BURSTING OF THE STORM

I

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 Melanie, 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,
Tremble!
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 rôle 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 Goerres, 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 Cafe 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 precipitously.

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 Koenig, 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 Würzburg, 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 mercy.”

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.”

II

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 bullets.

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.

MARIE DE LANDSFELD.

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

“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.”

Doellinger 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 following:

Since you left M[unich] the impudence of L[olà] 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[olà] M[ontez], M. Berks.

... Meanwhile the crisis was brought about by the students of the University. L[olà] 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[olà] 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[olà] 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[olà] 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[olà] 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[olà] 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 woman.

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 served.”

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 them.”

III

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 cafe 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 mesmerist.

“You are to drive the devil out of her,” were the instructions given him.

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 read:

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 injunction.

To live up to his reputation for wonder-working, the mystic had an AEolian 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.”