“I went to the Court Theatre on Saturday, the 10th October; I came much too early to my seat, and read full of eagerness the announcement: ‘Der verwunschene Prinz, a play in three acts, by J. von Plötz. During the two entr’actes, Mademoiselle Lola Montez of Madrid will appear in her Spanish national dances.’ Full of impatience I saw the curtain rise, sat through the first act, and saw the curtain fall again. Now it rose once more, and I saw my fairy of yesterday—Lola Montez.
“In the pit they clapped and hissed; the last, explained my neighbour, because of the rumours abroad that Lola was an emissary of the English Freemasons, an enemy of the Jesuits—a coquette, too, who had had amorous adventures in all parts of the world, according to the newspapers.
“Lola Montez took the centre of the stage, clothed not in the usual tights and short skirts of the ballet girl, but in a Spanish costume of silk and lace, with here and there a glittering diamond. Fire seemed to shoot from her wonderful blue eyes, and she bowed like one of the Graces before the King, who occupied the royal box. Then she danced after the fashion of her country, swaying on her hips, and changing from one posture to another, each excelling the former in beauty.
“While she danced she riveted the attention of all the spectators, their gaze followed the sinuous swayings of her body, in their expression now of glowing passion, now of lightsome playfulness. Not till she ceased her rhythmic movements was the spell broken....
“On 14th October, 1846, Lola Montez appeared for the second and last time at the Court Theatre. She danced the ‘Cachucha’ in the comedy, Der Weiberfeind von Benedix, and danced the ‘Fandango’ with Herr Opfermann in the entr’acte of the play Müller und Miller. In order to drown any manifestations of displeasure, the pit was occupied by an organised claque of policemen in plain clothes and theatre attendants. The precaution was unnecessary, as Lola Montez exercised a universal charm. The King had received her in audience, as he was accustomed to receive foreign artistes; her beauty and her stimulating conversation captivated Louis I.”
“I know not how—I am bewitched,” His Majesty said frankly to one of his ministers two days after his first interview with Lola. He had worshipped at the altar of Venus all his life, and might reasonably have believed himself immune against passion, now he had entered his seventh decade. The vision of the radiant stranger haunted him. He sought for some excuse to have her about his person. He had long meditated and spoken of a journey to Spain. He would learn Spanish, and Lola should be his teacher. He discussed the idea with some of his more intimate advisers, who said nothing to dissuade him. Other hearts than his beat more rapidly at the dancer’s approach. Dr. Curtius, the royal physician, was of opinion that Señora Montez would be an admirable person to teach the King the Castilian tongue; the aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Nüssbaum, was eager to convey the royal summons to the lady. Lola did not refuse the office of instructress, though the situation was not without its irony, seeing that her knowledge of Spanish was but slight. The reading of Calderon and Cervantes was enlivened and interrupted by her humorous sallies, her unexpected jeux d’esprit, by the thousand and one delightful turns and mannerisms by which as much as by her beauty Lola intoxicated men. She was full of the elusive quality that her pseudo-countrymen call sal. Her intense vitality effervesced, fizzed, and sparkled like champagne, and every bubble that reached the surface caught a different tint. Taking lessons from a charming woman is one of the shortest ways I know to falling in love with her. Louis’s was a very bad case. His emotional capacity by an unusual coincidence, had developed in proportion to his intellect. “His soul is always fresh and young,” Lola declared, no doubt quite sincerely. He had not retained a very large measure of the good looks that distinguished him when a young man, but his bearing was dignified, courtly, gracious—in a word, kingly—and his frank, grey-blue all-embracing eyes had in them something appealing. His personality, in short, is summed up by Frau von Kobell as “interesting.” His manner was as animated as Lola’s, and corresponded to every movement of his mind. I do not see why such a man, even if he be sixty-one years old, should not win a woman’s love. Moreover, the staunchest Republican must admit that if there is no divinity, there is a glamour or fascination about a king. He is, at least, uncommon—even in Germany; he holds aloof, his inner life is to some extent veiled in mystery; his setting is spectacular, and he rarely appears at a disadvantage. He is never seen rolling in the mire in the football field, affording sport to counsel and reporters in the witness-box, or in any of those undignified situations in which we so often meet our fellows. Above all, he represents power, a faculty more attractive even to women than to men. Ambition prompted Lola to hook a prince, but she found it quite easy to like one for his own sake.
The exact nature of the relations between individual men and women is not in general a legitimate matter for curiosity or speculation. It is a question which concerns the parties only. In this instance, however, it may be in the interests of Louis and Lola to observe that their relations were in all probability what is called platonic. The King’s nature was æsthetic, poetical, sentimental; he was eminently capable of that unsensual affection that seems to have animated Dante and Michelangelo. It must not be forgotten, too, that he was sixty years of age. “The sins of youth,” he said “are the virtues of age.” He affirmed publicly and solemnly that Lola had been his friend, never his mistress; and the word of Louis of Bavaria is not to be lightly disregarded. Lola repeatedly said the same thing. Nothing to the contrary was ever alleged by the King’s immediate entourage; and—most significant fact of all—the Queen, Therese of Sachsen-Hildburghausen, never manifested the slightest jealousy of her husband’s friend, but, on the contrary, more than once expressed her sympathy with her policy and actions.
It was not, of course, to be expected that the public would take this view of Louis’s relations with the famous adventuress. Least of all would it find acceptance with the Roman Catholic clergy, whose tendency it has ever been to exaggerate the sensual instincts in man’s nature and to ignore the subtler, finer phases of passion. Puritan and prurient are generally synonymous terms. Nor were the King’s ministers and clerical advisers at all anxious to place a favourable construction on Lola’s presence at the court.
The Jesuits’ agents in different capitals reported unfavourably on the dancer. They professed to believe, as we have seen—perhaps, they did believe—that she was an emissary of the Freemasons, a body which in England is regarded as a gigantic goose club, but by the Catholic world as the most dangerous of secret anti-clerical societies. Now from what Frau von Kobell tells us, it is plain that the Jesuits looked on Lola as a foe from the moment she set foot in Munich. We must seek for some antecedent cause. The lady’s own explanation is improbable, but worth repeating. She alleges that while in Paris she was approached by the agents of the Society, and invited to assist in the conversion of Count Medem, a Russian nobleman. This proposal, possibly because of her inherited dislike of the Roman Church, she declined; and communicated the matter to Monsieur Guizot, then Prime Minister, who had long been puzzled by the ever-increasing numbers in which the Russian nobility in Paris were going over to Rome. Their conversion is attributed by Catholics to the apostolic zeal of Madame Swetchine, a Russian lady of some literary attainments, whose salon was the rendezvous of the clerical party in Paris. Vandam’s informant (if he ever existed in the flesh) and one or two writers with an Ultramontane bias suggest that the feud between Lola and the Jesuits arose simply because it was impossible for the latter to give any countenance to a King’s mistress. But we know that they recognised her as their enemy before she became the royal favourite; moreover, German writers say that the clericals had never made any remonstrances or raised any difficulties respecting her predecessors in His Majesty’s affections. I see no reason to doubt that Lola’s anti-clerical or anti-Catholic sentiments were genuine and frankly expressed; we find similar instances of the odium theologicum in Nell Gwynne and Louis de Kèroual. Intercourse with Liszt and Dujarier would have strengthened such a prejudice. In Lola’s haughty disregard, too, of the etiquette of courts and fearlessness in the presence of the great, we may detect the temperament, which would find its political expression in advanced Liberalism.
The rumour that she was an agent of “the English Freemasons,” if by that term we may understand the English Liberals, is not to be dismissed as altogether preposterous. Our Government at that time was more or less actively hostile to the ultra-legitimist and clerical tendencies paramount in Central Europe: we backed the Swiss Confederation against the Sonderbund; we sympathised with the Italians in their struggles for freedom; English volunteers fought for the Liberal Christinos against the Ultramontane Carlists. Lola’s well-known sympathies, her knowledge of continental courts, above all, her personality, would have recommended her as a most valuable agent to our Foreign Office. We shall see presently that she became the honoured guest of an English ambassador, and how legal proceedings afterwards instituted against her in this country were mysteriously suffered to collapse, as if in obedience to orders from above. Lola never describes herself, it is true, as a secret agent of our Government, but she would naturally have preferred to appear as the independent, irresponsible dictatrix of a nation’s policy.