Ultramontane in his latter years, was the signal for a formidable
explosion. The police forbade any speech-making at his funeral, which took
place on 31st January 1848, but were unable to prevent a pilgrimage to his
grave, organised by the Ultramontane students, a week later. The corps
Franconia, Bavaria, Isar, and Suabia, turned out in force. The procession
soon resolved itself into a demonstration against the King's favourite.
The fierce hostile murmur of the mob reached the ears of Lola in her
palace in Barerstrasse. She could, without loss of honour or dignity, have
ignored the demonstration: an angry mob is a foe which a brave man
hesitates to meet single-handed. But Lola Montez knew not the meaning of
fear. With incredible rashness and magnificent courage she deliberately
went out into the street to meet her enemies face to face. She was
received with groans and insult. "Very well," she cried, "I will have the
University closed!" This haughty threat maddened the crowd. A rush was
made for her. A gallant band of Alemannen closed round to defend her.
Their leader, Count Hirschberg, attempted to use a dagger in his own
defence, but it was wrested from him, and he was severely injured. Lola,
forced at last to yield before superior numbers, retreated into the Church
of the Theatines. The Catholic rowdies, not daring to violate the right of
sanctuary, laid siege to the building, and were dispersed with difficulty
by the military. The Ultramontanes reckoned it a glorious day; it was
such, indeed, for the Countess of Landsfeld, who displayed a courage on
this occasion of which no king or prince has ever given proof in any
revolutionary crisis. The picture of this woman, attended only by two or
three students, deliberately going out to meet a band of her infuriated
enemies, is one which deserves a place in the gallery of heroic deeds.
The King immediately gave effect to Lola's threat. On 9th February he
signed a decree closing the University, and ordered all students not
natives of the city to leave it within twenty-four hours. The edict threw
all Munich into consternation. The departure of upwards of a thousand
young men, many of them wealthy and well-connected, meant a serious blow
to trade and a rending of innumerable social ties. The students marched,
singing songs of adieu, to present a valedictory address to the Rector.
The citizens bestirred themselves, and to the number of two thousand
signed a petition, imploring His Majesty to reconsider the decision. Louis
inclined a favourable ear to their prayers, and announced on 10th February
that the University would remain closed only for the summer term.
This act of weakness cost Louis I. his mistress and his crown.
The revolutionary party perceived that this was the moment to strike. The
King had yielded; the students were exultant and conscious of their
strength; the townsfolk were weary of this ceaseless conflict between the
Countess and her foes. Your good, old-fashioned burgher cares nothing for
the rights and wrongs of a public dispute; he wishes to be left in peace
to turn a penny into three half-pence, and to achieve that end is as ready
to sacrifice the innocent as the guilty. Jacob Vennedey, a publicist and
Radical famous in his day, writing from Frankfort, did his utmost to fan
the flame of revolution.
"The King of Bavaria," so ran an article, "wastes the sweat of the
poor country on mistresses and their followers. Everybody knows that
the jewellery which Lola wore lately at the theatre cost 60,000
guldens; that her house in the Barerstrasse is a fairy palace; that
the Cabinet, the Council of State, and the whole civil service are at
her beck and call; that the _gendarmerie_ and military are her
particular escort; that the best Catholic professors at the University
have been dismissed at her caprice. For the people nothing is done."
The last statement was untrue. If, too, the sixty thousand guldens had
come out of the people's pockets, Lola had well earned them by her
services in emancipating the country from its clerical oppressors.
Louis's concession came too late--if it should have been made at all. On
the morning of 11th February, Munich was in insurrection. Students and
citizens flew to arms, and mustered in dense masses before the palace, and
in the squares, loudly demanding the expulsion of the Countess of
Landsfeld and the immediate reopening of the University. The situation,
ministers thought, was critical. The King summoned a Cabinet Council, and
was prevailed upon to accede to the demands of his insurgent subjects. He
who had sworn before all the world that he would never give up Lola, now
signed a decree for her banishment from Munich. To save his crown he broke
all the solemn pledges he had given her. It was a base capitulation. But
Louis of Bavaria was an old man, sixty-two years of age. His vows had been
those of a young lover; but he wanted the youthful strength of will and
hand that should have defended his mistress against an armed nation.
Peace--peace--is ever the craving, the last and strongest passion of age.
The King's surrender to their demands was made known at midday to the
angry crowds before the Rathaus. The silly mob hailed with delight the
downfall of the woman who had set them free to keep their own consciences,
and speak their minds. The King's decision was communicated to Lola by an
aide-de-camp. She was commanded to withdraw at once from the capital. The
intrepid woman could with difficulty be persuaded to credit the officer's
words. Such pusillanimity was incomprehensible to her. She could not
believe that the King would abandon her without drawing the sword.
Lieutenant Nuessbaum, at the outbreak of the disturbance, had been locked
by a friend in an upper storey room to keep him out of danger, but at the
risk of breaking his neck, the young officer had jumped from the window
and hastened to offer his sword to the defenceless woman; but the King of
Bavaria had surrendered without striking a blow. His own signature at last
satisfied Lola of this. She looked up and down the street. No--there was
not a single soldier or _gendarme_ to protect her. Not for an instant did
her nerve forsake her. With a smiling face she quitted the house where she
had for nearly a year directed the fortunes of a kingdom. She took the
Augsburg train, as if _en route_ for Lindau; but alighted at a wayside
station and drove to Blutenburg, a few miles from Munich, three of her
faithful Alemannen--Peisner, Hertheim, and Laibinger--escorting her.
The rabble, who feared her manlike valour, did not attempt to molest her
in her retreat, but having made sure that she was gone, they broke into
her house, pillaging and wrecking. A curious, unaccountable impulse drew
the King to the spot, where he must have passed many of the happiest hours
of his life. With strange emotions he must have watched the human swine
routing in this bower of Venus. He stood there, a pathetic figure--an old
man surveying the wreckage of his last and supreme passion. Unheeded and
seemingly unrecognised, he was suddenly dealt a violent blow on the head,
probably by a revolutionary agent, and tottered back to his palace,
bruised and dazed.
The next night, disguised in man's clothes, Lola the intrepid slipped back
into Munich, and took refuge in the house of her loyal partisan, Berks.
She sent a secret message to the King, confident that if she could see
him, she could regain her power. Those must have been anxious moments,
while she was awaiting the reply. It came at last, in the form of a letter
brought by two police commissaries, Weber and Dichtl. The King refused to
see her, and wished that he had come to that decision before. She turned
to the officials. They read an order for her expulsion from Bavaria. Lola
tore the document to pieces and threw them in their faces. Not till they
presented their pistols at her bosom did she consent to accompany them. It
was reported that she had been sent to Lindau on the Bodensee, thence to
be conducted into Switzerland. In reality, Louis had selected for her the
oddest and most fantastic place of seclusion. The mental crisis through
which he had passed seems to have weakened his understanding, and he
actually was persuaded by his new clerical friends that Lola's power over
him was due to witchcraft. These enlightened Ultramontanes repeated some
ridiculous yarn about a great black bird that visited her room by night.
At a place called Weinsberg lived a man named Justinus Kerner, who
exercised the profession of an exorcist or expeller of devils. To this
person's custody was Lola confided on 17th February, as was first learnt
from the charlatan's letters, published some ten or fifteen years ago.[17]
In one of these he says:--
"Lola Montez arrived here the day before yesterday, accompanied by
three Alemannen. It is vexatious that the King should have sent her to
me, but they have told him that she is possessed. Before treating her
with magic and magnetism, I am trying the hunger cure. I allow her
only thirteen drops of raspberry water, and the quarter of a wafer.
Tell no one about this--burn this letter."
To another correspondent Kerner writes:--
"Lola has grown astonishingly thin. My son, Theobald, has mesmerised
her, and I let her drink asses' milk."
That the fiery, man-compelling Countess should have submitted to this
disagreeable tomfoolery, certainly seems to suggest hypnotic influence. It
is not unlikely that from the strain of the preceding few days a nervous
breakdown had resulted. Or, again, she may have lingered on at Kerner's,
in the hope that the King's love for her would revive. But before the
month of February was over she had shaken off for ever the dust of
Bavaria, and was safe in free Switzerland. Peisner, Hertheim, and
Laibinger followed her into exile. Lieutenant Nuessbaum, dismissed from the
Bavarian army because of his devotion to her, found a soldier's grave
before the redoubts of Dueppel.
XXV
THE RISING OF THE PEOPLES
Louis of Bavaria had sacrificed his self-respect and the woman he loved to
wear the crown a few years longer. The sacrifice proved futile. The
expulsion of the strongest personality in Bavaria was merely the first act
in the programme of the revolutionary party. On 24th February the King of
the French was hurled from his throne, and every sovereign in Europe
trembled. The spirit of the Revolution spread from state to state with
amazing rapidity. Encouraged by the King's late compliance, the citizens
of Munich once more gathered in their strength and demanded that the
Chambers should be convoked forthwith. Louis refused to summon a
Parliament before the end of May. Nor would he consent to the dismissal of
Berks. On the 2nd March barricades were erected in the principal streets,
and two days later the arsenal was attacked by the people, and carried
after a short struggle. Again Louis yielded to his fears, and dismissed
the unpopular minister; again the surrender came too late. The spark of
insurrection in Munich had now become absorbed in the mighty flame of a
great European revolution. Everywhere the people were feeling their
strength. The Middle Ages, even in Germany, had at last come to an end.
Six thousand men, armed with muskets, swords, hatchets, and pikes, surged
round the royal palace. In the market-place, the troops were ordered to
fire on the insurgents. They remained motionless, leaning on their
muskets. Some one called for cheers for the Republic; the crowd responded
heartily. Then up rode Prince Charles of Bavaria, the King's brother, and
announced that His Majesty had conceded all the demands of his people and
pledged his royal word to summon the Chambers on the 16th of the month.
With this assurance the excited people feigned to be content, and returned
to their homes.
But the opening of the Parliamentary session was attended by a renewal of
the disturbances. A report circulated that the Countess of Landsfeld had
returned to the city. The silly people again flew to arms, and demolished
the ministry of police. To calm the tumult the King published a decree,
withdrawing the rights of citizenship from his exiled favourite, and
forbidding her to re-enter his dominions. With this disgraceful act of
violence to his personal feelings, Louis lost all taste for kingship.
Rumours of his impending abdication spread through the capital, and now
the democratic party stood in fear of an Ultramontane conspiracy to defeat
their own policy. More rioting ensued. The Landwehr were eager to rescue
the King from the hands of his supposed enemies in the palace. But the old
man was weary of the whole comedy, and craved only peace. On 21st March
1848 he took leave of his people in the following proclamation:--
"BAVARIANS,--A new state of feeling has begun--a state which differs
essentially from that embodied in the Constitution according to which
I have governed the country twenty-three years. I abdicate my crown in
favour of my beloved son, the Crown Prince Maximilian. My government
has been in strict accordance with the Constitution; my life has been
dedicated to the welfare of my people. I have administered the public
money and property as if I had been a republican officer, and I can
boldly encounter the severest scrutiny. I offer my heartfelt thanks to
all who have adhered to me faithfully, and though I descend from the
throne, my heart still glows with affection for Bavaria and for
Germany.
LOUIS."
Less than six weeks thus elapsed between the downfall of Lola Montez and
the dethronement of the king who had not been man enough to uphold her.
Had the positions been reversed--had the woman been able to command one
tithe of the forces of which Louis could dispose--not the most powerful
coalition of parties would have driven her from the throne without the
bloodiest of struggles. In her, as was said of the Duchesse de Berry,
there was mind and heart enough for a dozen kings. The country that so
angrily threw off the unofficial yoke of its one strong-minded ruler, has
since acknowledged the sway of two raving madmen. The Bavarians prefer
King Log to King Stork.
Louis soon recovered his popularity with his late subjects. The cares and
ambitions of kingship put aside, the tempestuous emotions of manhood at
last exhausted, the old man was now free to devote himself wholly to his
first and last love, Art. Though now a private person, his interest in the
embellishment of Munich and the enrichment of the city's collections never
waned. He maintained more than one residence in Bavaria, and was indeed a
familiar and well-liked figure in the streets of his old capital; but
most of his remaining years he spent wandering in Italy and the south of
France. He lived to witness the expulsion of his son, Otto, from the
throne of Greece; the death of his other son and successor, Maximilian
II.; and the humiliation of his country by the arms of ever-broadening
Prussia. But he could always find consolation in the contemplation of the
beautiful, and in the society of men of wit and genius. The last twenty
years of his life were, perhaps, the happiest he had known. He died at
Nice on 29th February 1868, in the eighty-third year of his age. You may
see his equestrian statue at Munich, but the whole city is virtually his
monument. A great man he was not, but he was the greatest king Bavaria has
yet known. So he passed from the stage of history:--
"A courteous prince, and sociable, sympathetic gentleman; a poet, too,
in a small way, taking off his diamond collar at Weimar, and putting
it round Goethe's neck; he had a gracious, winning, kingly way of his
own, and many as were his faults and his foibles, neither his son nor
his grandson supplanted him in the affections of the Bavarian
people."[18]
XXVI
LOLA IN SEARCH OF A HOME
"Her last hope for Bavaria being broken," Lola (to use her own words)
"turned her attention towards Switzerland, as the nearest shelter from
the storm that was beating above her head. She had influenced the King
of Bavaria to withhold his consent from a proposition by Austria,
which had for its object the destruction of that little republic of
Switzerland. If republics are ungrateful, Switzerland certainly was
not so to Lola Montez; for it received her with open arms, made her
its guest, and generously offered to bestow an establishment upon her
for life."
At Bern, the quaint, beautiful old city of fountains and arcades, the
deposed dictatrix of Bavaria found a pleasant asylum. She was greeted with
especial cordiality by the English Charge d'Affaires, Mr. Robert Peel (son
of the more celebrated statesman of the same name), whose fine presence,
gaiety of manner, and brilliant conversational powers rendered him a
universal favourite. Peel was a warm supporter of the anti-clerical policy
of the Government to which he was accredited, and on political grounds
alone, must have felt the strongest sympathy for the Countess of
Landsfeld. Peisner, Hertheim, and Laibinger seem to have at last parted
company with Lola at Bern, for a letter in her handwriting is preserved,
dated from that city, 2nd March 1848, alluding to their probable
departure, and directing that a packet be forwarded to Peisner.
From the terraces of Bern, Lola looked forth over Europe and beheld the
utter discomfiture of her enemies. If she craved revenge, here was enough
and a surfeit. Metternich, the mighty minister, whose gold had contributed
to her undoing, was dismissed and driven into exile after forty years of
unquestioned sway. Everywhere Liberal principles were in the ascendant.
Louis of Bavaria, who had not dared to save her, had now shown himself
unable to defend his own throne. Lola must have been more than human if
she experienced no inward exultation at the downfall of those who had
basely abandoned her. The reign of her clerical foes and conquerors had
indeed been short-lived. Too late did they realise that they had been
merely the instruments of their natural antagonists, the extreme
revolutionary party.
But if the situation of Europe in the spring of 1848 afforded satisfaction
to Lola's vindictive instincts, it offered little incentive to her
ambition. The men who were shaping the nation's destinies were cast in the
stern, republican mould, and disdained to use the charms and wiles of a
woman in the furtherance of their ends. Issues were being fought out on
the battlefield, not in the boudoir. Nor did any state, from the Baltic to
the Mediterranean, present even such slight evidences of stability as a
high-flying adventuress might found her plans upon. To re-enter the
political arena at such a moment was to plunge headlong into a whirlpool.
The old order had changed. The world, hardly tolerant of kings, would no
longer brook the domination of their favourites, wise or unwise. The
princes pulled long faces, and swore that the Constitution and the
Catechism should be henceforward their only rule of life. They vowed to
live like respectable citizens, indulging their amiable weaknesses only in
privacy. Pericles must no longer converse on affairs of state with Aspasia
in the market place. Beauty must exert what power it could in the boudoir
and on the back stairs. For half a century woman as a political factor
almost ceased to be. Only in our own day has her voice again been heard,
demanding in stern, menacing tones her right to a larger, nobler part in
the councils of the nations than the Pompadours and Maintenons ever
dreamed of.
Weary, it may be conceived, of affairs of state, of strife and intrigue,
conscious that she had played in her greatest _role_, the Countess of
Landsfeld quitted Switzerland, once more to try her fortunes in England.
She had stepped down from the throne for ever. She embarked for London at
Rotterdam on 8th April 1848. By the irony of fate, it was ordered that the
bitterest, and once the most powerful, of her foes, the fallen minister,
Metternich, should be waiting at the same port seeking the same
destination. The news of the Chartist demonstration alone prevented him
sailing by the same vessel. "I thank God," he piously remarks, "for having
preserved me from contact with her." Assuredly, the meeting would have
been a painful and ignominious one for the fallen minister, at any rate.
Lola's arrival in the troubled state of England passed almost unnoticed.
She determined to try her fortunes once more upon the stage, and found, of
course, as a celebrity, that she was _persona grata_ to the managers and
agents. The directors of Covent Garden conceived the ingenious idea of
presenting her as herself in a dramatic representation of the recent
events at Munich. The play was written and entitled, "Lola Montez, ou la
Comtesse d'une Heure," but the Lord Chamberlain declined to license a
performance in which living royal personages were introduced.[19] The
scheme fell through, and Lola, having a private income to fall back upon,
retired into lodgings at 27 Halfmoon Street, Mayfair. There "she invited a
few men, including myself," writes the Hon. F. Leveson Gower, "to visit
her in the evening. She had lost much of her good looks, but her animated
conversation was entertaining."[20] The journalist, George Augustus Sala,
then a very young man, describes Lola on the contrary, as a very handsome
lady, "originally the wife of a solicitor," whom he met at a little
cigar-shop, under the pillars, in Norreys Street, Regent Street. She
proposed that he should write her life, "starting with the assumption that
she was a daughter of the famous matador, Montes."[21] Lola's imaginative
powers, especially when directed to inventing romantic origins for
herself, rivalled those of the heroine of "The Dynamiter." Lord Brougham,
that learned but relatively susceptible Chancellor, she also claimed
acquaintance with; he lived not far from her, in Grafton Street. It is
probable that a woman of Lola's beauty, wit, and remarkable attainments
would have numbered the most brilliant and distinguished men in London
among her associates, whatever attitude may have been assumed towards her
by the little clique of prigs and prudes that arrogated to itself the
title of Society.
XXVII
A SECOND EXPERIMENT IN MATRIMONY