European watch-dog, had its eye
on Ludwig and his dalliance along the primrose path. Disapproval was
registered. "The King of Bavaria," solemnly announced a leading
article, "has entirely forgotten the duties and dignities of his

Freiherr zu Canitz, however, who had succeeded von Bülow as Minister
for Foreign Affairs, looked upon Ludwig's lapse with more indulgence.
"It is not," he wrote from the Wilhelmstrasse, "the first time by any
means that kings have chosen to live with dancers. While such conduct
is not, perhaps, strictly laudable, we can disregard it if it be
accompanied by a certain measure of decorum. Still, a combination of
ruler-ship and dalliance with a vagrant charmer is a phenomenon that
is as much out of place as is an attempt to govern a country by
writing sonnets."

Availing herself of what was then, as now, looked upon as a natural
safety-valve, Lola herself wrote to the _Times_, giving her own
version of these happenings:

     I left Paris in June last on a professional trip; and, among
     other arrangements, decided upon visiting Munich where, for
     the first time, I had the honour of appearing before His
     Majesty and receiving from him marks of appreciation, which
     is not a very unusual thing for a professional person to
     receive at a foreign Court.

     I had not been here a week before I discovered that there
     was a plot existing in the town to get me out of it, and
     that the party was the Jesuit Party.... When they saw that
     I was not likely to leave them, they tried what bribery
     would do; and actually offered me 50,000 fcs. a year if I
     would quit Bavaria and promise never to return. This, as you
     may imagine, opened my eyes; and, as I indignantly refused
     their offer, they have since not left a stone unturned to
     get rid of me.... Within this last week a Jesuit professor
     of philosophy at the university here, named Lasaulx, was
     removed. Thereupon, the party paid and hired a mob to insult
     me and break the windows of my house.

     ... Knowing that your columns are always open to protect
     anyone unjustly accused, and more especially when that one
     is an unprotected female, makes me rely upon you for the
     insertion of this; and I have the honour to subscribe
     myself, your obliged servant,


A couple of weeks later Printing House Square was favoured with a
second epistle:

     _To the Editor of "The Times."_


     _March 31._

     SIR:--In consequence of the numerous reports circulated in
     various papers regarding myself and family, I beg of you,
     through the medium of your widely circulated journal, to
     insert the following:

     I was born at Seville in the year 1833; my father was a
     Spanish officer in the service of Don Carlos; my mother, a
     lady of Irish extraction, born at the Havannah, and married
     to an Irish gentleman, which, I suppose, is the cause of my
     being called sometimes Irish and sometimes English, and
     "Betsy Watson," and "Mrs. James," etc.

     I beg leave to say that my name is Maria Dolores Porres
     Montez, and I have never changed that name.

     As for my theatrical qualifications, I never had the
     presumption to think I had any. Circumstances obliged me to
     adopt the stage as a profession, which profession I have now
     renounced for ever, having become a naturalised Bavarian,
     and intending in future making Munich my residence.

     Trusting that you will give this insertion, I have the
     honour to remain, Sir,

     Your obedient servant,


The assumption that she had ever been known as "Betsy Watson" was due
to the fact that she was said at one period to have lived under this
name in Dublin, "protected there by an Irishman of rank and fortune."
With regard to the rest of the letter, this was much the same as the
one she had circulated after her London fiasco. It was very far from
being well founded. Still, she had repeated this story so often that
she had probably come to believe in it herself.

As _The Times_ at that period was not read in Munich to any great
extent, Lola, wanting a larger public, sent a letter to the
_Allegemeine Zeitung_. This, she thought, would secure her a measure
of sympathy not accorded her elsewhere:

"I object to being made a target for countless malicious
attacks--public and private, written and printed--some whispered in
secret, and others uttered to the world. I therefore now stigmatise as
a wicked liar and perverter of the truth any individual who shall,
without proving it, disseminate any report to my detriment."

The letter was duly published. The attacks, however, did not end. On
the contrary, they redoubled in virulence. All sorts of fresh charges
were brought against her. Many of them were quite unfounded, and
deliberately ignored much that might have been put to her credit. Lola
had not done nearly as much harm as some of Ludwig's lights o' love.
Her predecessors, however, had made themselves subservient to the
Jesuits and clericals. When her friends sent protests to the editor,
refuge was taken in the stereotyped reply: "pressure on our space
does not permit us to continue this correspondence."

By those who wished her ill, any stick was good enough with which to
beat Lola Montez. Thus, when a dignitary died--no matter what the
medical diagnosis--it was announced in the gutter press that he died
of "grief, caused by the national shame." The alleged last words of a
certain politician were declared to be: "I die because I cannot
continue living under the orders of a strumpet who rules our dear
Bavaria as if she were a princess." Ludwig took it calmly. "The real
trouble with this poor fellow," he said, "is that he never experienced
the revivifying effects of the love of a beautiful woman." A popular
prescription. The local doctors, however, were coy about recommending
it to their patients.

That the Munich disturbances had an aftermath is clear from a news
item that appeared in the _Cologne Gazette_ of July, 3, 1847. Lola,
wanting a change of air and scene, had gone on a tour, travelling
_incognita_ and without any escort. Still, as she was to discover, it
was impossible for her to move without being recognised:

     According to letters from Bavaria, it is obvious that the
     animosities excited against Lola Montez earlier in the year
     are far from having subsided. On passing through Nuremberg,
     she was received with coldness, but decency. At Bamberg,
     however, it was very different. At the railway station she
     was hissed and hooted, and, stones being thrown at her
     carriage, she presented her pistols and threatened to punish
     her assailants. The upper classes were thoroughly ashamed of
     such excesses; and the chief magistrate has been instructed
     to appoint a deputation of the leading citizens to apologise
     to Mademoiselle.

In a letter to his brother, dated July 7, 1847, a University student
says: "Lola Montez was near being assassinated three days ago," but he
gives no particulars. Hence, it was probably gossip picked up in a
beer hall.


A grievance felt by Lola was that she was not accorded recognition
among the aristocracy. But there was an obvious remedy. This was to
grant her a coronet. After all, historic examples were to hand by the
dozen. In modern times the mistress of Frederick William III had been
made a duchess. Hence, Lola felt that she should be at least a

"What special services have you rendered Bavaria?" bluntly demanded
the minister to whom she first advanced the suggestion.

"If nothing else, I have given the King many happy days," was Lola's

Curiosity was then exhibited as to whether she was sufficiently
_hoch-geboren_, or not. The applicant herself had no doubts on the
subject. Her father, Ensign Gilbert, she said, had the blood of
Coeur-de-Lion in his veins, and her mother's ancestors were among
the Council of the Inquisition.

When the matter was referred to him, Ludwig was sympathetic and
readily promised his help. But as she was a foreigner, she would, he
pointed out, have to start by becoming naturalised as a Bavarian
subject; and, under the constitution, the necessary indigenate
certificate must bear the signature of a Cabinet Minister. For this
purpose, and never thinking that the slightest difficulty would be
advanced, he had one drawn up and sent to Count Otto von Steinberg.
Much to his annoyance and surprise, however, that individual,
"suddenly developing conscientious objections," excused himself.
Thereupon, von Abel, as head of the Government, was instructed to
secure another signature.

"Do not worry. It will be settled to-morrow," announced Ludwig, when
Lola enquired the reason of the hitch.

He was, however, speaking without his book. The Ministry, Ultramontane
to a man, could swallow a good deal, in order to retain their
portfolios (and salaries), but this, they felt, was asking too much
of them. In unctuous terms, and taking refuge in offended virtue, they
declared they would resign, rather than countenance the grant of
Bavarian nationality for "the foreign woman." Neither pressure nor
threats would shake them. Ludwig could do what he pleased; and they
would do what they pleased.

The manifesto in which the Cabinet's decision was delivered is little
short of an historic document:


     _February 11, 1847._

     Sir: Public life has its moments when those entrusted by
     their Sovereign with the proper conduct of public affairs
     have to make their choice between renouncing the duties to
     which they are pledged by loyalty and devotion, and, by
     discharging those duties in conscientious fashion, incurring
     the displeasure of their beloved Sovereign. We, the faithful
     servants of Your Majesty, have now found ourselves in this
     situation owing to the decision to grant Bavarian
     nationality to Senora Lola Montez. As we cannot forget the
     duties that our oath compels us to observe, we cannot flinch
     in our resolve....

     It is abundantly clear that reverence for the Throne is
     becoming weakened in the minds of your subjects; and little
     is now heard in all directions but blame and disapproval.
     National sentiment is wounded, because the country considers
     itself to be under the dominion of a foreign woman of evil
     reputation. The obvious facts are such that it is impossible
     to adopt any other view.... The public journals print the
     most shocking anecdotes, together with the most degrading
     attacks on your Royal Majesty. As a sample of this, we
     append a copy of No. 5 of the _Ulner Chronic_. The vigilance
     of the police is powerless to check the circulation of these
     journals, and they are read everywhere.... Not only is the
     Government being jeopardised, but also the very existence
     of the Crown. Hence, the delight of such as wish ill to the
     Throne, and the anguish of such as are loyal to Your
     Majesty. The fidelity of the army, too, is threatened. Ere
     long, the forces of the Crown will become a prey to profound
     disaffection; and where could we look for help, should this
     occur and this last bulwark totter?

     The hearts of the undersigned loyal and obedient servants
     are torn with grief. This statement they submit to you is
     not one of visionaries. It is the melancholy result of
     observations made by them during the exercise of their
     functions for several months past. Each of the undersigned
     is ready and willing to surrender everything to his
     Sovereign. They have given you repeated proofs of their
     fidelity; and it is now nothing less than their sacred duty
     to direct the attention of your Majesty to the dangers
     confronting him. Our humble prayer, to which we beg you to
     listen, is not governed by any desire to run counter to your
     Royal will. It is put forward solely with a view to ending a
     condition of affairs which is inimical to the well-being and
     happiness of a beloved monarch. Should, however, your
     Majesty not think fit to grant their petition, we, your
     Ministers, will then have no alternative but to tender the
     resignation of the portfolios with which you have entrusted

The signatories to this precious "manifesto" were von Abel, von
Gumpenberg (Minister of War), von Schrenk, and von Seinsheim
(Councillors of State). Much to their hurt astonishment, their
resignations were accepted. Nor was there any lack of candidates for
the vacant portfolios. Ludwig, prompted by Lola, filled up the gaps at
once. Georg von Maurer (who reciprocated by signing her certificate of
naturalisation) was appointed Minister of Justice and Foreign Affairs,
and Freiherr Friederich zu Rhein was the new Minister of Public
Worship and Finance.

The students, not prepared to let slip a chance of asserting
themselves, paraded the streets with a fresh song:

    _Da kam Senorra Lolala,
    Sturzt Abel und Consorten;
    Ach war sie doch jetz wieder da,
    Und jagte fort den----_

Despite the fact that he was indebted for his appointment to her,
Maurer attempted to snub Lola and refused to speak to her the next
time they met. For his pains, he found himself, in December, 1847,
dismissed from office. There was, however, joy in the ranks of the
clerical party, for, to their horror, he happened to be a Protestant.

"I have now a new ministry, and there are no more Jesuits in Bavaria,"
announced Ludwig with much complacence. As was his custom when a
national crisis occurred, he was also delivered of a sonnet,

    You who have wished to hold me in thrall, tremble!
    Greatly do I esteem the important affair
    Which has ever on divested you of your power!

But the fallen ministers had the sympathy of Vienna. Count Senfft, the
Austrian envoy at Munich, gave a banquet in their honour. Lola
reported this to Ludwig, and Ludwig gave Senfft his _congé_.

What had annoyed the Wittelsbach Lovelace more than anything else
about the business was that the memorandum in which von Abel and his
colleagues had expressed their candid opinion of Lola Montez found its
way into the _Augsburger Zeitung_ and a number of Paris journals. This
was regarded by him as a breach of confidence. Enquiries revealed the
fact that von Abel's sister had been surreptitiously shown a copy of
the document, and, not prepared to keep such a tit-bit of gossip to
herself, had disclosed its contents to a reporter. After this, the
fat, so to speak, was in the fire; and nothing that Ludwig could do
could prevent the affair becoming public property. As a result, it
formed the basis of innumerable articles in the press of Europe, and
the worst possible construction was put on it.

The erudite Dr. Döllinger, between whom and Lola Montez no love was
lost, was much upset by the situation and wrote a long letter on the

     The existing ministry were fully awake to the encroachments
     of the notorious Lola Montez; and in view of the destruction
     which menaced both the throne and the country, they secretly
     resolved to address a petition to Ludwig I, humbly praying
     him to dismiss his favourite, and setting forth the grounds
     on which they based their request.

     Rumours of this business soon got afloat. People began to
     whisper; and one fine day a sister of one of the ministers,
     goaded by curiosity, discovered the petition. She imparted
     the news in the strictest confidence to her most intimate
     friends; and they, in their turn, secretly read the
     memorial, with the result that, some time after the
     important document had been safely restored to its
     hiding-place, its contents appeared, nobody knew how, in the

     The panic of the ministers was great; the King's displeasure
     was still greater. He suspected treachery, and considered
     the publication of such a petition treasonable.
     Remonstrances were of no avail; the ministers were
     dismissed, and their adherents fled in every direction. I,
     who had been nominated a member of the Chamber by the
     University, but against my will, had to resign office at the
     bidding of the King. His Majesty was greatly incensed, and
     meanwhile the excited populace were assembling in crowds
     before the house of Lola Montez.

Döllinger was a difficult man to cross. He had doubts--serious
doubts--concerning a number of matters. Among them was one of the
infallibility of the Pope. What was more, he was daring enough to
express these doubts. The wrath of the Vatican could only be appeased
by ex-communicating him from the Church. He, however, added to his
contumacy by surviving until his ninety-second year.


Appreciating on which side its bread was buttered, the new ministry
had no qualms as to the eligibility of Lola Montez for the honour of a
coronet in the Bavarian peerage. This having been granted her, the
next step was to select a suitable territorial title.

Ludwig ran an exploring finger down the columns of a gazetteer. There
he saw two names, Landshut and Feldberg, that struck him as
suggestive. Combined, they made up Landsfeld. Nothing could be better.

"I have it," he said. "Countess of Landsfeld, I salute you!"

Thereupon the Court archivist was instructed to prepare the necessary

     "We, Ludwig, King of Bavaria, etc., hereby make public to
     all concerned that We have resolved to raise Maria von
     Porres and Montez, of noble Spanish descent, to the dignity
     of Countess of Landsfeld of this Our kingdom. Whilst we
     impart to her the dignity of a Countess, with all the
     rights, honours and prerogatives connected therewith, it is
     Our desire that she have and enjoy the following escutcheon
     on a German four-quartered shield: In the first field, red,
     an upright white sword with golden handle; in the second,
     blue, a golden-crowned lion rampant; the third, blue, a
     silver dolphin; and in the fourth, white, a pale red rose.
     This shield shall be surmounted by the coronet of a

     "Be this notified to all the authorities and to Our subjects
     in general, with a view to not only recognising the said
     Maria as Countess of Landsfeld, but also to supporting her
     in that dignity; and it is Our will that whoever shall act
     contrary to these provisions shall be summoned by Our
     Attorney-General and there and then be condemned to make
     public and private atonement.

     "For Our confirmation of the above we have affixed Our royal
     name to this document and placed on it the seal of Our

     "Given at Aschaffensberg, this 14th of August, in the 1847th
     year after the birth of Christ, our Lord, and in the 22nd
     year of Our Government."

This did not miss the eagle eye of _Punch_, in whose columns appeared
a caustic reference:

     "The armorial bearings of the new COUNTESS OF LANDSFELD, the
     ex-_coryphée_ of Her Majesty's Theatre, have been designed,
     but we think they are hardly so appropriate as they might
     have been. We have therefore made some slight modifications
     of the original, which we hope will prove satisfactory."

The suggested "modifications" were to substitute a parasol for the
sword, a bulldog for the lion, and a pot of rouge for the rose. Were
such an adjunct of the toilet table then in existence, a lipstick
would probably have been added.


With her title and heraldic honours complete, plus a generous
allowance on which to support them, and a palace in which to live,
Lola Montez cut a very considerable dash in Munich. Two sentries
marched up and down in front of her gate, and two mounted orderlies
(instead of one, as had previously been the case) accompanied her
whenever she left the house in the Barerstrasse.

While by far the most important of them, Ludwig was not by any means
the only competitor for Lola's favours. Men of wealth and
position--the bearers of high-sounding titles--with politicians and
place-hunters, fluttered round her. It is to her credit that she sent
them about their business.

[Illustration: _"Command" Portrait. In the "Gallery of Beauties,"

"The peculiar relations existing between the King of Bavaria and the
Countess of Landsfeld," remarked an apologist, "are not of a coarse or
vulgar character. His Majesty has a highly developed poetic mind, and
thus sees his favourite through his imagination, and regards her with
affectionate respect."

This found a responsive echo in another quarter, and some sharp raps
on the knuckles were administered to the Bavarian moralists by a Paris

     "Why do you interfere with the amours of your good Ludwig?
     We don't say he should not have observed rather more
     discretion or have avoided compromising his dignity. Still,
     a monarch, like a simple citizen, is surely free to love
     where he pleases. In selecting Lola Montez, the amorous
     Ludwig proves that he loves equality and, as a true
     democrat, can identify himself with the public. Let him
     espouse his servant girl, if he wants to. Personally, we
     would rather see the Bavarians excite themselves about their
     constitution than about the banishment of a royal favourite.
     The King of Bavaria turns his mistress into a Countess; his
     subjects refuse to recognise her; and a section of the
     students clamour for her head. Happy days of Montespan, of
     Pompadour, of Dubarry, of Potemkin, of Orloff, where have
     you gone?"

In the summer of 1847 the Paris Courts were occupied with a long
outstanding claim against Lola Montez. This was to the effect that,
when she was appearing at the Porte St. Martin, she had run up a bill
for certain intimate undergarments and had neglected to settle the
account. The result was, she received a solicitor's letter in Munich.
She answered it in the following terms:


     _September 25, 1847._


     As I have never given any orders to Messrs. Hamon and
     Company, tailors, rue de Helder, they have no claim on me;
     and I am positively compelled to repudiate the bill for
     1371 francs which you have the effrontery to demand in the
     name of this firm.

     Last spring Monsieur Leigh made me a present of a
     riding-habit and certain other articles which he ordered for
     me, and I consider that it is to him you should now address

     Accept, Monsieur, etc.,


Not being prepared to accept this view, the Paris firm's next step was
to bring an action for the recovery of the alleged debt. Once more,
Lola repudiated liability, this time on the grounds that the creditors
had kept back some dress material belonging to herself. The defence to
this charge was that, "on being informed by their representative that
real ladies could not wear such common stuff, she had said she did not
want it back." The court, however, held that the debt had been
incurred; and, "as she considered it beneath her dignity to appear,
either in person or by counsel," judgment for 2,500 francs was given
against her.

Count Bernstorff, a not particularly brilliant diplomatist, had an
idea (shared, by the way, with a good many others) that Frederick
William IV, King of Prussia, was at one time under Lola's spell. He
was allowed to think so by reason of a letter that the King had sent
him from Sans Souci in the autumn of 1847:

     "I am charging you, my dear Count, with a commission, the
     performance of which demands a certain degree of that
     measure of delicacy which I recognise you to possess. The
     commission is somewhat beyond the accepted limits of what is
     purely diplomatic in character.... It is a matter of handing
     a certain trinket to a certain lady. The trinket is of
     little value, but, from causes you will be able to
     appreciate, the lady's favour is of very high value to
     myself. All depends on the manner in which the gift is
     presented. This should be sufficiently flattering to
     increase the value of the offering and to cause its
     unworthiness to be overlooked. My acquaintance with the
     lady, and my respect for her, should be adroitly described
     and made the most of, as must also be my desire to be
     remembered at her hands.

     "You will, of course, immediately perceive that I am
     alluding to Donna Maria de Dolores de los Montez, Countess
     of Landsfeld."

It was not until he turned over the page that the horror-struck
Bernstorff saw that the King was playing a characteristic jest on him;
and he realised that the intended recipient of the gift was his wife,
the Countess von Bernstorff, "as a souvenir of my gratitude for the
many agreeable hours passed under your hospitable roof last month."




The beauty of Lola Montez was a lever. As such, it disturbed the
equilibrium of the Cabinet; for the time being, it even checked the
dominion of Rome. But the odds were against her. The Jesuits were
still a power, and would not brook any interference.

Metternich's wife, the Princess Mélanie, who had the family _flair_
for politics, marked the course of events.

"Lola Montes," she wrote, "has actually been created Countess of
Landsfeld. She is really a member of the Radical Party.... Rechberg,
who has just arrived from Brazil, was alarmed on his journey at Munich
by the events of which this town is the theatre. The shocking conduct
of Lola Montes will finish by plunging the country into revolution."

This was looking ahead. Still, not very far ahead. The correspondent
of a London paper in the Bavarian capital did not mince his words.
"The indignation," he wrote, "against the King on account of his
scandalous conduct, has been roused to the highest pitch.... King
Ludwig, who possesses many good qualities, is, unfortunately, a very
licentious old man.... Neither the tears of the Queen, nor the
entreaties of his sons, nor the public's indignation, could influence
the old monarch, who has become the slave of his silly passion and of
the caprices of a Spanish dancer and Parisian lorette."

Once more, Ludwig "dropped into verse," and relieved his feelings
about his enemies. This time, however, the verse was blank:

    You have driven me from my Paradise,
    You have closed it for ever with iron grilles.
    You have turned my days into bitterness.
    You would even like to make me hate you
    Because I have loved too much to please your withered spirits.

    The perfume of my spring-time is dissipated,
    But my courage still remains.
    Youth, always bounding in my dreams, rests there,
    Embracing my heart with fresh force!

    You who would like to see me covered with shame,
    You have committed sins against me and vomited injuries.
    Your wicked acts have judged you.
    There has never been anything to equal them!

    Already the clouds disappear;
    The storm passes;
    The sky lights up;
    I bless the dawn.
    Ungrateful worms, creep back to your darkness!

There were repercussions across the Atlantic, where the role played by
Lola Montez in Bavarian circles was arousing considerable interest.
American women saw in it a message of encouragement for the
aspirations they themselves were cherishing. "The moral indignation
which her political opponents exhibited," said a leading jurist, "was
unfortunately a mere sham. They had not only tolerated, but had
actually patronised, a female who formerly held the equivocal position
which the Countess of Landsfeld recently held, because the former made
herself subservient to the then dominant party."

But, just as Lola had staunch friends in Munich, so had she pronounced
enemies. Conspicuous among them was Johann Görres, a leading
Ultramontane who held the position of professor of history at the
University. He could not say anything strong enough against the King's
mistress, and did all he could to upset her influence with him. As he
had a "following," some measure of success attended his efforts. It
was on his death, in January 1848, that matters came to a head. The
rival factions dividing the various students' corps made his funeral
the occasion of a free fight among themselves. The mob joined in, and
clamoured for the dismissal of the "Andalusian Woman." A hothead
suggested that she should be driven from the town. The cry was taken
up, and a rush set in towards her house in the Barerstrasse. As there
was an agreeable prospect of loot, half the scum of the city swelled
the mob. Bricks were hurled through the windows; and, until the police
arrived, things began to look ugly.

Lola, as cool as a cucumber, appeared on the balcony, a glass of
champagne in one hand, and a box of chocolates in the other.

"I drink to your good healths," she said contemptuously, as she
drained her glass and tossed bon-bons among the crowd.

Not appreciating this gesture, or regarding it as an impertinence, the
temper of the rabble grew threatening. They shouted vulgar insults;
and there was talk of battering in the doors and setting the house on
fire. This might have happened, had not Ludwig himself, who never
lacked personal courage, plunged into the throng and, offering Lola
his arm, escorted her to the Residenz.

The disturbances continued, for tempers had reached fever pitch.
Troops hastily summoned from the nearest barracks patrolled the
streets. A furious crowd assembled in front of the Rathaus; the
burgomaster, fearing for his position, talked of reading the Riot Act;
a number of arrests were made; and it was not until the next afternoon
that the coast was sufficiently clear for Lola to return to the
Barerstrasse, triumphantly escorted by some members of the Alemannia.
When, however, they left her there, they were set upon by detachments
of the Palatia Corps, who still cherished a grudge against them.

Lola's own account of these happenings, and written as if by a
detached onlooker, is picturesque, if somewhat imaginative:

     "They came with cannons and guns and swords, with the voices
     of ten thousand devils, and surrounded her little castle.
     Against the entreaties of her friends, she presented herself
     before the infuriated mob which demanded her life.... A
     thousand guns were pointed at her, and a hundred fat and
     apoplectic voices fiercely demanded that she should cause
     the repeal of what she had done. In language of great
     mildness--for it was no time to scold--she answered that it
     was impossible for her to accede to such a request; and that
     what had been done by her had been done for the good of the
     people and the honour of Bavaria."

After this "demonstration," there was a calm. But not for long. On the
evening of February 10, a rabble assembled in front of the Palace,
raising cries of: "Down with Lola Montez!" "Down with the King's
strumpet!" As the protestors consisted largely of students (whom
Thiersch, the rector, being no disciplinarian, could not keep in
check), Ludwig's response was drastic. He ordered the University to be
shut, and all its members who did not live in Munich to leave the town
within twenty-four hours. This was a tactical blunder, and was in
great measure responsible for the more serious repercussions of the
following month. Apart, too, from other considerations, the edict hit
the pockets of the local tradesmen, since the absence of a couple of
thousand hungry and thirsty customers had an adverse effect on the
consumption of sauerkraut and beer.

As she was still "news" in Paris, a gossiping columnist suggested her
return there:

     Lola Montez laments the Notre-Dame de Lorette district, the
     joyous little supper-parties at the Café Anglais, and the
     theatrical first nights viewed from stage boxes. "Ah," she
     must reflect, as she looks upon her coronet trodden
     underfoot and hears the sinister murmurs of the Munich mob,
     "how delightful Paris would be this evening! What a grand
     success I would be in the new ballet at the Opera or at a
     ball at the Winter Garden!" Alas, my poor Lola, your whip is
     broken; your prestige is gone; you have lost your talisman.
     Do not battle against the jealous Bavarians. Come back to
     Paris, instead. If the Porte St. Martin won't have you, you
     can always rejoin the corps de ballet at the Opera.

Lola, however, did not accept the invitation. She was virtually a
prisoner in her own house, where, the next afternoon, a furious
gathering assembled, threatening to wreak vengeance on her. Never
lacking a high measure of courage, she appeared on the balcony and
told them to do their worst. They did it and attempted to effect an
entrance by breaking down the door. But for the action of the
Alemannia, rallying to her help, she might have been severely handled.

One of her bodyguard managed to make his way to the nearest barracks
and summon assistance. Thereupon, the bugles rang out the alarm; the
drums beat a warning call. In response, a squadron of Cuirassiers
clattered up the Barerstrasse; sabres rattled; and the rioters fled

Prince Wallerstein, who combined the office of Minister of Public
Worship with that of Treasurer of the Royal Household, leaping into
the breach, harangued the mob; and Prince Vrede, a strong adherent to
the "whiff of grapeshot" remedy for a disturbance, suggested firing on
the ringleaders. Although the suggestion was not accepted, hundreds of
arrests were made before some semblance of order was restored. But the
rioting was only checked temporarily. A couple of days later it
started afresh. The temper of the troops being upset, Captain Bauer (a
young officer whom Lola had patronised) took it upon himself to give
them the word to charge. Sabres flashed, and there were many broken
heads and a good deal of bloodshed.

The Alemannia, thinking discretion the better part of valour,
barricaded themselves in the restaurant of one Herr Rothmanner, where
they fortified themselves with vast quantities of beer. Becoming
quarrelsome, their leader, Count Hirschberg, drew his sword and was
threatened with arrest by a schutzmannschaft. Thereupon, his comrades
sent word to Lola. She answered the call, and rushed to the house. It
was a characteristic, but mad, gesture, for she was promptly
recognised and pursued by a furious mob. Nobody would give her
sanctuary; and the Swiss Guards on duty there shut the doors of the
Austrian Legation in her face. Thereupon, she fled to the Theatiner
Church, where she took refuge. But she did not stop there long; and,
for her own safety, a military escort arrived to conduct her to the
main guard-room. As soon as the coast was comparatively clear, she was
smuggled out by a back entrance and making her way on foot to the
Barerstrasse, hid in the garden.

In the meantime fresh attempts were being made to storm her house.
Suddenly, a figure, dishevelled and bare-headed, appeared on the
threshold and confronted the rioters.

"You are behaving like a pack of vulgar blackguards," he exclaimed,
"and not like true Bavarians at all. I give you my word, the house is
empty. Leave it in peace."

A gallant gesture, and a last act of homage to the building that had
sheltered the woman he loved. The mob, recognising the speaker,
uncovered instinctively. _Heil, unserm König, Heil!_ they shouted. A
chorus swelled; the troops presented arms.

"It is an orgy of ingratitude," said Ludwig, as he watched the rabble
dancing with glee before the house. "The Jesuits are responsible. If
my Lola had been called Loyala, she could still have stopped here."

To Dr. Stahl, Bishop of Wurzburg, who had criticised his conduct, he
addressed himself more strongly. "Should a single hair of one I hold
dear to me be injured," he informed that prelate, "I shall exhibit no

Palmerston, who stood no nonsense from anybody, wrote a very snappy
letter to Sir John Milbanke, British Minister at Munich:

     "Pray tell Prince Wallerstein that, if he wishes the British
     and Bavarian Governments to be on good terms, he will
     abstain from any attempt to interfere with our diplomatic
     arrangements, as such attempts on his part are as offensive
     as they will be fruitless."


As Ludwig had said, the Barerstrasse nest was empty, for its occupant
had managed to slip out of it and reach Lindeau. From there, on
February 23, she wrote a long letter to a friend in England, giving a
somewhat highly coloured (and not altogether accurate) version of
these happenings:

     In the morning, the nobles, with Count A.--V--[Arco Valley]
     and a number of officers, were mixed up with the commonest
     people. The Countess P [Preysing] I saw myself, with other
     women--I cannot call them _ladies_--actually at their head.
     Hearing that the entire city--with nobles, officers, and
     countesses--were making for my residence, I looked upon
     myself as already out of the land of the living. I had all
     my windows shuttered, and hid all my jewels; and then,
     having a clear conscience and a firm trust in God, calmly
     awaited my fate. The ruffians, egged on by a countess and a
     baroness, had stones, sticks, axes, and firearms, all to
     frighten and kill one poor inoffensive woman! They
     positively clamoured for my blood.

     I must tell you that all my faithful and devoted servants,
     with some others of my real friends, were in the house with
     me. I begged them to leave by the garden, but they said,
     poor fellows, they would die for me.

     ... Seeing the eminent danger of my friends, and not
     thinking of myself, I ordered my carriage while the
     blackguards were endeavouring to break down the gates. My
     good George, the coachman, helped me to rush through the
     door and we set off at a furious gallop. Many pistol shots
     were fired at me, but I was in God's care and avoided the

     My escape was most miraculous. At a distance of two hours
     from Munich I left my carriage and in Bluthenberg sought the
     protection of a brave honest man, by whom I was given
     shelter. Presently, some officers galloped up and demanded
     me. My benefactor declared I was not there, and his
     daughters said my carriage had passed. When they were gone,
     his good wife helped me to dress as a peasant girl, and I
     rushed out of the house, across fields, ditches, and
     forests. Being so well disguised, I resolved to return to
     Munich. It was a dreadful spectacle. The Palace blockaded;
     buildings plundered; and anarchy in all directions. Seeing
     nothing but death if I stopped there, I left for Lindeau,
     from whence I am writing to you.

     ... Count Arco Valley has been distributing money like dirt
     to all classes, and the priests have stirred up the mob.
     Nobody is safe in Munich. The good, noble King has told
     everyone he will never leave me. Of that he is quite
     determined. The game is not up. I shall, till death, stick
     to the King; but God knows what will happen next.

     I forgot to tell you that my enemies have announced in the
     German papers that the students are my _lovers_! They could
     not credit them with the loyal devotion they have ever had
     for the King and myself.


Writing in his diary on March 14, 1848, Frederick Cavendish, a budding
diplomatist, whom Palmerston had appointed as attaché at Vienna,

     "There has been the devil of a disturbance in Munich; and
     the King's mistress, Lola Montez, has been forced to fly for
     her life. She has been the curse of Bavaria, yet the King is
     still infatuated with her."

Scarcely diplomatic language. Still, not far from the truth.

A rigorous press censorship was exercised. The Munich papers had to
print what they were told, and nothing else. As a result, an inspired
article appeared in the _Allegemeine Zeitung_, of Augsburg, declaring
that the Ultramontanes were responsible for the _émeute_. "Herr von
Abel," in the opinion of a colleague, Heinrich von Treitsche, "took
advantage of the opportunity to espouse a sudden championship of
morals, and made _les convenances_ an excuse for resigning what had
long been to him a dangerous office."

Döllinger himself always declared that he became an Ultramontane
against his will, and that he only joined the Ministry at the earnest
request of von Abel. This was probably true enough, for he was much
happier among his books than among the politicians. With his nose
decidedly out of joint, he relieved his feelings in a lengthy epistle
to his friend, Madame Rio. Years afterwards this letter came into the
hands of Dom Gougaud, O.S.B., who published it in the _Irish
Ecclesiastical Record_. Among the more important passages were the

     Since you left M[unich] the impudence of L[ola] M[ontez] and
     the infatuation of her admirers have been constantly
     increasing. Our Members of Parliament, which have been
     convocated to an extraordinary session on account of a
     railway loan, did not dare, or did not deem it expedient, to
     interfere. The only thing that was done, but without
     producing any effect in high quarters, was that the Chamber
     of Deputies unanimously voted a protestation against the
     deposition of the professors. Then came the change of
     Ministers. Prince Wallerstein, who is a sort of Bavarian
     Thiers, selfish and unprincipled, only bent upon maintaining
     himself in the possession of the _portefeuille_, which is
     the glorious end that in his estimation sanctifies the
     means--this man of unscrupulous memory came in again,
     together with an obscure individual, a mere creature of
     L[ola] M[ontez], M. Berks.

[Illustration: _King of Bavaria. "Ludwig the Lover"_]

     ... Meanwhile the crisis was brought about by the students
     of the University. L[ola] M[ontez] had succeeded in seducing
     a few of these, who, finding themselves immediately shunned
     and rejected by their fellow-students, formed a separate
     society or club, calling itself _Alemannia_, which from its
     beginning was publicly understood to be distinguished by
     the King's special favour and protection. In the course of
     two or three months they rose to the number of nineteen or
     twenty, easily recognised by the red caps and ribbons they
     wore. For L[ola] M[ontez] they formed a sort of male harem,
     and the particulars which have since transpired, and which,
     of course, I must not pollute your ears with, leave no doubt
     that she is a second Messalina.

     The indignation of the students, who felt all this as a
     degradation of the University and an affront cast upon their
     character, was general. The _Alemanni_ were treated as
     outcasts, whose very presence was pollution.

     ... L[ola] M[ontez] had already been heard threatening that
     if the students continued to show themselves hostile to her
     favourites she would have the University closed. At last, on
     the 10th February, a royal mandate came forth, declaring the
     University to be suspended for the entire year.

     Next morning it was evident that a decisive crisis was
     coming on; the students paraded in procession through the
     streets, when, suddenly, the _gendarmerie_, commanded by one
     of L. M.'s favourites, made an attack upon them and wounded
     two of them. This, of course, served only to kindle the
     flames of general indignation. The citizens threatened to
     appear in arms, and the people made preparations for
     storming the house of L[ola] M[ontez].

     Towards 8 o'clock in the morning of the 11th, the appalling
     intelligence was communicated to the K[ing] that L. M.'s
     life was in imminent danger. Meanwhile several members of
     the royal family had tried to make an impression on the K.'s
     mind. When his own tools, who, up to that moment, had been
     pushing him on, told him that L.'s life was in jeopardy, and
     that the regiments refused to fight, he began to yield. But
     even then his behaviour left no doubt that the personal
     safety of L[ola] M[ontez] was his paramount motive. He
     himself ran to her house, which the mob had begun to pluck
     down; regardless of all royal dignity, he exposed his person
     to all the humiliation which the intercourse with an
     infuriated mob might subject him to.... Certainly, that day
     was the most disgraceful royalty has yet had in Bavaria.

     ... You will find it natural that the first announcement of
     L.M.'s forced departure begot universal exultation. In the
     streets one met only smiling countenances; new hopes were
     kindled. People wished, and therefore believed, that the
     K[ing] having at last become aware of the true state of the
     nation's mind, had made a noble sacrifice. A few days were
     sufficient to undeceive them. The K.'s mind was in a sort of
     fearful excitement, alternating between fits of depression
     and thoughts of vengeance.... It is impossible to foresee
     what things will lead to, and where the persecution is to
     stop. The opinion gains credit that his intention is to
     bring L[ola] M[ontez] back. Evidently he is acting, not only
     from a thirst for vengeance, but also under the fatal
     influence of an irresistible and sinister passion for that

A few days later, Ludwig, to test public opinion, went to the Opera.

"I have lost my taste for spectacles," he said to his companion, "but
I wish to see if I am still King in the hearts of the people I have

He was not long in doubt, for the moment he entered his box the
audience stood up and cheered him vigorously. This was enough; and,
without waiting for the curtain to rise, he returned to the Palace.

"After all, my subjects still trust me," he said. "I was sure of


There was another display of loyalty elsewhere. The Munich garrison,
under Ludwig's second son, Prince Luitpold, took a fresh oath _en
masse_, swearing fidelity to the new constitution. It was, however, a
little late in the day. Things had gone too far; and Lola, who had
merely gone a few leagues from the capital, had not gone far enough.
That was the trouble. She was still able to pull strings, and to make
her influence felt in various directions. Nor would she show the white
feather or succumb to the threats of rowdies.

It was from Lindeau that, disguised as a boy (then a somewhat more
difficult job than now), Lola, greatly daring, ventured back to the
arms of Ludwig. But she only stopped with him a couple of hours, for
she had been followed, and was still being hunted by the rabble of the
town. Before, however, resuming her journey, she endeavoured to get
into touch with her faithful _Alemannia_. "I beg you," she wrote to
the proprietor of the café they frequented, "to tell me where Herr
Peissner has gone." The landlord, fearing reprisals, withheld the
knowledge. If he had given it, he would probably have had his premises
wrecked. Safety first!

In this juncture, Ludwig, acting like a mental deficient, announced
that there was only one adequate explanation for Lola's conduct. This
was that she was "possessed of an evil spirit" which had to be
exorcised before things should get worse. Lending a ready ear to every
quack in Bavaria, he sent her under escort to Weinsberg, to the clinic
of a Dr. Justinus Kerner, who had established himself there as a

"You are to drive the devil out of her," were the instructions given

Fearing that his spells and incantations might, after all, not prove
effective, and thus convict him for a charlatan, the man of science
felt uneasy. Still, an order was an order, especially when it came
from a King, and he promised to do his best. On the day that his
patient arrived, he wrote to his married daughter, Emma Niendorf. A
free translation of this letter, which is given in full by Dr. von Tim
Klein (in his _Der Vorkamfdeutscher Einheit und Freiheit_), would

     Yesterday there arrived here Lola Montez; and, until further
     instructions come from Munich, I am detaining her in my
     tower, where guard is being kept by three of the
     _Alemannia_. That the King should have selected me of all
     people to send her to is most annoying. But he was assured
     that she was possessed of a devil, and that the devil in her
     could be driven out by me at Weinsberg. Still, the case is
     one of interest.

     As a preliminary to my magneto-magic treatment, I am
     beginning by subjecting her to a fasting-cure. This means
     that every day all she is to have is a quarter of a wafer
     and thirteen drops of raspberry juice.

"_Sage es aber niemanden! Verbrenne diesen Brief!_" ("But don't tell
anybody about it; burn this letter") was the exorcist's final

To live up to his reputation for wonder-working, the mystic had an
Æolian harp in each of the windows of his house, so arranged that
Ariel-like voices would float through the summer breezes.

"It is magic," said the peasants, crossing themselves devoutly when
they heard the sound.

But the harp-obligato proved no more effective than the reduced
dieting and early attempt to popularise slimming. After a couple of
days, accordingly, the regime was varied by the substitution of asses'
milk for the raspberry juice. Much to his annoyance, however, the
specialist had to report to another correspondent, Sophie Schwab, that
his patient was not deriving any real benefit, and that the
troublesome "devil" had not been dislodged.

As was to be expected, Lola, having a healthy appetite and objecting
to short rations, gave the mesmerist the slip and hurried back to her
Ludwig. After a few words with him, she left for Stahrenberg.

Ludwig sat down and wrote another "poem." Appropriately enough, this
was entitled "Lamentation."




Even with Lola Montez out of the way and the University doors
re-opened, it was not a case of all quiet on the Munich front. Far
from it. Berks, the new Minister of the Interior, who had always
supported her, still remained in office; and Lola herself continued
from a distance to pull strings. Some of them were effective.

But Lola Montez, or no Lola Montez, there was in the eyes of his
exasperated subjects more than enough to make them thoroughly
dissatisfied with the Wittelsbach regime, as carried out by Ludwig.
The Cabinet had become very nearly inarticulate; public funds had been
squandered on all sorts of grandiose and unnecessary schemes; and the
clerical element had long been allowed to ride roughshod over the
constitution. Altogether, the "Ministry of Dawn," brought into
existence with such a flourish of trumpets after the dismissal of von
Abel and his colleagues, had not proved the anticipated success.
Instead of getting better, things had got worse; and, although it had
not actually been suggested, the idea of substituting the monarchy by
a republic was being discussed in many quarters.

The editor of the _Annual Register_, abandoning his customary attitude
of an impartial historian, dealt out a sharp rap on the knuckles to
the Royal Troubadour:

"The discreditable conduct of the doting old King of Bavaria, in his
open _liaison_ with a wandering actress who had assumed the name of
Lola Montez (but who was in reality the eloped wife of an Englishman,
and whom he had created a Bavarian Countess by the title of Gräfin de
Landsfeld), had thoroughly alienated the hearts of his subjects."

As the result of a solemn conclave at the Rathaus, an ultimatum was
delivered by the Cabinet; and Ludwig was informed, without any beating
about the bush, that unless he wanted to plunge the country into
revolution, Lola Montez must leave the kingdom. Ludwig yielded; and
forgetful of, or else deliberately ignoring, the fact that he had once
written a passionate threnody, in which he declared:

    "And though thou be forsaken by all the world,
    Yet, never wilt thou be abandoned by me!"

he could find it in his heart to issue a decree expelling her from his

To this end, on March 17, he signed two separate Orders in Council.


     "We, Ludwig, by the Grace of God, King of Bavaria, etc.,
     think it necessary to give notice that the Countess of
     Landsfeld has ceased to possess the rights of


     "Since the Countess of Landsfeld does not give up her design
     of disturbing the peace of the capital and country, all the
     judicial authorities of the kingdom are hereby ordered to
     arrest the said Countess wherever she may be discovered.
     They are to carry her to the nearest fortress, where she is
     to be kept in custody."

Events moved rapidly. A few days later Lola was arrested by Prince
Wallerstein (whom she herself had put into power when his stock had
fallen) and deported, as an "undesirable alien," to Switzerland.

Woman-like, she had the last word.

"I am leaving Bavaria," she said, "but, before very long, your King
will also leave."

Everybody had something to say about the business. Most people had a
lot to say. The wires hummed; and the foreign correspondents in Munich
filled columns with long accounts of the recent disturbances in Munich
and their origin. No two accounts were similar.

"The people insisted," says Edward Cayley, in his _European
Revolutions of_ 1848, "on the dismissal of the King's mistress. She
was sent away, but, trusting to the King's dotage, she came back,
police or no police.... This was a climax to which the people were
unprepared to submit, not that they were any more virtuous than their
Sovereign." Another publicist, Edward Maurice, puts it a little
differently: "In Bavaria the power exercised by Lola Montez over
Ludwig had long been distasteful to the sterner reformers." This was
true enough; but the Müncheners disliked the Jesuits still more,
asserting that it was with them that Lola shared the conscience of the
King. The Liberals were ready for action, and welcomed the opportunity
of asserting themselves.

As soon as Lola was really out of the country, her Barerstrasse
mansion was searched from attic to cellar by the Munich police. Since,
in order to justify the search, they had to discover something
compromising, they announced that they had discovered "proofs" that
Lord Palmerston and Mazzini were in active correspondence with the
King's ex-mistress; and that the go-between for the British Foreign
Office was a Jew called Loeb. This individual was an artist who had
been employed to decorate the house. Seized with pangs of remorse, he
is said to have gone to Ludwig and confessed having intercepted Lola's
correspondence with Mazzini and engineered the rioting. He further
declared that large sums of money had been sent her from abroad.
Historians, however, have no knowledge of this; nor was the nature of
the "proofs" ever revealed.

Lola's villa in the Barerstrasse afterwards became the new home of the
British Legation. It was demolished in 1914; and not even a wall
plaque now marks her one-time occupancy. As for the Residenz Palace
where she dallied with Ludwig, this building is now a museum, and as
such echoes to the tramp of tourists and the snapping of cameras. _Sic
transit_, etc.


When Lola, hunted from pillar to post, eventually left Munich for
Switzerland, it was in the company of Auguste Papon, who, on the
grounds of "moral turpitude," had already been given his
marching-orders. He described himself as a "courier." His passport,
however, bore the less exalted description of "cook." It was probably
the more correct one. The faithful Fritz Peissner, anxious to be of
service to the woman he loved, and for whom he had already risked his
life, joined her at Constance, together with two other members of the
_Alemannia_, Count Hirschberg and Lieutenant Nussbaum. But they only
stopped a few days.

Anxious to get into touch with them, Lola wrote to the landlord at
their last address:

     _2 March, 1848._


     In case the students of the Alemannia Society have left your
     hotel, I beg you to inform my servant, the bearer of this
     letter, where Monsieur Peissner, for whom he has a parcel to
     deliver, has gone.

     Receive in advance my distinguished sentiments.


Lola's first halt in Switzerland (a country she described as "that
little Republic which, like a majestic eagle, lies in the midst of the
vultures and cormorants of Europe") was at Geneva. An error of
judgment, for the austere citizens of Calvin's town, setting a
somewhat lofty standard among visitors, were impervious to her
blandishments. "They were," she complained, "as chilly as their own
icicles." At Berne, however, to which she went next, she had better
luck. This was because she met there an impressionable young Chargé
d'affaires attached to the British Legation, whom she found "somewhat
younger than Ludwig, but more than twice as silly." An _entente_ was
soon established. "Sometimes riding, and sometimes driving she would
appear in public, accompanied by her youthful adorer."

The official was Robert Peel, a son of the distinguished statesman,
and was afterwards to become third baronet. In a curious little work,
typical of the period, _The Black Book of the British Aristocracy_,
there is an acid allusion to the matter: "This bright youth has just
taken under his protection the notorious Lola Montez, and was lately
to be observed walking with her, in true diplomatic style, in the
streets of a Swiss town."

It was about this period that it occurred to a theatrical manager in
London, looking for a novelty, that there was material for a stirring
drama written round the career of Lola Montez. No sooner said than
done; and a hack dramatist, who was kept on the premises, was
commissioned to set to work. Locked up in his garret with a bottle of
brandy, at the end of a week he delivered the script. This being
approved by the management, it was put into rehearsal, and the
hoardings plastered with bills:

|                  THEATRE ROYAL, HAYMARKET                     |
|                                                               |
|    (Under the Patronage of Her Gracious Majesty The Queen,    |
|  His Royal Highness Prince Albert, and the Élite of Rank and  |
|  Fashion.) On Wednesday, April 26, 1848, will be produced a   |
|  New and Original and Apropos Sketch entitled:                |
|                                                               |
|          "LOLA MONTEZ, or THE COUNTESS FOR AN HOUR."          |

"An hour." This was about as long as it lasted, for the reception by
the critics was distinctly chilly. "We cannot," announced one of them,
"applaud the motives that governed the production of a farce
introducing a mock sovereign and his mistress. In our opinion the
piece is extremely objectionable."

The Lord Chamberlain apparently shared this view, for he had the play
withdrawn after the second performance.

"_Es gibt kein Zurück_" ("There is to be no coming back") had been
Ludwig's last words to her. But Lola did not take the injunction
seriously. According to a letter in the _Deutsche Zeitung_, she was
back in Munich within a week, travelling under the "protection" of
Baron Möller, a Russian diplomatist. Entering the Palace
surreptitiously, she extracted a cheque for 50,000 florins from
Ludwig. As it was drawn on Rothschild's bank at Frankfort, she hurried
off there, and returned to Switzerland the same evening, "with a
bagful of notes."

To convince his readers that he was well behind the scenes, Papon
gives a letter which he asserts was written by Ludwig to a
correspondent some months later:

     I wish to know from you if my dear Countess would like her
     annuity assured by having it paid into a private bank, or if
     she would rather I deposited a million francs with the Bank
     of England.... I am already being blamed for giving her too
     much. As the revolutionaries seize upon any pretext to
     assert themselves, it is important to avoid directing
     attention to her just now. Still, I want my dearly loved
     Countess to be satisfied. I repeat that the whole world
     cannot part me from her.

While he was with her in Switzerland, Papon strung together a
pamphlet: _Lola Montez, Mémoires accompagnés de lettres intimes de
S.M. le Roi de Bavière et de Lola Montez, ornés des portraits, sur
originaux donnés par eux à l'auteur_, purporting to be written by
their subject. "I owe my readers," he makes her say smugly, "the exact
truth. They must judge between my enemies and myself." But, in his
character of a Peeping Tom, very little truth was expended by Papon.
Thus, he declares that, during her sojourn in the land of the
mountains and William Tell, she had a series of _affaires_ with a
"baron," a "muscular artisan," and an "intrepid sailor." He also has a
story to the effect that "two pure-blooded English ladies, the bearers
of illustrious names," called on her uninvited; and that this
circumstance annoyed her so much that she made her pet monkey attack

But Auguste Papon cannot be considered a very reliable authority. A
decidedly odd fish, he claimed to be an ex-officer and also dubbed
himself a marquis. For all his pretensions, however, he was merely a
_chevalier d'industrie_, living on his wits; and, masquerading as a
priest, he was afterwards convicted of swindling and sent to prison.


A doughty, but anonymous, champion jumped into the breach and issued a
counterblast to Papon's effort in the shape of a second pamphlet,
headed "A Reply." But this was not any more remarkable for its
accuracy than the original. Thus, it declares, "She [Lola] lived with
the King of Bavaria, a man of eighty-seven. The nature of that
intimacy can best be surmised by reading the second and third verses
of the First Book of Kings, Chapter i. It is evident to any reflecting
mind that it was a sort of King David arrangement." As for the rest of
the pamphlet, it was chiefly taken up with an elaborate argument that,
all said and done, its subject was no worse than other ladies, and
much better than many of them.

Among extracts from this well intentioned effort, the following are
the more important:

     A certain Marquis Auguste Papon, a quondam panderer to the
     natural desires and affections which are common to the whole
     human race, published and circulated throughout Europe a
     volume which stamps his own infamy (as we shall have
     occasion to show in the course of this reply) in far more
     ineffaceable characters than that of those whom, in his
     vindictiveness, he gloatingly sought to destroy.

     But, before we proceed to dissect his book, it may be
     permitted us to ask the impartial reader what there is so
     very remarkable in the conduct of the King of Bavaria and
     Lola Montez as to distinguish them unfavourably from the
     monarchs and women celebrated for their talent, originality,
     and beauty who have gone before. Where are Henry IV of
     France, Henry V, Louis XIV, and Louis XV, with their
     respective mistresses? Who of their people ever presumed to
     interfere on the score of morality with the favours and
     honours conferred on those distinguished women? Nay, to come
     down to a later period, has the Marquis Auguste Papon ever
     heard of the loves of Louis XVIII and Madame de Cuyla, and
     that after the monarch's restoration in 1814? Is he ignorant
     of those of Napoleon himself and Mademoiselle Georges? Have
     not almost all the royal family of England--even those of
     the House of Hanover--been notorious for their connection
     with celebrated women? Has he never heard of Mrs.
     Walkinshaw, ostensible mistress of Charles Edward the
     Pretender, of Lucy Barlow, mistress of Charles II, mother of
     the Duke of Monmouth? Of Arabella Churchill and Katherine
     Sedley, mistresses of James II? Of the Countess of Kendal,
     mistress of George II, who was received everywhere in
     English society? Or of George IV and the Marchioness of
     C----? Of the Duke of York and Mary Anne Clark? Of the Duke
     of Clarence and the amiable and respected Mrs. J----? And
     last, not least, of the present King of Hanover and late
     Duke of Cumberland, who labours even unto this hour under
     suspicion of having murdered his valet Sellis, to conceal
     his adultery with his wife? In what differs the King of
     Bavaria from these?

[Illustration: _Lola Montez in caricature. "Lola on the Allemannen

     But even to descend lower into the social scale of those who
     have occupied the attention of the world without incurring
     its marked and impertinent censure, has the Marquis Auguste
     Papon ever heard of the beautiful Miss Foote, who, first the
     favourite of the celebrated Colonel Berkeley (a natural
     brother of the Duke of Devonshire) and secondly of a
     personal friend of the writer of this reply--the
     celebrated Pea Green Hayne--became finally the charming and
     amiable Countess of Harrington, one of the sweetest women
     that ever were placed at the head of the Stanhope family or
     graced a peerage?

     Who, that ever once enjoyed the pleasure of knowing this
     fairest flower in the parterre of England's aristocracy of
     beauty, would, in a spirit of revenge and disappointed
     avarice, have had the grossness to insult _her_ as the
     Marquis of Papon--the depository of all her secrets--has
     insulted the Countess of Landsfeld with the loathsome name
     of "courtesan," because, yielding to the confidence of her
     woman's heart, she had been the adored of two previous
     lovers? Never did Lord Petersham, afterwards the Earl of
     Harrington, take a more sensible course than when he
     elevated in a holy and irreproachable love--a love that
     strangled scandal in its bloated fullness--the fascinating
     Maria Foote to the position she was made to adorn, being
     twin sister in beauty as well as in law to the charming Miss
     Green, whose ripe red lips and long dark-lashed blue and
     laughing eyes were, before her marriage with Colonel
     Stanhope, the admiration and subject of homage of all
     London. Should her eye ever rest on this page, she will
     perceive that we have not forgotten its power and

     To descend still lower in the scale of social life, has the
     Marquis Auguste Papon ever heard of the celebrated Madame
     Vestris, now Mrs. Mathews? Is he ignorant that her
     theatre--the Olympic--was ever a resort of the most
     fashionable and aristocratic people of London? Did her moral
     life in any way detract from her popularity as a woman of
     talent and of beauty, and an artiste of exceeding
     fascination and merit? And yet she had more lovers than the
     Marquis Auguste Papon can, with all his ingenuity, raise up
     in evidence against the remarkable woman he, in his not very
     creditable spirit of vengeance, has sworn to destroy.

     Let us enumerate those we know to have been the lovers of
     Madame Vestris, who, after having passed her youth in all
     the variety of enjoyment, at length became the wife of a
     man, not without talent himself, and whose father stood
     first among the names celebrated in the comic art.

     First was a personal friend of the writer of this reply to
     the unmanly attack of the Marquis Auguste Papon. And we have
     reason to remember it, for the connection of Henry Cole with
     the most fascinating woman of her day led to a duel in Hyde
     Park, of which that lady was the immediate cause, between
     the writer and a British officer who was so ungallant as to
     seek to check the enthusiasm created by her scarcely
     paralleled acting. To him succeeded Sir John Anstruther, and
     after Sir John the celebrated Horace Claggett. In what order
     their successors came we do not recollect, but of those who
     knew Madame Vestris in all the intimacy of the most tender
     friendship were Handsome Jack, Captain Best, Lord Edward
     Thynne, and Lord Castlereagh. These things were no secrets
     to the thousands who, fascinated by her beauty and the
     perfection of her acting, nevertheless thronged the theatre
     she was admitted to have conducted with the most amiable
     propriety and skill. On the contrary, they were as much
     matters of general knowledge among people of the first rank
     and fashion as the sun at noon-day. And yet what gentleman
     ever presumed to affix to the name of this gifted woman,
     whose very disregard of the opinion of those who
     hypocritically and _sub rosa_ pursued in nearly ninety-nine
     cases out of a hundred the same course--what gentleman, we
     ask, ever dared to commit himself so far as to term her a

There was a good deal more of it, for the "Reply" ran to seventy-six

The title-page of this counterblast ran:










_Stet Nomnis Umbra_--Junius




Bavaria was the key position in the sphere of European politics just
then. Ludwig, however, had dallied with the situation too long.
Nothing that he could do now would save him. Unrest was in the air.
All over Europe the tide of democracy was rising, and fast threatening
to engulf the entrenched positions of the autocrats. Metternich,
reading the portents, was planning to leave a mob-ridden Vienna for
the more tranquil atmosphere of Brighton; Louis Philippe, setting him
an example, had already fled from Paris; and Prince William of
Prussia, shaving off his moustache (and travelling on a false
passport), was hurrying to England while the going was still good.
With these examples to guide them, the Bavarians, tired of soft
promises and smooth words, were clamouring for a fresh hand at the
helm. Realising that the choice lay between this and a republic,
Ludwig bowed to the inevitable; and, with crocodile tears and
hypocritical protestations of good faith, surrendered his sceptre. To
give the decision full effect, he issued a Proclamation:

     "Bavarians! A new condition has arisen. This differs
     substantially from the one under which I have governed you
     for twenty-three years. Accordingly, I lay down my sceptre
     in favour of my beloved son, Prince Maximilian. I have
     always governed you with full regard for your welfare. Had I
     been a mere clerk, I could not have worked more strenuously;
     had I been a Minister of Finance, I could not have devoted
     more attention to the requirements of my country. I thank
     God that I can look the whole world fearlessly in the face
     and there confront the most scrutinising eye. Although I now
     relinquish my crown, I can assure you that my heart still
     beats as warmly as ever for Bavaria.


     _March 21, 1848_."

Ludwig's signature to this mixture of rigmarole and bombast was
followed by those of his sons, the Princes Maximilian Luitpold,
Adalbert, and Carl. As for Maximilian, the new sovereign, he, rather
than risk being thrown out of the saddle, was prepared to make a clean
sweep of a number of existing grievances. As an earnest of his
intentions, he promised, in the course of a frothy oration, to grant
an amnesty to political prisoners, liberty of the press, the abolition
of certain taxes, the institution of trial by jury, and a long delayed
reform of the franchise.

With the idea, no doubt, of filling the vacancy in his affections
caused by the abrupt departure of Lola Montez, Fräulein Schroder, a
young actress at the Hof Theatre, endeavoured to comfort Ludwig in his
retirement. He, however, was beyond forming any fresh contacts.

"My happiness is gone from me," he murmured sadly. "I cannot stop in a
capital to which I have long given a father's loving care."

Firm in this resolve, he left Munich for the Riviera and took a villa
among the olives and oranges of Nice. There he turned over a fresh
leaf. But he did not stop writing poetry. Nor did he stop writing to
the woman who was still in his thoughts. One ardent epistle that
followed her into exile ran in this fashion:

     Oh, my Lolita! A ray of sunshine at the break of day! A
     stream of light in an obscured sky! Hope ever causes chords
     long forgotten to resound, and existence becomes once again
     pleasant as of yore. Such were the feelings which animated
     me during that night of happiness when, thanks to you alone,
     everything was sheer joy. Thy spirit lifted up mine out of
     sadness; never did an intoxication equal the one I then

     Thou hast lost thy gaiety; persecution has stripped you of
     it; and has robbed you of your health. The happiness of your
     life is already disturbed. But now, and more solidly than
     ever, are you attached to me. Nobody will ever be able to
     separate us. You have suffered because you love me.

When accounts of what was happening in Bavaria reached England a well
pickled rod was applied to Lola's back:

"The sanguinary and destructive conduct of the Munich mob," began a
furious leading article, "was caused by the supposed return of
Bavaria's famous strumpet, Lola Montez. This heroine was once familiar
to the eyes of all Paris, and notorious as a courtesan. When she was
invested with a title, the Bavarians shuddered at their degradation.
It was nothing less than an outrage on the part of royalty, never to
be forgotten or forgiven."

The columns of _Maga_ also wielded the rod in vigorous fashion:

     "The late King, one of the most accomplished of dilettanti,
     worst of poets, and silliest of men, had latterly put the
     coping-stone to a life of folly by engaging in a most
     bare-faced intrigue with the notorious Lola Montez. The
     indecency and infatuation of this last _liaison_--far more
     openly conducted than any of his former numerous amours--had
     given intense umbrage to the nobility whom he had insulted
     by elevating the ci-devant opera-dancer to their ranks."

Yet, with all his faults heavy upon him, Ludwig, none the less, had
his points. Thus, in addition to converting Munich from a second-rate
town to a really important capital, he did much to encourage the
development of art and letters and science and education throughout
his kingdom. Ignaz Döllinger, the theologian, Joseph Görres, the
historian, Jean Paul Richter, the poet, Franz Schwanthaler, the
sculptor, and Wilhelm Thirsch, the philosopher, with Richard Wagner
and a host of others basked in his patronage. When he died, twenty
years later, these facts were remembered and his little slips
forgotten. The Müncheners gave him burial in the Basilica; and an
equestrian statue, bearing the inscription, "Just and Persevering,"
was set up in the Odeon-Platz.

It is the fashion among certain historians to charge Lola Montez with
responsibility for the revolution in Bavaria. But this charge is not
justified. The fact is, the kingdom was ripe for revolution; and the
equilibrium of the government was so unstable that Ludwig would have
lost his crown, whether she was in the country or not.

It is just as well to remember this.


After a few months among them, Lola, tiring of the Swiss cantons,
thought she might as well discover if England, which she had not
visited for six years, could offer any fresh attractions. Accordingly,
resolved to make the experiment, on December 30, 1848, she arrived in

The _Satirist_, hearing the news, suggested that the managers of Drury
Lane and Covent Garden should engage her as a "draw." But she did not
stop in England very long, as she returned to the Continent almost at

In the following spring, she made a second journey to London, and
sailed from Rotterdam. Unknown to her, the passenger list was to have
included another fallen star. This was Metternich, who, with the
riff-raff of Vienna thundering at the doors of his palace, was
preparing to seek sanctuary in England. Thinking, however, that the
times were not altogether propitious, he decided to postpone the

"If," he wrote, "the Chartist troubles had not prevented me embarking
yesterday at Rotterdam, I should have reached London this morning in
the company of the Countess of Landsfeld. She sailed by the steamer in
which I was to have travelled. I thank heaven for having preserved me
from such contact!"

All things considered, it is perhaps just as well that the two
refugees did not cross the Channel together. Had they done so, it is
probable that one of them would have found a watery grave.

Metternich had worsted Napoleon, but he found himself worsted by Lola
Montez. On April 9, he wrote from The Hague:

     "I have put off my departure for England, because I wished
     to know first what was happening in that country as a result
     of the Chartists' disturbance. I consider that, for me who
     must have absolute rest, it would have been ridiculous to
     have arrived in the middle of the agitation."

Louis Napoleon, however, was made of sterner stuff; and it is to his
credit that, as a return for the hospitality extended him, he was
sworn in as a special constable.




On arriving in London, and (thanks to the bounty of Ludwig) being well
provided with funds, Lola took a house in Half Moon Street,
Piccadilly. There she established something of a _salon_, where she
gave a series of evening receptions. They were not, perhaps, up to the
old Barerstrasse standard; still, they brought together a number of
the less important "lions," all of whom were only too pleased to
accept invitations.

Among the hangers-on was Frederick Leveson-Gower, a son of Earl
Granville. He had met the great Rachel in Paris and was ecstatic about
her. "Not long after," he says, "I got to know another much less
gifted individual, but who having captivated a King, upset two
Ministries, and brought about a revolution in Bavaria, was entitled to
be looked upon as celebrated. This was Lola Montez."

In his character of what is still oddly dubbed a "man-about-town,"
Serjeant Ballantine was also among those who attended these Half Moon
Street gatherings. "His hostess," he says, "had certain claims to
celebrity. She was, I believe, of Spanish origin, and certainly
possessed that country's style of beauty, with much dash of manner and
an extremely _outré_ fashion of dress." Another occasional visitor was
George Augustus Sala, a mid-Victorian journalist who was responsible
for printing more slipshod inaccuracies than any two members of his
craft put together. He says that he once contemplated writing Lola's
memoirs. He did not, however, get beyond "contemplating." This,
perhaps, was just as well, since he was so ill-equipped for the task
that he imagined she was a sister of Adah Isaacs Menken.

"About this time," he says, "I made the acquaintance, at a little
cigar shop under the pillars in Norreys Street, Regent Street, of an
extremely handsome lady, originally the wife of a solicitor, but who
had been known in London and Paris as a ballet-dancer under the name
of Lola Montez. When I knew her, she had just escaped from Munich,
where she had been too notorious as Countess of Landsfeld. She had
obtained for a time complete mastery over old King Ludwig of Bavaria;
and something like a revolution had been necessary to induce her to
quit the Bavarian capital."

A ridiculous story spread that Lord Brougham (who had witnessed her
ill-starred début in 1843) wanted to marry her. The fact that there
was already a Lady Brougham in existence did not curb the tongues of
the gossipers. "She refused the honourable Lord," says a French
journalist, "in a manner that redounded to her credit."

Journalists, anxious for "copy," haunted Half Moon Street all day
long. They were never off her doorstep. "Town gossip," declared one of
them, "is in full swing; and the general public are all agog to catch
a glimpse of the latest 'lioness.' Lola Montez is on every lip and in
everybody's eye. She is causing an even bigger sensation than that
inspired by the Swedish Nightingale, Madame Jenny Lind."

Notwithstanding the ill-success of a former attempt to exploit her
personality behind the footlights, Mrs. Keeley produced a sketch at
the Haymarket written "round" Lola Montez. This, slung together by
Stirling Coyne, was called: _Pas de Fascination_. The scene was laid
in "Neverask-_where_"; and among the characters were "Prince
Dunbrownski," "Count Muffenuff," and "General von Bolte."

It scarcely sounds rib-rending.

Mrs. Charles Kean, who attended the first performance, described _Pas
de Fascination_ as "the most daring play I ever witnessed." Lola
Montez herself took it in good part. She sat in a box, "and, when the
curtain fell, threw a magnificent bouquet at the principal actress."
Coals of fire.

Not to be behindhand in offering tit-bits of "news," an American
correspondent informed his readers that: "During the early part of
1849, Lola Montez, arrayed in the Royal Bavarian jewels, crashed into
one of the Court balls at Buckingham Palace. Needless to remark," he
added, "the audacity has not been repeated." From this, it would
appear that the Lord Chamberlain had been aroused from his temporary

The _Satirist_ had assured his readers "the public will soon be
hearing more of Madame Montez." They did. What they heard was
something quite unexpected. This was that she had made a second
experiment in matrimony, and that her choice had fallen on a Mr.
George Heald, a callow lad of twenty, for whom a commission as Cornet
in the Life Guards had been purchased by his family.


The precise reasons actuating Lola in adopting this step were not
divulged. Several, however, suggested themselves. Perhaps she was
attracted by the Cornet's glittering cuirass and plumed helmet;
perhaps by his substantial income; and perhaps she tired of being a
homeless wanderer, and felt that here at last was a prospect of
settling down and experimenting with domesticity.

When the announcement appeared in print there was much fluttering
among the Mayfair dovecotes. As the bridegroom had an income of
approximately £10,000 a year, the débutantes--chagrined to discover
that such an "eligible" had been snatched from their grasp--felt
inclined to call an indignation meeting.

"Preposterous," they said, "that such a woman should have snapped him
up! Something ought to be done about it."

But, for the moment, nothing was "done about it," and the knot was
tied on July 14. Lola saw that the knot should be a double one; and
the ceremony took place, first, at the French Catholic Chapel in King
Street, and afterwards at St. George's, Hanover Square.

[Illustration: _Berrymead Priory, Acton, where Lola Montez lived with
Cornet Heald_]

A press representative, happening to be among the congregation, rushed
off to Grub Street. There he was rewarded with a welcome five
shillings by his editor, who, in high glee at securing such a piece of
news before any other journal, had a characteristic paragraph on the

     Lola Montez, Countess of Landsfeld, the ex-danseuse and
     ex-favourite of the imbecile old King of Bavaria, is, we are
     able to inform our readers, at last married legitimately.
     _On dit_ that her young husband, Mr. George Trafford Heald,
     has been dragged into the match somewhat hurriedly. It will
     be curious to mark the progress of the Countess in this
     novel position. A sudden change from a career of furious
     excitement to one in which prudence and a regard for the
     rules of good society are the very opposite to those
     observed by loose foreigners must prove a trial to her.
     Whipping commissaries of police, and setting ferocious dogs
     at inoffensive civilians, may do very well for Munich. In
     England, however, we are scarcely prepared for these
     activities, even if they be deemed the privilege of a

Disraeli, who had a hearty appetite for all the tit-bits of gossip
discussed in Mayfair drawing-rooms, heard of the match and mentioned
it in a letter to his sister, Sarah:

     _July, 1849._

     The Lola Montez marriage makes a sensation. I believe he
     [Heald] has only £3,000 per annum, not £13,000. It was an
     affair of a few days. She sent to ask the refusal of his
     dog, which she understood was for sale--of course it wasn't,
     being very beautiful. But he sent it as a present. She
     rejoined; he called; and they were married in a week. He is
     only twenty-one, and wished to be distinguished. Their
     dinner invitations are already out, I am told. She quite
     convinced him previously that she was not Mrs. James; and,
     as for the King of Bavaria, who, by the by, allows her £1500
     a year, and to whom she writes every day--that was only a
     _malheureuse_ passion.

Apropos of this union, a popular riddle went the round of the clubs:
"Why does a certain young officer of the Life Guards resemble a much
mended pair of shoes?" The answer was, "Because he has been heeled
[Heald] and soled [sold]."

The honeymoon was spent at Berrymead Priory, a house that the
bridegroom owned at Acton. This was a substantial Gothic building,
with several acres of well timbered ground and gardens. Some distance,
perhaps, from the Cornet's barracks. Still, one imagines he did not
take his military duties very seriously; and leave of absence "on
urgent private affairs" was, no doubt, granted in liberal fashion.
Also, he possessed a phæton, in which, with a spanking chestnut
between the shafts, the miles would soon be covered.

The Priory had a history stretching back to the far off days of Henry
III, when it belonged to the Chapter of St. Paul's Cathedral. Henry
VII, in high-handed fashion, presented it to the Earl of Bedford; and
a subsequent occupant was the notorious Elizabeth Chudleigh, the
bigamous spouse of the Duke of Kingston. Another light lady, Nancy
Dawson, is also said to have lived there as its châtelaine, under the
"protection" of the Duke of Newcastle.

At the beginning of the last century the property was acquired by a
Colonel Clutton. He was followed by Edward Bulwer, afterwards Lord
Lytton, who lived there on and off (chiefly off) with his wife, until
their separation in 1836. On one occasion he gave a dinner-party,
among the guests being John Forster, "to meet Miss Landon,
Fontblanque, and Hayward." To the invitation was added the warning,
"We dine at half-past five, to allow time for return, and regret much
having no spare beds as yet." A spare bed, however, was available for
Lord Beaconsfield, when he dined there in the following year.

On the departure of Bulwer, the house had a succession of tenants; and
for a short period it even sheltered a bevy of Nuns of the Sacred
Heart. It was when they left that the estate was purchased by Mr.
George Heald, a barrister with a flourishing practice. He left it to
his booby son, the Cornet: and it was thus that Lola Montez
established her connection with Berrymead Priory.

While the original house still stands, the garden in which it stood
has gone; and the building itself now serves as the premises of the
Acton Constitutional Club. But the committee have been careful to
preserve some evidence of Cornet Heald's occupancy. Thus, his crest
and family motto, _Nemo sibi Nascitur_, are let into the mosaic
flooring of the hall, and the drawing-room ceiling is embellished with
his initials picked out in gold.


Prejudice, perhaps, but unions between the sons of Mars and the
daughters of Terpsichore were in those days frowned upon by the
military big-wigs at the Horse Guards. Hence, it was not long before
an inspired note on the subject of this one appeared in the

     We learn from undoubted authority that, immediately on the
     marriage of Lieutenant Heald with the Countess of Landsfeld,
     the Marquess of Londonderry, Colonel of the 2nd Life Guards,
     took the most decisive steps to recommend to Her Majesty
     that this officer's resignation of his commission should be
     insisted on; and that he should at once leave the regiment,
     which this unfortunate and extraordinary act might possibly

Her Majesty, having consulted the Prince Consort and the Duke of
Wellington, shared this view. Instead, however, of being summarily
"gazetted out," the love-sick young warrior was permitted to "send in
his papers."

Thinking that he had acted precipitately in resigning, Cornet Heald
(egged on, doubtless, by Lola) endeavoured to get his resignation
cancelled. The authorities, however, were adamant. "Much curiosity,"
says a journalistic comment, "has been aroused among the Household
Troops by the efforts of this officer to regain his commission after
having voluntarily relinquished it. Notwithstanding his youth and the
fact that he had given way to a sudden impulse, Lord Londonderry was
positively inflexible. Yet the influence and eloquence of a certain
ex-Chancellor, well known to the bride, was brought to bear on him."

The "certain ex-Chancellor" was none other than Lord Brougham.

Much criticism followed in other circles. Everybody had an opinion to
advance. Most of them were far from complimentary, and there were
allusions by the dozen to "licentious soldiery" and "gilded
popinjays." The rigid editor of _The Black Book of the British
Aristocracy_ was particularly indignant. "The Army," he declared, in a
fierce outburst, "is the especial favourite of the aristocratic
section. Any brainless young puppy with a commission is free to lounge
away his time in dandyism and embryo moustaches at the public

The _Satirist_, living up to its name, also had its customary sting:

     Of course, the gallant Colonel of the Household Troops could
     not do less. That distinguished corps is immaculate; and no
     breath of wind must come between it and its propriety. There
     is but one black sheep in the 2nd Life Guards, and that, in
     the eyes of the coal black colonel (him of the collieries),
     is the soft, enchanted, and enchained Mr. Heald. Poor Heald!
     Indignant Londonderry! How subservient, in truth, must be
     the lean subaltern to his fat colonel.

A Sunday organ followed suit. "What," it demanded, "may be the precise
article of the military code against which Mr. Heald is thought to
have offended? One could scarcely have supposed that officers in Her
Majesty's service were living under such a despotism that they should
be compelled to solicit permission to get married, or their colonel's
approbation of their choice."

In addition to thus disapproving of marriages between his officers and
ladies of the stage, Lord Londonderry (a veteran of fifty-five years'
service) disapproved with equal vigour of tobacco. "What," he once
wrote to Lord Combermere, "are the Gold Sticks to do with that sink of
smoking, the Horse Guards' guard and mess-rooms? Whenever I have
visited them, I have found them _worse_ than any pot-house, and this
actually opposite the Adjutant-General's and under his Grace's very

The example set by Cornet Heald seems to have been catching. "Another
young officer of this regiment," announced the _Globe_, "has just run
off with a frail lady belonging to the Theatre and actually married
her at Brighton." He, too, was required to "send in his papers."

Besides losing his commission, Cornet Heald had, in his marriage, all
unwittingly laid up a peck of fresh trouble for himself. This was
brought to a head by the action of his spinster aunt, Miss Susannah
Heald, who, until he came of age, had been his guardian. Suspecting
Lola of a "past," she set herself to pry into it. Gathering that her
nephew's inamorata had already been married, she employed enquiry
agents to look into this previous union and discover just how and when
it had been dissolved. They did their work well, and reported that the
divorce decree of seven years earlier had not been made absolute, and
that Lola's first husband, Captain James, was still alive. Armed with
this knowledge, Miss Heald hurried off to the authorities, and, having
"laid an information," had Lola Montez arrested for bigamy.

The case was heard at Marlborough Street police court, with Mr.
Bingham sitting as Magistrate. Mr. Clarkson conducted the prosecution,
and Mr. Bodkin appeared for the defence.

"The proceedings of a London police court," declared _John Bull_,
"have seldom presented a case more fruitful of matter for public
gossip than was exhibited in the investigation at Marlborough Street,
where the mediated wife of a British officer (and one invested with
the distinction of Royal favouritism) answered a charge of imputed
bigamy.... It will readily be inferred that we allude to that
extraordinary personage known as Lola Montez, _alias_ the Countess of

Lola had, as the theatrical world would put it, dressed for the part.
She had probably rehearsed it, too. She wore, we learn, "a black silk
costume, under a velvet jacket, and a plain white straw bonnet trimmed
with blue ribbons." As became a countess, she was not required to sit
in the dock, but was given a chair in front of it. "There," said a
reporter, "she appeared quite unembarrassed, and smiled frequently as
she made a remark to her husband. She was described on the charge
sheet as being twenty-four years of age, but in our opinion she has
the look of a woman of at least thirty."

"In figure," added a second occupant of the press box, "madam is
rather plump, and of middle height, with pale complexion, unusually
large blue eyes and long black lashes. Her reputed husband, Mr. Heald,
is a tall young man of boyish aspect, fair hair and small brown
moustachios and whiskers. During the whole of the proceedings he sat
with the Countess's hand clasped in his, occasionally giving it a
fervent squeeze, and murmuring fondly in her ear."

All being ready, Mr. Clarkson opened the case for the prosecution.

     "The offence imputed to the lady at the bar," he said, "is
     that, well knowing her husband, Captain Thomas James, was
     still alive, she contracted another marriage with this young
     gentleman, Mr. George Trafford Heald. If this be
     established, serious consequences must follow, as I shall
     prove that the Ecclesiastical Court merely granted a decree
     _a mensa et thoro_." He then put in a copy of this document,
     and pointed out that, by its provisions, neither party was
     free to re-marry during the lifetime of the other. Counsel
     also submitted an extract from the register of the Hanover
     Square church, showing that, on July 19, the defendant had,
     under the name of "Maria Torres de Landsfeld," gone through
     a ceremony of marriage with Cornet Heald.

Police-sergeant Gray, who had executed the warrant, described the

"When I told her she must come along with me, the lady up and said:
'This is all rubbish. I was properly divorced from Captain James by
Act of Parliament. Lord Brougham was present when the divorce was
granted. I don't know if Captain James is still alive or not, and I
don't care a little bit. I was married to him in the wrong name, and
that made the whole thing illegal.'"

"Did she say anything else?" enquired the magistrate.

"Yes, Your Worship," returned the sergeant, consulting his note-book.
"She said: 'What on earth will the Royal Family say when they hear of
this? There's bound to be the devil of a fuss.'"

"Laughter in Court!" chronicled the pressmen.

"And what did you say to that?" enquired Mr. Bingham.

"I said that anything she said would be taken down by myself and used
in evidence against her," was the glib response.

The execution of the warrant would appear to have been carried out in
dramatic fashion.

Having evidently got wind of what was awaiting her, Lola and the
Cornet had packed their luggage and arranged to leave England. Just as
they were stepping into their carriage, Miss Susannah Heald and her
solicitor, accompanied by a couple of police officers, drove up in a
cab to Half Moon Street. When the latter announced that they had a
warrant for her arrest, there was something of a scene. "The
Countess," declared an imaginative reporter (who must have been
hovering on the doorstep), "exhibited all the appearance of excessive
passion. She used very strong language, pushed the elderly Miss Heald
aside, and bustled her husband in vigorous fashion. However, she soon
cooled down, and, on being escorted to Vine Street police station,
where the charge of bigamy was booked, she graciously apologised for
any trouble she had given the representatives of the law. She then
begged permission to light a cigar, and suggested that the constables
on duty there should join her in a social whiff."

Miss Susannah Heald, described as "an aged lady," deposed that she was
Cornet Heald's aunt, and that she had been appointed his guardian
during his minority, which had only just expired. She was bringing the
action, she insisted, "from a sense of duty."

Another witness was Captain Charles Ingram, a mariner in the service
of the East India Company. He identified the accused as the Mrs. James
who had sailed in a ship under his command from Calcutta to London in
the year 1842.

While an official return, prepared by the military authorities, showed
Captain James to have been alive on June 13, there was none to show
that he was still in the land of the living on July 19, the date of
the alleged bigamous marriage. The prosecution affected to consider
this point unimportant. The magistrate, however (on whom Lola's bright
eyes had done their work), did not agree.

"The point," he said, "is, to my mind, very important. During the
interval that elapsed between these two dates many things may have
happened which would render this second marriage quite legal. It is
possible, for instance, that Captain James may have been snatched from
this world to another one by any of those numerous casualties--such as
wounds in action or cholera--that are apt to befall members of the
military profession serving in a tropical climate. What do you say to
that, Mr. Clarkson?"

Mr. Clarkson had nothing to say. Mr. Bodkin, however, when it came to
his turn, had a good deal to say. The charge against his client was,
he declared, "in all his professional experience, absolutely
unparalleled." Neither the first nor the second husband, he pointed
out, had advanced any complaint; and the offence, if any, had been
committed under circumstances that fully justified it. He did not wish
to hint at improper motives on the part of Miss Heald, but it was
clear, he protested, that her attitude was governed by private, and
not by public, ends. None the less, he concluded, "I am willing to
admit that enough has been put before the Court to justify further

Such an admission was a slip which even the very rawest of counsel
should have avoided. It forced the hand of the magistrate.

"I am asked," he said, "to act on a presumption of guilt. As proof of
guilt is wanting, I am reluctant to act on such presumption, even to
the extent of granting a remand, unless the prosecution can assure me
that more evidence will be offered at another hearing. Since, however,
the defendant's own advocate has voluntarily admitted that there is
ground for further enquiry, I am compelled to order a remand. But the
accused will be released from custody on providing two sureties of
£500 each, and herself in one of £1000."

The adjourned proceedings began a week later, and were heard by
another magistrate, Mr. Hardwick. This time, however, there was no
defendant, for, on her name being called by the usher, Mr. Bodkin
pulled a long face and announced that his client had left England. "I
cannot," he said, "offer any reason for her absence." Still, he had a
suggestion. "It is possible," he said, "that she has gone abroad for
the benefit of her health." The question of estreating the
recognizances then arose. While not prepared to abandon them
altogether, counsel for the prosecution was sufficiently generous to
say that so far as he was concerned no objection would be offered to
extending them.

When, after two more adjournments, the defendant still failed to
surrender to her bail, the magistrate and counsel for the prosecution
altered their tone.

"Your Worship," said Mr. Clarkson, "it has come to my knowledge that
the person whose real name is Mrs. James, and who is charged with the
felonious crime of bigamy, is now some hundreds of miles beyond your
jurisdiction, and does not mean to appear. Accordingly, on behalf of
the highly respectable Miss Heald, I now ask that the recognizances be
forfeited. My client has been actuated all through by none but the
purest motives, her one object being to remove the only son of a
beloved brother from a marriage that was as illegal as it was
disgraceful. If we secure evidence from India that Captain James is
still alive, we shall then adopt the necessary steps to remove this
deluded lad from the fangs of this scheming woman."

"Let the recognizances be estreated," was the magisterial comment.

"Sensation!" scribbled the reporters.

Serjeant Ballantine, who liked to have a hand in all _causes
célèbres_, declares that he was consulted by Lola's solicitors, with a
view to undertaking her defence. If so, he would seem to have read his
instructions very casually, since he adds: "I forget whether the
prosecution was ultimately dropped, or whether she left England before
any result was arrived at. My impression is that the charge could not
have been substantiated."

Ignoring the fact that the case was still _sub judice_, the _Observer_
offered its readers some severe comments:

     "The Helen of the age is most assuredly Lola Montez, _alias_
     Betsy James, _alias_ the Gräfin von Lansfelt, _alias_ Mrs.
     Heald. As far as can be gathered from her dark history, her
     first public act was alleged adultery, as her last is
     alleged bigamy.... The evidence produced before the
     Consistory Court is of the most clear and convincing nature,
     and proves that the character of this lady (whose fame has
     become so disgustingly notorious) has been from an early
     date that of a mere wanton, alike unmindful of the sacred
     ties of matrimony and utterly careless of the opinion of the
     world upon morality or religion."

[Illustration: _Lola Montez in London. Aged thirty_

(_Engraved by Auguste Hüssner_)]

By the way, during the police court proceedings, fresh light on the
subject of Lola's parentage was furnished by an odd entry in an Irish

     "Lola Montez, Countess of Landsfeld, is the daughter of a
     Cork lady. Her mother was at one time employed as a member
     of a millinery establishment in this city; and was married
     here to Lieutenant Gilbert, an officer in the army. Soon
     after the marriage, he sailed with his wife and child to
     join his regiment in India. At the end of last year, Lola's
     mother, who is now in delicate health, visited her sister in


Thanks to the bright eyes of Lola (or perhaps to the musical jingle of
the Cornet's cash bags), a very loose watch was kept on the pair.
Hence the reason why the Countess of Landsfeld (as she still insisted
on being called) had not kept her second appointment at Marlborough
Street was because, together with the dashing ex-Life Guardsman, she
had left England early that morning. Travelling as Mr. and Mrs. Heald,
the pair went, first, to Paris, and then to Italy.

A British tourist who happened to be in Naples wrote to _The Times_,
giving an account of a glimpse he had of them. According to him, the
couple, "a youthful bridegroom and a fair lady," accompanied by a
courier, a _femme de chambre_, and a carriage, took rooms at the Hotel
Vittoria. After one night there, they left the next morning, hiring a
special steamer, at a cost of £400, to take them to Marseilles. The
hurried departure was said to be due to a lawyer's letters that was
waiting for the bridegroom at his banker's. "I am told," adds the
correspondent, "that Mr. and Mrs. Heald were bound on an excursion to
the Pyramids; and that, when the little business for which the lady is
wanted at home has been settled, they mean to prosecute their
intention. Pray, sir, help Mrs. Heald out of her present affliction.
Is this the first time that a lady has had two husbands? And is she
not bound for the East, where every man has four wives?"

The booby Cornet, with his ideas limited to fox-hunting and a study of
_Ruff's Guide_, was no mate for a brilliant woman like Lola. Hence
disagreements soon manifested themselves. A specially serious one
would seem to have arisen at Barcelona, for, says a letter from a
mutual acquaintance, "the Countess and her husband had a warm
discussion, which ended in an attempt by her to stab him. Mr. Heald,
objecting to such a display of conjugal affection, promptly quitted
the town."

Further particulars were supplied by another correspondent: "I saw Mr.
Heald," says this authority. "He is a tall, thin young man, with a
fair complexion, and often uses rouge to hide his pallor. Many pity
him for what has happened. Others, however, pity the lovely Lola.
Before he left this district, Mr. Heald called on the English Consul.
'I have come,' he said,'to ask your advice. Some of my friends here
suggest that I should leave my wife. What ought I to do about it? If I
stop with her, I am afraid of being assassinated or poisoned.' He then
exhibited a garment covered with blood. The Consul replied: 'I am
positively astonished that, after the attack of which you speak, you
did not complain to the police, and that you have since lived with
your wife on terms of intimacy. If you want to abandon her, you must
do as you think best. I cannot advise you.'"

H.B.M. Consul, however, did stretch a point, since he (perhaps fearing
further bloodshed) offered to _viser_ the applicant's passport for any
other country. Thereupon, Mr. Heald betook himself to Mataro. But,
becoming conscience-smitten, he promptly sat down and wrote an
apologetic letter to the lady he left behind him, begging her
forgiveness. "If you should ever have reason to complain of me again,"
he said, "this letter will always act as a talisman."

Apparently it had the effect, for Lola returned to her penitent

The Barcelona correspondent of _L'Assemblée Nationale_ managed to
interview the Cornet.

"He says," announced this authority, "that others persuaded him to
depart, against his real wishes. On rejoining him, Mrs. Heald was most
indignant. Her eyes positively flashed fire; and, if she should chance
to encounter the men who took her husband from her, I quite tremble to
think what will happen!"

Something obviously did happen, for, according to de Mirecourt,
"during their sojourn in Sunny Spain, the admirable English husband
made his wife the gratified mother of two beautiful offspring."
Parenthood, however, would appear to have had an odd effect upon this
couple, for, continues de Mirecourt: "_Mais, en dépit de ces gages
d'amour, leur bonheur est troublé par des querelles intestines._"

It was from Spain that, having adjusted their differences temporarily,
the couple went back to Paris. As a peace offering, a rising young
artist, Claudius Jacquand, was commissioned to paint both their
portraits on a single canvas. During, however, another domestic
rupture, Heald demanded that Lola's features should be painted out. "I
want nothing," he said, "to remind me of that woman." Unfortunately,
Lola had just made a similar demand where the Cornet was concerned.
Jacquand was a man of talent, but he could not do impossibilities.
Thereupon, Lola, breathing fire and fury, took the canvas away and
hung it with its back to the front in her bedroom. "To allow my
husband to watch me always would," she said, "be indelicate!"

There is a theory that, within the next twelve months, the
ill-assorted union was dissolved by Heald getting upset in a
rowing-boat and drowned in Lisbon harbour. The theory, however, is a
little difficult to reconcile with the fact that, on the close of the
Great Exhibition at the end of 1851, he attended an auction of the
effects, where he bought a parquet floor and had it laid down in his
drawing-room at Berrymead Priory. After this he had a number of
structural alterations added; fitted the windows with some stained
glass, bearing his crest and initials; and, finally, did not give up
the lease until 1855. Pretty good work, this, for a man said to have
met with a watery grave six years earlier.

As a matter of strict fact, Cornet Heald was not drowned, either at
Lisbon or anywhere else. He died in his bed at Folkestone, in 1856.
The medical certificate attributed the cause of death to consumption.
In the _Gentleman's Magazine_, however, the diagnosis was different,
viz., "broken heart."

All things pass. In 1859 the executors of the dashing Cornet sold the
Berrymead property for £7000, to be repurchased soon afterwards for
£23,000 by a land-development company. The house now serves as the
premises of the Priory Constitutional Club, Acton. A certain amount of
evidence of Cornet Heald's one-time occupancy still exists. Thus his
crest and motto, _Nemo sibi Nascitur_, are let into the mosaic
flooring of the hall, and the drawing-room ceiling is embellished with
his initials picked out in gold.




Notwithstanding the tie of alleged parenthood, domestic relations
between them did not improve, and the couple soon parted. The
knowledge that she was still "wanted" there kept Lola out of England.
Instead, she went to Paris, where such unpleasantnesses as warrants
could not touch her. There she was given a warm welcome, by old
friends and new.

During this visit to Paris an unaccustomed set-back was experienced.
She received it from Émile de Girardin, of whom she endeavoured to
make a conquest. But this "wild-eyed, pale-faced man of letters," as
she called him, would have none of her. Perhaps he remembered what had
befallen Dujarier.

As was to be expected, the coming among them of Lola Montez attracted
the attention of the _courrierists_, who earned many welcome francs by
filling columns with details of her career. What they did not know
about it they invented. They knew very little. Thus, one such article
(appropriately signed "Fantasio") read as follows:

     "Madame Lola Montez, who is now happily returned to us, is
     the legitimate spouse of Sir Thomas James, an officer of the
     English Army. Milord Sir James loved to drink and the
     beautiful Lola loved to flirt. A wealthy Prince of Kabul was
     willing to possess her for her weight in gold and gems. Up
     till now, her principal love affairs have been with Don
     Enriquez, a Spaniard, Brûle-Tout, a well-developed French
     mariner, and John, a phlegmatic Englishman. One day Sir
     James bet that he could drink three bottles of brandy in
     twenty minutes. While he was thus occupied, the amorous Lola
     made love to three separate gallants."

     "It will doubtless," added a second, "be gratifying to her
     pride to queen it again in Paris, where she was once hissed
     off the stage. There she will at any rate now be received at
     the Bavarian Embassy, and exhibit the Order of Maria
     Theresa. She was invested with this to the considerable
     scandal of the Munich nobility, who cannot swallow the idea
     of such a distinction being bestowed on a dancer."

This sort of thing and a great deal more in a similar strain, was
accepted as gospel by its readers. But for those who wished her ill,
any lie was acceptable. Thus, although there was not a scrap of
evidence to connect her with the incident, a paragraph, headed "Lola
Again?" was published in the London papers:

     Yesterday afternoon an extraordinary scene was witnessed by
     the promenaders in the Champs Elysées. Two fashionably
     attired ladies, driving in an elegant equipage, were heard
     to be employing language that was anything but refined. From
     words to blows, for suddenly they began to assault one
     another with vigorous smacks. The toilettes and faces of the
     fair contestants were soon damaged; and, loud cries of
     distress being uttered, the carriage was stopped, and,
     attracted by the fracas, some gentlemen hurried to render
     assistance. As a result of their interference, one of the
     damsels was expelled from the vehicle, and the other ordered
     the coachman to drive her to her hotel. This second lady is
     familiar to the public by reason of her adventures in

Albert Vandam, a singularly objectionable type of journalist, who
professed to be on intimate terms with everybody in Paris worth
knowing, has a number of offensive and unjustifiable allusions to Lola
Montez at this period of her career. He talks of her "consummate
impudence," of her "pot-house wit," and of her "grammatical errors,"
and dubs her, among other things, "this almost illiterate schemer."

"Lola Montez," says the egregious Vandam, "could not make friends." He
was wrong. This was just what she could do. She made many staunch and
warm-hearted friends. It was because she snubbed him on account of his
pushfulness that Vandam elected to belittle her.

Lola Montez chose her friends for their disposition, not for their
virtue. One of them was George Sand, "the possessor of the largest
mind and the smallest foot in Paris." She also became intimate with
Alphonsine Plessis, and constantly visited the future "Lady of the
Camelias" in her _appartement_ on the Boulevard de la Madeleine.
Another _habitué_ there at this period was Lola's old Dresden flame,
the Abbé Liszt, who, not confining his attentions to the romanticists,
had no compunction about poaching on the preserves of Dumas _fils_,
or, for that matter, of anybody else. As for the fair, but frail,
Alphonsine, she said quite candidly that she was "perfectly willing to
become his mistress, if he wanted it, but was not prepared to share
the position." As Liszt had other ideas on the subject, the suggestion
came to nothing.

Some years afterwards, one of his pupils, an American young woman, Amy
Fay, took his measure in a book, _Music-study in Germany_:

"Liszt," she wrote, "is the most interesting and striking-looking man
imaginable. Tall and slight, with deep-set eyes, shaggy eyebrows and
long iron-grey hair which he wears parted in the middle. His mouth
turns up at the corners, which gives him a most crafty and
Mephistophelean expression when he smiles, and his whole appearance
and manner have a sort of Jesuitical elegance and ease."

Before she set out on this journey, Lola wrote to an acquaintance:
"What makes men and women distinguished is their individuality; and it
is for that I will conquer or die!" Of this quality, she had enough
and to spare. Her Paris life was hectic; or, as the Boulevardiers put
it, _elle faisait la bombe_.

Among the tit-bits of gossip served up by a reporter was the

     "Lola is constantly giving tea-parties in her Paris flat. A
     gentleman who is frequently bidden to them tells us that her
     masculine guests are restricted to such as have left their
     wives, and that the feminine guests consist of ladies who
     have left their husbands."

An Englishman whom she met at this time was Savile Morton, a friend of
Thackeray and Tennyson. One night when she was giving a supper-party,
a fellow-guest, Roger de Beauvoir, happened to read to the company
some verses he had written. The hostess, on the grounds of their
alleged "coarseness," complained to Morton that she had been insulted.
As a result, Morton, being head over ears in love with her, sent de
Beauvoir a challenge. Lola, however, having had enough of duels, took
care that nothing should come of it; and insisted that an apology
should be given and accepted.

At one time she was optimistic enough to take a villa at Beaujon on a
fifteen years' lease, and had it refurnished in sumptuous fashion on
credit. The first two instalments of the rent were met. When, however,
the landlord called to collect the third one, he was put off with the
excuse that: "Mr. Heald was away and had forgotten to send the money,
but would be back in a week." This story might have been accepted, had
not the landlord discovered that his tenant was planning to leave
surreptitiously and that some of the furniture had already been
removed. As a result, a body of indignant tradesmen, accompanied by
the Maire of the district, in tricoloured sash and wand of office
complete, betook themselves to the villa and demanded a settlement of
accounts for goods delivered. This time they were told that the money
had arrived, but that the key of the box in which it had been
deposited for safety was lost. Assuring them that she would fetch a
locksmith, Lola slipped out of the house, and, stepping into a
waiting cab, drove off to a new address near the Étoile. This was the
last that the creditors saw of her.

In January, 1851, Lola, setting an example that has since then become
much more common among theatrical ladies, compiled her "memoirs." When
the editor of _Le Pays_ undertook to publish them in his columns, a
rival editor, jealous of the "scoop," referred to their author as
"Madame James, once Madame Heald, formerly Mlle Lola Montez, and for
nearly a quarter of an hour the Countess of Landsfeld."

The work was dedicated to her old patron, King Ludwig, with a florid

     Sire: In publishing my memoirs, my purpose is to reveal to a
     world still engulfed in a vulgar materialism Your Majesty's
     lofty thoughts about art, poetry, and philosophy. The
     inspiration of this book, Sire, is due to yourself, and to
     those other remarkable men whom Fortune--always the
     protector of my younger years--has given me as councillors
     and friends.

Lola must have written with more candour than tact. At any rate, after
the first three chapters had appeared, the editor of _Le Pays_, on the
grounds that they would "shock his purer readers," refused to continue
the series. "We positively decline," he announced, "to sully our
columns further."


Authorship having thus proved a failure, Lola, swallowing her
disappointment, directed her thoughts to her old love, the ballet. To
this end, she placed herself in the hands of a M. Roux; and, a number
of engagements having been secured by him, she began a provincial tour
at Bordeaux. By the time it was completed the star and her manager
were on such bad terms that, when they got back to Paris, the latter
was dismissed. Thereupon, he hurried off to a notary, and brought an
action against his employer, claiming heavy damages.

According to Maître Desmaret, his client, M. Roux, had been engaged in
the capacity of _pilote intermédiare_ during a prospective tour in
Europe and America. For his services he was to have 25 per cent of the
box-office receipts. On this understanding he had accompanied his
principal to a number of towns. He then returned to Paris; and while
he was negotiating there for the defendant's appearance at the
Vaudeville, he suddenly discovered that she was planning to go to
America without him. As a result, he was now claiming damages for
breach of contract. These he laid at the modest figure of 10,000

M. Blot-Lequesne, on behalf of Lola Montez, had a somewhat different
story to tell. The plaintiff himself, he declared, wanted to get out
of the contract and had deliberately disregarded its terms. His
client, he said, had authorised him to accept an engagement for her to
dance six times a week; but, in his anxiety to make additional profit
for himself, he had compelled her to dance six times a day. Apart from
this, he had "signally failed to respect her dignity as a woman, and
had invented ridiculous stories about her career." He had even done
worse, for, "without her knowledge or sanction, he had compiled and
distributed among the audiences where she appeared an utterly
preposterous biography of his employer." This, among other matters,
asserted that she had "lived and danced for eleven years in China and
Persia; and that she had been befriended by the dusky King of Nepaul,
as well as by numerous rajahs."

The concluding passage from this effort was read to the judge:

"Ten substantial volumes would be filled with the chronicle of the
eccentricities of Mlle Lola Montez, and much of them would still be
left unsaid. In the year 1847 a great English lord married her in
London. Unfortunately, they found themselves not in sympathy, and in
1850 she returned to the dreams of her spring-time. The Countess has
now completed one half of her projected tour. In November she leaves
France for America and--well--God only knows what will happen

[Illustration: _A "Belle of the Boulevards." Lola Montez in Paris_]

"As long," said counsel, "as the amiable Mlle Montez was treated by M.
Roux like a wild animal exhibited at a country fair, she merely
shrugged her shoulders in disgust. When, however, she saw how this
abominable pamphlet lifted the curtain from her private life, it was
another thing altogether. She expressed womanly indignation, and made
a spirited response."

"What was that?" enquired the judge, with interest.

"She said: 'It is lucky for you, sir, that my husband is not here to
protect me. If he were, he would certainly pull your nose!'"

As was inevitable, this expression of opinion shattered the _entente_,
and the manager returned to Paris by himself. Hearing nothing from
him, Lola Montez thought that she was at liberty to make her own
plans, and had accordingly arranged the American tour without his

On November 6, 1851, continued counsel, Lola Montez arrived in Paris,
telling M. Roux that she would leave for America on November 20, but
that she would fulfil any engagement he secured during the interval.
Just before she was ready to start he said he had got her one, but he
would not tell her where it was or produce any written contract.

Accepting this version as the correct one, the Court pronounced
judgment in favour of Lola Montez.


M. Roux having thus been dismissed with a flea in his ear, Lola, on
the advice of Peter Goodrich, the American consul in Paris, next
engaged Richard Storrs Willis (a brother of N. P. Willis, the American
poet) to look after her business affairs, and left Europe for America.
As the good ship _Humbolt_, by which she was sailing, warped into
harbour at New York, a salute of twenty-one guns thundered from the
Battery. Lola, mightily pleased, took this expenditure of ammunition
as a tribute to herself. When, however, she discovered that it was
really to herald the coming of Louis Kossuth, who also happened to be
on board, she registered annoyance and retired to her cabin, to nurse
her wrath. A Magyar patriot to be more honoured than an English
ex-favourite of a King! What next?

"A gentleman travelling with her informed our representative," said
the _New York Herald_, "that Madame had declared Kossuth to be a great
humbug. The Countess was a prodigious favourite among the masculine
passengers during the voyage, and continually kept them in roars of

But, if disappointed in one respect, Lola derived a measure of
compensation from the fact that the bevy of reporters who met the
vessel found her much more interesting than the stranger from Hungary.

"Madame Lola Montez," remarked one of them, who had gone off with a
bulging note-book, crammed with enough "copy" to fill a column, "says
that a number of shocking falsehoods about her have been published in
our journals. Yet she insists she is not the woman she is credited (or
discredited) with being. If she were, her admirers, she thinks, would
be still more plentiful than they are. She expresses herself as
fearful that she will not have proper consideration in New York; but
she trusts that the great American public will suspend judgment until
they have made her acquaintance."

"The Countess of Landsfeld, who is now among us," adds a second
scribe, "owes more to the brilliancy of intellect with which Heaven
has gifted her than to her world-wide celebrity as an artiste. Her
person and bearing are unmistakably aristocratic. If we may credit the
stories which from time to time have reached us, she can, if
necessary, use her riding-whip in vigorous fashion about the ears of
any offending biped or quadruped. In America she is somewhat out of
her latitude. Paris should be her real home."

For the present, however, Lola decided to stop where she was.

While she was in America on this tour, Barnum wanted to be her
impresario, and promised "special terms." Despite, however, the lure
of "having her path garlanded with flowers and her carriage drawn by
human hands from hotel to theatre," the offer was not accepted.

The New York début of Lola Montez was made on December 29, 1851, in a
ballet: _Betly, the Tyrolean_. Public excitement ran high, for
appetites had been whetted by the sensational accounts of her "past"
with which the papers were filled.

"Scandal does not necessarily create a great dancer," declared one
rigid critic; and a second had a long column, headed: "MONTEZ _v._
RESPECTABILITY," in which he observed (thoughtfully supplying a
translation): "_Parturiunt_ MONTEZ, _nascitur ridiculus mus_." All the
same, the box-office reported record business. As a result, prices
were doubled, and the seats put up to auction.

If she had her enemies in the press, Lola also had her champions
there. Just before she arrived, one of them, a New York paper, took up
the cudgels on her behalf in vigorous fashion:

     The most funny proceeding that is going on in this town is
     the terrible to-do that is being made about Lola Montez. If
     this state of things continues we will guarantee a
     continuance of the fun after Lola makes her advent among us,
     for if she doesn't properly horse-whip those squeamish
     gentlemen we are much mistaken in her character.

     Now we want to call the attention of our fair-minded readers
     to a few other matters that are sure to occur. Here are the
     various papers pouring out a torrent of abuse on Lola. What
     will it all amount to? In a few weeks she will land. In a
     few weeks a popular theatre will be occupied by her, and
     tens of thousands will throng that theatre. The manager will
     reap a fortune, and so will Lola Montez; and those
     short-sighted conductors of the Press will be begging for
     tickets and quarrelling among themselves as to who can say
     the most extravagant things in her favour. Public curiosity
     will be gratified at any price; and if Lola Montez is a
     capital dancer she will soon dance down all opposition. With
     what grace can the public talk about virtue in a public
     actress, when they have followed in the wake of an ELSSLER?
     If the private character of a public actress is to be the
     criterion by which to judge of her professional merit, then
     half the theatres would be compelled to shut their doors.

     We are as independently correct as any other paper that
     exists. We don't care a straw whether we go on with or
     without the other newspapers. We will do justice and say
     what is true, regardless of popularity. We detest hypocrisy;
     and we have no disposition to make a mountain out of a
     molehill, or to see a mote in the eye of Lola Montez, and
     not discover a beam in the eye of Fanny Elssler, or of any
     of the other great dancers or actresses.

     "What is Lola Montez?" enquire the public. A good dancer,
     says the manager of a theatre. She is also notorious. The
     public will crowd the theatre to see her and to judge
     whether she is not also a good actress; and if they get
     their money's worth, they are satisfied. They do not pay to
     judge of the former history of Lola Montez.... A few
     squeamish people cannot prevent Lola Montez from creating a
     sensation here, or from crowding from pit to dome any house
     where she may appear; and, as they will be the first to
     endorse her success, they would be more consistent were they
     to let her alone until she secures it.

None the less, there was competition to meet. A great deal of
competition, for counter-attractions were being offered in all
directions. Thus, "Professor" Anderson was conjuring rabbits out of
borrowed top hats; Thackeray was lecturing on "The English
Humourists"; Macready was bellowing and posturing in Shakespeare;
General Tom Thumb was exhibiting his lack of inches; and Mrs. Bloomer
was advancing the cause of "Trousers for Women!" Still, Lola more than
held her own as a "draw."

In January the bill was changed to _Diana and the Nymphs_. The fact
that some of the "Nymphs" supporting the star adopted a costume a
little suggestive of modern nudism appears to have upset a feminine

"When," was her considered opinion, "a certain piece first presented a
partly unclothed woman to the gaze of a crowded auditory, she was met
with a gasp of astonishment at the effrontery which dared so much. Men
actually grew pale at the boldness of the thing; young girls hung
their heads; a death-like silence fell over the house. But it passed;
and, in view of the fact that these women were French ballet-dancers,
they were tolerated."

To show that she was properly qualified to express her views on such a
delicate matter, this censor added: "Belonging, root and branch, to a
theatrical family, I have not on that account been deemed unworthy to
break bread at an imperial table, nor to grasp the hand of friendship
extended to me by an English lordly divine."

By the way, on this subject of feminine attire (or the lack of it) a
rigid standard was also applicable to the audience's side of the
curtain, and any departure from it met with reprisals. This is made
clear by a shocked paragraph chronicling one such happening at another

     "During the evening of our visit there transpired an
     occurrence to which we naturally have some delicacy in
     alluding. Since, however, it indicates a censorship in a
     quarter where refinement is perhaps least to be expected, it
     should not be suffered by us to pass unnoticed. In the
     stalls, which were occupied by a number of ladies and
     gentlemen in full evening costume, and of established social
     position, there was to be observed a woman whose remarkable
     lowness of corsage attracted much criticism. Indeed, it
     obviously scandalised the audience, among the feminine
     portion of which a painful sensation was abundantly
     perceptible. At last, their indignation found tangible
     expression; and a voice from the pit was heard to utter in
     measured accents a stern injunction that could apply to but
     one individual. Blushing with embarrassment, the offender
     drew her shawl across her uncovered shoulders. A few minutes
     later, she rose and left the house, amid well merited hisses
     from the gallery, and significant silence from the outraged
     occupants of the stalls and boxes."

Decorum was one thing; _décolletage_ was another. In the considered
opinion of 1851 the two did not blend.

A certain Dr. Judd, who, in the intervals of his medical practice, was
managing a Christy Minstrels entertainment at this period, has some
recollections of Lola Montez. "Many a long chat," he says, "I had with
her in our little bandbox of a ticket-office. Thackeray's _Vanity
Fair_ was being read in America just then, and Lola expressed to me
great anger that the novelist should have put her into it as Becky
Sharp. 'If he had only told the truth about me,' she said, 'I should
not have cared, but he derived his inspiration from my enemies in

This item appears to have been unaccountably missed by Thackeray's
other historians.


Lola's tastes were distinctly "Bohemian," and led her, while in New
York, to be a constant visitor at Pfaff's underground _delicatessen_
café, then a favourite haunt of the literary and artistic worlds of
the metropolis. There she mingled with such accepted celebrities as
Walt Whitman, W. Dean Howells, Commodore Vanderbilt, and that other
flashing figure, Adah Isaacs Menken. She probably found in Pfaff's a
certain resemblance to the Munich beer-halls with which she had been
familiar. A bit of the Fatherland, as it were, carried across the
broad Atlantic. German solids and German liquids; talk and laughter
and jests among the company of actors and actresses and artists and
journalists gathered night after night at the tables; everybody in a
good temper and high spirits.

Walt Whitman, inspired, doubtless, by beer, once described the place
in characteristic rugged verse:

    The vaults at Pfaff's, where the drinkers and laughers meet
        to eat and drink and carouse,
    While on the walk immediately overhead pass the myriad feet
        of Broadway.

There was a good deal more of it, for, when he had been furnished with
plenty of liquid refreshment, the Muse of Walt ran to length.

From New York Lola set out on a tour to Philadelphia, St. Louis, and
Boston. While in this last town, she "paid a visit of ceremony" to one
of the public schools. Although the children there "expressed surprise
and delight at the honour accorded them," the _Boston Transcript_
shook its editorial head; and "referred to the visit in a fashion that
aroused the just indignation of the lady and her friends."

The cudgels were promptly taken up on her behalf by a New York

"Lola Montez," he declared, "owes less of her strange fascination and
world-wide celebrity to her powers as an _artiste_ than to the
extraordinary mind and brilliancy of intellect with which Heaven has
thought fit to endow her. At one moment ruling a kingdom, through an
imbecile monarch; and the next, the wife of a dashing young English
lord.... Her person and bearing are unmistakably aristocratic. In her
recent visit to one of our public schools she surprised and delighted
the scholars by addressing them in the Latin language with remarkable

It would be of interest to learn the name of the "dashing young
English lord." This, however, was probably a brevet rank conferred by
the pressman on Cornet Heald.

On April 27, 1852, Lola Montez appeared at the Albany Museum in
selections from her repertoire. On this occasion she brought with her
a "troupe of twelve dancing girls." As an additional lure, the bills
described these damsels as "all of them unmarried, and most of them
under sixteen."

But the attraction which proved the biggest success in her repertoire
was a drama called _Lola in Bavaria_. This was said to be written by
"a young literary gentleman of New England, the son of a somewhat
celebrated poetess." The heroine, who was never off the stage for more
than five minutes, was depicted in turns as a dancer, a politician, a
countess, a revolutionary, and a fugitive; and among the other
characters were Ludwig I, Eugéne Sue, Dujarier, and Cornet Heald,
while the setting offered "a correct representation of the Lola Montez
palace at Munich." It seemed good value. At any rate, the public
thought it was, and full houses were secured. But the critics
restrained their raptures. "I sympathise," was the acid comment of one
of them, "with the actresses who were forced to take part in such
stuff"; and Joseph Daly described the heroine as "deserting a royal
admirer to court the sovereign public." The author of this balderdash
was one C. P. T. Ware, "a poor little hack playwright, who wrote
anything for anybody."

March of 1853 found Lola Montez fulfilling an engagement at the
Variétés Theatre, St. Louis. Kate Field, the daughter of the
proprietor, wrote a letter on the subject to her aunt.

     "Well, Lola Montez appeared at father's theatre last night
     for the first time. The theatre was crowded from parquet to
     doors. She had the most beautiful eyes I ever saw. I liked
     her very much; but she performed a dumb girl, so I cannot
     say what she would do in speaking characters."

During this engagement Lola apparently proved a little _difficile_,
for her critic adds: "She is trying to trouble father as much as

Lola certainly was apt to "trouble" people with whom she came into
contact. As an accepted "star," she had a high sense of her own
importance and considered herself above mere rules. Once, when
travelling from Niagara to Buffalo by train, she elected to sit in the
baggage car and puff a cigarette. "While," says a report, "thus
cosily ensconced, she was discovered by the conductor and promptly
informed by him that such behaviour was not permitted. Thereupon,
Madame replied that it was her custom to travel where and how she
pleased, and that she had frequently horse-whipped much bigger men
than the conductor. This settled the matter, for the company's officer
did not care to challenge the tigress."

The visit to Buffalo was crowned with success. "Lola Montez," declared
the _Troy Budget_, "has done what Mrs. McMahon failed to
accomplish--she positively charmed the Buffaloes. This can perhaps be
attributed to her judicious choice of the ex-Reverend Chauncey Burr,
by whom she is accompanied on her tour in the capacity of

The choice of an "ex-Reverend" to conduct a theatrical tour seems,
perhaps, a little odd. Still, as Lola once remarked: "It is a common
enough thing in America for a bankrupt tradesman or broken-down jockey
to become a lawyer, a doctor, or even a parson." Hence, from the
pulpit to the footlights was no great step.




As this was before the days when actresses in search of publicity
announce that they are _not_ going to Hollywood, Lola had to hit on a
fresh expedient to keep her name in the news. Ever fertile of
resource, the one she now adopted was to give out that this would be
her "positively last appearance, as she was abandoning the stage and
becoming a nun." The scheme worked, and the box-office coffers were
filled afresh. But Lola did not take the veil. Instead, she took a
trip to California, sailing by the Isthmus route in the summer of

A ridiculous book, _The Wonderful Adventures of Mrs. Seacole_, with an
introductory puff by a windbag, W. H. Russell, has a reference to this

     Came one day Lola Montez, in the full zenith of her evil
     fame, bound for California, with a strange suite. A
     good-looking, bold woman, with fine, bad eyes and a
     determined bearing; dressed ostentatiously in perfect male
     attire, with shirt collar turned down over a lapelled coat,
     richly worked shirt front, black hat, French unmentionables,
     and natty polished boots with spurs. She carried in her hand
     a riding-whip.... An impertinent American,
     presuming--perhaps not unnaturally--upon her reputation,
     laid hold jestingly of the tails of her long coat; and, as a
     lesson, received a cut across his face that must have marked
     him for some days. I did not wait to see the row that
     followed, and was glad when the wretched woman rode off on
     the following morning.

Russell was not a fellow-passenger in the ship by which Lola
travelled. Somebody else, however, who did happen to be one, gives a
very different description of her conduct on the journey:

"We had not been at sea one day," says Mrs. Knapp, "before all the
saloon occupants were charmed by this lovely young woman. Her vivacity
was infectious, and her _abandon_ was always of a specially airy

The arrival of Lola Montez at San Francisco would have eclipsed that
of any Hollywood heroine of the present era. A vast crowd, headed by
the City Fathers, "in full regalia," gathered at the quay. Flags
decked the public buildings; guns fired a salute; bands played; and
the schoolchildren were assembled to strew her path with flowers as
she stepped down the gangway; and, "to the accompaniment of ringing
cheers," the horses were taken from her carriage, which was dragged by
eager hands through the streets to her hotel. "The Countess
acknowledged the reception accorded her with a graceful inclination."

"What if Europe has exiled her?" demanded an editorial. "This is of no
consequence. After all, she is Lola Montez, acknowledged Mistress of
Kings! She is beautiful above other women; she is gorgeous; she is
irresistible; and we are genuinely proud to welcome her."

Enveloped in legend, the reputation of the newcomer for "eccentricity"
had preceded her. She lived up to this reputation, too, for, when the
spirit moved her (and it did so quite often), she would dance in the
beer gardens "for fun"; she had her hair cut short, when other women
were affecting chignons; and--wonder of wonders--she would "actually
smoke cigarettes in public." Clearly, a trifle ahead of her period.

By the way, while she was in San Francisco, Lola is said to have
renewed her acquaintance with the mysterious Jean François Montez,
who, during the interval since they last met, had turned over a fresh
leaf and was now married. But according to a chronicler: "The family
felicity very soon succumbed to the lure of the lovely Lola." Without,
too, any support for the assertion, a contributor of theatrical gossip
dashed off an imaginative column, in which he declared her, among
other things, to have been "the petted companion of Louis Napoleon";
and also "the idolised dancer of the swells and wits of the capitals
of the Old World, with the near relatives of royalty and the beaux of
Paris for her intimates."

This was going too far. Lola, much incensed, shook her dog-whip and
threatened reprisals.

"What's the matter with you?" demanded the journalist, astonished at
the outburst, "it's good publicity, isn't it?"

"Yes, but not the sort I want," was the response.

Still, whether she wanted it, or not, Lola was soon to have a good
deal more "publicity." This was because she suddenly appeared with a
husband on her arm.

Although the bridegroom, Patrick Purdy Hull, was a fellow-editor, the
_Daily Alta_, of California, considered that the news value of the
event was not worth more than a couple of lines:

     "On the 2nd inst. Lola Montez and P. P. Hull, Esq., of this
     city (and late of the _San Francisco Whig_) were married at
     the Mission Dolores."

Obviously regarding this as a somewhat meagre allowance, a New York
journal furnished fuller details:

     Among the recent domestic happenings of the times in
     California, the marriage of the celebrated Lola Montez will
     attract most attention. This distinguished lady has again
     united herself in the bonds of wedlock, the happy young man
     being Patrick Purdy Hull, Esq., formerly of Ohio, and for
     the past four years employed in the newspaper business in
     San Francisco.

     Mr. Hull was a fellow-passenger with the fascinating
     Countess on her trip to California; and the acquaintance
     then formed fast ripened into an attachment which
     terminated fatally to his bachelorhood. The nuptials were
     consummated [_sic_] at the Holy Church of the Mission
     Dolores in the presence of a highly respectable gathering of
     prominent citizens.

[Illustration: _The "Spider Dance." Cause of much criticism_]

The "prominent citizens" included "Governor Wainwright, Judge Wills,
Captain McMichael, Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, and Beverley Saunders, Esq."
An attempt was made to keep the ceremony secret; and, with this end in
view, the invited guests were pledged not to divulge it beforehand. On
the previous evening Captain McMichael, being something of a
tactician, announced to them: "We do not yet know for certain that the
affair will ever come off, and we may all be jolly well sold." When
they assembled at the Mission Church, it looked as if this would
happen, as neither of the couple appeared. Suddenly, however, they
drove up in a carriage and entered the church. The "blushing bride,"
says a reporter who had hidden behind a pillar, "carried a bouquet of
orange blossoms, and the organ played 'The Voice that breathed o'er
Eden'"; and another chronicler adds: "On the conclusion of the
ceremony, all adjourned to partake of a splendid spread, with wine and
cigars _ad lib._" But this was not all, for: "Governor Wainwright,
giving a significant wink, kissed the new-made bride, Mrs. Hull. His
example was promptly followed by Mr. Henry Clayton, 'just to make the
occasion memorable,' he said. 'Such is the custom of my country,'
remarked Madame Lola. She was not kissed by anybody else, but she none
the less had a pleasant word for all."


It was at Sacramento that Lola and her new husband began their married
life. The conditions of the town were a little primitive just then;
and even in the principal hotel the single guests were expected to
sleep in dormitories. The cost of board and lodging (with bed in a
bunk) was 150 dollars a week. As for the "board," standing items on
the daily menu would be boiled leg of grizzly bear, donkey steak, and
jack-rabbit. "No kickshaws" was the proud boast of every chef.

In addition to his editorial labours (which were not unduly exacting),
Hull was employed by the Government on census work, preparing
statistics of the rapidly increasing population. But Lola, much to his
annoyance, did not add to his figures for the Registrar-General's
return. The footlights proved a stronger lure than maternity; and,
almost immediately after her marriage, she accepted an engagement at
one of the theatres, where she appeared as Lady Teazle. A countess in
that part of the world being a novelty, the public rallied to the
box-office in full force and "business" was phenomenal. Still,
competition there, as elsewhere. Some of it, too, of a description
that could not be ignored. Thus, Ole Bull was giving concerts at the
Opera House, and causing hardened diggers to shed tears when he played
"Home Sweet Home" to them on his violin; Edwin Booth, "supported by a
powerful company," was mouthing Shakespeare, and tearing passion to
tatters in the process; and a curious freak, billed as "Zoyara, the
Hermaphrodite" (with a "certificate of genuineness, as to her
equestrian skill and her virtues as a lady, from H.M. the King of
Sardinia") was cramming the circus to capacity every afternoon and
evening. Yet, notwithstanding His Majesty's "certificate," it is a
fact that its recipient "married" a woman member of the troupe. "The
long sustained deception has been dropped," says a paragraphist, "and
the young man who assumed the name of 'Madame Zoyara' is now to be
seen in correct masculine attire."

Still, despite all this, Lola kept her public. After all, a countess
was a countess. But, before long, there was a difference of opinion
with the manager of the theatre in which she was appearing. Lola, who
never brooked criticism, had "words" with him. High words, as it
happened; and, flourishing her whip in his face, she tore up her
contract and walked out of the building.

"Get somebody else," she said. "I'm through."

The difference of opinion appears to have arisen because Lola elected
to consider herself "insulted" by a member of the audience while she
was dancing, and the manager had not taken her part. The next evening,
accordingly, she made a speech in public, giving him a "bit of her
mind." The result was, declared the _San Francisco Alta_, "the
Countess came off the victor, bearing away the _bravas_ and bouquets.
At the conclusion of her address she was hailed by thunderous cheers,
amid which she smiled sweetly, dropped a curtsey, and retired

Much to their surprise, those who imagined that the honours of the
evening went to Lola read in the next issue of the _Californian_ that
"the applause was all sham, the paid enthusiasm of a hired house."
This was more than flesh and blood could stand. At any rate, it was
more than Lola could stand; and she sent the editor a fierce letter,
challenging him to a duel. "I must request," was its last passage,
"that this affair of honour be arranged by your seconds as soon as
possible, as my time is quite as valuable as your own: MARIE DE

The editor of the _Californian_ did not accept the suggestion. Instead, he
applied the necessary balm, and the pistols-for-two-and-coffee-for-one
order was countermanded.


A woman of moods, when Lola made a change, it was a complete one. She
made one now. The artificiality of the towns, with their false
standards and atmosphere of pretence, had begun to pall. She wanted to
try a fresh _milieu_. Everybody was talking just then of Grass Valley,
a newly opened-up district, set amid a background of the rugged
Sierras, where gangs of miners were delving for gold in the bowels of
Mother Earth, and, if half the accounts were true, amassing fortunes.
Why not go there and see for herself? It would at least be a novel

No sooner said than done. Hiring a mule team and wagon, and
accompanied by Patrick Hull, she started off on a preliminary tour of
inspection of the district.

Travelling was unhurried in those leisurely days. There were several
stoppages; and the roads were rough, and long detours had to be made
to avoid yawning canyons. "At the end of two weeks from the time they
left Sacramento behind them, Pat Hull and his charming bride wheeled
across the mountains into Grass Valley."

"There were about 1600 people in the township of Marysville at this
period," says a chronicler, "and 1400 of them were of the masculine
sex. The prospect of sudden riches was the attraction that drew them.
England and the Continent were represented by some of the first
families. A dozen were graduates of Oxford and Cambridge; there were
two young relatives of Victor Hugo; there were a number of scions of
the impoverished nobility of Bohemia; and several hundred Americans.
Among the latter was William Morris Stewart, a Marysville lawyer, who
was afterwards to become a senator and attorney-general."

Grass Valley at this period (the autumn of 1853) was little more than
a wilderness. The nearest town of any size was Nevada City, fringed by
the shadows of the lofty Sierras. Between the gulches had sprung up as
if by magic a forest of tented camps and tin-roofed shanties, with
gambling-booths and liquor saloons by the hundred, in which bearded
men dug hard by day, and played faro and monte and drank deep by
night. Fortunes were made--and spent--and nuggets were common
currency. The cost of living was very high. But it cost still more to
be ill, since a grain of gold was the accepted tariff for a grain of

The whole district was a melting-pot. Attracted by the prospect of the
precious metal that was to be wrung from it, there had drifted into
the Valley a flotsam and jetsam, representatives of all nations and of
all callings. As was natural, Americans in the majority; but, with
them, Englishmen and Frenchmen and Germans and Italians, plus an
admixture of Chinamen and Kanakas; also an undesirable element of
deserters from ships and convicts escaped from Australia. To keep them
in some sort of order, rough justice was the rule. Mayors and sheriffs
had arbitrary powers, and did not hesitate to employ them. Judge Lynch
was supreme; and a length of hemp dangling from a branch was part of
the equipment of every camp.

With a full knowledge of all these possible drawbacks, Lola Montez
looked upon Grass Valley and saw that it was good. Perhaps the Bret
Harte atmosphere appealed to her. At any rate, she decided to settle
down there temporarily; and, with this end in view, she persuaded Hull
to buy a six-roomed cottage just above Marysville.

When Lola Montez--for all that she had a wedding-ring on her finger,
she still stuck to the name--arrived there with her new husband, the
conditions of life in Grass Valley were a little primitive. A
telegraph service did not exist; and letters were collected and
delivered irregularly. Transport with the outer world was by stage
coach and mule and pony express. Whisky had to come round by Cape
Horn; sugar from China; and meat and vegetables from Australia. The
fact was, the early settlers were much too busily employed extracting
nuggets and gold dust to concern themselves with the production of any
other commodity.

Mrs. Dora Knapp, a neighbour of Lola Montez in Grass Valley at this
period, has contributed some reminiscences of her life there:

     "We, who knew of her gay career among the royalty and
     nabobs, were astonished that she should have gone to the
     camp. She frequently had letters from titled gentlemen in
     Europe, begging her to come back and live on their rich
     bounty. It was simply because she was weary of splendour and
     fast living that the Countess turned with such fondness to
     life in a mining camp."

To Patrick Hull, however, the attractions of the district were not so
obvious. Ink was in his blood. He wanted to get back to his editorial
desk, preferring the throbbing of printing presses to the rattle of
spades and picks and the clanking of drills. Nor did "love in a
cottage" appeal to him. When Lola refused to give up Grass Valley, he
developed a fit of sulks and turned to the whisky bottle for

Under the circumstances, matrimonial bliss was impossible. Such a life
was a cat and dog one. Its end arrived very soon.

"Lola Montez and her new husband," says the knowledgeable Mrs. Knapp,
"had not lived together more than a few months before trouble began.
When two such spirits came together, there was bound to be a clash.
The upshot was that one day Lola pushed Patrick down the stairs,
heaved his grip out of the window and ordered him to quit."

Mr. Hull, who could take a hint as well as any man, did "quit." He did
more. He took to his bed and expired. "In his native state," says a
tearful obituary, "he was respected and loved by a large circle. The
family of Manuel Guillen (in whose house he lay), inspired by a
sentiment of genuine benevolence, bestowed upon him all the tender
watchfulness due to a beloved son and brother; and nothing was omitted
that promised cure or promoted comfort."

But this was not until some time after he had received his abrupt
_congé_ from Lola Montez.

Once more, Lola had drawn a blank in the matrimonial market.


With Adrienne Lecouvreur, Lola Montez must often have asked herself,
_Que faire au monde sans aimer?_ "Living without loving" had no appeal
for her. Hence, she was soon credited (or discredited) with a fresh
_liaison_. This time her choice fell on a German baron, named Kirke,
who also happened to be a doctor. There was a special bond between
them, for he had come from Munich, and could thus awaken memories and
tell her of Ludwig, of Fritz Peissner and the other good comrades of
the _Alemannia_, and of the house in the Barerstrasse where she had
once queened it.

"This fourth adventure in matrimony was," says a chronicler,
"copiously consummated." An odd choice of words. But, successful or
not, it was short-lived. One fine day the baron took his gun with him
into the forest. He did not return. "Killed in a shooting accident" (a
fairly common occurrence in the Wild West at that period) was the
coroner's verdict. As a result, Lola was once more without a masculine

The position was not devoid of an element of danger, for the district
swarmed with lawless gangs, to whom a woman living by herself was
looked upon as fair prey. But Lola was not disturbed. She had plenty
of courage. She knew, too, that the miners had formed themselves into
a "guard of honour," and that it would have gone ill with anybody
attempting to molest her. If the diggers were rough, they were

In response to a general invitation from the camp, Lola more than once
gave an exhibition of her quality as a _danseuse_. Although the charge
for admission was a hundred dollars, the hall where she appeared was
always crammed to the doors. She expanded out, too, in other
directions; and a picturesque account of her life at this period says
that she slept under the stars ("canopy of heaven" was the writer's
more poetical way of putting it) and wore woollen underclothing
knitted by herself. Another detail declares that she held a "weekly
soirée in her cottage, attended by the upper circles of the camp, a
court of littérateurs and actors and wanderers"; and that among the
regular guests were "two nephews of Victor Hugo, a quartet of
cashiered German barons, and a couple of shady French counts."
Obviously, a somewhat mixed gathering. For all this, however, the
receptions were "merely convivial assemblies, with champagne and other
wine, served with cake and fruit _ad lib_, and everyone smoked. The
two Hugo neighbours were always there, as well as a son of Preston
Brooks, the South Carolina congressman. A dozen of us looked forward
to attending these _salons_, which we called 'experience-meetings.'
Senator William M. Stewart, then a young lawyer in Nevada, said he
used to count the days between each. Every song, every story, every
scrap of humour or pathos that any of the young men came across would
be preserved for the next gathering. Occasionally, our charming
hostess would have a little fancy-dress affair at the cottage, and,
clad in the fluffy and abbreviated garments she had once worn on the
stage, show us that she still remembered her dancing-steps."

When not engaged in these innocent relaxations, Lola would give
herself up to other pursuits. Thus, she hunted and fished and shot,
and often made long trips on horseback through the forests and sage
bush. Having a fondness for all sorts of animals, on one such
expedition she captured a bear cub, with which she returned to her
cabin and set herself to tame. While thus employed, she was visited by
a wandering violinist, who, falling a victim to her charms, begged a
lock of her hair as a souvenir of the occasion. Thereupon, Lola,
always anxious to oblige, struck a bargain with him. "I have," she
said, "a pet grizzly in my orchard. If you will wrestle with him for
three minutes, you shall have enough of my hair to make a bow for your
fiddle. Let me see what you can do." The challenge was accepted; and
the amorous violinist, merely stipulating that the animal should be
muzzled, set to work and secured the coveted guerdon.

Something of a risk, perhaps. Still, it would have been a more serious
one if Lola had kept a rattlesnake.

Appearances are deceptive, and Bruin was less domesticated than Lola
imagined. One day, pining perhaps for fresh diet, he grappled with his
mistress and bit her hand. The incident attracted a laureate on the
staff of the _California Chronicle_, who, in Silas Wegg fashion,
"dropped into verse:"


    One day when the season was drizzly,
      And outside amusements were wet,
    Fair Lola paid court to her Grizzly
      And undertook petting her pet.

    But, ah, it was not the Bavarian
      Who softened so under her hand,
    No ermined King octogenarian,
      But Bruin, coarse cub of the land.

    So, all her caresses combatting
      He crushed her white slender hand first,
    Refusing his love to her patting,
      As she had refused hers to _Pat_!

    Oh, had her pet been him whose glory
      And title were won on the field,
    Less bloodless had ended this story,
      More easy her hand had been _Heald_!

This doggerel was signed "F.S.", initials which masked the identity of
Frank Soule, the editor of the _Chronicle_.


Never without her dog-whip, Lola took it with her to her cottage in
Grass Valley. There she soon found a use for it. A journalist, in a
column account of her career, was ungallant enough to finish by
enquiring "if she were the devil incarnate?" As the simplest method of
settling the problem, "Lola summoned the impertinent scribbler and
gave him such a hiding that he had no doubts left at all."

Shortly afterwards, there was trouble with another representative of
the press. This was with one Henley Shipley, the editor of the
_Marysville Herald_, who, notwithstanding that they were "regularly
attended by the _élite_ of the camp," had described her "Wednesday
soirées" as "disgraceful orgies, inimical to our fair repute."
Thereupon, says a sympathiser, the aspersed hostess "took her whip to
him, and handed out a number of stinging and well merited cuts."

The opportunity being too good to miss, the editor of the _Sacramento
Union_ set to work and rushed out a special edition, with a long
description of the incident:

     This forenoon our town was plunged into a state of ludicrous
     excitement by the spectacle of Madame Lola Montez rushing
     through Mill Street, with a lady's delicate riding whip in
     one hand and a copy of the _Marysville Herald_ in the other,
     vowing vengeance on "that scoundrel of an editor," etc. She
     met him at the Golden Gate Saloon, a crowd, on the _qui
     vive_, following in her footsteps. Having struck at him with
     her whip, she then applied woman's best weapon--her tongue.
     Meanwhile, her antagonist kept most insultingly cool. All
     her endeavours being powerless, the "Divine Lola" appealed
     to the miners, but the only response was a burst of
     laughter. Mr. Shipley, the editor, then retired in triumph,
     having, by his calmness, completely worn down his fair

     The immediate cause of the fracas was the appearance of
     sundry articles, copied from the _New York Times_, referring
     to the "Lola Montez-like insolence, bare-faced hypocrisy,
     and effrontery of Queen Christina of Spain." The entire
     scene was decidedly rich.

One can well imagine it.

Never prepared to accept hostile criticism without a protest, Lola
sent her own version of the occurrence to a rival organ:

     "This morning, November 21," she wrote, "the newspaper was
     handed me as usual. I scanned it over with little interest,
     saw a couple of abusive articles, not mentioning me by name,
     but, as I was afterwards told, had been prepared by the
     clever pen of this great statesman of the future, and
     present able writer, as a climax and extinguisher to all the
     past and future glories of Lola Montez. I wonder if he
     thought I should come down with a cool thousand or two, to
     stock up his fortune and cry 'Grace, Grace!'

     "This is the only attempt at blackmail I have been subjected
     to in California, and I hope it will be the last. On I read
     the paper till I saw my name in good round English, and the
     allusions to my 'bare-faced hypocrisy and insolence.'
     Europe, hear this! Has not the 'hypocrisy' been on the
     other side? What were you thinking of, Alexandra Dumas,
     Beringer, Méry, and all my friends when you told me my fault
     lay in my too great kindness? Shipley has judged me at last
     to be a hypocrite. To avenge you, I, bonnet on head and whip
     in hand--that whip which was never used but on a horse--this
     time to be disgraced by falling on the back of an ASS....
     The spirit of my Irish ancestors (I being three-quarter
     Irish and Spanish and Scotch) took possession of my hand;
     and, on the most approved Tom Sayers principles, I took his,
     on which--thanks to some rings I had--I made a cutting
     impression. This would-be great smiter ended the combat with
     a certain amount of abuse, of which--to do him justice--he
     is a perfect master. _Sic transit gloria_ SHIPLEY! Alas,
     poor Yorick!"

[Illustration: _Lola Montez, in "Lola in Bavaria." A "Play with a

The atmosphere of Grass Valley could scarcely be described as
tranquil. Its surface was always being ruffled; and it was not long
before Lola was again embroiled in a collision with one of her
neighbours. This time she had a passage at arms with a Methodist
minister in the camp, the Rev. Mr. Wilson, who, with a sad lack of
Christian charity, informed his flock that this new member among them
was "a feminine devil devoid of shame, and that the 'Spider Dance' in
her repertoire was an outrage." There were limits to clerical
criticism. This was clearly one of them. As she could not take her
whip to a clergyman, she took herself. "Resolved to teach the Rev.
Wilson a lesson, she called on him in her dancing dress, while he was
conducting a confirmation class."

"Without," says a member of the gathering, "any preliminaries beyond
saying 'Good afternoon,' she proceeded to execute the dance before the
astonished gaze of the company. Then turning to the minister, she
said, 'The next time you think fit to make me and this dance a subject
for a pulpit discourse, perhaps you will know better what you are
talking about.' She then took her departure, before the reverend
gentleman could sufficiently collect his senses to say or do

But, notwithstanding these breaks in its monotony, Lola felt that she
was not really adapted to the routine of Grass Valley. Once more, the
theatre called her. Answering the call, she went back to it. But on
the return journey she did not take Patrick Hull. She also shed the
name he had given her, and resumed that of Countess of Landsfeld.

"It looks better on the bills," she said, when she discussed plans for
a prospective tour.

The _Grass Valley Telegraph_ gave her a good "send off" in a fulsome
column; and the miners presented her with a "farewell gift" in the
form of a nugget. "Rough, like ourselves," said their spokesman, "but
the genuine article."




This time Lola was going further afield. A long way further. Two
continents had already been exploited. Now she would discover what a
fresh one held.

Her plan was to leave the Stars and Stripes for the Southern Cross. As
an initial step, "she sold her jewels for 20,000 dollars to the madam
of a fashionable brothel." Having thus secured adequate funds, she
assembled a number of out-of-work actors and actresses and engaged
them to accompany her on a twelve months' tour in Australia. Except
for Josephine Fiddes (who was afterwards to understudy Adah Isaacs
Menken, of _Mazeppa_ renown) and, perhaps, her leading man, Charles
Follard, they were of a distinctly inferior calibre.

The departure from California was duly notified in a paragraph sent
round the press:

"We beg to inform our readers and the public generally that on June 6
the celebrated Lola Montez left San Francisco, at the head of a
theatrical troupe of exceptional talent, bound for distant Australia.
The public in the Antipodes may confidently look forward to a rare

The voyage across the Pacific being in a sailing vessel, was a longish
one and occupied nearly ten weeks from start to finish. However,
anchor was dropped at last; and on August 23, 1855, a "colossal
attraction" was announced in "Lola Montez in Bavaria" at the Victoria
Theatre, Sydney. There, thanks to the interest aroused by her exploits
in other parts of the world, the newcomer was assured of a good

But theatrical stars were always accorded a special measure of
deference by the colonists. Thus, Miss Catherine Hayes, who was
playing at an opposition house, was invited to luncheon by the Bishop
of Sydney and to dinner by the Attorney-General; and a Scottish
conjurer, "Professor" Anderson, was given an "address of welcome" by
the Town Council.

While these particular honours were not enjoyed by Lola (who, for some
reason best known to herself, had elected to be entered in the
passenger-list as "Madam Landsfeld Heald"), she was none the less
accorded considerable publicity. "The eccentric and much advertised
Lola Montez," said the _Herald_ on the morning after her New South
Wales début, "pounces upon us direct from California, and the
excitement of her visit is emptying the opposition theatre. Last night
the Countess looked positively charming and acted very archly.... On
the fall of the curtain, she presented Mr. Lambert (who played the
King of Bavaria) with an elegant box of cigarettes."

Naturally enough, the star was interviewed by the journalists. "At the
Victoria Theatre," says one of them, "I was privileged to have a talk
with Madame Lola after the performance had concluded. I found
her--much to my surprise--to be a very simple-mannered, well-behaved,
cigar-loving young lady."

An odd picture of Sydney audiences is given by the author of _Southern
Lights and Shadows_. "The young ladies of Australia," he says, "are in
many respects remarkable. At thirteen they have more ribbons, jewels,
and lovers than any other young ladies of the same age. They prattle
insipidly from morning to night. The first time I visited a theatre I
sat next one of them who had at least half a dozen rings worn over her
gloves.... The affectation of _ton_ among them is astonishing. They
are special patrons of the drama, and, on the appearance of a star,
they flock to the dress circle in hundreds. The pit is generally well
filled with a display of shirt-sleeves, pewter pots, and babies. The
upper boxes are usually given up to that division of the community
partial to pink bonnets and cheeks to match; and flirtations are
carried on in the most flagrant and unblushing manner."

The author of this sketch also has something to say about Sydney as a

"One part of George Street is as much like Bond Street in London as it
is possible for one place to resemble another. Like Bond Street, too,
it is hourly paraded by the Bucks and Brummels of the Colony. The Café
François is much frequented by the young swells and sprigs of the
city. Files of _Punch_, _The Times_, sherry coblers, an entertaining
hostess, and a big-bloused lubberly host are the special points left
in my recollection. They serve 800 meals a day at this establishment,
the rent of which is £2,400 a year."


During this Sydney engagement, Lola, ever interested in the cause of
charity, organised a "Grand Sebastopol Matinée Performance," the
proceeds being "for the benefit of our wounded heroes in the Crimea."
As the cause had a popular appeal, the house was a bumper one.
Possibly, it was the success of this _matinée_ that led to an
imaginative chronicler adding: "Our distinguished visitor, Madame Lola
Montez, Countess of Landsfeld, is, with her full company of Thespians,
on the point of leaving us for Balaclava. There, at the special
request of Lord Raglan and Miss Florence Nightingale, she will
inaugurate a theatre for the enjoyment of our gallant warriors and
their Allies."

Another odd tit-bit was sent to England by the theatrical
correspondent of a London paper. This declared that a masculine member
of her company "jumped into the harbour, mortified at discovering that
Madame Lola had turned a more friendly face on a younger brother of
the Duke of Wellington who had followed her to Sydney from Calcutta."
The artistic temperament.

At intervals, however, other and better established items of news were
received from Australia and, as opportunity offered, found a niche in
the London papers. From these it would appear that all was not going
smoothly with Lola's plans, and that the start of the Antipodean
venture was somewhat tempestuous.

"In Sydney," says a letter on the subject, "a regrettable fracas
recently occurred at the theatre where Madame Montez has been playing.
Stepping in front she endeavoured to quell the uproar by announcing
that, while she herself 'rather liked a good row,' she would appeal to
the gallantry of the _gentlemen_ in the pit and gallery to respect the
wishes of a lady and not interfere with the enjoyment of others by
interrupting the performance. The request, however, fell on deaf ears.
The uproar continued for some time, and was much increased by the
actors and actresses squabbling among themselves on the stage."

There was a good deal of "squabbling" among the company. Its members
were not a happy family. They had been engaged by their principal to
support her. Instead, however, of rendering such support, a number of
them did all they could to wreck the tour. Thereupon, Lola, adopting
strong measures, discharged the malcontents and left for Melbourne by
the next steamer. That she was justified in her action is clear from a
letter which her solicitors sent to the Press:

     "Our client, Madam Lola Montez, was unwise enough to engage,
     at enormous cost to herself, a very inferior company in
     California. Before starting, she made large advances to
     every one of them; paid their passages from America (where
     they were nearly all heavily in debt) to Australia; and
     trusted that, in return for her immense outlay, she would at
     least receive efficient assistance from them. But this band
     of obscure performers not only loaded her with insults while
     they continued to live on her, but on their arrival in
     Sydney they one and all refused to discharge their allotted

     "When Madam Montez (not unnaturally irritated by such
     conduct) proposed, through us, to cancel their agreements on
     reasonable terms, they insisted on the fulfilment of the
     contract which they themselves had been the first to break,
     and made claims upon her amounting to about £12,000. This
     _moderate_ demand being very properly refused by our client,
     they secured an order for her arrest in respect of a number
     of separate actions. Only one of these (a claim for £100)
     was lodged in time for a warrant to be issued. When,
     furnished with this, Mr. Brown, the sheriff's officer,
     appeared on board the steamer, Madam tendered him £500,
     which, however, he refused to accept, insisting that she
     should also settle the various other claims for which he did
     not have warrants. Our client refused to leave the vessel,
     for which refusal, we, as her solicitors, are quite willing
     to accept responsibility."

The fact that there was talk of instituting proceedings against the
captain of the steamer and his subordinates led the solicitors to add
a postscript:

     "Those who governed the movements of the _Watarah_ are ready
     to answer for their conduct. They saw a lady threatened with
     arrest at the last moment for a most unjust claim, tendering
     five times the amount demanded, and having that offer
     refused. Hence, they did not feel called upon to interfere."

Another account of the episode is a little different. This declares
that, just before starting from Sydney, she "dismissed with a
blessing" two members of the company. As they wanted something more
easily negotiable, they issued a writ of attachment. When the
sheriff's officer attempted to serve it: "Madame Lola, ever ready for
the fray, retired to her cabin and sent word that she was quite naked,
but that the sheriff could come and take her if he wanted to." An
embarrassing predicament; and, unprepared to grapple with it, "Poor
Mr. Brown blushed and retired amid roars of laughter."

Having thus got the better of the Sydney lawyers, and filled up the
vacancies in her company with fresh and more amenable recruits, Lola
reached the Victorian capital without further adventure. A picture of
the city, as it was when she landed there, is given by a contemporary

     "Melbourne is splendid. Fine wide streets, finer and wider
     than almost any in London, stretch away for miles in every
     direction. At any hour of the day thousands of persons may
     be observed scurrying along them with true Cheapside
     bustle." The Melbourne youth, however, appears to have been
     precocious. "I was delighted," remarks this authority, "with
     the Colonial young stock. The average Australian boy is a
     slim, olive-complexioned young rascal, fond of Cavendish,
     cricket, and chuck-penny, and systematically insolent to
     girls, policemen, and new chums.... At twelve years of age,
     having passed through every phase of probationary
     shrewdness, he is qualified to act as a full-blown bus
     conductor. In the purlieus of the theatres are supper-rooms
     (lavish of gas and free-mannered waitresses), and bum-boat
     shops where they sell play-bills, whelks, oranges, cheroots,
     and fried fish."

But, notwithstanding the existence of these amenities, all was not
well where Lola was concerned. The Sydney correspondent of the _Argus_
had injured her chances of making a favourable impression by writing a
somewhat imaginative account of her troubles there:

     "I need not tell you that the Montez has gone to Melbourne,
     as she will have arrived before this letter, and is not the
     sort of woman to keep her arrival secret. It may not,
     however, be so generally known that she has made what is
     colonially termed a 'bolt' from here.... Thinking, perhaps,
     that Australia was not yet a part of the civilised world,
     and that a company of players could not be secured here,
     Madame brought a set of comedians from San Francisco. They
     were quite useless. More competent help could have been had
     on the spot."

Lola said nothing. Her leading man however, Mr. Follard, had something
to say, and wrote a strong letter to the editor:

     "Permit me to state, with all due deference to your
     correspondent's term 'bolt,' that Madame Lola Montez left
     quietly and unostentatiously.... The attempt to stop her
     leaving Sydney and prevent her engagement in Melbourne was
     an exhibition of meanness at which every honest heart must
     feel disgusted. Alone, in a strange land, without friends or
     protector, her position as a woman should in itself have
     saved her from the unmanly abuse heaped upon her and the
     contemptible attitude manifested by some of her company."

A second adverse factor against which Lola had to contend in Melbourne
was that prices had been doubled for her engagement there. This was
considered a grievance by the public. The difficulty, however,
adjusted itself, for the programme she offered was one that proved
specially attractive.

"The highest degree of excitement was," ran the _Herald_ criticism,
"produced upon visitors to the Theatre Royal by the actual presence of
this extraordinary and gifted being, with the praises of whose beauty
and _esprit_ the whole civilised world has resounded.... After
curtseying with inimitable grace to the audience, the fair _artiste_
withdrew amidst a fresh volley of cheers."

But Lola, who never missed an opportunity of airing her opinions,
aired them now:

"At the end of the performance," says a report, "Madame Lola Montez
was vociferously called and addressed the audience in an animated
speech, commenting upon some remarks that had been published in a
certain journal. When a gentleman ventured to laugh while she was
enumerating the political benefits she had conferred on Bavaria, the
fair orator promptly informed him that such conduct was not usually
considered to be courteous."

The Melbourne engagement finished up with a triple bill. The
principal item was a novelty she had, the "Spider Dance," which Lola
had brought from America. In this she appeared with hundreds of wire
spiders sewn on her attenuated ballet skirts; and, when any of them
fell off, she had to indulge in pronounced wriggles and contortions to
put them back in position. The accompanying movements of her body were
held to be by some standards "daring and suggestive." In fact, so much
so that the representative of the _Argus_ dubbed the number "the most
libertinish and indelicate performance that could possibly be given on
the public stage. We feel compelled," he continued solemnly, "to
denounce in terms of unmeasured reprobation the performance in which
Madame Montez here figures." Yet, Sir Charles Hotham, the Governor,
together with Lady Hotham and their guests, had witnessed it without
sustaining any serious damage. But perhaps they were made of tougher

The critic of the _Morning Herald_ at this period (understood to be R.
H. Horne, "the Jules Janin of Melbourne") was either less thin-skinned
or else more broad-minded than his _Argus_ comrade. At any rate, he
saw nothing much to call for these strictures. Thinking that the
newcomer had not been given fair play, he endeavoured to counteract
the adverse opinion that had been expressed by publishing a laudatory
one of a column length, in which he declared: "Madame Montez went
through the entire measure with marked elegance and precision, and the
curtain fell amid salvoes of well merited applause."

Convinced that here was a critic who really knew his business, and a
friend on whom she could rely to do her justice, Lola wrote to the


     _September, 1855._


     A criticism of my performance of the "Spider Dance" at the
     Theatre Royal was published in this morning's _Argus_,
     couched in such language that I must positively answer it.

     The piety and ultra-puritanism of the _Argus_ might prevent
     the insertion of a letter bearing my signature. Therefore, I
     address myself to you.

     The "Spider Dance" is a national one, and is witnessed with
     delight by all classes in Spain, and by both sexes from
     Queen to peasant.

     I have always looked upon this dance as a work of high art;
     and I reject with positive scorn the insinuation of your
     contemporary that I wish to pander to a morbid taste for
     what is improper or indelicate.

     I shall be at my post to-morrow evening; and will then adopt
     a course that will test the value of the opinion advanced by
     the _Argus_.

[Illustration: _Lola as a Lecturer. From stage to platform_







The promised "course" was merely to deliver a long speech from the
stage, and ask the audience to decide whether she should give the
vexed item, or not. The audience were emphatic that she should; and,
when she had finished, "expressed their views on the subject by
uttering loud groans for the _Argus_ and lusty cheers for the

Honours to Lola!

But the "Spider Dance" was still to prove a source of trouble. The
next morning a certain Dr. Milton, who had constituted himself a
champion of morals, appeared at the police-court and applied for a
warrant for the arrest of Lola Montez, on the grounds that she had
"outraged decency."

"I am in a position," he declared, "to produce unquestionable evidence
of the indelicacy of her performance."

"You must take out a summons in the proper fashion," said the
magistrate, who clearly had no sympathy with busybodies.

But, before he could do so, Dr. Milton found himself served with a
writ for libel. As a result, nothing more was heard of the matter.

In addition to its Mawworms, of which it was afflicted with an
appreciable number of specimens, the city of Melbourne would appear
to have had other drawbacks at this period. According to R. H. Horne,
local society was somewhat curiously constituted. "There is an
attempt," he says, "at the nucleus of a 'court circle'; and if the
Home Government think fit to make a few more Australian knights and
baronets there may be good hopes for the enlargement of the enchanted
hoop. The Melbourne 'Almack's' is to be complimented on the moral
courage with which its directors have resisted the claims for
admission of some of the wealthy unwashed and other unsuitables. Money
is not quite everything, even in Melbourne."

There were further strictures on the morals of Victoria, as compared
with those of New South Wales:

     "The haunts of villainy in Sydney are not surpassed by those
     in Melbourne; but, with regard to drunkenness and
     prostitution, the latter place is far worse than Sydney. The
     Theatre Royal contains within itself four separate
     drinking-bars. The Café de Paris, in the same building, has
     two bars. In the theatre itself there is a drinking public
     every night, especially when the house is crowded. Between
     every act it is the custom of the audience to rush out for a
     nobbler of brandy. The only exceptions are the occupants of
     the dress-circle, more especially when the Governor is

By the way, the "List of Beverages" shows that, in proof of her
popularity, a "Lola Montez Appetiser," consisting of "Old Tom, ginger,
lemon and hot water," was offered to patrons.

Alcohol was not alone among the objects at which "Orion" Horne tilted.
He also disapproved of cricket. "The mania," he says, "for bats and
balls in the boiling sun during last summer exceeded all rational
excitement. The newspapers caught the epidemic, and, while scarcely
noticing other far more useful games, they devoted columns upon
columns to minute accounts of the matches of a hundred different
clubs. The very walls of Melbourne became infected. On the return of
the Victorians from Sydney, a reporter for the _Herald_ designated
them 'the laurelled warriors.' If there is no great harm in this, the
thing has been carried too far."

It is just as well, perhaps, for Horne's peace of mind that the
present day value attached to "Ashes" had not arisen, and that an
Australian XI did not visit England until another twenty years had


After Melbourne, the next step in Lola's itinerary was Geelong. The
programme she offered there was a generous one, for it included a
"Stirring drama, entitled, _Maidens, Beware!_ and the elegant and
successful comedy, _The Eton Boy_," to which were added a "sparkling
comedietta" and a "laughable farce." This was good value. The Geelong
critic, however, did not think very much of the principal item in this
bill. "It has," he observed solemnly, "an impossible plot, with
situations and sentiments quite beyond the understanding of us

This supercilious attitude was not shared by the simple-minded
diggers, who found _Maidens, Beware!_ very much to their taste. But
nothing else could have been expected, for it offered good measure of
all the elements that ensure success every time they are employed.
Thus, the hero is wrongfully charged with a series of offences
committed by the villain; a comic servant unravels the plot when it
becomes intricate; and the heroine only avoids "something worse than
death" by proving that a baronet, "paying unwelcome addresses," (but
nothing else) has forged a will.

Having a partiality for the society of diggers, with whom she had
always got on well, Lola next betook herself to Ballarat. It was an
unpropitious moment for a theatrical venture in that part of the
world. The atmosphere was somewhat unsettled. The broad arrows and
ticket-of-leave contingent who made up a large section of the
community were clamouring for a republic; and there was a considerable
amount of rioting. A rebel flag had been run up by the mob; and the
military had to be called out to suppress the activities of the
"Ballarat Reform League." Still, Lola was not the woman to run away
from danger. As she had told a Sydney audience, she "rather liked a
good row."

The coming of Lola Montez to Ballarat was heralded by a preliminary

     "Our readers will be pleased to learn that the
     world-renowned Lola, a lady who has had Kings at her beck,
     and who has caused nearly as much upheaval in the world as
     Helen of Troy, is about to appear among us. On leaving
     Melbourne by coach, she presented the booking clerk with an
     autographed copy of a work by the famous Mrs. Harriet
     Beecher Stowe. Young gentlemen of Ballarat, look out for
     your hearts! Havoc will assuredly be played among them."

Her colourful career attracted the laureates. One of them found in it
inspiration for a ballad, "Lola, of the rolling black eye!" which was
sung at every music-hall in the Colony. A second effort regarded the
matter in its graver aspects. The first verse ran as follows:

    She is more to be pitied than censured,
      She is more to be helped than despised.
    She is only a lassie who ventured
      On life's stormy path ill-advised.
    Do not scorn her with words fierce and bitter,
      Do not laugh at her shame and downfall,
    For a moment just stop to consider
      _That a man was the cause of it all!_

Ludwig of Bavaria had done better than this. A lot better. Annoyed at
the innuendo it contained, Lola flourished her whip afresh and
threatened the bard with an action for damages.

The Victoria Theatre, Ballarat (where Lola Montez was to give the
diggers a sample of her quality), was a newly built house,
"reflecting," declared an impressed reporter, "every modern elegance.
In front of the boxes," he continued, "are panels, chastely adorned
with Corinthian festoons, encircling a gilded eagle emblematic of
liberty. Above the proscenium is an ellipse, exhibiting the Australian
coat of arms. The ceiling is ornamented by a dome, round which are
grouped the nine Muses, and the chandelier is the biggest in the
Colony. From the dress-circle there is direct communication with the
adjoining United States Hotel, so that first-class refreshments can be
procured without the slightest inconvenience. There are six
dressing-rooms; and Madame Lola Montez has a private and sumptuously
furnished apartment."

As the repertoire she offered was to include ("by special request")
the "Spider Dance," she took the precaution of sending a description
of it to the _Ballarat Star_:

     The characteristic and fascinating SPIDER DANCE has been
     performed by MADAME LOLA MONTEZ with the utmost success
     throughout the United States of America and before all the
     Crowned Heads of Europe.

     This dance, on which malice and envy have endeavoured to fix
     the stain of immorality, has been given in the other
     Colonies to houses crammed from floor to ceiling with rank
     and fashion and beauty. In Adelaide His Excellency the
     Governor-General, accompanied by Lady McDonnell and quite
     the most select ladies of the city, accorded it their
     patronage, while the Free and Accepted Masons did Madame
     Lola Montez the distinguished honour of attending in full

It was on February 16, 1856, that Lola Montez opened at Ballarat. A
generous programme was offered, for it consisted of "the elegant and
sparkling comedy, _A Morning Call_; the laughable farce, _The
Spittalsfields Weaver_; the domestic drama, _Raffaelo, the Reprobate_;
and the Shakespearean tragedy, _Antony and Cleopatra_; all with new
and sumptuous scenery, dresses, and appointments."

In accordance with the fashion of the period, the star had to recite a
prologue. An extract from it was as follows:

    'Tis only right some hurried words to say
    As to the name this theatre bears to-day,
    For I would have you fully understand
    I seek for patrons men of every land.
    'Tis not alone through prejudice has been
    Attached the name of Britain's virtuous Queen.
    And may your gen'rous presence and applause
    Mutual content and happy evenings cause!

But this was merely an introduction. There was more to follow, for the
"personal" touch had yet to be delivered.

    As for _myself_, you'll find in Lola Montez
    The study how to please my constant wont is!
    Yet I am vain that I'm the first star here
    To shine upon this Thespian hemisphere.
    And only hope that when I say "Adieu!"
    You'll grant the same I wish to you--
    May rich success reward your daily toil,
    Nor men nor measures present peace despoil,
    And may I nightly see your pleasant faces
    With these fair ladies, your attendant Graces!


But, despite this auspicious start, all was not set fair at Ballarat.
As had happened in other places, Lola was to fall foul of a critic who
had disparaged her. Furiously indignant, and horse-whip in hand, she
rushed into the editor's office and executed summary vengeance upon

     "A full account of this remarkable business," announced the
     opposition journal, "will be given by us to-morrow. Our
     readers may anticipate a perfect treat." They got it, too,
     if one can trust the report of a "few choice observations"
     delivered by Lola to her audience on the second night of her

     "Ladies and Gentlemen: I am very sure that all of you in
     this house are my very good friends; and I much regret that
     I now have a most unpleasant duty to perform. I had imagined
     that, after all the kindness I have experienced from the
     miners in California, I should never have had anything
     painful to say to you. Now, however, I am compelled to do

     "I speak to the ladies, as members of my own sex, and to the
     gentlemen, as my natural protectors. Well, what I have to
     tell you is that there is a certain gentleman in this town
     called Seekamp. Just take out the E's, and what is left of
     his name becomes _Skamp_. Listen to my story, and then judge
     between us. This Mr. Seekamp, who is the editor of the
     _Ballarat Times_, actually told me, in the hearing of
     another lady and two quite respectable gentlemen, that the
     miners here were a set of ----. No, I really cannot sully my
     lips with the shocking word he used--and that I was not to
     believe them.

     "Mr. Seekamp called on me, with a certain proposition, and
     accepted my hospitality. You all know he is just a little
     fond of drinking. Well, while he was at my house the sherry,
     the port, the champagne, and the brandy were never off the
     table. He ate with me, and he drank with me. In fact, he
     drank so freely that it was only my self-respect that
     prevented me having him removed. But I said to myself,
     'After all, he is an editor; perhaps this is his little

     "Well, I did as Mr. Seekamp wanted, and as a result, I was a
     ten pound note out of pocket by it. I was green, but I was
     anxious to avoid making enemies among editors. Yet, when his
     paper next appears, I am referred to in it as being
     notorious for my immorality. Notorious, indeed! Why, I defy
     everybody here, or anywhere else, to say that I am, or ever
     was, immoral. It's not likely that, if I wanted to be
     immoral, I should be slaving away and earning my bread by
     hard work. What do you think?

     "Ladies and Gentlemen, I appeal to you. Is it fair or
     generous of this Seekamp person to behave to me like this?
     The truth is, my manager, knowing that he was a
     good-for-nothing fellow, gave my printing orders to another
     editor. In revenge, the angry Seekamp says he will hound me
     from this town. Ladies and Gentlemen, I appeal to you for

"And here," adds the report, "the intrepid Lola retired amid deafening
applause. Three hearty cheers were given for Madame and three lusty
groans for her cowardly traducer."

On the following night there was more speech-making. This time, Lola
complained to the audience that she had been freshly aspersed by the
objectionable Seekamp. "I offered," she said, "though merely a woman,
to meet him with pistols, but the cur who attacks a lady's character
runs away from my challenge. He says he will drive me from the
Diggings. Well, I intend to turn the tables, and to make Seekamp
de-camp. I very much regret," she added, "having been compelled to
assert myself at the expense of Mr. Seekamp, but, really it was not my
fault. His attacks on my art were most ungentlemanly. I challenged him
to fight a duel, but the poltroon would not accept."

In the best tradition of the _Eatanswill Gazette_, the _Ballarat Star_
referred to the _Ballarat Times_ as "our veracious contemporary and
doughty opponent," and alluded to the "unblushing profligacy of its
editorial columns." The proprietor of the United States Hotel and the
solicitor for Lola Montez also sailed into the controversy and
challenged Mr. Seekamp to "eat his words." That individual, however,
not caring about such a diet, refused to do anything of the sort.

The matter did not end there, and a number of correspondents took up
the cudgels on behalf of Lola Montez.

"Is it possible," wrote one of them to the editor of the _Star_, "that
Mr. Seekamp can, in his endeavour to blacken the fair fame of a woman,
insinuate that he is also guilty of the most shocking immorality? I
blush to think it." There was also a letter in a similar strain from
"John Bull," and another from "An Eton Boy," animadverting upon Mr.
Seekamp's grammar.

Feeling herself damaged in reputation, Lola's next step was to
instruct her solicitor to bring an action for libel against Seekamp.
The magistrate remitted the case to the superior court at Geelong.
But, as an apology was offered and accepted, nothing more was heard of

This, however, was not the end of her troubles at Ballarat, for
horse-whips were again to whistle in the air. But, this time Lola got
more than she bargained for. She was using her whip on one Mr. Crosby,
the manager of the theatre there, when that individual's spouse--a
strong-minded and muscular woman--wrested the weapon from her and laid
it across her own back.

The account given by an eye-witness is a little different. "At
Ballarat," he says, "Lola pitched into and cross-buttocked a stalwart
Amazon who had omitted to show her proper respect."

"Cross-buttocked" would appear to be an expression which, so far, has
eluded the dictionary-makers.

In other parts of the Colony, however, Lola's reception more than made
up for any little unpleasantnesses at Ballarat. "Her popularity," says
William Kelly, an Australian squatter, "was not limited to the stage.
She was welcomed with rapture on the gold fields, and all the more for
the liberal fashion in which she 'shouted' when returning the
hospitality of the diggers. Her pluck, too, delighted them, for she
would descend the deepest shafts with as much nonchalance as if she
were entering a boudoir."

From Sandhurst Lola Montez travelled to Bendigo, where the tour
finished. There, says a pressman, "she lived on terms of the most
cordial amity with the entire populace, and without a single
disturbing incident to ruffle the serenity of the intercourse."


Having completed her tour in Australia, with considerable profit to
herself, Lola Montez disbanded her company, and, in the autumn of
1856, returned to Europe. She had several offers from London; but,
feeling that a rest was well earned, she left the ship at Marseilles
and took a villa at St. Jean de Luz. While there, she appears to have
occupied a certain amount of public attention. At any rate, Émile de
Girardin, thinking it good "copy," reprinted in _La Presse_ a letter
she had written to the _Estafette_:


     _September 3, 1856._

     Sir: The French and Belgian papers are announcing as a
     positive fact that the suicide of Monsieur Mauclerc (who
     deliberately precipitated himself from the top of the Pic du
     Midi cliff) was caused by various troubles I had occasioned
     him. If he were still living, Monsieur Mauclerc would
     himself, I feel certain, contradict this calumny.

     It is true that we were married; but, finding, after eight
     days, that our union was not likely to turn out a happy one,
     we parted by mutual consent. The story of my responsibility
     for the Pic du Midi business only exists in the imaginative
     brain of some journalist who revels in supplying tragic
     details. Anyhow, Mr. Editor, I count upon your sympathy to
     exculpate me from any share in the melancholy event.--Yours,

Mauclerc, however, so far from being dead, was still very much alive,
and was sunning himself just then at Bayonne. Having read this letter,
he answered it in the next issue:

     I have just seen in the columns of _La Presse_ a letter from
     Lola Montez. This gives an account of a deliberate jump from
     the top of a cliff and of a marriage with myself as the
     chief actor in each catastrophe. All I have to say about
     them is that I know nothing of these important occurrences.
     I assure you, sir, I have never felt any desire to
     "precipitate" myself, either from the Pic du Midi or from
     anywhere else; nor have I ever had the distinction of being
     the husband of the famous Countess of Landsfeld for a matter
     of even eight days.--MAUCLERC. Artist dramatique.

     _September 9, 1856._

Lola ignored this _démenti_. Possibly, however, she did not read it,
for she was just then arranging another trip to America.




Having booked a number of engagements there, in December, 1857, Lola
landed in New York for the second time. Directly she stepped off the
ship, she was surrounded by a throng of reporters. Never losing the
chance of making a speech, she gave them just what they wanted.

"America," she said, as they pulled out their note-books, "is the last
refuge left the victims of tyranny and oppression in the old world. It
is the finest monument to liberty ever erected beneath the canopy of

For her reappearance she offered the public _Lola Montez in Bavaria_,
which had already done good service. By this time, however, it was a
little frayed.

"The drama represents her as a coquettish and reckless woman," was the
considered opinion of one critic. "We assure our readers she is
nothing of the sort."

This testimonial was a help. Still, it could not infuse fresh life
into a piece that had obviously outlived its popularity. Hence, she
soon changed the bill for a double one, _The Eton Boy_ and _Follies of
a Night_. But the cash results were not much better; and when she left
New York and tried her luck in Boston the week's receipts were
scarcely two hundred dollars. This, in theatrical parlance, was "not
playing to the gas."

Realising that she was losing her grip, she cast about for some fresh
method of attracting the public. It was not long before she hit on
one. As she was in a democratic country, she would make capital out of
her "title." A plan was soon matured. This was to hold "receptions,"
where anybody would be welcome who was prepared to pay a dollar.

A dollar for ten minutes' chat with a genuine countess, and, for
another 50 cents, the privilege of shaking her hand. A bargain. The
tariff appealed to thousands. Among them Charles Sumner, the
distinguished jurist, who declared of Lola Montez that, "She was by
far the most graceful and delightful woman I ever met."

Her next scheme for raising the financial wind was to employ her pen.
It was true that her "memoirs," strung together in Paris, had fallen
flat--owing to the pusillanimity of the editor of _Le Pays_--but a
full length "autobiography" would, she thought, stand a better
prospect. Apart, too, from other considerations, there was now more
material on which to draw. An embarrassing amount of it. She could say
something--a lot--about the happenings in Bavaria, in France, in
California, and in Australia. All good stuff, and a field hitherto

The pen, however, being still an unaccustomed weapon, she availed
herself of outside help; and practically the whole of the
_Autobiography of Lola Montez_ was written for her (on a
profit-sharing agreement) by a clerical collaborator, the Rev.
Chauncey Burr.

The tale of the Odyssey--as set forth in this joint
production--established contact with glittering circles and the
breathing of perfumed air. Within its chapters emperors and kings and
princes jostle one another; scenes shift continually from capital to
capital; and plots follow counter-plots in breathless fashion. Yet
those who purchased the volume in the fond belief that it would turn
out to be the analysis of a modern Aspasia were disappointed. As a
matter of fact, there was next to nothing in it that would have upset
a Band of Hope committee-meeting. This, however, was largely because,
an adept at skating over thin ice, the Rev. Mr. Burr ignored, or
coloured, such happenings as did not redound to the credit of his

[Illustration: _Lola Montez in Middle Life. A characteristic pose_]

The "Autobiography" (alleged) finishes on a high note:

     "Ten years have elapsed since the events with which Lola
     Montez was connected in Bavaria; and yet the malice of the
     diffusive and ever vigilant Jesuits is as fresh and as
     active as it was at the first hour it assailed her. It is
     not too much to say that few artists of her profession ever
     escaped with so little censure; and certainly none ever had
     the doors of the highest social respectability so
     universally open to them as she had, up to the time she went
     to Bavaria. And she denies that there was anything in her
     conduct there which ought to have compromised her before the
     world. Her enemies assailed her, not because her deeds were
     bad, but because they knew of no other means to destroy her

Although too modest to acknowledge it, this passage is obviously the
Rev. Chauncey Burr verbatim.

An offer to serialise part of the "autobiography" in the columns of
_Le Figaro_ was accepted. In correcting the proofs, Lola still clung
to the earlier account that had already done service in the "memoirs"
contributed to _Le Pays_. But she embellished it with fresh
embroideries. Thus, to keep up the Spanish connection, she now claimed
as her aunts the Marquise de Pavestra and the Marquise de
Villa-Palana, together with an equally imaginary Uncle Juan; and she
also, for the first time, gave her schoolgirl friend, Fanny Nicholls,
a sister Valerie.

The "autobiography" had originally been accepted for _Le Pays_ by
Anténon Joly. When, however, shortly afterwards, MM. de la Guéronnière
and de Lamartine acquired the journal, they repudiated the contract.
Hence, its transfer to _Le Figaro_. But this organ also developed a
sudden queasiness, and, after the first few instalments had appeared,
declined to print the remainder, on the grounds that they were "too
scandalous." Some time afterwards, Eugéne de Mirecourt, thinking he
had a bargain, secured the interrupted portions and made them the
basis of a chapter on Lola Montez in his _Les Contemporains_. This
chapter is marked throughout by severe disapproval. Thus, it begins:

"The woman who revives in the nineteenth century the scandals of
Jeanne Vaubernier belongs to our gallery, and the abject materialism
accompanying her misconduct will be revealed in the pages that

De Mirecourt was not too happy in his self-appointed task. Like
everything else from his pen, the entire section is distinctly
imaginative. Thus, he declares that Lola, while living in Madrid, was
"supported by five or six great English lords"; and, among other
amorous incidents, says that a Brahmin priest fell in love with her;
that she conducted a "scandalous intrigue" with a young French
diplomat who was carrying despatches to the Emperor of China; and that
her husband, Lieutenant James, once intercepted a tender passage
between herself and a rajah. Further embroideries assert that Lola's
father was the son of a Lady Gilbert, and that her mother was the
daughter of a "Moorish warrior who abjured paganism." To this
rigmarole he adds that she was sent to a boarding-school at Bath, kept
by a Mrs. Olridge, where she had an early _liaison_ with the

It was perhaps as well for de Mirecourt, and others of his kidney,
that libel actions had not then been added to the perils of
authorship. Still, if they had, Lola would not have troubled to bring
one. To take proceedings in America against a man living in France was
difficult. Also, by this time she was so accustomed to studied
misrepresentation and deliberate falsehoods that she refused to

"It doesn't matter what people choose to say about me," she remarked
contemptuously, when she was informed by a friend in Paris of the
liberties being taken with her name.

Although (except when she took it into her own hands) she liked to
keep clear of the law, this was not always possible. Such an instance
occurred in March, 1858, when a Mr. Jobson of New York brought an
action against her in respect of an alleged debt. The proceedings
would appear to have been conducted in a fashion that must have been
peculiar to the time and place; and, in an effort to discredit her,
she was subjected to a cross-examination that would now be described
as "third degree."

"Were you not," began the plaintiff's counsel, "born in Montrose, the
daughter of one Molly Watson?"

When this was denied, he put his next question.

"How many intrigues have you had during your career?"

"None," was the answer.

"We'll see about that, Madam," returned the other, consulting his
brief. "To begin with, were you not the mistress of King Ludwig?"

"You are a vulgar villain," exclaimed Lola indignantly. "I can swear
on the Bible, which I read every night, but you don't, that I never
had what you call an 'intrigue' with him. As a matter of fact, I did
him a lot of good."

"In what way?" enquired the judge, looking interested.

"Well, I moulded his mind to the love of freedom."

"Before you ran off with your first husband," continued counsel, "were
you not employed as a chambermaid?"

"Never," was the emphatic response. "And, let me tell you, Mr.
Attorney, it is not at all a shameful thing to be a chambermaid. If I
had been born one, I should consider myself a much more distinguished
woman than I am."

When her own counsel, coming to the rescue, dubbed Mr. Jobson a
"fellow," there followed, in the words of a reporter, "an unseemly
fracas." From abuse of one another, the rival attorneys took to
fisticuffs; the spectators and officials joined in the struggle; and
an ink pot was hurled by the furious Jobson at the occupants of the
jury-box. This being considered contempt of court, he was arrested,
and the judge, gathering up his papers, left the Bench, announcing
that the further hearing would be adjourned.


After this experience, Lola developed a fresh activity. Like a modern
Joan of Arc, she suddenly announced that she heard "Voices," and that,
on their instructions, she was giving up the stage for the platform.
Her plans were soon completed; and, on February 3, 1858, she mounted
the rostrum and made her début as a lecturer, at the Hope Chapel, New

There were beery chuckles from the reporters who were "covering" this
effort. "Lola Montez in the chapel pulpit is good fun," was the
conclusion at which one of them arrived; and another headed his
column, "A Desperado in Dimity."

Judging from his account of this initial sample (a lecture on
"Beautiful Women"), the _Tribune_ representative did not regard it
very seriously:

     "Temperance, exercise, and cleanliness, preached Lola the
     plucky; light suppers and reasonable hours; jolly long walks
     in thick boots and snug wrappers for the benefit of the
     complexion. From these, said Lola, come good digestion, good
     humour, and good sense. And that's the way, my dear Flora,
     to be healthy and wealthy--speaking crinolinely and
     red-petticoatedly--and wise."

Lola was before her time. Nowadays she would have set up as a "beauty
specialist." Had she done so, she would have secured a big income from
the sale of creams and perfumes, powders and paints, and dyes and
unguents, and all the other nostrums with which women endeavour to
recover their vanished charms. But, instead of becoming a
practitioner, she became an author and compiled a handbook, _The Arts
of Beauty, or Secrets of a Lady's Toilet_. This went very fully into
the subject, and had helpful hints on "Complexion Treatment," "Hair
Culture," "Removal of Wrinkles," and what was then coyly termed "Bust
Development." Importance was also attached to "Intellect," as a
sovereign specific for repairing the ravages of advancing years. "A
beautiful mind," announced the author, "is the first thing required
for a beautiful face."

Lola's light was not hidden under any bushel. An American firm of
publishers, convinced that there was money in this sort of thing, made
an acceptable offer and issued the work with a prefatory inscription:

|                          TO                            |
|                   ALL MEN AND WOMEN                    |
|                     OF EVERY LAND                      |
|            WHO ARE NOT AFRAID OF THEMSELVES            |
|                       STAND UP                         |
|                 IN THE MIGHT OF THEIR                  |
|                   OWN INDIVIDUALITY                    |
|                RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY               |
|                      THE AUTHOR                        |

The title-page of this effort ran as follows:

|               THE               |
|          ARTS OF BEAUTY         |
|               OR                |
|             ON THE              |
|        ART OF FASCINATION       |
|            NEW YORK             |
|          18 ANN STREET          |

A Canadian publisher, John Lovell, on the look-out for a novelty, read
this effort and suggested that a friend of his, Émile Chevalier, of
Paris, should sponsor an edition of Lola's _Arts of Beauty_ for
consumption on the boulevards. "I am too much an admirer of the gifted
author," was M. Chevalier's response, "to undertake the work without
consulting her." Accordingly, he got into touch with Lola, offering to
have a translation made. "Thank you," she replied, "but I wish to do
it myself. You, however, can put in any corrections you think
necessary. I have not written anything in French since the death of
poor Bon-Bon [Dujarier], and I want to see if I still remember the
language." Apparently she did so, for, shortly afterwards, the
manuscript was sent across the Atlantic and delivered to M. Chevalier.
Within another month it was on the bookstalls. "I have retouched it
very little," says the editor in his preface, "as I was anxious to
preserve Madame Lola's distinctly original style. Her pen is as
mordant as her dog-whip."

M. Chevalier was charmed with the fashion in which Lola had acquitted
herself, and wrote florid letters of thanks to her in New York. With a
supplementary lecture on "Instructions for Gentlemen in the Art of
Fascination," which was added to fill up the book, he declared himself
much impressed. "This," he says, "exhibits a profound knowledge of the
human heart, and is altogether one of the finest and most piquant
criticisms on American manners with which I am familiar." "Who," he
continues, warming to his work, "is more thoroughly qualified to
discuss the development and preservation of natural beauty than the
Countess of Landsfeld?"; and in an introductory puff he adds: "These
observations are very judicious, and as applicable in Europe as in
America. They should, I feel, be indelibly engraved on the minds of
all sensible women."

Perhaps they were. At any rate, the result of M. Chevalier's
enterprise was a distinct success, and the Paris bookshops soon got
rid of 50,000 copies. In fact, Lola was very nearly a best-seller.

In addition to her expert views on "Beautiful Women," Lola had plenty
of other subjects up her sleeve, to be incorporated in a series of
lectures. The list covered a wide range, for it included such diverse
headings as "Ladies with Pasts," "Heroines of History," "Romanism,"
"Wits and Women of Paris," "Comic Aspects of Love," and "Gallantry."
On all of these matters she had plenty to say. On some of them quite a
lot, for they ran to an average of a dozen closely printed pages, and,
when delivered in public, took up three hours. In the one on
"Beautiful Women" precise details were given as to the adventitious
causes contributing to her own sylph-like figure, glossy hair and
pearly teeth, etc., and a number of prescriptions were also offered.
These, she recommended, should be manufactured at home. "For a few
shillings and a little trouble," she pointed out, "any lady can secure
an adequate supply of all such things, composed of materials far
superior to the expensive compounds bought from druggists;" and the
recipes, she insisted, "had been translated by herself from the
original French, Spanish, German, and Italian." Among these were
_Beaume à l'Antique_, _Unction de Maintenon_, and _Pommade de
Seville_; and "a retired actress at Gibraltar" was responsible for a
specific for "warding off baldness." Lola put it in two words--"avoid
nightcaps." But she was sympathetic about scalp troubles. "Without a
fine head of hair, no woman can be really beautiful.... The dogs would
bark at and run away from her in the street." To be well covered on
top was, she held, "quite as important for the opposite sex." "How
like a fool or a ruffian," she remarked, "do the noblest masculine
features appear if the hair of the head is bad. Many a dandy who has
scarcely brains or courage enough to catch a sheep has enslaved the
hearts of a hundred girls with his Hyperion locks!"

Although nominally the author of them, these lectures were, like her
previous flight, really strung together by that clerical "ghost," the
Rev. Chauncey Burr, with whom she had collaborated in her "memoirs."
Wielding a ready pen, he gave good value, for the chapters were well
sprinkled with choice classical quotations and elegant extracts from
the poets, together with allusions to Aristotle and Theophrastus, to
Madame de Staël and Washington Irving.

In the lecture on "Gallantry," Lola had a warm encomium for King

"His Majesty," she informed her audience, "is one of the most refined
and high-toned gentlemen of the old school of manners. He is also one
of the most learned men of genius in all Europe. To him art is more
indebted than to any other monarch who has ever lived. King Ludwig is
the author of several volumes of poems, which are evidence of his
natural genius and elaborately cultivated taste.... He worships beauty
like one of the old troubadours; and his gallantry is caused by his
love of art. He was the greatest and best King Bavaria ever had."

In another passage she had a smack at the Catholic Church:

"An evil hour brought into Ludwig's counsels the most despotic and
illiberal of the Jesuits. Through the influence of his ministers the
natural liberality of the King was perpetually thwarted; and the
Government degenerated into a petty tyranny, where priestly influence
was sucking out the very life-blood of the people."

More than something of a doctrinaire, her observations on "Romanism"
(which she dubbed "an abyss of superstition and moral pollution") might
have fallen from the lips of a hot-gospeller of to-day. "Who," she asked
her hearers, "shall compute the stupefying and brutalizing effects of such
religion? Who will dare tell me that this terrible Church does not lie
upon the bosom of the present time like a vast, unwieldy, and offensive
corpse? America does not yet recognise how much she owes to the Protestant
principle. It is that principle which has given the world the four
greatest facts of modern times--steamboats, railroads, telegraphs, and the
American Republic."

This somewhat novel definition of "the four greatest facts of modern
times" was received with rapture by its hearers.

Despite certain jeers from some of the reviewers, the lectures
continued to attract the public. The novelty of Lola Montez at the
rostrum drew large audiences everywhere; and she had no difficulty in
arranging a long tour. Feeling, when it came to an end, that a similar
measure of success might be secured on the other side of the Atlantic,
she resolved to visit England.

Just before leaving America for this purpose, she wrote to a one-time
Munich acquaintance, who was then editing a New York magazine:


     _August 20, 1858._


     I wish to thank you for the very kind notice you gave in
     your interesting magazine of my first book, and I have
     requested Messrs. Dick and Fitzgerald, my publishers, to
     send to your private address a copy of my _Arts of Beauty_.
     I hope, as a _critique_, it will be found "not wanting" (I
     do not mean not wanted).

     Will you give my best and kindest regards to our friend
     Caxton; and, with the hope of hearing from you before I
     leave for Europe, which will be in a couple of months, I
     remain, far or near, your friend,


Of course, there was a postscript:

     "The subject of my lectures in Europe will be on America.
     This should prove attractive."

Another letter suggests that an appointment with Leland had not been

     I should have much liked to have seen you before my
     departure for Ireland on Tuesday by Pacific, but I cannot
     control circumstances, you know; and therefore all I ask you
     until my return next July is a "place in your memory."
     Maybe, I shall write to you, or, maybe, not. But, whatever
     is, be sure that _You_ will not be forgotten by Yrs.


Again the inevitable postscript:

    "Give my best and kindest regards to _our friend_. Tell him I
    shall certainly manage to fill his columns with plenty more
    newspaper lectures."

According to himself, Lola looked upon the young American with
something more than mere friendship. "Once," he says, in his
reminiscences, "she proposed to make a bolt with me to Europe, which I
declined. The secret of my influence," he adds smugly, "was that I
always treated her with respect, and never made love."


It was at the end of November, 1858, that Lola landed once more in the
United Kingdom. She began her campaign there in Dublin, where,
twenty-four years earlier, she had lived as a young bride, danced at
the Castle, and flirted with the Viceroy's aides-de-camp. During the
interval a crowded chapter, and one full of colour and life and
movement, had been written.

All being in readiness, the public were duly informed of her plans by
an advertisement:

LANDSFELD, will give a Lecture on "America and its
People," at the Round Room, Rotundo, on Wednesday
evening, December 8. Reserved seats, 3s.; unreserved, 2s. 6d.

The début would appear to have been highly successful. "The
announcement of the lecture," said a report the next morning, "created
a degree of interest almost unparalleled among the Dublin public. The
platform was regularly carried by a throng of admirers, giving
Madame Lola Montez barely space to reach her desk. She was listened to
with enraptured attention and warm manifestations of approval"; and
"very properly, an ill-bred fellow, who exclaimed, 'hee-haw' at
regular intervals, was loudly hissed."

[Illustration: _"Lectures and Life." From stage to platform_]

For some reason or other, Lola was constantly embroiled with
journalists. Thus, during this Dublin visit she had a passage at arms
with one of them, who had published some damaging criticisms about her
life in Paris. Thereupon, she wrote an angry letter to the editor of
the _Daily Express_. As, however, she was alluding to events that had
taken place nearly fifteen years earlier, her memory was somewhat at
fault. Thus, she insisted that, when Dujarier met his death, she was
living in the house of a Dr. and Mrs. Azan; and also that "the good
Queen of Bavaria wept bitterly when she left Munich."

But, if Lola Montez was not very reliable, the editor of the _Dublin
Daily Express_ was similarly slipshod in his comments. "It is now," he
declared, "well established that Lola Montez was born in 1824, her
father being the son of a baronet."

Crossing from Ireland to England, Lola, prior to appearing in London,
undertook a tour in the provinces. On January 8, 1859, she appeared at
the Free Trade Hall, Manchester, where her subject was "Portraits of
English and American Character." This went down very well, although,
to her disappointment, John Bright declined to take the chair. At
Liverpool, however, "the public went almost wild with excitement";
and, as a result, her share of the box-office receipts was £250. But,
although she attracted the mob, she managed to upset the
susceptibilities of the critics. "Some of Madam's allusions," declared
a shocked hearer, "were in questionable taste, and, as she delivered
her address, the epithet 'coarse' fell from several members of the

A visit to Chester, which followed the Liverpool one, was marked by an
unfortunate incident:

"We learn with sorrow," said an eye-witness, "that on Thursday last
the lady introduced, if not American, certainly not English, manners
into one of our most venerable cathedrals. When, accompanied by a
masculine escort, she entered the sacred edifice, the gentleman (?)
demurred to removing his hat. While in dispute on this point of
etiquette, Madam's pet dog attempted to join her. On being informed by
the sexton that such canine companionship was inadmissible, her anger
was aroused and she withdrew in considerable dudgeon."

The provincial tour was an extensive one; and, during it, she
encountered a certain amount of competition. Thus, at Bristol she was
sandwiched in between Barnum and a quarterly meeting of the Bible
Society. None the less, "the fair Lola had a very cordial reception
from a number of respectable citizens." But she was to have a set-back
in one town that must have held many memories of her girlhood. This
was Bath, where she appeared in the Assembly Rooms. The attitude of
the press was distinctly inimical. "We must say," was one acid
comment, "that a greater _sell_ we have not met with for a very long
time. All the audience got for their money were some remarks of the
most commonplace and twaddling description. They lasted about an hour,
and even this was an hour too much." Still, Brighton, where the tour
finished, more than made up for Bath; and she was so successful there
that "the Pavilion was crammed to the doors, and additional lectures
had to be given." Thus, all was well that ended well.

A provincial triumph was worth having. Lola, however, had set her
heart on conquering London. With this end in view, accordingly, she
despatched an emissary ahead to make the preliminary arrangements.
Offers of theatres were showered upon her. One was from that
remarkable figure, Edward Tyrell Smith. She would probably have done
well under his management, for nobody understood showmanship better
than this British Barnum. In this direction he had nothing to learn
from anybody. Beginning his career as a sailor, he had soon tired of a
life on the ocean wave, and, abandoning the prospect of becoming
another Nelson, had joined the police force as a humble constable. But
he did not remain one long; and became in turn a Fleet Street
publican, the proprietor of a Haymarket night-house, an auctioneer, a
picture dealer, a bill discounter (with a side line in usury), and the
editor of a Sunday organ. Next, the theatre attracted his energies;
and in 1852 he secured a lease of Drury Lane at the moderate rental of
£70 a week. On Boxing-night he offered his first programme there. This
consisted of _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ (with "fierce bloodhounds complete"),
followed by a full length pantomime and a "roaring farce." Value for
money in those palmy days. But, as an entrepreneur, Mr. Smith was
always ahead of his period. Thus, he abolished the customary charge
for booking; and, instead of increasing them, he lowered his prices
when he had a success; and it is also to his credit that he introduced

Such a manager deserved to go far. This one did go far. Having
discovered his niche, the pushful Smith soon had his fingers in
several other pies. Thus, from Drury Lane he went to the Alhambra, and
from the Alhambra to Astley's, with intervening spells at the Lyceum
and the Elephant and Castle. He also took in his stride Her Majesty's
and Cremorne. All was fish that he swept into his net. Some, of
course, were minnows, but others were Tritons. Charles Mathews and the
two Keans, together with Giuglini and Titiens, served under his
banner, as did also acrobats, conjurers, and pugilists. He "ran"
opera, circuses, gambling hells, and "moral waxworks" simultaneously;
and, these fields of endeavour not being enough for him, he added to
them by standing for Parliament (opposing Samuel Whitbread) and
editing the _Sunday Times_. Always a man of resource, when he was
conducting a tavern he put his barmaids into "bloomers." This daring
stroke had its reward; and, by swelling the consumption of beer,
perceptibly increased his bank balance. Hence, it is not perhaps
unnatural that such widely spread activities should have inspired a
lyrical apostrophe:

    Awake, my Muse, with fervour and with pith,
      To sing the praise of Lessee Edward Smith!

Yet, shrewd as he was, Mr. Smith was himself once bitten. During his
money-lending interval, he happened to discount (at what he considered
a "business" rate) some bills for £600 out of which Prince Louis
Napoleon, then sheltering in London, had been swindled by some
card-sharpers at the notorious Judge and Jury Club. The next morning,
the victim, coming to his senses, went to the police, and the police
went to the sharpers. As a result, the members of the gang were
arrested and the bills were cancelled. Feeling that he had a genuine
grievance, since he was out of pocket by the transaction, the acceptor
waited until a turn of Fortune's wheel had established Louis Napoleon
at the Tuileries. He then wrote to him for permission to open some
pleasure gardens in Paris on the lines of those he had conducted at
Cremorne. The desired permission, however, was withheld.

"No gratitude," said the disappointed applicant.


Tempting as were the prospects he offered, Lola, after some
discussion, felt that she could do better, from a financial point of
view, without the help of Mr. E. T. Smith. Accordingly, making her own
arrangements, she hired the St. James's Hall, where, on April 7, 1859,
she delivered the first of a series of four lectures.

Although a considerable interval had elapsed since she was last in
London, the public had not forgotten the dramatic circumstances under
which she had then appeared at Marlborough Street police court. This
fact, combined with the lure of her subject, "Beautiful Women," was
sufficient to cram every portion of the building with an interested
and expectant audience. They came from all parts. Clapham and
Highgate were no less anxious for guidance than Kensington and
Belgravia. If an entertainment-tax had been levied at that period the
revenue would have benefited substantially. "The appearance on the
platform of the fair lecturer," said one account, "was responsible for
the most extensive display of opera glasses that has been seen in
London since the Empress Eugénie visited the Opera."

By an unfortunate coincidence, the St. James's Hall _première_ clashed
with another attraction elsewhere. This was the confirmation that
evening of the dusky King of Bonny by the Bishop of London. Still, a
considerable number managed to attend both items; and, of the two, the
lecture proved the greater draw.

Striking a note of warning at the outset, Lola began by telling her
hearers that, "It is the penalty of Nature that young girls must fade
and become as wizened as their grandmothers." But she had a message of
hope to offer, for, she said, "wrinkles can be warded off and autumn
tresses made to preserve their pristine freshness." The cure was
merely careful dieting and the "abolition of injurious cosmetics and
the health-destroying bodice." Taking the measure of her audience, she
laid on flattery with a trowel. "You have," she assured them, "only to
look into the ranks of the upper classes to see around you the most
beautiful women in Europe; and where this is concerned, I must give
the preference to the nobility of England." Among the examples held up
for admiration by her were the Duchess of Sutherland--"the paragon and
type of Britain's aristocracy"--and "the very voluptuous Lady
Blessington." Approval for the Duchess of Wellington, however, was
less pronounced, since, while admitting her physical charms, Lola
declared her to be "of little intellect, and as cold as a piece of

Claiming to have visited Turkey (but omitting to say when), Lola
offered an item unrecorded in the archives of the British Embassy

     "In Turkey I saw very few beautiful women. The lords of
     creation in that part of the world treat the opposite sex as
     you would geese--stuff them to make them fat. Through the
     politeness of Sir Stratford Canning, English Ambassador at
     Constantinople, I was kindly permitted to visit the Sultan's
     harem as often as I pleased and there look upon the 'lights
     of the world.' These 'lights of the world' consisted of five
     hundred bodies of unwieldy avoirdupois. The ladies of the
     harem gazed upon my leanness with commiserating wonder."

The lecture finished up on a high note:

     "It has been my privilege to see some of the most celebrated
     beauties that shine in the gilded courts of fashion
     throughout the world--from St. James's to St. Petersburg,
     from Paris to India--and yet I am unaware of any quality
     that can atone for the absence of an unpolished mind and an
     unlovely heart. A charming activity of soul is the real
     source of woman's beauty. It is that which gives the
     sweetest expression to her face and lights up her

In the matter of publicity Lola had nothing of which to complain; and
the next morning descriptive columns were published by the dozen.

     The début of Madame Lola Montez (announced the _Star_), in
     the presence of a large and fashionable gathering, was a
     decided success. Every portion of the spacious and elegant
     building was completely filled. Madame presented herself in
     that black velvet costume which seems to be the only
     alternative to white muslin for ladies who aspire to be
     considered historic. Not Marie Stuart herself could have
     become it better than Lola Montez. Her face, air, attitude,
     and elocution are thoroughly and bewilderingly feminine.
     Perhaps her smartest and happiest remark was the one in
     which, with a pretty affectation, she says, "If I were a
     gentleman, I should like an American young lady to flirt
     with, but a typical English girl for a wife." This dictum
     was received with much applause.

One can well believe it.

An anonymous leader, but which, from its florid touches, was evidently
penned by George Augustus Sala, dwelt on Lola's personality:

     Some disappointment may have been caused by the appearance
     of the fair lecturer. A Semiramis, a Zenobia, a Cleopatra,
     in marvellous robes of gold and silver tissue, might have
     been looked for; but, in reality, the rostrum was occupied
     by a very handsome lady, with a very charming voice and a
     very winning smile.... Madame Lola Montez lectures very well
     and very naturally. Some will go to hear the accomplished
     elocutionist; others will be envious to see the wife of
     Captain James and silly Mr. Heald; the friend of Dujarier
     and Beauvalon; the _cara sposa_ of King Ludwig. Phryne went
     to the bath as Venus--and Madame Lola Montez lectures at St.
     James's Hall.

Taking a professional interest in everything connected, however
remotely, with the drama (and having more time in which to do it) the
_Era_ offered its readers a considered opinion at greater length:

     If any amongst the full and fashionable auditory that
     attended her first appearance fancied (with a lively
     recollection of certain scandalous chronicles in the
     newspapers touching upon her antecedents) that they were
     about to behold a formidable-looking woman, of Amazonian
     audacity and palpably strong-wristed as well as
     strong-minded, their disappointment must have been grievous;
     greater if they anticipated the legendary bulldog at her
     side, and the traditionary pistols in her girdle, and the
     horse-whip in her hand. The Lola Montez who made a graceful
     and impressive obeisance to those who gave her on Thursday
     night so cordial and encouraging a reception appeared simply
     as a good-looking lady in the bloom of womanhood, attired
     in a plain black dress, with easy unrestrained manners....
     The lecture might have been a newspaper article, the first
     chapter of a book of travels, or the speech of a long-winded
     American Ambassador at a Mansion House dinner. All was
     exceedingly decorous and diplomatic, slightly gilded here
     and there with those commonplace laudations that stir a
     British public into the utterance of patriotic plaudits. A
     more inoffensive entertainment could hardly be imagined; and
     when the six sections into which the lady had divided her
     discourse, were exhausted, and her final bow elicited a
     renewal of the applause that had accompanied her entrance,
     the impression on the departing visitors must have been that
     of having spent an hour in company with a well-informed lady
     who had gone to America, had seen much to admire there, and,
     coming back, had had over the tea-table the talk of the
     evening to herself. Whatever the future disquisitions of the
     Countess of Landsfeld may be, there is little doubt that
     many will go to hear them for the sake of the peculiar
     celebrity of the lecturer.

To this, the _Era_ reporter naïvely added: "Her foreign accent might
belong to any language from Irish to Bavarian."

Lola did not have the field entirely to herself. While she was telling
the St. James's Hall public how to improve their appearance at very
small cost, a rival practitioner, with a _salon_ in Bond Street, was,
in the advertisement columns of the morning papers, announcing her
readiness to furnish the necessary requisites at a very high figure.
This was a "Madame Rachel," some of whose dupes parted with as much as
five hundred guineas, on the understanding that she would make them
"Beautiful for ever!"

Like Lola Montez, "Madame Rachel" brought out a puff pamphlet,
directing attention to her specifics. This production beat the effort
of the Rev. Chauncey Burr, for it bristled with references, to the
Bible and Shakespeare, to Grace Darling and Florence Nightingale.
Among her nostrums was a bottle of "Jordan Water," which she sold at
the modest figure of £15 15s. a flask. Chemical analysis, however,
revealed it to have come, not from Palestine, but from the River
Thames. She also supplied, on extortionate terms, various drugs and
"medical treatment" of a description upon which the Law frowns
heavily. As a result, "Madame Rachel" left Bond Street for the dock of
the Old Bailey, where she was sent to penal servitude for swindling.

In the lecture on "Wits and Women of Paris," Lola did not forget her
old friends. She had a good word for Dumas:

     "Of the literary lights during my residence in Paris,
     Alexandre Dumas was the first, as he would be in any city
     anywhere. He was not only the boon companion of princes, but
     he was the prince of boon companions. He is now about
     fifty-five years old, a tall, fine-looking man, with
     intellect stamped on his brow. Of all the men I ever met he
     is the most brilliant in conversation. He is always sought
     for at convivial suppers, and is always sure to attend

Discretion, perhaps, prevented her saying anything about Dujarier and
the tragedy of his death. Still, she had something to say about Roger
de Beauvoir, whom she declared to be "one of the three men that kept
Paris alive when I was there." Her recollection of Jules Janin
rankled. "He was," she said, "a malicious and caustic critic.
Everybody feared him, and everybody was civil to him through fear. I
do not know anyone (even his wife) who loves him in Paris." But Eugéne
Sue was in another category. "He was an honest, sincere, truth-loving
man; and it will be long before Paris can fill the place which his
death has made vacant."

In the "Heroines of History" lecture the audience were told that "All
history is full of startling examples of female heroism, proving that
woman's heart is made of as stout a stuff and of as brave a metal as
that which beats within the ribs of the coarser sex." But, feminist as
she was, Lola had no sympathy with any suggestion to grant them the
franchise. "Women who get together in conventions for the purpose of
ousting men will never," she declared, "accomplish anything. They can
effect legislation only by quiet and judicious counsel. These
convention women are very poor politicians."

The last lectures in the series dealt with "Comic Aspects of Love,"
and "Strong-minded Women." Among the typical specimens offered for
consideration were such diverse personalities as Semiramis, Queen
Elizabeth, the Countess of Derby, George Sand, and Mrs. Bloomer. In
the discourse on "The Comic Aspects of Love" the range swept from
Aristotle and Plato to Mahomet and the Mormons. If the B.B.C. had been
in existence, Lola would undoubtedly have been booked for a "talk." As
it was, two of the lectures were reprinted in _The Welcome Guest_, "a
magazine of recreative reading for all," with Robert Browning, Charles
Kingsley and Monckton Milnes among its contributors. Thinking they had
a market, an enterprising publisher rushed out a volume, _The Lectures
of Lola Montez_. When a copy reached the editor, it was reviewed in
characteristically elephantine fashion by the _Athenæum_:

     "We can imagine the untravelled dames of Fifth Avenue
     listening with wonder to a female lecturer who seems to have
     lived hand in glove with all the crowned heads of Europe;
     and who can tell them, not only Who's-Who, but also repeat
     their conversations, criticise their personal appearances,
     and describe the secret arts by which the men preserve their
     powers and the women their beauty."




At the end of the year 1859, Lola, once more a bird of passage, was on
the way back to America, taking with her some fresh material for
another lecture campaign. This, entitled "John Bull at Home," fell
very flat; and instead of, as hitherto, addressing crowded halls, she
now found scanty gatherings wherever she was booked. Even when the
charge of admission was reduced from the original figure of a dollar
to one of 25 cents, "business" did not improve. Uncle Sam made it
obvious that he took no sort of interest in John Bull, either at home
or elsewhere.

America, however, was, as it happened, taking a very lively interest
in something else just then that did happen to be connected with John
Bull's country. This was the visit of the Prince of Wales. It had been
announced by an imaginative journalist that H.R.H. was to be "piloted"
during his tour by John Camel Heenan, otherwise the "Benicia Boy." It
was, however, under the more rigid tutelage of General Bruce that the
distinguished guest landed on American shores. Mere prose not being
adequate to record the historic incident a laureate set to work:

      He came! A slender youth and fair!
    A courtly, gentlemanly grace--the Grace of God!
    The tenure of his mother's Throne, and great men's fame
      Sat like a sparkling jewel on his brow.
    Ah, Albert Edward! When you homeward sail
    Take back with you, and treasure in your soul
      A wholesome lesson which you here may learn!

While he was in New York a ball in honour of the Prince was given at
the Opera House by the "Committee of Welcome." This inspired a second
laureate, Edmund Clarence Stedman:

      But as ALBERT EDWARD, young and fair,
      Stood on the canopied dais-chair,
      And looked from the circle crowding there
    To the length and breadth of the outer scene,
    Perhaps he thought of his mother, the QUEEN:
        (Long may her empery be serene!
        Long may the Heir of England prove
        Loyal and tender; may he pay
        No less allegiance to her love
        Than to the sceptre of her sway!)

The visit of the Prince of Wales was not the only attraction
challenging the popularity of Lola Montez at this period. There was
another rival, and one in more direct competition with herself. This
was Sam Cowell, a music-hall "star" from England. A comedian of
genuine talent, he took America by storm with a couple of ballads,
"The Rat-Catcher's Daughter" and "Villikins and his Dinah." The public
flocked to hear him in their thousands. Lola's lectures fell very
flat. Even fresh material and reduced prices failed to serve as a
lure. The position was becoming serious.

But, while her manager looked glum when he examined the box-office
figures, Lola was not upset, for she had suddenly developed another
activity, and one to which she was giving all her attention. This was
the occult. The "Voices" at whose bidding she had abandoned the stage
a couple of years earlier were now insistent that she should drop the
platform; and, casting in her lot with the "Spirits," get into touch
with a mysterious region vaguely referred to as "the Beyond."

It was a time when spiritualism was flourishing like a green bay tree.
Mrs. Hayden ("the wife of a respectable journalist") and the Fox
Sisters had been playing their pranks for years and collecting dollars
from dupes all over the country; and their rivals, the Davenport
Brothers, with Daniel Dunglas Home (Browning's "Sludge, the Medium")
were humbugging Harvard professors, financial magnates, and Supreme
Court judges; and, not to be behindhand, other experts were (for a
cash consideration) calling up Columbus and Shakespeare and Napoleon,
who talked to them at séances as readily as if they were at the end of
a telephone, but with pronounced American accents.

[Illustration: _Countess of Landsfeld. A favourite portrait_

(_Harvard Theatre Collection_)]

Lola's first reaction was all that could be desired. There never was a
more promising recruit or a more receptive one. Quite prepared to take
the "Voices" on trust, and to contribute liberally to the "cause," she
attended a number of psychic circles, arranged by Stephen Andrews and
other charlatans; listened to mysterious rappings and tappings coming
out of the darkness; felt inanimate objects being lifted across the
room; heard tambourines rattled by invisible hands; and unquestionably
swallowed all the traditional tomfoolery that appears to be part and
parcel of such "phenomena."

This state of things might have continued indefinitely. By, however,
an unfortunate mischance, a "medium," from whom much was expected,
went, in his endeavour to give satisfaction, a little too far. Not
keeping a vigilant eye on European happenings, he announced at one
such gathering that the "spirit" addressing the assembly was that of
Ludwig of Bavaria. As, however, Ludwig was still in the land of the
living (where, by the way, he remained for several years to come) it
was a bad slip. The result was, Lola felt her faith shaken, and,
convinced that she was being exploited, shut up her purse, and
withdrew from the promised "guidance."


Under stress of emotion, some women take to the bottle; others to the
Bible. With Lola Montez, however, it was a case of from Bunkum to
Boanerges, from the circle to the conventicle. Spiritualism had been
tried and found wanting. Casting about for something with which to
fill the empty niche and adjust her equilibrium, she turned to
religion for consolation. The brand she selected was that favoured by
the Methodists. One would scarcely imagine that Little Bethel would
have had much appeal to her. But perhaps its very drabness and
remoteness from the world of the footlights proved a welcome relief.

Having "got religion," Lola fastened upon it with characteristic
fervour. It occupied all her thoughts; and in the process she soon
developed what would now be dubbed a marked inferiority-complex.

"Lord," she wrote at this period, "Thy mercies are great to me. Oh!
how little are they deserved, filthy worm that I am! Oh! that the Holy
Spirit may fill my soul with prayer! Lord, have mercy on Thy weary
wanderer, and grant me all I beseech of Thee! Oh! give me a meek and
lowly heart. Amen."

A doctor, had she consulted one just then, would probably have
prescribed a blue pill.

There is a theory that the "Light" had been vouchsafed as the result
of a chance visit to Spurgeon's Tabernacle when she was last in
England. Although Spurgeon himself never put forward any such claim, a
diary that Lola kept at the time has a significant entry:


     _September 10, 1859._

     How many, many years of my life have been sacrificed to
     Satan and my own love of sin! What have I not been guilty of
     in thought or deed during these years of wretchedness! Oh! I
     dare not think of the past. What have I not been! I only
     lived for my own passions; and what is there of good even in
     the best natural human being! What would I not give to have
     my terrible and fearful experience given as an awful warning
     to such natures as my own!

A week later, things not having improved during the interval, she took
stock of her position in greater detail:

     I am afraid sometimes that I think too well of myself. But
     let me only look back to the past. Oh! how I am humbled....
     How manifold are my sins, and how long in years have I lived
     a life of evil passions without a check!

     To-morrow (the Lord's Day) is the day of peace and
     happiness. Once it seemed to me anything but a happy day.
     But now all is wonderfully changed in my heart.... This week
     I have principally sinned through hastiness of temper and
     uncharitableness of feeling towards my neighbour. Oh! that I
     could have only love for others and hatred of myself!

Another passage ran:

     To-morrow is Sunday, and I shall go into the poor little
     humble chapel, and there will I mingle my prayers with the
     fervent pastor, and with the good and true. There is no pomp
     or ceremony among these. All is simple. No fine dresses, no
     worldly display, but the honest Methodist breathes forth a
     sincere prayer, and I feel much unity of souls.

The "conversion" of Lola Montez was no flash in the pan, or the result
of a sudden impulse. It was a real one, deep and sincere and lasting.
Her former triumphs on the stage and in the boudoir had become as dust
and ashes. Compared with her new-found joy in religion, all else was
vanity and emptiness.

"I can forget my French and German, and everything else I have
valued," she is declared to have said to a pressman, who, scenting a
"news story," followed hot-foot on her track, "but I cannot forget my

She had been "Montez the Magnificent." Now she was "Montez the
Magdalen." The woman whose voluptuous beauty and unbridled passion had
upset thrones and fired the hearts of men was now concerned with the
saving of souls. As such, she resolved to spread "the Word" among
others less happily circumstanced. To this end, she preached in
conventicles and visited hospitals, asylums, and prisons, offering a
helping hand to all who would accept one, and especially to
"unfortunates" of her own sex. She had her disappointments. But
neither snubs nor setbacks, nor sneers nor jeers could turn her from
the path she had elected to tread.

"In the course of a long experience as a Christian minister," says a
clergyman whom she encountered at this period, "I do not think I ever
saw deeper penitence and humility, more real contrition of soul, and
more bitter self-reproach than in this poor woman."

"With," he adds, in an oleaginous little tract on the subject, "a
heart full of generous sympathy for the poor outcasts of her own sex,
she devoted the last few months of her life to visiting them at the
Magdalen Asylum, near New York.... She strove to impress upon them not
only the awful guilt of breaking the divine law, but the inevitable
earthly sorrow which those who persisted with thoughtless desperation
in sinful courses were assuredly treasuring up for themselves."

But, except those who encountered her charity and self-sacrifice,
there were few who had a good word for Lola Montez in her character as
a Magdalen. People who had fawned upon her in the days of her success
now jeered and sneered and affected to doubt the reality of her
penitence. "Once a sinner, always a sinner," they declared; and "Lola
in the pulpit is rich!" was another barbed shaft.

In thus abandoning the buskin for the Bible, Lola Montez was following
one example and setting another. The example she followed was that of
Mlle Gautier, of the Comédie Française, who, after flashing across the
horizon of Maurice de Saxe (and several others), left the footlights
and retired to a convent. "It is true," she says in her memoirs, "that
I have encountered during my theatrical career a number of people
whose morals have been as irreproachable as their talents, but I
myself was not among them." This was putting it--well--mildly, for,
according to Le d'Hoefer, "her stage career was marked by a freedom
of manner pushed to the extremity of licence."

In the sisterhood that she joined the new name of Mlle Gautier was
Sister Augustine. As such, she lived a Carmelite nun for thirty-two
years. But time did not hang heavy on her hands, for, in addition to
religious exercises and domestic tasks, she occupied herself with
painting miniatures and composing verses. "I am so happy here," she
wrote from her cell, "that I much regret having delayed too long
entering this holy place. The real calm and peace I have now
discovered have made me imagine all my previous life an evil dream."

The example that Lola Montez was setting was to be followed, fifty
years later, by another member of her calling. This was Eve
Lavalliére, who, after a distinctly hectic career, cut herself adrift
from the footlights of Paris and entered the mission-field of North
Africa. "Here at your feet," she says in one of her letters, "lies the
vilest, lowest, and most contemptible object on earth, a worm from the
dung-heap, the most infamous, the most soiled of all creatures. Lord,
I am but a poor sheep in your flock!"

There is also something of a parallel between the career of Lola
Montez and that of Theodora, who, once in the circus ring, and, at the
start, a lady of decidedly easy virtue, afterwards became the consort
of the Emperor Justinian and shared his throne. Like Lola, too,
Theodora endeavoured to make amends for her early slips by voluntarily
abandoning the pomp and power she had once enjoyed and giving herself
up to the redemption of "fallen women."


Perhaps the "Spirits" resented being abandoned by her in summary
fashion; perhaps she had overtaxed her energies addressing outdoor
meetings in all weathers. At any rate, and whatever the cause, while
she was travelling in the country during the winter of 1860, Lola
Montez was suddenly stricken down by a mysterious illness. As it
baffled the hospital doctors, she had to be taken back to New York.
There, instead of getting better, she gradually got worse, developing
consumption, followed by partial paralysis.

"What a study for the thoughtless; what a sermon on the inevitable
result of human vanity!" was the ghoulish comment of a scribbler.

Rufus Blake, an entrepreneur, under whose banner she had once starred,
has some reminiscences of her at this period. "She lived," he says,
"in strict retirement, reading religious books, and steadily, calmly,
hopefully preparing for death, fully convinced that consumption had
snapped the pillars of her life and that she was soon to make her
final exit."

After an interval, word of Lola's collapse reached England by means of
a cutting in a theatrical paper. There it appears to have touched a
long slumbering maternal chord. "Mrs. Craigie," says a paragraphist,
"suddenly arrived in America, anxious, as next of kin, to secure her
daughter's property. On discovering, however, that none existed, she
hurried back again, leaving behind her a sum of three pounds for
medicine and other necessities."

Cast off by her fair-weather friends, bereft of her looks,
poverty-stricken, and ravaged by an insidious illness, the situation
of Lola Montez was, during that winter of 1860, one to excite pity
among the most severe of judges. Under duress, even her new found
trust in Providence began to falter. Was prayer, she wondered
forlornly, to fail her like everything else? Suddenly, however, and
when things were at their darkest, a helping hand was offered. One
bitter evening, as she sat brooding in the miserable lodging where she
had secured temporary shelter, she was visited by a Mrs. Buchanan,
claiming her as a friend of the long distant past. The years fell
back; and, with an effort, Lola recognised in the visitor a girl, now
a mature matron, whom she had last met in Montrose.

The sympathy of Mrs. Buchanan, shared to the full by her husband, a
prosperous merchant, was of a practical description. Although
familiar with the many lapses in Lola's career, they counted for
nothing beside the fact that she was in sore need. Bygones were
bygones. Insisting that the stricken woman should leave her wretched
surroundings, Mrs. Buchanan took her into her own well-appointed
house, provided doctors and nurses, and did all that was possible to
smooth her path. Deeply religious herself, she soon won back her
faltering faith, and summoned a clergyman, the Rev. Dr. Hawks, to
prepare her for the inevitable and rapidly approaching end.

A smug little booklet, _The Story of a Penitent: Lola Montez_,
published under the auspices of the "Protestant Society for the
Promotion of Evangelical Knowledge," was afterwards written by this
shepherd. Since his name did not appear on the title page, he was able
to make several unctuous references to himself.

"Most acceptable," he says in one characteristic passage, "were his
ministrations. Refreshing, too, to his own spirit were his interviews
with her."

"It was," he continues, "in the latter part of 1860 that I received a
message from the unhappy woman so well known to the public under the
name of Lola Montez, earnestly requesting me to visit her and minister
to her spiritual wants. She had been stricken down by a paralysis of
her left side. For some days she was unconscious, and her death seemed
to be at hand. She had, however, rallied, and a most benevolent
Christian female, who had been her schoolmate in Scotland in the days
of her girlhood, and knew her well, had stepped forward and provided
for the temporal comfort of the afflicted companion of her childhood.
The real name of Lola Montez was Eliza G., and she was of respectable
family in Ireland, where she was born."

But neither the Rev. Mr. Hawks, with his oiliness and smug piety, nor
Mrs. Buchanan, with her true womanly sympathy and understanding, could
bring Lola Montez back to health, any more than--for all their pills
and purges--could the doctors and nurses round her bed. She lay there,
day after day, aware of their presence, but unable to move or speak.
Yet, able to think. Thoughts crowded upon her in a series of flashing
pictures; a bewildering phantasmagoria, coming out of the shadows, and
beckoning to her. Childhood's memories of India; hot suns, marching
men, palanquins and elephants; Montrose and a dour Calvinism; Bath and
Sir Jasper Nicolls; love's young dream; Lieutenant James and the
runaway marriage in Dublin; another experience of India's coral
strand; kind-hearted Captain Craigie and hard-hearted George Lennox;
the Consistory Court proceedings; fiasco at Her Majesty's Theatre;
Ranelagh and Lumley; _wanderjahre_ and odyssey; Paris and Dujarier;
Ludwig and the steps of a throne; passion and poetry; intrigues and
liaisons; Cornet Heald and Patrick Hull; voyages from the old world to
the new; mining camps and backwoods; palaces and conventicles;
glittering triumphs and abject failures. And now, gasping and
struggling for breath, the end.

The sands were running out. The days slipped away, and, with them, the
last vitality of the woman who had once been so full of life and the
joy of living.

The doctors did what they could. But it was very little, for Lola
Montez was beyond their help. The end was fast at hand. It came with
merciful swiftness. On January 17, 1861, she turned her face to the
wall and drew a last shuddering breath.

"I am very tired," she whispered.

The funeral took place two days later. "Accompanied by some of our
most respected citizens and their families," says an eye-witness, "the
cortège left the house of Mrs. Buchanan for Green-Wood cemetery."

"The Rev. Dr. Hawks," adds a second account, "was constantly at the
bedside of Lola Montez, and gave her the benefit of his pastoral care
as freely as if she had been a member of his own flock. He conducted
her obsequies in an impressive fashion; and Mr. Brown, his assistant,
who had himself attended so many funerals and weddings in his day,
was seen to wipe the tears from his eyes, as he heard the reverend
gentleman remark to Mrs. Buchanan that he had never met with an
example of more genuine penitence."

"Is not this a brand plucked from the burning?" enquired the Rev. Mr.
Hawks, as he stood addressing the company assembled round the grave.
He himself was assured that the description was thoroughly applicable
to the woman lying there.

"I never saw," he declared, "a more humble penitent. When I prayed
with her, nothing could exceed the fervour of her devotion; and never
have I had a more watchful and attentive hearer when I read the
Scriptures.... If ever a repentant soul loathed past sin, I believe
hers did."

Possibly, since it could scarcely have been Mrs. Buchanan, it was this
clerical busybody who was responsible for the inscription on Lola's



JANUARY 17, 1861.

An odd mask under which to shelter the identity of the gifted woman
who, given in baptism the names Marie Dolores Eliza Rosanna, had
flashed across three continents as Lola Montez, Countess of Landsfeld.

[Illustration: _Grave of Lola Montez, in Green-wood Cemetery, New

(_Photo by Miss Ida U. Mellen, New York_)]


Misrepresented as she had been in her life, Lola Montez was even more
misrepresented after her death. The breath was scarcely out of her
body, when a flood of cowardly scurrilities was poured from the gutter
press. Her good deeds were forgotten; only her derelictions were

One such obituary notice began:

     "A woman who, in the full light of the nineteenth century,
     renewed all the scandals that disgraced the Middle Ages,
     and, with an audacity that is almost unparalleled, seated
     herself upon the steps of a throne, is worthy of mention; if
     only to show to what extent vice can sometimes triumph, and
     to what a fall it can eventually come."

An editorial, which was published in one of the New York papers,
contained some odd passages:

     "Among the most ardent admirers of Lola Montez was a young
     Scotsman, a member of the illustrious house of Lennox, who
     was with difficulty restrained by his family from offering
     her his hand. In London the deceased led a gay life, being
     courted by the Earl of Malmesbury and other distinguished
     noblemen. Wherever she went, she was the observed of all
     observers, conquering the hearts of men of all countries by
     her beauty and blandishments, and their admiration by her
     unflinching independence of character and superior
     intellectual endowments."

The death of Lola Montez did not pass without comment in England. The
_Athenæum_ necrologist accorded her half a column of obituary, in
which she was described as "this pretty, picaroon woman, whose name
can never be omitted from any chronicle of Bavaria."

A Grub Street hack, employed by the curiously named _Gentleman's
Magazine_, slung together a column of abuse and lies, founded on
tap-room gossip:

     "When not yet sixteen, she ran away from a school near Cork
     with a young officer of the Bengal Army, Lieutenant Gilbert
     (_sic_), who married her and took her to India. In
     consequence of her bad conduct there, he was soon obliged to
     send her back to Europe. She first tried the stage as a
     profession, but, failing at it, she eventually adopted a
     career of infamy."

A writer in _Temple Bar_ has endeavoured, and, on the whole, with fair
measure of success, to preserve the balance:

     "With more of the good and more of the evil in her
     composition than in that of most of her sisters, Lola Montez
     made a wreck of her life by giving reins to the latter; and
     she stands out as a prominent example of the impossibility
     of a woman breaking away from the responsibilities of her
     sex with any permanent gain, either to herself or to
     society. Her passionate, enthusiastic and loving nature was
     her strength which, by fascinating all who came into contact
     with her, was also her weakness."

Cameron Rogers, writing on "Gay and Gallant Ladies," sums up the
career of Lola Montez in deft fashion:

     "Thus passed one who has been called the Cleopatra and the
     Aspasia of the nineteenth century. A very gallant and
     courageous lady, certainly; and, though she used her beauty
     and her mind not in accordance with the Decalogue, yet
     worthy to be remembered as much for the excellent vigour of
     the latter as for the perfection of the former. Individual
     damnation or salvation in such a case as hers are matters of
     strict opinion; but for Lola's brief to the last judgment
     there is an ancient tag that might never be more aptly
     appended. Like the moral of her life, it is exceedingly
     trite--_Quia multum amavit._"

This is well put.


Even after she was in it, and might, one would think, have been left
there in peace, the dead woman was not allowed to rest quietly in her
grave. Some years later her mantle was impudently assumed by an
alleged actress, who, dubbing herself "Countess of Landsfeld,"
undertook a lecture tour in America. If she had no other gift, this
one certainly had that of imagination. "I was born," she said to a
reporter, "in Florence, and my mother, Lola Montez, was really married
to the King Ludwig of Bavaria. This marriage was strictly valid, and
my mother's title of countess was afterwards conferred on myself. The
earliest recollections I have are of being brought up by some nuns in
a convent in the Black Forest. But for the help of the good Dr.
Döllinger, who assisted me to escape, I should still have been kept
there, a victim of political interests."

This nonsense was eagerly swallowed; and for some time the
pseudo-"Countess" attracted a following and reaped a rich harvest. It
was not until diplomatic representations were made that her career was

On Christmas Day, 1898, a New York obituary announced the death of a
woman, Alice Devereux, the wife of a carpenter in poor circumstances.
It further declared that she was the "daughter of the notorious Lola
Montez, and may well have been the grand-daughter of Lord Byron." To
this it added: "Society has maintained a studious and charitable
reserve as to the parentage of Lola Montez. All that is definitely
known on the subject is that a fox-hunting Irish squire, Sir Edward
Gilbert, was the husband of her mother." Thus is "history" written.

Nor would the "Spirits" leave poor Lola in peace. In the year 1888 a
woman "medium," calling herself Madam Anna O'Delia Diss DeBar (but,
under pressure, admitting to several _aliases_) claimed to be a
daughter of Lola Montez. As such, she conducted a number of séances,
and, in return for cash down, evoked the spirit of her alleged mother.
Some of the cash was extracted from the pocket of a credulous lawyer,
one Luther Marsh. Thinking he had not had fair value for his dollars,
he eventually prosecuted Madam for fraud, and had her sent to prison.

She was not disturbed again until the winter of 1929, when an Austrian
"medium," Rudi Schneider, with, to adopt the jargon of his craft, a
"trance-personality" called Olga (who professed to be an incarnation
of Lola Montez), gave some séances in London. The extinguishing of the
lights and the wheezing of a gramophone were followed by the usual
"manifestations." Thus, curtains flapped, books fell off chairs,
tambourines rattled in locked cupboards, and bells jangled, etc. But
Lola Montez herself was too bashful to appear. None the less, a number
of "scientists" (all un-named) afterwards announced that "everything
was very satisfactory."

Thinking that these claims to get into touch with the dead should be
subjected to a more adequate test, Mr. Harry Price, director of the
National Laboratory of Psychical Research, arranged for Rudi
Schneider to give a sample of his powers to a committee of experts. As
a convincing test, Major Hervey de Montmorency (a nephew of the Mr.
Francis Leigh with whom Lola had once lived in Paris) suggested that
the accomplished "Olga" should be asked the name of his uncle (which
was different from his own) and the circumstances under which they had
parted. This was done, and "Olga" promised to give full details at the
next sitting. But the promise was not kept. "She conveniently shelved
every question," says the official report. Altogether, Rudi
Schneider's stock fell.


The body of Lola Montez, Countess of Landsfeld, and Canoness of the
Order of St. Thérèse, has now been crumbling in the dust of a distant
grave, far from her own kith and kindred, for upwards of seventy
years. Her name, however, will still be remembered when that of other
women who have filled a niche in history will have been forgotten.

Lola Montez was no common adventuress. By her beauty and intelligence
and magnetism she weaved a spell on well nigh all who came within her
radius. Never any member of her sex quite like this one. Had she been
born in the Middle Ages, superstition would have had it that Venus
herself was revisiting the haunts of men in fresh guise. But she would
then probably have perished at the stake, accused of witchcraft by her
political opponents. As it was, even in the year 1848 a sovereign
demanded that a professional exorcist should "drive the devil out of

To present Lola Montez at her true worth, to adjust the balance
between her merits and her demerits, is a difficult task. A woman of a
hundred opposing facets; of rare culture and charm, and of whims and
fancies and strange enthusiasms each battling with the other. Thus, by
turns tender and callous, hot-tempered and soft-hearted; childishly
simple in some things, and amazingly shrewd in others; trusting and
suspicious; arrogant and humble, yet supremely indifferent to public
opinion; grateful for kindness and loyal to her friends, but neither
forgetting nor forgiving an injury. Men had treated her worse than she
had treated them.

For the rest, a flashing, vivid personality, full of resource and high
courage, and always meeting hard knocks and buffets with equanimity.
Lola Montez had lived every moment of her life. In the course of their
career, few women could have cut a wider swath, or one more colourful
and glamorous. She had beauty and intelligence much above the average.
All the world had been her stage; and she had played many parts on it.
Some of them she had played better than others; but all of them she
had played with distinction. She had boxed the compass as no woman had
ever yet boxed it. From adventuress to evangelist; coryphée,
courtesan, and convert, each in turn. At the start a mixture of
Cleopatra and Aspasia; and at the finish a feminine Pelagian. Equally
at home in the company of princes and poets and diplomats and
demireps, during the twenty years she was before the public she had
scaled heights and sunk to depths. Thus, she had queened it in palaces
and in camps; danced in opera houses and acted in booths; she had bent
monarchs and politicians to her will; she had stood on the steps of a
throne, and in the curb of a gutter; she had known pomp and power,
riches and poverty, dazzling successes and abject failures; she had
conducted amours and liaisons and intrigues by the dozen; she had made
history in two hemispheres; a king had given up his crown for her; men
had lived for her; and men had died for her.

As with the rest of us, Lola Montez had her faults. Full measure of
them. But she also had her virtues. She was gallant and generous and
charitable. At the worst, her heart ruled her head; and if she did
many a foolish thing, she never did a mean one.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the final analysis, when the last balance is struck, this will
surely be placed to her credit.

       *       *       *       *       *






If it be true "that the face is the index of the mind," the recipe for
a beautiful face must be something that reaches the soul. What can be
done for a human face that has a sluggish, sullen, arrogant, angry
mind looking out of every feature? An habitually ill-natured,
discontented mind ploughs the face with inevitable marks of its own
vice. However well shaped, or however bright its complexion, no such
face can ever become really beautiful. If a woman's soul is without
cultivation, without taste, without refinement, without the sweetness
of a happy mind, not all the mysteries of art can ever make her face
beautiful. And, on the other hand, it is impossible to dim the
brightness of an elegant and polished intellect. The radiance of a
charming mind strikes through all deformity of features, and still
asserts its sway over the world of the affections. It has been my
privilege to see the most celebrated beauties that shine in all the
gilded courts of fashion throughout the world, from St. James's to St.
Petersburgh, from Paris to Hindostan, and yet I have found no art
which can atone for an unpolished mind, and an unlovely heart. That
chastened and delightful activity of soul, that spiritual energy which
gives animation, grace, and living light to the animal frame, is,
after all, the real source of beauty in a woman. It is _that_ which
gives eloquence to the language of her eyes, which sends the sweetest
vermilion mantling to the cheek, and lights up the whole _personnel_
as if her very body thought. That, ladies, is the ensign of beauty,
and the herald of charms, which are sure to fill the beholder with
answering emotion and irrepressible delight.


If Satan has ever had any direct agency in inducing woman to spoil or
deform her own beauty, it must have been in tempting her to use
_paints_ and _enamelling_. Nothing so effectually writes _memento
mori!_ on the cheek of beauty as this ridiculous and culpable
practice. Ladies ought to know that it is a sure spoiler of the skin,
and good taste ought to teach them that it is a frightful distorter
and deformer of the natural beauty of the "human face divine." The
greatest charm of beauty is in the _expression_ of a lovely face; in
those divine flashes of joy, and good-nature, and love, which beam in
the human countenance. But what expression can there be in a face
bedaubed with white paint and enamelled? No flush of pleasure, no
thrill of hope, no light of love can shine through the incrusted
mould. Her face is as expressionless as that of a painted mummy. And
let no woman imagine that the men do not readily detect this poisonous
mask upon the skin. Many a time have I seen a gentleman shrink from
saluting a brilliant lady, as though it was a death's head he were
compelled to kiss. The secret was that her face and lips were bedaubed
with paints.

A violently rouged woman is a disgusting sight. The excessive red on
the face gives a coarseness to every feature, and a general fierceness
to the countenance, which transforms the elegant lady of fashion into
a vulgar harridan. But, in no case, can even _rouge_ be used by ladies
who have passed the age of life when roses are natural to the cheek. A
_rouged_ old woman is a horrible sight--a distortion of nature's

Paints are not only destructive to the skin, but they are ruinous to
the health. I have known paralytic affections and premature death to
be traced to their use. But alas! I am afraid that there never was a
time when many of the gay and fashionable of my sex did not make
themselves both contemptible and ridiculous by this disgusting trick.

Let every woman at once understand that paint can do nothing for the
mouth and lips. The advantage gained by the artificial red is a
thousand times more than lost by the sure destruction of that delicate
charm associated with the idea of "nature's dewy lip." There can be no
_dew_ on a painted lip. And there is no man who does not shrink back
with disgust from the idea of kissing a pair of painted lips. Nor let
any woman deceive herself with the idea that the men do not instantly
detect paint on the lips.


I am aware that this is a subject which must be handled with great
delicacy; but my book would be incomplete without some notice of this
"greatest claim of lovely woman." And, besides, it is undoubtedly true
that a proper discussion of this subject will seem _peculiar_ only to
the most vulgar minded of both sexes. If it be true, as the old poet
sung, that

    "Heaven rests on those two heaving hills of snow,"

why should not a woman be suitably instructed in the right management
of such extraordinary charms?

The first thing to be impressed upon the mind of a lady is that very
low-necked dresses are in exceeding bad taste, and are quite sure to
leave upon the mind of a gentleman an equivocal idea, to say the
least. A word to the wise on this subject is sufficient. If a young
lady has no father, or brother, or husband to direct her taste in this
matter, she will do well to sit down and commit the above statement to
memory. It is a charm which a woman, who understands herself, will
leave not to the public eye of man, but to his imagination. She knows
that _modesty_ is the divine spell that binds the heart of man to her
forever. But my observation has taught me that few women are well
informed as to the physical management of this part of their bodies.
The bosom, which nature has formed with exquisite symmetry in itself,
and admirable adaptation to the parts of the figure to which it is
united, is often transformed into a shape, and transplanted to a place
which deprives it of its original beauty and harmony with the rest of
the person. This deforming metamorphosis is effected by means of stiff
stays, or corsets, which force the part out of its natural position,
and destroy the natural tension and firmness in which so much of its
beauty consists. A young lady should be instructed that she is not to
allow even her own hand to press it too roughly. But, above all
things, to avoid, especially when young, the constant pressure of such
hard substances as whalebone and steel; for, besides the destruction
to beauty, they are liable to produce all the terrible consequences of
abscesses and cancers. Even the padding which ladies use to give a
full appearance, where there is a deficient bosom, is sure in a little
time to entirely destroy all the natural beauty of the parts. As soon
as it becomes apparent that the bosom lacks the rounded fullness due
to the rest of her form, instead of trying to repair the deficiency
with artificial padding, it should be clothed as loosely as possible,
so as to avoid the least artificial pressure. Not only its growth is
stopped, but its complexion is spoiled by these tricks. Let the growth
of this beautiful part be left as unconfined as the young cedar, or as
the lily of the field.


It is essential that every lady should understand that the most
beautiful and well-dressed woman will fail to be _charming_ unless all
her other attractions are set off with a graceful and fascinating
deportment. A pretty face may be seen everywhere, beautiful and
gorgeous dresses are common enough, but how seldom do we meet with a
really beautiful and enchanting demeanour! It was this charm of
deportment which suggested to the French cardinal the expression of
"the native paradise of angels." The first thing to be said on the art
of deportment is that what is becoming at one age would be most
improper and ridiculous at another. For a young girl, for instance, to
sit as grave and stiff as "her grandmother cut in alabaster" would be
ridiculous enough, but not so much so, as for an old woman to assume
the romping merriment of girlhood. She would deservedly draw only
contempt and laughter upon herself.

Indeed a modest mien always makes a woman charming. Modesty is to
woman what the mantle of green is to nature--its ornament and highest
beauty. What a miracle-working charm there is in a blush--what
softness and majesty in natural _simplicity_, without which pomp is
contemptible, and elegance itself ungraceful.

There can be no doubt that the highest incitement to love is in
modesty. So well do wise women of the world know this, that they take
infinite pains to learn to wear the semblance of it, with the same
tact, and with the same motive that they array themselves in
attractive apparel. They have taken a lesson from Sir Joshua Reynolds,
who says: "men are like certain animals who will feed only when there
is but little provender, and that got at with difficulty through the
bars of a rack; but refuse to touch it when there is an abundance
before them." It is certainly important that all women should
understand this; and it is no more than fair that they should practise
upon it, since men always treat them with disingenuous untruthfulness
in this matter. Men may amuse themselves with a noisy, loud-laughing,
loquacious girl; it is the quiet, subdued, modest, and seeming bashful
deportment which is the one that stands the fairest chance of carrying
off their hearts.

       *       *       *       *       *




The last and most difficult office imposed on Psyche was to descend to
the lower regions and bring back a portion of Proserpine's beauty in a
box. The too inquisitive goddess, impelled by curiosity or perhaps by
a desire to add to her own charms, raised the lid, and behold there
issued forth--a vapour I which was all there was of that wondrous

In attempting to give a definition of beauty, I have painfully felt
the force of this classic parable. If I settle upon a standard of
beauty in Paris, I find it will not do when I get to Constantinople.
Personal qualities, the most opposite imaginable, are each looked upon
as beautiful in different countries, and even by different people of
the same country. That which is deformity in New York may be beauty in
Pekin. At one place the sighing lover sees "Helen" in an Egyptian
brow. In China, black teeth, painted eyelids, and plucked eyebrows are
beautiful; and should a woman's feet be large enough to walk upon,
their owners are looked upon as monsters of ugliness.

With the modern Greeks and other nations on the shores of the
Mediterranean, corpulency is the perfection of form in a woman; the
very attributes which disgust the western European form the highest
attractions of an Oriental fair. It was from the common and admired
shape of his countrywomen that Reubens, in his pictures, delights in a
vulgar and almost odious plumpness. He seems to have no idea of beauty
under two hundred pounds. His very Graces are all fat.

Hair is a beautiful ornament of woman, but it has always been a
disputed point as to what colour it shall be. I believe that most
people nowadays look upon a red head with disfavour--but in the times
of Queen Elizabeth it was in fashion. Mary of Scotland, though she had
exquisite hair of her own, wore red fronts out of compliment to
fashion and the red-headed Queen of England.

That famous beauty, Cleopatra, was red-haired also; and the Venetian
ladies to this day counterfeit yellow hair.

Yellow hair has a higher authority still. THE ORDER OF THE GOLDEN
FLEECE, instituted by Philip, Duke of Burgundy, was in honour of a
frail beauty whose hair was yellow.

So, ladies and gentlemen, this thing of beauty which I come to talk
about, has a somewhat migratory and fickle standard of its own. All
the lovers of the world will have their own idea of the thing in spite
of me.

But where are we to detect this especial source of power? Often
forsooth in a dimple, sometimes beneath the shade of an eyelid or
perhaps among the tresses of a little fantastic curl!

I once knew a nobleman who used to try to make himself wise, and to
emancipate his heart from its thraldom to a celebrated beauty of the
court, by continually repeating to himself: "But it is short-lived,"
"It won't last--it won't last!"

Ah, me! that is too true--it won't last. Beauty has its date, and it
is the penalty of nature that girls must fade and become wizened as
their grandmothers have done before them.

In teaching a young lady to dress elegantly we must first impress upon
her mind that symmetry of figure ought ever to be accompanied by
harmony of dress, and that there is a certain propriety in habiliment,
adapted to form, complexion, and age. To preserve the health of the
human form is the first object of consideration, for without that you
can neither maintain its symmetry nor improve its beauty. But the
foundation of a just proportion must be laid in infancy. "As the twig
is bent the tree's inclined." A light dress, which gives freedom to
the functions of life, is indispensable to an unobstructed growth. If
the young fibres are uninterrupted by obstacles of art, they will
shoot harmoniously into the form which nature drew. The garb of
childhood should in all respects be easy--not to impede its movements
by ligatures on the chest, the loins, the legs, or the arms. By this
liberty we shall see the muscles of the limbs gradually assume the
fine swell and insertion which only unconstrained exercise can
produce. The chest will sway gracefully on the firmly poised waist,
swelling in noble and healthy expanse, and the whole figure will start
forward at the blooming age of youth, and early ripen to the maturity
of beauty.

The lovely form of women, thus educated, or rather thus left to its
natural growth, assumes a variety of charming characters. In one
youthful figure, we see the lineaments of a wood nymph, a form slight
and elastic in all its parts. The shape:

    "Small by degrees, and beautifully less,
    From the soft bosom to the slender waist!"

A foot as light as that of her whose flying step scarcely brushed the
"unbending corn," and limbs whose agile grace moved in harmony with
the curves of her swan-like neck, and the beams of her sparkling eyes.

To repair these ravages, comes the aid of padding to give shape where
there is none, stays to compress into form the swelling chaos of
flesh, and paints of all hues to rectify the dingy complexion; but
useless are these attempts--for, if dissipation, late hours,
immoderation, and carelessness have wrecked the loveliness of female
charms, it is not in the power of Esculapius himself to refit the
shattered bark, or of the Syrens, with all their songs and wiles, to
save its battered sides from the rocks, and make it ride the sea in
gallant trim again. The fair lady who cannot so moderate her pursuit
of pleasure that the feast, the midnight hour, the dance, shall not
recur too frequently, must relinquish the hope of preserving her
charms till the time of nature's own decay. After this moderation in
the indulgence of pleasure, the next specific for the preservation of
beauty which I shall give, is that of gentle and daily exercise in the
open air. Nature teaches us, in the gambols and sportiveness of the
lower animals, that bodily exertion is necessary for the growth,
vigour, and symmetry of the animal frame; while the too studious
scholar and the indolent man of luxury exhibit in themselves the
pernicious consequences of the want of exercise.

Many a rich lady would give thousands of dollars for that full rounded
arm, and that peach bloom on the cheek, possessed by her kitchen-maid.
Well, might she not have had both, by the same amount of exercise and
simple living?

But I weary of this subject of cosmetics, as every woman of sense will
at last weary of the use of them. It is a lesson which is sure to
come; but, in the lives of most fashionable ladies, it has small
chance of being needed until that unmentionable time, when men shall
cease to make baubles and playthings of them. It takes most women
two-thirds of their lifetime to discover that men may be amused by,
without respecting, them; and every woman may make up her mind that to
be really respected she must possess merit; she must have
accomplishments of mind and heart, and there can be no real beauty
without these. If the soul is without cultivation, without refinement,
without taste, without the sweetness of affection, not all the
mysteries of art can make the face beautiful; and, on the other hand,
it is impossible to dim the brightness of an elegant and polished
mind; its radiance strikes through the encasements of deformity, and
asserts its sway over the world of the affections.


A history of the beginning of the reign of gallantry would carry us
back to the creation of the world; for I believe that about the first
thing that man began to do after he was created, was to make love to

There was no discussion, then, about "woman's rights," or "woman's
influence"--woman had whatever her soul desired, and her will was the
watchword for battle or peace. Love was as marked a feature in the
chivalric character as valour; and he who understood how to break a
lance, and did not understand how to win a lady, was held to be but
half a man. He fought to gain her smiles--he lived to be worthy of her

In those days, to be "a servant of the ladies" was no mere figure of
the imagination--and to be in love was no idle pastime; but to be
profoundly, furiously, almost ridiculously in earnest. In the mind of
the cavalier, woman was a being of mystic power. As in the old forests
of Germany, she had been listened to like a spirit of the woods,
melodious, solemn and oracular. So when chivalry became an
institution, the same idea of something supernaturally beautiful in
her character threw a shadow over her life, and she was not only loved
but revered. And never were men more constant to their fair ladies
than in the proudest days of chivalry.

There is no such thing as genuine gallantry either in France or
England. In France the relation between the sexes is too fickle,
variable, and insincere, for any nearer approach to gallantry than
flirtation; while in England the aristocracy, which is the only class
in that country that could have the genuine feeling of gallantry, are
turned shop-owners and tradesmen. The Smiths and the Joneses who
figure on the signboards have the nobility standing behind them as
silent partners. The business habits of the United States and the
examples of rapid fortunes in this country have quite turned the head
of John Bull, and he is very fast becoming a sharp, thrifty,
money-getting Yankee. A business and commercial people have no leisure
for the cultivation of that feeling and romance which is the
foundation of gallantry. The activities of human nature seek other
more practical and more useful channels of excitement. Instead of
devoting a life to the worship and service of the fair ladies, they
are building telegraphs, railroads, steamboats, constructing schemes
of finance, and enlarging the area of practical civilization.


In attempting to give a definition of strong-minded women, I find it
necessary to distinguish between just ideas of strength and what is so
considered by the modern woman's rights' movement.

A very estimable woman by the name of Mrs. Bloomer obtained the
reputation of being strong-minded by curtailing her skirts six inches,
a compliment which certainly excites no envious feeling in my heart;
for I am philosophically puzzled to know how cutting six inches off a
woman's dress can possibly add anything to the height of her head.

One or two hundred women getting together in convention and resolving
that they are an abused community, and that all the men are great
tyrants and rascals, proves plainly enough that they--the women--are
somehow discontented, and that they have, perhaps, a certain amount of
courage, but I cannot see that it proves them to have any remarkable
strength of mind.

Really strong-minded women are not women of words, but of deeds; not
of resolutions, but of actions. History does not teach me that they
have ever consumed much time in conventions and in passing resolutions
about their rights; but they have been very prompt to assert their
rights, and to defend them too, and to take the consequences of

Thus all history is full of startling examples of female heroism,
which prove that woman's heart is made of as stout a stuff and of as
brave a mettle as that which beats within the ribs of the coarser sex.
And if we were permitted to descend from this high plane of public
history into the private homes of the world, in which sex, think you,
should we there find the purest spirit of heroism? Who suffers sorrow
and pain with the most heroism of heart? Who, in the midst of poverty,
neglect and crushing despair, holds on most bravely through the
terrible struggle, and never yields even to the fearful demands of
necessity until death wrests the last weapon of defence from her
hands? Ah, if all this unwritten heroism of woman could be brought to
the light, even man himself would cast his proud wreath of fame at her

Rousseau asserts that "all great revolutions were owing to women." The
French Revolution, the last great and stirring event upon which the
world looks back, arose, as Burke ill-naturedly expresses it, "amidst
the yells and violence of women." We accept the compliment which Burke
here pays to the power of woman, and attribute the coarseness of his
language to the bitter repugnance which every Englishman of that day
had to everything that was French. No, Mr. Burke, it was not by "yells
and violence" that the great women of France helped on that mighty
revolution--it was by the combined power of intellect and beauty. Nor
will women who get together in conventions for the purpose of berating
men, ever accomplish anything. They can effect legislation only by
quiet and judicious counsel, with such means as control the judgment
and the heart of legislators. And the experience of the world has
pretty well proved that a man's judgment is pretty easily controlled
when his heart is once persuaded.


My subject to-night is the comic aspect of love. No doubt most of you
have had some little experience, at least in the sentimental and
sighing side of the tender passion; and what I propose to do is to
give you the humorous or comic side. Perhaps I ought to begin by
begging pardon of the ladies for treating so sacred a thing as love in
a comic way, or for turning the ludicrous side of so charming a thing
as they find love to be, to the gaze of men--but I wish to premise
that I shall not so treat sensible or rational love. Of that beautiful
feeling, less warm than passion, yet more tender than friendship, I
shall not for a moment speak irreverently; of that pure disinterested
affection--as charming as it is reasonable, which one sex feels for
the other, I cannot speak lightly. But there is a certain romantic
senseless kind of love, such as poets sometimes celebrate, and men
and women feign, which is a legitimate target for ridicule. This kind
of love is fanciful and foolish; it is not the offspring of the heart,
but of the imagination. I know that generous deeds and contempt of
death have sometimes covered this folly with a veil. The arts have
twined for it a fantastic wreath, and the Muses have decked it with
the sweetest flowers: but this makes it none the less ridiculous nor
dangerous. Love of this romantic sort is an abstraction much too light
and subtle to sustain a tangible existence in the midst of the
jostling relations of this busy world. It is a mere bubble thrown to
the surface by the passions and fancies of men, and soon breaks by
contact with the hard facts of daily life. It is a thing which bears
but little handling. The German Wieland, who was a great disciple of
love, was of opinion that "its metaphysical effects began with the
first sigh, and ended with the first kiss!" Plato was not far out of
the way when he called it "a great devil"; and the man or woman who is
really possessed of it will find it a very hard one to cast out.

Of the refinements of love the great mass of men can know nothing. The
truth is that sentimental love is so much a matter of the imagination
that the uncultivated have no natural field for its display. In
America you can hardly realise the full force of this truth, because
the distinctions of class are happily nearly obliterated. Here
intellectual culture seems to be about equally divided among all
classes. I suppose it is not singular in this country to find the
poorest cobbler, whose little shanty is next to the proud mansion of
some millionaire, a man of really more mental attainments than his
rich and haughty neighbour; in which case the millionaire will do well
to look to it that the cobbler does not make love to his wife; and if
he does, nobody need care much, for the millionaire will be quite sure
to reciprocate.

The great statute, "tit-for-tat," is, I believe, equally the law of
all nations; besides, love is a great leveller of distinction, and it
is in this levelling mission that it performs some of its most
ridiculous antics. When a rich man's daughter runs off with her
father's coachman, as occasionally happens, the whole country is in a
roar of laughter about it. There is an innate, popular perception of
the ridiculous, but everybody sees and feels that in such cases it is
misplaced and grotesque. Everyone perceives that the woman's heart has
taken the bit in its mouth, and run away with her brains. But, as
comedy is often nearly allied to tragedy, so sorrow is sure to come as
soon as the little honeymoon is over. This romantic love cannot
flourish in the soil of poverty and want. Indeed, all the stimulants
which pride and luxury can administer to it can hardly keep it alive.
The rich miss who runs away with a man far beneath her in education
and refinement must inevitably awake, after a brief dream, to a state
of things which have made her unfortunate for life; and he, poor man,
will not be less wretched, unless she has brought him sufficient money
to give him leisure and opportunity to indulge his fancies with that
society which is on a level with his own tastes and education.


The French wits tell a laughable story of an untravelled Englishman
who, on landing at Calais, was received by a sulky red-haired hostess,
when he instantly wrote down in his note-book: "All French women are
sulky and red-haired."

We never heard whether this Englishman afterwards corrected his first
impressions of French women, but quite likely he never did, for there
is nothing so difficult on earth as for an Englishman to get over
first impressions, and especially is this the case in relation to
everything in France. An aristocratic Englishman may live years in
Paris without really knowing anything about it. In the first place, he
goes there with letters of introduction to the Faubourg St. Germain,
where he finds only the fossil remains of the old _noblesse_,
intermixed with a slight proportion of the actual intelligence of the
country, and here he moves round in the stagnant circles of historical
France, and it is a wonder if he gets so much as a glimpse of the
living progressive Paris. There is nothing on earth, unless it be a
three-thousand-year-old mummy, that is so grim and stiff and
shrivelled, as the pure old French nobility. France is at present the
possessor of three separate and opposing nobilities. First, there is
the nobility of the Empire, the Napoleonic nobility, which is based on
military and civil genius; second, there is the Orleans nobility, the
family of the late Louis-Philippe, represented in the person of the
young Comte de Paris; third, the Legitimists, or the old aristocracy
of the Bourbon stock, represented in the person of Henry V, Duc de
Bordeaux, now some fifty years old, and laid snugly away in exile in

No description which I can give can convey a just idea of the
fascination of society among such wits as Dejazet; and nowhere do you
find that kind of society so complete as in Paris. Nowhere else do you
find so many women of wit and genius mingling in the assemblies and
festive occasions of literary men; and I may add that in no part of
the world is literary society so refined, so brilliant, and charmingly
intellectual as in Paris. It is a great contrast to literary society
in London or America. Listen to the following confession of Lord
Byron: "I have left an assembly filled with all the great names of
_haut-ton_ in London, and where little but names were to be found, to
seek relief from the _ennui_ that overpowered me, in a cider cellar!
and have found there more food for speculation than in the vapid
circles of glittering dullness I had left."

One of the most remarkable and the most noted persons to be met with
in Paris is Madame Dudevant, commonly known as Georges Sand. She is
now about fifty years of age (it is no crime to speak of the age of a
woman of her genius), a large, masculine, coarse-featured woman, but
with fine eyes, and open, easy, frank, and hearty in her manner to
friends. To a discerning mind her writings will convey a correct idea
of the woman. You meet her everywhere dressed in men's clothes--a
custom which she adopts from no mere caprice or waywardness of
character, but for the reason that in this garb she is enabled to go
where she pleases without exciting curiosity, and seeing and hearing
what is most useful and essential for her in writing her books. She is
undoubtedly the most masculine mind of France at the present day.
Through the folly of her relations she was early married to a fool,
but she soon left him in disgust, and afterwards formed a friendship
with Jules Sandeau, a novelist and clever critic. It was he who
discovered her genius, and first caused her to write. It was the name
of this author, Jules Sandeau, that she altered into Georges Sand--a
name which she has made immortal.

Georges Sand in company is silent, and except when the conversation
touches a sympathetic chord in her nature, little given to
demonstration. Then she will talk earnestly on great matters,
generally on philosophy or theology, but in vain will you seek to draw
her into conversation on the little matters of ordinary chit-chat. She
lives in a small circle of friends, where she can say and do as she
pleases. Her son is a poor, weak-brained creature, perpetually
annoying the whole neighbourhood by beating on a huge drum night and
day. She has a daughter married to Chlessindur, the celebrated
sculptor, but who resembles but little her talented mother. Madame
Georges Sand has had a life of wild storms, with few rays of sunshine
to brighten her pathway; and like most of the reformers of the present
day, especially if it is her misfortune to be a woman, is a target to
be placed in a conspicuous position, to be shot at by all dark,
unenlightened human beings who may have peculiar motives for
restraining the progress of mind; but it is as absurd in this glorious
nineteenth century to attempt to destroy freedom of thought and the
sovereignty of the individual, as it is to stop the falls of Niagara.

There was a gifted and fashionable lady (the Countess of Agoult),
herself an accomplished authoress, concerning whom and Georges Sand a
curious story is told. They were great friends, and the celebrated
pianist Liszt was the admirer of both. Things went on smoothly for
some time, all _couleur de rose_, when one fine day Lizst and Georges
Sand disappeared suddenly from Paris, having taken it into their heads
to make the tour of Switzerland for the summer together. Great was the
indignation of the fair countess at this double desertion; and when
they returned to Paris, Madame d'Agoult went to Georges Sand, and
immediately challenged the great writer to a duel, the weapons to be
finger-nails, etc. Poor Lizst ran out of the room, and locked himself
up in a dark closet till the deadly affray was ended, and then made
his body over in charge to a friend, to be preserved, as he said, for
the remaining assailant. Madame d'Agoult was married to an old man, a
book-worm, who cared for nought else but his library; he did not know
even the number of children he possessed, and so little the old
philosopher cared about the matter that when a stranger came to the
house, he invariably, at the appearance of the family, said: "Allow me
to present to you my wife's children"; all this with the blandest
smile and most contented air.


I know not that history has anything more wonderful to show than the
part which the Catholic Church has borne in the various civilizations
of the world.

What a marvellous structure it is, with its hierarchy ranging through
long centuries almost from apostolic days to our own; living side by
side with forms of civilisation and uncivilisation, the most diverse
and the most contradictory, through all the fifteen hundred years and
more of its existence; asserting an effective control over opinions
and institutions; with its pontificate (as is claimed) dating from the
fisherman of Galilee, and still reigning there in the city that heard
Saint Peter preach, and whom it saw martyred; impiously pretending to
sit in his chair and to bear his keys; shaken, exiled, broken again
and again by schism, by Lutheran revolts and French revolutions; yet
always righting itself and reasserting a vitality that neither force
nor opinion has yet been able to extinguish. Once with its foot on the
neck of kings, and having the fate of empires in its hands, and even
yet superintending the grandest ecclesiastical mechanism that man ever
saw; ordering fast days and feast days, and regulating with omnipotent
fiat the very diet of millions of people; having countless bands of
religious soldiery trained, organized, and officered as such a
soldiery never was before nor since; and backed by an infallibility
that defies reason, an inquisition to bend or break the will, and a
confessional to unlock all hearts and master the profoundest secrets
of all consciences. Such has been the mighty Church of Rome, and there
it is still, cast down, to be sure, from what it once was, but not yet
destroyed; perplexed by the variousness and freedom of an intellectual
civilisation, which it hates and vainly tries to crush; laboriously
trying to adapt itself to the Europe of the nineteenth century, as it
once did to the Europe of the twelfth; lengthening its cords and
strengthening its stakes, enlarging the place of its tent, and
stretching forth the curtains of its habitations, even to this
Republic of the New World.

The only wonder is that such a church should be able to push its
fortunes so far into the centre of modern civilization, with which it
can feel no sympathy, and which it only embraces to destroy. I confess
I find it difficult to believe that a total lie could administer
comfort and aid to so many millions of souls; and the explanation is,
no doubt, that it is all not a total lie; for even its worse doctrines
are founded on certain great truths which are accepted by the common
heart of humanity.

There is such a thing as universal truth, and there is such a thing as
apostolic succession, made not by edicts, bulls, and church canons,
but by an interior life divine and true. But all these Rome has
perverted, by hardening the diffusive spirit of truth into so much
mechanism cast into a mould in which it has been forcibly kept; and by
getting progressively falser and falser as the world has got older and
wiser, till the universality became only another name for a narrow and
intolerant sectism, while the infallibility committed itself to
absurdity, and which reason turns giddy, and faith has no resource but
to shut her eyes; and the apostolic succession became narrowed down
into a mere dynasty of priests and pontiffs. A hierarchy of magicians,
saving souls by machinery, opening and shutting the kingdom of heaven
by a "sesame" of incantations which it would have been the labour of a
lifetime to make so much as intelligible to St. Peter or St. Paul.

Now who shall compute the stupefying and brutalising effects of such a
religion? Who will dare say that a principle which so debases reason
is not like bands of iron around the expanding heart and struggling
limbs of modern freedom?

Who will dare tell me that this terrible Church does not lie upon the
bosom of the present time like a vast unwieldy and offensive corpse,
crushing the life-blood out of the body of modern civilization? It is
not as a religious creed that we are looking at this thing; it is not
for its theological sins that we are here to condemn it; but it is its
effect upon political and social freedom that we are discussing. What
must be the ultimate political and social freedom that we are
discussing? What must be the ultimate political night that settles
upon a people who are without individuality of opinions and
independence of will, and whose brains are made tools of in the hands
of a clan or an order? Look out there into that sad Europe, and see it
all! See, there, how the Catholic element everywhere marks itself with
night, and drags the soul, and energies, and freedom of the people
backwards and downwards into political and social inaction--into
unfathomable quagmires of death!

       *       *       *       *       *


Abel, Carl von, 115,120,126,129,143,149

Abrahamowicz, Colonel, 68, 69

Académie, Royale, 65-67

Acton, 168

Adelaide, Queen Dowager, 51

Adelaide, Australia, 223

Adelbert, Prince, 160

_Adventuresses and Adventurous Ladies_, 15

"Affair of Honour," 80-81

Afghan Campaign, 30, 32

Agra, 33

Albany Museum, 193

Albert, Madame, 76

Alexander I, 95, 105

Alexandra, Princess, 105

Alemannia Corps, 116, 121, 128, 140, 144, 147, 148, 152, 204

Alhambra Theatre, 243

_Allegemeine Zeitung_, 124, 143

_Almanach de Gotha_, 91

"Andalusian Woman," 138

Anderson, Professor, 190, 212

Andrews, Stephen, 253

_Annual Register_, 149

Anstruther, Sir John, 158

_Antony and Cleopatra_, 223

_Archives de la Danse_, 8

Aretz, Gertrude, 7, 113

Argonaut Publishing Company, 8

"Army of the Indus," 30

_Arts of Beauty_, 234-239, 267

Aschaffensberg, 132

Assaye, Battle of, 18

_Assemblée Nationale_, 179

Astley's Theatre, 243

_Athenæum_, 94, 250, 262

Athens, 95

Auckland House, 35

Auckland, Lord, 30-32

Augsburg, Bishop of, 119

_Augsburger Zeitung_, 129

Australia, 203, 211

Austrian Legation, 141

_Autobiography of Lola Montez_, 230, 231

Azan, Dr., 241

Bac, Ferdinand, 6, 7, 91

Baden, 91

Baker, Mrs. Charles, 7

Balaclava, 213

Ballantine, Serjeant, 164, 176

Ballarat, Lola Montez in, 221-227

"Ballarat Reform League," 222

_Ballarat Star_, 223, 226

_Ballarat Times_, 225, 226

Balzac, Honoré de, 75, 81

Bamberg, 125

Barcelona, 178, 179

Bareilly, 33

Barerstrasse, Lola's house in, 106, 107, 113, 138, 141, 151

Barlow, Lucy, 156

Barnum, Phineas, 188, 242

Bath, Lecture at, 242

Bath in the 'Thirties, 19-21

Bauer, Captain, 140

Bavaria, Kingdom of, 94

Bayersdorf Palace, 100

Bayonne, 228

Beaconsfield, Earl of, 169

Beauchene, Atala, 75

Beaujon Villa, 184

"Beautiful for Ever!", 248

"Beautiful Women," Lecture on, 237, 244-248, 271-273

Beauvallon, Rosemond de, 75-90

Beauvoir, Roger de, 75, 79, 87, 184, 249

Bedford, Earl of, 168

Beethoven Festival, 82

Belgium, Lola Montez in, 61

Bendigo, Theatre at, 227

Beneden, Johann, 6

Bengal Artillery, 29

Bengal Native Infantry, 27

Benkendorff, Count, 73

Berkeley, Colonel, 156

Berks, Herr, 116, 144, 149

Berlin, Lola Montez at, 7, 61, 62, 73

Berlin, Royalty at, 61

Berne, 152

Bernhard, Gustav, 6

Bernstorff, Count, 110, 134, 135

Bernstorff, Countess, 135

Berri, Duchesse de, 20

Bertrand, Arthur, 77, 89

Berryer, Maître, 84, 87

Berrymead Priory, 168, 180

Best, Captain, 158

"Betsy Watson," 123, 124

"Betsy James," 54

Bhurtpore, Battle of, 18

Bibliothèque d'Arsenal, 8

Bingham, Peregrine, 172-175

Bishop of London, 245

Bismarck, Prince, 120

_Black Book of British Aristocracy_, 153, 170

Black Forest, 263

Blake, Rufus, 257

Blanchard, Edward, 46

Blessington, Countess of, 20, 245

Bloomer, Mrs., 191, 250, 274

Bloque, M., 133

Blot-Lequesne, M., 186

Blum, Hans, 6

Bluthenberg, 142

Bodkin, William, 172, 175

Boignes, Charles de, 77-79, 81, 84

Bois de Boulogne, 80

Bonaparte, 14, 253

Bonn, 63-82

Bonny, King of, 245

Booth, Edwin, 200

Bordeaux, 185

Borrodaile, Mrs., 56

Boston, Lola Montez in, 193

Boston Public Library, 8

_Boston Transcript_, 193

Bright, John, 241

Brighton, 159, 171, 242

Bristol, Lecture at, 242

"British Raj," 30

Brooks, Preston, 205

Brougham, Lady, 51

Brougham, Lord, 51, 165, 173

Brown, Mrs. General, 17

Browning, Robert, 250, 253

Bruce, General, 251

Bruckenau Castle, 108

Brussels, 61, 120

Buchanan, Mrs., 258, 259, 260, 261

Buckingham Palace, 166

Buffalo, 194

Bülow, Prince von, 122

Bulwer, Edward, 168

Burns, Robert, 104

Burr, Rev. Chauncey, 6, 194, 230, 237, 248

Byron, Lord, 5, 20, 264, 277

Café Anglais, 139

Calcutta, 5, 16, 29, 38, 42, 72, 174, 213

Calcutta, Bishop of, 17

_Calcutta Englishman_, 31

Calcutta, Government House, 22

California in the 'Fifties, 192-210

_California Chronicle_, 206

_Californian_, 201

Californian Pioneers, Library of, 8

Californian State Library, 8

Calvinism, 19, 21, 260

Cambridge, Duke of, 56

Canitz, Freiherr zu, 119, 122

Cannibal Islands, King of, 5

Canning, Sir Stratford, 63, 246

Cape of Good Hope, 29

Capon, Victorine, 75

Cardigan, Earl of, 89

Carl, Prince, 160

Carlos, Don, 123

Carlsbad, 94

Caroline-Augusta, Queen, 112

Cassagnac, Granier de, 77, 83, 88

Castle Oliver, 14

Castlereagh, Lord, 158

Catalini, Angelica, 20

Cavendish, Frederick, 143

Cayley, Edward, 151

Cerito, Mlle, 65-66

Champs Elysées, 182

Chanoines de St. Thérèse, 102, 265

Charles X, 20

Chartist Riots, 163

Chase, Lewis, 8

Chatham, 16

Chester Cathedral, Visit to, 242

Chevalier, Émile, 236

Cholera at Dinapore, 16, 17

Chudleigh, Elizabeth, 168

Churchill, Arabella, 156

Claggett, Horace, 158

Clarence, Duke of, 156

Clark, Mary Anne, 156

Clarkson, William, 172-176

Claudin, Gustave, 71, 72

Clayton, Henry, 199

Clutton, Colonel, 168

Coates, "Romeo," 20

Cole, Henry, 158

_Cologne Gazette_, 125

Combermere, Lord, 97

Comédie Française, 356

"Comic Aspects of Love," Lecture on, 250, 275-277

Conciergerie Prison, 90

Congress of London, 95

Consistory Court, Action in, 43, 176

Constantinople, 16, 63, 246

"Corinthians," 46, 52

Corneille, Pierre, 86

Costa, Michael, 54

Cotta, Baron, 97

Coules, M., 53

"Countess for an Hour," 153

Covent Garden Hotel, 41

Covent Garden Opera House, 54, 60, 163

Cowell, Sam, 252

Coyne, Stirling, 165

Craigie, David, 39, 41

Craigie, Misses, 19

Craigie, Mrs., marries Ensign Gilbert, 14;
  early widowhood, 17;
  marries Patrick Craigie, 17;
  returns to England, 23;
  collapse of ambitious schemes, 24;
  quarrels with Lola, 26;
  partial reconciliation, 34;
  visit to New York, 258

Craigie, Patrick, 17, 19, 23, 39, 40, 43, 260

Cremorne Gardens, 243

"Crim. con" action, 42

Crimean Campaign, 213

Crosby, Henry, 227

Crosby, Mrs., 227

Cumberland, Duke of, 156

Cuyla, Madame de, 156

Dacca, 17

D'Agoult, Madame, 64, 117, 278

_Daily Alta_, 198

Daly, Joseph, 194

_Dancing Times_, 7

"Daniel Stern," 64, 117

Daughrity, Professor, 8

D'Auvergne, Edmund, 7, 15

Davenport Brothers, 252

Dawson, Nancy, 168

"Day of Humiliation," 119

DeBar, Anna, 264

D'Ecquevillez, Vicomte, 77, 83-85, 90

Delta State Teachers' College, 8

Denman, Lord, 42

Derby, Countess of, 250

Deschler, Johann, 6

Desmaret, Maître, 186

"Desperado in Dimity," 234

_Deutsche Zeitung_, 154

Devereux, Alice, 264

Devismes, M., 83, 85

Devonshire, Duke of, 156

_Die Deutsche Revolution_, 6

Diepenbrock, Archbishop, 111, 119

Dinapore, Cholera at, 16

Disraeli, Benjamin, 167

Disraeli, Sarah, 167

Döllinger, Dr., 130, 144, 162, 263

Dost Muhammed, 30

"Down Under," 211-227

Dresden, 62-63

Drury Lane Theatre, 46, 163, 243

Dublin, 16, 27, 124, 240, 241

_Dublin Daily Express_, 241

Dujarier, Charles, lover of Lola Montez, 71;
  restaurant brawl, 76, 77;
  fatal duel with de Beauvallon, 80, 81;
  burial at Montmartre, 82

Dumas, Alexandra, 71, 78, 81, 86, 91, 209, 249

Dumas _fils_, 183

Dumilâtre, Adèle, 65

Durand, Colonel, 33

Duval, M., 84, 88, 89

East India Company, 18

_East India Voyage_, 28

Ebersdorf, 91

Ecclesiastical Court, proceedings of, 173

Eden, Hon. Emily, 31, 32, 34

_El Oleano_, 51-53, 60

_Elegant Woman_, 7, 113

Elephant and Castle Theatre, 243

Ellenborough, Lady, 106

Ellenborough, Lord, 32, 33

"Elopement in High Life," 26

Elphinstone, Lord, 40

Elssler, Fanny, 54, 65, 73, 190

Elysium Hill, 35

Englischer Garten, 104

Enriques, Don, 181

_Era_, Criticism in, 247, 248

Erdmann, Dr. Paul, 6

Erskine, Lady Jane, 106

Estafette, 227

_Examiner_, Comment in, 58, 121

"Eton Boy," 221, 229

Eugénie, Empress, 245

Ezterhazy, Count, 51

"Fair Impure," 93, 114

Falk, Bernard, 7

Fane, Sir Henry, 32

Fay, Amy, 183

Feldberg, 131

Fenton, Frank, 8

Fiddes, Josephine, 211

Field, Kate, Letter from, 194

Fitzball, Edward, Benefit Performance, 59-60

"Flare of the Footlights," 49

Flaubert, Gustave, 84

Flers, Comte de, 77, 84

Folkestone, 180

Follard, Charles, 217

Follett, Sir William, 42

"Follies of a Night," 229

Fontblanque, Albany, 168

Foote, Maria, 156

"Fops' Alley," 52

Foreign Office, 151

Forster, John, 168

Fort William, 16

Forty-Fourth Foot, Regiment, 16

Fox Sisters, 252

Frankfort, Rothschilds' Bank at, 154

Frays, Herr, 98, 101

Frederick William III, 63, 126

Frederick William IV, 61, 134

Frenzal, Fräulein, 98, 101

Frères-Provençaux Restaurant, 75

Fuchs, Eduard, 6, 103

Fulda Forest, 108

"Gallantry," Lecture on, 237, 238

"Gallery of Beauties," 105

Garsia, Manuel, 20

Gautier, Mlle, 256, 257

Gautier, Théophile, 66, 71

_Gay and Gallant Ladies_, 263

Geelong, 221

Geneva, 5, 152

_Gentleman's Magazine_, 180, 262

George IV, 62,156

Georges, Mlle, 156

Gilbert, Ensign, runaway marriage, 14;
  service in India, 16;
  death from cholera, 17

Gilbert, Mrs., 15, 17

Gillingham, Harold, 8

Gillis, Mabel, 7

Girardin, Émile de, 81, 181, 227

Giuglini, Antonio, 243

_Globe_, 171

Glyptothek Gallery, 96

"Golden West," 196

Goodrich, Peter, 187

Görres, Joseph, 109, 137, 162

Gougaud, Dom, 144

Granada, 47

Granby, Marchioness of, 51

Granby, Marquess of, 51

"Grand Sebastopol Matinée," 213

Granville, Earl, 164

Grass Valley, Life in, 201-210

_Grass Valley Telegraph_, 210

Graves _v._ Graves, Divorce action, 43

Gray, Police-sergeant, 173

Great Exhibition of 1851, 179

Green, Miss, 157

Green-Wood cemetery, 260

Grisi, Carlotta, 55

Guadaloupe, 75, 90

"Guermann Regnier," 64

Guéronniere, de la, M., 231

Guillen, Manuel, 204

Guise, Dr. de, 80, 81

Guizot, M., 71

Gumpenberg, Colonel von, 128

Hagen, Charlotte, 105

Halévy, Jacques, 65

Half Moon Street, 164, 173

Hall, Mrs. Lillian, 81

Hamon and Company, 133

Hanover, King of, 51

"Hans Breitmann," 114

Hardwick, William, 175

Harré, T. Everett, 38, 120

Harrington, Countess of, 157

Harte, Bret, 203

Harvard Theatre Collection, 8

Harvard University, 253

Hastings, Lord, 18

Hastings, Warren, 16

Haussmann, Baron, 70

Hawks, Rev. Francis, 259, 260, 261

Hayden, Mrs., 252

Hayes, Catherine, 212

Haymarket Theatre, 153, 165

Hayward, Abraham, 168

Heald, George, 169

Heald, George Trafford, Cornet of Horse, 166;
  bigamous marriage with Lola Montez, 167;
  deprived of commission, 170;
  family interference, 171;
  police-court proceedings, 172-176;
  matrimonial jars, 178;
  separation, 178;
  death, 180

Heald, Susannah, 171, 173, 174

_Heavenly Sinner_, 38

Heber, Bishop, 17

Heenan, John Camel, 251

Heine, Heinrich, 97

Henry LXXII, Prince of Reuss, 91, 94, 105

Her Majesty's Theatre, 49, 51, 53, 55, 57, 59, 243, 260

"Heroines of History," 237, 249, 274-275

Hesse-Darmstadt, 94

Hirschberg, Count von, 116, 140, 152

_History of Theatre in America_, 7

Hodgson, Miss D. M., 15

Hof Theatre, Munich, 98, 100, 161

Holden, W. Sprague, 8

Holland, Canon Scott, 111

Homburg, 94

Home, Daniel Dunglas, 252

"Hooking a Prince," 91, 104

Hope Chapel, Lecture at, 234

Hornblow, Arthur, 7

Home, R. H., 218, 220

Horse Guards, 169

Hotel Maulich, 102

Hotham, Sir Charles, 218

Household Cavalry, 166, 169

Howells, W. Dean, 192

Hugo, Victor, 202, 205

Hull, Patrick, 198, 204, 210, 260

Huneker, James, 63

_Il Barbiere di Seviglia_, 49

_Il Lazzarone_, 65

Imperial Hotel, 41, 44

India, Garrison life in, 30-38

India, Voyage to, 28, 29

Inferiority-complex, 254

Ingram, Captain, 45, 174

Ingram, Mrs., 45

Ireland, 26-28, 240, 241

_Irish Ecclesiastical Record_, 144

Irving, Washington, 238

Jacguand, Claudius, 179

James, Rev. John, 27

James, Lieutenant Thomas, accompanies Mrs. Craigie to England, 24;
  runaway marriage with Lola Montez, 26;
  garrison life in Dublin, 27;
  service in India, 28;
  drink and gambling, 37;
  crim. con. action, 42;
  judicial separation, 43;
  police-court proceedings, 174

James _v._ James, Consistory Court Trial, 43

James _v._ Lennox, 42

Janin, Jules, 66, 249

Jesuits, Activity of, 114, 122, 141, 231

Joan of Arc, 234

Jobson, Henry, 232, 233

_John Bull_, 172

"John Bull at Home," Lecture on, 251

John, Cecile, guest at tragic supper party 75;
  evidence at Rouen trial, 85

"John Company," India under, 18, 37

Joly, Antenon, 231

_Journal des Débats_, 66

Judd, Dr., 192

"Judge and Jury Club," 244

Judicial Separation, 43, 45

Justinian, Emperor, 120, 257

"Just and Persevering," 162

Karr, Alphonse, 75

Kean, Mrs. Charles, 165

Kean, Edmund, 20

Keane, Sir John, 32

Keeley, Mrs., 165

"Keepsake Annuals," 20

Kelly, Fanny, 47

Kelly, William, 227

Kemble, Fanny, 20

Kemble, John Philip, 20

Kerner, Justinus, 147

Khelat, Khan of, 32

King of Sardinia, 200

Kingsley, Charles, 250

Kingston, Duchess of, 168

Kingston, Duke of, 168

Kirke, Baron, 204, 205

Klein, Dr. Tim von, 147

Knapp, Mrs. Dora, 197, 203, 206

Kobell, Luise von, 6, 99, 100

Kossuth, Louis, 188

Krüdener, Baroness, 105, 119

Kurnaul, 29, 36, 37

La Biche au Bois, 74

_La Presse_, 71, 77, 227, 228

"Lady of the Camelias," 71, 183

Lahore, 30

Lamartine, de M., 231

Lamb, Charles, 47

"Lamentation," 148

Landon, Letitia, 168

Landsfeld, Countess of, 131

Landshut, 116, 131

Larousse, Pierre, 77

Lasaulx, Professor, 109, 121, 123

Lavallière, Eve, 257

Lawrence, Henry, 29

Lawrence, Sir Walter, 40

_Le Constitutionnel_, 66

Lecouvreur, Adrienne, 204

Le d'Hoefer, 256

_Le Droit_, 83

_L'Estafette_, 227

_Le Figaro_, 231

_Le Globe_, 77

_Le Pays_, 185, 230

_Lectures of Lola Montez_, 250

"Left-handed Marriage," 167

Legge, Professor J. G., 92

Leigh, Francis, 70, 134, 265

Leiningen, Prince, 116

Leland, Charles Godfrey, 114, 239

Leningrad, 7

Lennox, Captain, 40-44, 56, 58, 260

Leen, Don Diego, 48

_Les Contemporains_, 232

_Les Débats_, 66

Lesniowski, M., 69

_Letters from Up-Country_, 34-37

Lever, Charles, 16

Leveson-Gower, Hon. Frederick, 164

"Liberation of Greece," 96

Lichenthaler, Herr, 112

Liévenne, Anais, 75-76, 85

Life Guards, 166, 170

Limerick, 5, 14, 15, 72

Lind, Jenny, 110

Lindeau, Flight to, 142

"Lion of the Punjaub," 30

Lisbon, 179

Lister, Lady Theresa, 35

Liverpool, Lecture at, 241

Liszt, Abbé, _liaison_ with Lola Montez, 62-65;
  Opera House, Dresden, 63;
  life in Paris, 71, 183;
  visit to Bonn, 63;
  correspondence with Madame d'Agoult, 117

Loeb, Herr, 151

"Lola in Bavaria," 194, 211, 229

Lomer, Adjutant, 38

Lomer, Mrs., 38, 45

London, Lola Montez in, 41-47, 49-60, 163-177, 242-250

Londonderry, Marquess of, 169, 171

Lord Chamberlain, 153, 166

Lord Milton, 8

Louis XV, 156

Louis Napoleon, 163, 198, 244

Louis-Philippe, 70, 82, 159

Lovell, John, 236

Lucerne, 16

Lucknow, 29

Ludwig I, architectural aspirations, 96;
  lured by Lola Montez, 99-148;
  poetry and passion, 101, 105, 137;
  dissentions with Cabinet, 120, 127-129, 149, 159;
  abdication, 160;
  death and burial, 162

Ludwig II, 6

Luitpold, Prince, 146, 160

Lumley, Sir Abraham, 22, 24, 25

Lumley, Benjamin, 49-55, 58, 65, 260

Lushington, Dr., 43

Luther, Martin, 96

Lyceum Theatre, 243

Lytton, Lord, 168

Macaulay, Lord, 30

Macready, W. C., 20, 190

Madeira, 29

Madras, 40, 42, 45

Madrid, 14, 47

_Maga_, 162

Magdalen Asylum, 256

Mahmood, Sultan, 33

"Maidens, Beware!" 221

"Maîtresse du Roi," 118

Malmesbury, Earl of, 46, 48, 49, 59, 262

Maltitz, Baron, 94

Manchester, Free Trade Hall, 241

Mangnall, Mrs., 20

Marden, Caroline, 45

Marie-Antoinette, 94, 95

Marlborough Street police court, 171-177

"Married in Haste," 27

Marseilles, 177, 227

Marsh, Luther, 264

Martin, Mrs., 44

Marysville, 202

_Marysville Herald_, 207, 208

Mathews, Charles, 243

Mathews, Mrs., 157

Mauclerc, M., 220

Maurer, Georg von, 128,129

Maurice, Edward, 151

McMichael, Captain, 199

McMullen, Major, 43

McNaghten, Mrs., 30

Maximilian, Prince, 160

Max Joseph, Prince, 94

Mazzini, 151

Mélanie, Princess, 112, 136

Melbourne, 214, 216-221

_Melbourne Argus_, 216, 218, 219

_Melbourne Herald_, 217, 219, 220

Melbourne, Theatre, 217, 220

Mellen, Ida M., 8

_Mémoires de M. Montholon_, 76

Menken, Adah Isaacs, 6, 165, 211

Méry, Joseph, 71, 81, 86, 209

_Mes Souvenirs_, 72

Metternich, Prince, 120, 159, 163

Metzger, Herr, 106

Milbanke, Sir John, 141

Milbanke, Lady, 106

Milnes, Menckton, 250

Milton, Dr., 219

"Ministry of Dawn," 149

Minto, Earl of, 18

Mirecourt, Eugéne de, 20, 65, 67, 179, 231, 232

Mission Dolores, Church of, 198, 199

Molière, Jean Baptiste, 88

Moller, Baron, 154

Monmouth, Duke of, 156

Montalva, Oliverres de, 14

Montez, Francisco, 14

Montez, Jean Francois, 46, 61, 197

Montez, Lola, birth and parentage, 15;
  childhood in India, 19;
  sent to Montrose and Bath, 19, 20;
  "Love's Young Dream," 25;
  runaway marriage, 26;
  garrison life in Dublin, 27;
  return to India, 29;
  _liaison_ with Captain Lennox, 41;
  Consistory Court proceedings, 43;
  disastrous début at Her Majesty's, 54;
  Continental wanderings, 61;
  _liaison_ with Liszt, 62;
  fiasco at Académie Royale, 66;
  mistress of Dujarier, 71;
  evidence at Rouen trial, 87;
  "hooking a prince," 91-93;
  career in Munich, 98-152;
  "Maîtresse du Roi," 118-135;
  created Countess of Landsfeld, 131;
  expelled from Bavaria, 150;
  adventures in Switzerland, 152-155;
  bigamous union with Cornet Heald, 167;
  prosecution for bigamy, 171-177;
  life in Paris, 181-187;
  theatrical career in America, 187;
  marriage with Patrick Hull, 198;
  life in California, 197-210;
  theatrical tour in Australia, 211-227;
  returns to America, 229;
  from stage to platform, 234-239;
  lectures in London, 244-250;
  returns to America, 251;
  new role as "Repentant Magdalen," 255;
  illness and death, 257-260;
  funeral at Green-Wood Cemetery, 260;
  obituary notices, 261-263

"Montez the Magdalen," 255

Montmartre Cemetery, 81

Montmorency, Major de, 265

Montrose, 5, 18, 21, 22, 115, 258, 260

"Morning Call," 223

_Morning Herald_, 53

_Morning Star_, 246

Morrison, Colonel, 16

Morton, Savile, 184

Moscheles, Ignatz, 63

Mulgrave, Earl of, 27

Munich, Ludwig I, maker of, 94;
  Lola Montez in, 94-250;
  Hof Theatre, 98;
  public buildings, 96;
  Residenz Palace, 98, 105;
  revolution in, 160;
  flight from, by Lola Montez, 151;
  funeral of Ludwig I at, 162

_Music Study in Germany_, 183

Naked Lady, 7

Napier, Sir Charles, 30

Naples, 177

Naussbaum, Lieutenant, 152

"Necrology of the Year," 13

_Nélida_, 64

Nesselrode, Karl, 95

Nevada City, 202

Newcastle, Duke of, 168

New York, 187-193, 209-240, 251-262

_New York Herald_, 188

_New York Times_, 208

_New York Tribune_, 234

Niagara, 194

Nice, hiding at, 161,

Nicholas I, 61, 67, 73, 95

Nicolls, Fanny, 19, 20, 231

Nicolls, Sir Jasper, 19, 20, 22, 25, 260

Niendorf, Emma, 147

Nightingale, Florence, 213, 249

Nilgiri Hills, 38

Normanby, Marquess of, 27

Norton, Hon. Mrs., 20

Nuremberg, 125

Nussbaum, Lieutenant, 152

Nymphenburg Park, 104, 108

Ole Bull, 200

Olga, Princess, 94

Olridge, Mrs., 232

Opserman, Herr, 101

Osborne, Bernal, 27

Osborne, Hon. William, 31

Otto, King of Greece, 95

Osy, Alice, 75

Palatia Corps, 116, 138

Palmerston, Viscount, 95, 111, 120, 141, 143, 151

Papon, Auguste, 102, 106, 152, 154-158

Paris, 7, 14, 20, 21, 65-70, 181-187

Parthenon, 95

_Pas de Fascination_, 165

Paskievich, Prince, 68, 69

Patna, Cantonments at, 16

Pavestra de, Marquise, 231

"Pea Green Hayne," 157

Pechman, Baron, 109, 111

Peel, Robert, 153

Peissner, Fritz, 114, 116, 147, 152, 204

Pennsylvania Historical Society, 8

Perth, 39

Petersham, Lord, 157

Pfaff's Restaurant, 192, 193

Philadelphia, 193

Phoenix Park, 27

Pillet, Léon, 65, 67

Pinakothek Gallery, Munich, 96

Pitti Palace, 96

Plessis, Alphonsine, 71, 183

Poland, Lola Montez in, 67, 68

Porte St. Martin Theatre, 74, 133, 140

Potsdam, 61

Pourtales, Guy de, 64

Preysing, Countess, 142

Price, Harry, 7, 264

Prince Consort, 63, 153, 169

Prince of Wales, 251, 252

Princess Victoria, 20

Prussia, Queen of, 110

Psychical Investigation, Council for, 7

_Punch_, References to Lola Montez, 102, 132

Punjaub, Garrison life in, 37

Queen Victoria, 62, 63, 97, 153, 169

Queen's Bench Division, Court of, 42

_Questions for the Use of Young People_, 20

Rachel, Madame, 56, 248

Rae, Mrs., 44

"Raffaelo, the Reprobate," 223

Raglan, Lord, 213

Ranelagh, Viscount, 52, 54-56, 260

Ranjeet Sing, 30, 31

Rathbiggon, 27

Ratisbon, 96

Rechberg, Count von, 98, 99, 136

Reisach, Count, 118

_Reminiscences of the Opera_, 58

Residenz Palace, 98, 105, 121, 138, 152

Reuss-Lobenstein-Ebersdorf, Principality of, 91

_Rhyme and Revolution in Germany_, 92

Richardson, Philip, 7

Richter, Jean Paul, 162

Rieff, M., 84

_Rienzi_, 63

Rio, Madame, 144

Roberts, Browne, 43

Roberts, Emma, 28, 29

Rogers, Cameron, 263

"Romanism," Lecture on, 237, 238, 279, 280

Rothmanner, Herr, 140

Rothschild, Baroness de, 51

Rotterdam, Embarkation of Prince Metternich at, 163

Rouen, Assize Court, 83-90

Rourke, Constance, 7

Roux, M., 185-187

_Ruff's Guide_, 178

Russell, W. H., 196, 197

Russia, 67, 69, 70

Sacramento City, 199

_Sacramento Union_, 207

"Sahib Log," 30

Saint-Agnan, M. de, 75, 76

Sala, George Augustus, 6, 164, 247

Sale, Mrs. Robert, 30

Salveton, M., 86

Salzburg, 94

San Francisco, 197-199

_San Francisco Alta_, 198, 200

_San Francisco Whig_, 198

Sand, George, 183, 250, 277

Sandeau, Jules, 278

Sandhurst, 227

_Satirist_, 163, 166, 170

Saunders, Beverley, 199

Saxe, Marshal, 256

Saxe-Weimar, Prince Edward of, 51

Sayers, Tom, 209

"Scarlet Woman," 115

Schönheitengalerie, 105

Schneider, Rudi, 264, 265

Schrenck, Count von, 128

Schröder, Fräulein, 161

Schulkoski, Prince, 73

Schwab, Sophie, 148

Schwanthaler, Franz, 162

Second Empire, 70

Sedley, Katherine, 156

Seekamp, Henry, 225, 226

Senfft, Count, 112, 129

Seinsheim, Herr von, 128

Seville, 5, 14, 50, 51, 53, 57, 61, 72, 123

Shah Shuja, 30

Sheridan, Francis, 27

Shipley, Henley, 207, 209

Shore, Jane, 118

Sicklen, Mrs. Putnam van, 8

Simla, 31, 34, 36

Sister Augustine, 257

_Sketches by Boz_, 20

"Sludge, the Medium," 252

Smith, E. T., 242-244

Somnauth, Temple of, 32

"Song of Walhalla," 108

Sophie, Archduchess, 105

Sorel, Agnes, 118

Soule, Frank, 207

Southampton, 48

_Southern Lights and Shadows_, 212, 213

Spence, Lady Theresa, 106

"Spider Dance," 209, 218, 219, 223

Spiritualism, 252, 253, 264

"Spittalsfield Weaver," 223

Spurgeon, Charles Haddon, 254

Staël, Madame de, 238

Stahl, Dr., 141

_Standard_, 169

Stanford University, 8

Stanhope, Colonel, 157

Starenberg, 148

Stedman, Edmund Clarence, 252

Steinberg, Otto von, 126

Steinkeller, Mme, 68

Stewart, William, 202, 206

Stieler, Josef, 105

Stocqueler, J., 33

_Story of a Penitent_, 259

Stowe, Mrs. Harriet Beecher, 222

Stubenrauch, Amalia, 94

Sturgis, Mrs., 40, 41

Stuttgart, 94

St. George's, Hanover Square, 167

St. Helena, 14, 29

St. James's Hall, 244

St. Jean de Luz, 228

St. Louis, 193, 194

St. Petersburg, 60, 61, 67, 69, 72, 246

Sue, Eugéne, 71, 194, 249

Sultan of Turkey, 5, 63, 246

Sumner, Charles, 230

_Sunday Times_, 243

Sutherland, Duchess of, 245

"Swedish Nightingale," 165

Swiss Guards, 141

_Sydney Herald_, 212

Sydney, social life in, 212

Sydney, Victoria Theatre, 211, 212

Taglioni, Marie, 54, 65, 73

Talleyrand, Baron, 51

_Temple Bar_, 262

Tennyson, Alfred, 97, 184

Thackeray, W. M., 184, 190, 192

Theatiner Church, 141

Theatrical Museum, Munich, 8

Theodora, Empress, 120, 257

Theresa of Saxe-Hildburghausen, Princess, 95

Thesiger, Frederick, 42

Thiersch, Friedrich, 139, 162

Thirsch, Wilhelm, 162

Thirty-eighth Native Infantry, 17

Thompson, Edward, 32

Thynne, Lord Edward, 158

Tichatschek, Josef, 63

_Times_, 43, 122, 123, 177

Titiens, Teresa, 243

Tom Thumb, General, 190

Tourville, Letendre de, 84-86

Treitschke, Heinrich von, 6, 103, 143

_Troupers of the Gold Coast_, 7

"Trousers for Women," 191

_Troy Budget_, 194

Tugal, M. Pierre, 8

Tupper, Martin, 97

Twenty-fifth Foot, Regiment, 16

Tyree, Mrs. Annette, 8

_Ulner Chronik_, 127

Ultramontane Policy, 115, 121, 126, 127, 143

_Uncle Tom's Cabin_, 243

"Uncrowned Queen of Bavaria," 120

University, Munich, 116, 121, 130, 139, 145

University Students at Munich, 114, 116, 121, 129, 138, 144, 145

_Up the Country_, 34

Valley, Count Arco, 142, 143

Vandam, Albert, 84, 182, 183

Vanderbilt, Commodore, 192

_Vanity Fair_, 192

Variétés Theatre, St. Louis, 194

Vaubernier, Jeanne, 232

Vaudeville Theatre, 186

Vestris, Madame, 51, 157, 158

Victoria Theatre, Ballarat, 222

Vienna, 112, 117, 143, 159

Villa-Palava, Marquise, 231

Vine Street Police Station, 174

Vrede, Prince, 140

Wagner, Martin, 96

Wagner, Richard, 63, 162

Wainwright, Governor, 199

_Walhalla's Genossen_, 97

Walkinshaw, Mrs., 156

Wallerstein, Prince, 140, 141, 144, 150

Wallinger, Antoinette, 105

Walters, Mrs., 44

Ware, C. P. T., 194

Warsaw, 7, 67, 68

_Warsaw Gazette_, 69

Washington, George, 57

Waterloo, Battle of, 14

Watson, Mrs., 26, 44

Weimar, 71

Weinsberg, 147, 148

_Welcome Guest_, 250

Wellington, Duchess of, 51, 245

Wellington, Duke of, 51, 169, 213

"Whiff of Grapeshot," 140

Whitbread, Samuel, 243

Whitman, Walt, 193

Wilberforce, Edward, 101

William I, of Germany, 91

William IV, 20

Willis, N. P., 187

Willis, Richard Storrs, 187

Wills, Judge, 199

Wilson, Rev. John, 209

Windischmann, Dr., 118

Windsor Castle, 62

"Wits and Women of Paris," 237, 249, 277-279

Wittelsbach, House of, 96

"Woman of Spain," 105

Wurtemburg, 94

Würzburg, Bishop of, 141

Ziegler, Rudolph, 6

"Zoyara the Hermaphrodite," 200

Zu Rhein, Freiherr, 128

       *       *       *       *       *

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