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 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 them.

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.