II
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 gracefully."
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 Landsfeld-Hull (Lola Montez)."
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.