‘But if you cannot? Promise me, Luis. It’s all I ask.’
He bowed his head. ‘Very well, but we will be together again, I know we will.’
There was a rap at the door. Director Mark came in.
‘Forgive me, Your Majesty, but for her safety, I must advise the countess to leave now. We don’t know who else may have recognised her.’
Ludwig nodded reluctantly.
‘He’s right, Lola. You must not endanger yourself. Mark will arrange an escort to take you to safety.’
‘Very well, if you think it best.’
He nodded and kissed her forehead then turned to go.
When the door had closed, Mark bowed.
‘Are you ready, countess?’
‘I would like a few moments alone, please.’
He gave her a suspicious look.
She gestured around the room. ‘For the love of God, man, where do you think I’ll escape to?’
He cleared his throat. ‘I’ll leave you,’ he said, but she noticed he didn’t close the door and remained outside.
She went to the window and watched Ludwig walk away down the street. I’m seeing him for the last time, she thought sadly.
She lifted her chin. ‘Brava, Lola, brava,’ she whispered. It was time to face the world alone once more. She would not be afraid.
‘Director Mark!’ she called out. ‘You may come back. I am ready.’
Epilogue
With her dramatic departure from Bavaria, Lola’s notoriety was assured. Over a century before the cult of celebrity that is such a feature of the world today, she had become ‘Lola’: a woman whose name spoke volumes and needed no further explanation. With a flair many modern publicists might well envy, she continued to nurture her myth. The rest of her life was spent in the glare of the public’s curiosity and its often capricious judgements.
For a while, she resumed her affair with Fritz Peissner, who still found it hard to live without her, but her tantrums and wild extravagances eventually lost her his affection.
She moved on to Switzerland where she lived in the beautiful Chateau de l’Impératrice, the mansion on the shores of Lake Geneva that Napoleon had once bought for his beloved Joséphine. While she waited for Ludwig, she amused herself with the local gallants and a group of them often rowed her around the lake, reclining like Cleopatra in her barge. She dubbed them her corsairs and may have taken lovers from their number.
Increasingly, she was anxious that her instinct at her parting with Ludwig would prove to be correct. He sent money, but he remained in Bavaria. His excuse – probably a genuine fear - was that it might destabilise the country if he joined her before the handover to his son was successfully accomplished and Maximillian had won the Bavarians’ trust.
Ludwig’s revenues were drastically reduced and he could not afford to be too generous. Lola’s dissatisfaction grew. She wanted more than the life of a rusticated mistress whom everybody was eager to forget. Money became a huge issue between them and the situation was not helped when she appointed a seedy businessman she met in Geneva as her go-between. His influence may be seen in the threats she sent to Ludwig that, if he would not help her, she would be forced to sell his letters and poems to make ends meet.
As winter approached, impatience drove her out of Switzerland and she travelled north to take ship for England. The retreat must have been a bitter one but it was not in Lola’s nature to repine for long. She settled in London and set about establishing herself in society, holding receptions at her lodgings in fashionable Mayfair for a diverse group of gentlemen from earls downwards.
She also tried her hand at writing a novel entitled Oriental Tales and considered writing her memoirs - Ludwig may have had a few sleepless nights over the prospect of those. He continued to pay her allowance and she frequently begged him to meet her in secret in Europe. She seemed incapable of grasping how much she was hated in Bavaria and the difficulty exposure would cause him.
In July however, everything changed. Lola had taken to driving in London’s Hyde Park, the popular venue for seeing and being seen. On one of her outings, a young army officer walking a dog attracted her attention. They struck up an acquaintance and soon he was a frequent visitor to her house.
The young man’s name was George Heald. He was twenty-one, seven years Lola’s junior, tall, slim and a little awkward with straight, light-brown hair, a sparse moustache and an upturned nose that gave him a decidedly juvenile air. The son of a successful barrister, he had attended Eton and Cambridge but come down without a degree and purchased a commission in the Second Life Guards, one of the most fashionable regiments in the British Army.
Heald was a commoner but his parents had died leaving him better off than many of the nobility. His annual income may have been as much as eight thousand pound a year at a time when a young professional was considered well off on two hundred and fifty. Lola made a deep impression on Heald and in his gauche, inexperience way, he began to pay court to her.
Marrying him would solve Lola’s financial problems at a stroke and she seems to have quickly decided to accept him. She informed Ludwig by letter, asking for his approval, but telling him Heald had only eight hundred pounds a year. When Ludwig discovered the lie, he did not conceal his anger. He wrote back: This changes everything.
In fact, Lola and Heald were already married. In the marriage register, Lola signed herself Maria de los Dolores de Landsfeld. She claimed she was born in Seville and was a widow.
Susanna Heald, Heald’s aunt and former guardian, was enraged. She had heard stories that Lola, whom she regarded as a shameless gold digger, already had a living husband. She made enquiries and found that the terms of Lola’s divorce from Thomas James did not permit her to remarry in his lifetime (the common condition in the majority of divorces in those days.) The next thing Lola knew, she was visited early one morning by Miss Heald, accompanied by her solicitor and two policemen. They informed Lola she was charged with bigamy under a private prosecution by Miss Heald.
Lola protested violently. She pointed to her pocket and told the officers she always carried the means of self destruction (presumably she meant poison) and they would never take her alive. Patiently, they explained everything must be settled in court.
At first instance, the magistrate accepted the argument that Miss Heald’s evidence was out of date. She had no conclusive proof James was alive at the time of her nephew’s marriage. He might have succumbed to one of the numerous dangers besetting military life, particularly in the tropics. The hearing was adjourned and Lola was released on bail. She scooped Heald up and they left for the Continent.
They returned in September, in the nick of time to avoid forfeiting bail, but matters were not as Lola had hoped. Miss Heald now had the evidence she needed and the penalty for bigamy was imprisonment. Lola did not hesitate: the next day, she returned to France.
Heald eventually followed her but their relationship was not a happy one. His weak, insipid nature infuriated her and the stress of the previous year had done nothing to improve her temper. Her behaviour was increasingly erratic and autocratic. After many violent quarrels and separations, Heald left for good after she tried to stab him.
Alone again, she decided to revive her career. In Paris, she engaged Monsieur Mabille, the proprietor of the famous Jardin Mabille, to help her in the enterprise. He choreographed several dances for her and she practised four hours a day. She had by now sent back Ludwig’s letters and was probably living on the two thousand francs he sent her in return.
She enjoyed a lively social life and it was to one of her parties that a friend brought a young American by the name of Edward Willis. He encouraged her to seek her fortune in America, citing the success of performers like Fanny Essler and Jenny Lind. Lola was receptive to the idea however she had already agreed to a European tour and she went ahead with that first. It was attended by her usual fireworks. On one occasion, she took the editor of a prominent Paris newspaper to task for various presu
med slights and challenged him to a duel. The weapons were to be pills – one harmless, one deadly. You will not be able to refuse a duel with arms that are so familiar to you, she wrote, referring to the poisonous nature of the editor’s pen.
Eventually, the tour was cut short and Lola took up the offer to go to America with Willis.
She arrived there in December 1851 ready to tour the cities of the east. The New York newspapers were already fulminating against the scandal of their city receiving such a notorious woman and urging its inhabitants to shun her. Of course, their articles had the opposite effect.
Lola was no fool and she had long ago accepted she was not a great dancer. To draw audiences, she would have to rely to a considerable extent on her notoriety and just perform a few times in each place before moving on to the next one. This life of long journeys, sooty railway stations, impersonal hotel rooms and draughty theatres would have been punishing for anyone and Lola was not in the best of health but she ploughed gamely on. Willis, who may have been her lover for a while, fell from favour and was replaced by other managers who she changed almost as fast as she changed her costumes. Eventually, she gave all of them up and decided to manage her own career.
She found dancing much more tiring as she grew older and so mixed this with theatrical performances starting with a play she commissioned entitled Lola Montez in Bavaria. It was by all accounts a rather silly piece showing her in a flattering light as somewhere between a saint and a supremely enlightened reformer whose only goal had been to make Ludwig a better king.
Her autocratic behaviour was now more marked than ever. She was ferocious in defending her friends but even more so in attacking her enemies. It was not hard to offend her and there were many incidents where she made her feelings known, and not just verbally. She was quick to use her fists or even to pull out the small jewelled pistol and dagger she was in the habit of carrying. It made for fantastic publicity and each incident added another piece to the Lola legend.
Financially, she was doing well. Tickets for her concerts fetched a premium and she drove a hard bargain with theatre owners. After the best part of a year however, she decided it was time for a change. She wanted to see California.
In those days, travellers had a choice between a lengthy and often dangerous passage via Cape Horn or a steamy, mosquito- ridden trek by narrow gauge railway, mule train and poled boat across Panama. Ever undaunted, Lola chose Panama.
It was a gruelling journey, but Lola was not worn down by it. At an overcrowded, ramshackle hotel in one of the jungle villages where they stopped, she insisted on a private room and demanded a cot be set up for her lapdog, Flora. When the landlord protested that all the cots were rented and he couldn’t put another guest on the floor, Lola riposted that her dog had slept in palaces and she didn’t care what the other guests did. She got the cot.
It was on this journey that she met a San Francisco newspaper man by the name of Patrick Hull. Hull was Lola’s kind of man, charming, generous and flamboyant. They remained together when they reached California and in May 1853, they married.
It is possible Lola thought George Heald was dead. There had been a false report of his death in a sailing accident a few months back and she may not have heard the correction. She had already put her marriage to James to the back of her mind and anyway, her motto was now ‘What Lola wants, Lola gets.’ Hull however seems to have been completely in the dark.
Married life began well. Hull had a lot more to him than poor George Heald and he and Lola had some good times together. They left San Francisco for the small town of Grass Valley, where Lola wanted to settle to find some peace, a rare desire for her.
There, sadly, domestic harmony did not last. The neighbours soon became used to being treated to the sight of Hull’s clothes and other possessions flying out of the bedroom windows and the sound of recriminations and blows. By the autumn, worn down by her tantrums, he left her and went back to San Francisco.
Lola however stayed on in Grass Valley. She and Hull might have fallen out but she was still a great favourite with the local people and the following months were some of the happiest of her life. The little house where she lived still stands and contains a museum to her memory. A lake near the town also bears her name.
It was in Grass Valley that she indulged her love of animals to the full. She had always kept dogs that she doted on, as well as caged birds, but now the menagerie extended to horses, goats, lambs and even a grizzly bear cub which, sad to say, eventually savaged her and had to go. At Christmas, she hired a sleigh and drove herself to Nevada City to buy treats and presents. On her return, she gave a party for all the local children.
But the rural idyll could not last. Lola had made a great deal of money out of investing in the gold mining company operating at Grass Valley but she had also spent it and the Californian economy was heading for a decline. Her theatrical friends talked of Australia and the rich pickings to be had there. Ready for a new challenge, Lola assembled a troupe of actors and set sail, arriving in August 1855 after a two month voyage.
As in New York, the Sydney newspapers published dire warnings of the moral corruption Lola would visit on their city, but once again, the public ignored them and flocked to see her. Lola was not in good health so she did less dancing and more acting. Particular praise was heaped on her expressive, natural style and she widened her repertoire to include new roles, including Lady Teasel in School for Scandal. She did however usually give in to public demand and include her famous Spider Dance in every show. Everyone wanted to see the scandalous search up Lola’s skirts for the spider and its dramatic death under what was now hailed as ‘the prettiest little foot in the world.’
Sadly though, it was not long before Lola was at odds with her actors. When they got wind she was planning to break their contracts and replace them with locals, they rushed to find lawyers but most of them were too late. Lola was already on the Melbourne steamer.
Before the ship had sailed too far out, a bailiff boarded with the one writ that was ready but Lola refused to leave the ship and the captain refused to turn back. As with all Lola stories, this one went round the world, the most frequently reprinted version being that Lola interviewed the bailiff in her cabin, wearing nothing but a smile.
After shows in Melbourne, Adelaide and the gold mining towns of the outback, Lola returned to Sydney. Before she left Australia, she was paid the dubious compliment of being satirised by a comedian called George Coppin, the Dame Edna Everage of his day. Coppin’s Spider Dance had him finding a gigantic hairy spider up his skirts then jumping on it with both feet before reeling off the stage in a mock swoon. To her credit, Lola was vastly amused. They became good friends and she later held a benefit concert for him.
The dark cloud hanging over the Australian tour was Lola’s handsome lead, an actor called Frank Follin. They had been lovers from early on in the voyage from California but Follin was moody and egotistical – not unlike his beloved. One evening during the return journey to America, Lola was smoking and chatting with some of the company in the ship’s salon when someone asked where Follin had got to. He and Lola had argued more violently than usual earlier that evening. She shrugged and said he must still be sulking somewhere; several hours later though, she became alarmed and ordered a search of the ship. Follin was nowhere to be found.
Another frantic search ensued but slowly, the horrible realisation dawned that he must have gone overboard. On arrival in America, his death was reported as accidental but Lola thought of their last quarrel and blamed herself. She was devastated and from then on, a more penitent and spiritual side to her character emerged. Notably, she auctioned all her beloved jewels and gave the proceeds to Follin’s estranged wife and their five children. The auction must have been a poignant experience for her. All her jewels held memories, particularly of her darling Dujarier.
In the few years remaining to her, she became very close to the spiritualist preacher, Chauncey Burr. Burr was a strange man who cl
aimed to have spoken with life forms on other planets. He helped her forge a career as a lecturer at which she was a great success, rivalling Dickens in the opinion of many people who heard her. Burr also assisted her with her autobiography. It is a fascinating read and in its pages, the reader glimpses the witty, lively personality that captivated so many men even after Lola’s looks had gone. Some of her claims do, however, need to be taken with a large pinch of salt.
She and Burr spent some time back in England but returned to New York as her health declined. With ill-health, her social circle narrowed. An important member of it was a Mrs Buchanan, a childhood friend from the Montrose days who she chanced to meet up with again after all those years.
In the summer of 1860, the afternoon temperatures in New York climbed above 90 degrees. One day, Lola felt dizzy after rising. She lay back on her bed and in an instant she was paralysed and speechless from a stroke. She sank into a coma and her friends thought it was all over, but against all the odds, she rallied.
She fought her illness with the same indomitable will that had characterised so much of her life. Friends who visited her on her sickbed reported that in spite of her ravaged face and wasted body, her famous dark eyes still exercised their magic.
In the autumn of the same year, she received an unexpected visit from her mother, by then a widow, but it seems there was no reconciliation. One observer described Elizabeth Gilbert as a cold and passionless woman, who behaved as if she was making a call on a slight acquaintance. She seemed disappointed to find Lola impoverished and visited her only twice in a stay of two or three weeks.
By December, Lola managed to walk unaided and her friends hoped she would recover completely, but on Christmas Day, she made the fatal mistake of going for an excursion in the open air. The weather was bitterly cold and she fell ill with pneumonia.
She died in January 1861, a month short of her 40th birthday. In her will she had divided what little money she had left between Mrs Buchanan and the New York Magdalene Society. With a handful of mourners in attendance, she was buried at Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn.
Becoming Lola Page 25