A FALLEN STAR

I

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 Graefin 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 realms.

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

1

“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 naturalisation.”

2

“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 Muencheners 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.

II

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.

SIR,

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.

COUNTESS OF LANDSFELD.

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 Charge 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 Elite 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 Zurueck” ("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, travell “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.”n 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 accompagnes de lettres intimes de S.M. lé Roi deTo 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.ies, the bearers of illustrious namWhile he was with her in Switzerland, Papon strung together a pamphlet: Lola Montez, Mémoires accompagnes de lettres intimes de S.M. lé Roi de Bavière et de Lola Montez, ornes des portraits, sur originaux donnes par eux a 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 affairesshape 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.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.

III

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?

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 expression.

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 “courtesan”?

There was a good deal more of it, for the “Reply” ran to seventy-six pages.

IV

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.

“MUNICH,

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, Fraeulein 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 felt!

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 Doellinger, the theologian, Joseph Goerres, 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 Muencheners gave him burial in the Basilica; and an equestrian statue, bearing the inscription, “Just and Persevering,” was set up in the Odéon-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.

V

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 London.

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 once.

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 expedition.

“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.istries, and brought about a revolutiA “LEFT-HANDED” MARRIAGE

I

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 outre 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 debut 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 slumbers.

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.

II

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 L10,000 a year, the debutantes 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.

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 subject:

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 countess.

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 L3,000 per annum, not L13,000. 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 L1500 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 phaeton, 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 chatelaine, 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.

III

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 Standard:

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 prejudice.

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 expense.”

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 nose!”

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 Landsfeld.”

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 arrest.

“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 enquiry.”

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 L500 each, and herself in one of L1000.”

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 Graefin 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.”

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 paper:

“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 Cork.”

IV

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 at 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 spouse.

The Barcelona correspondent of L’Assemblee 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 trouble 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 L7000, to be repurchased soon afterwards for L23,000 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.