III
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 inevitable.
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 musicians."
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 him.
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!"