A "LEFT-HANDED" MARRIAGE
I
On arriving in London, and (thanks to the bounty of Ludwig) being well
provided with funds, Lola took a house in Half Moon Street,
Piccadilly. There she established something of a _salon_, where she
gave a series of evening receptions. They were not, perhaps, up to the
old Barerstrasse standard; still, they brought together a number of
the less important "lions," all of whom were only too pleased to
accept invitations.
Among the hangers-on was Frederick Leveson-Gower, a son of Earl
Granville. He had met the great Rachel in Paris and was ecstatic about
her. "Not long after," he says, "I got to know another much less
gifted individual, but who having captivated a King, upset two
Ministries, and brought about a revolution in Bavaria, was entitled to
be looked upon as celebrated. This was Lola Montez."
In his character of what is still oddly dubbed a "man-about-town,"
Serjeant Ballantine was also among those who attended these Half Moon
Street gatherings. "His hostess," he says, "had certain claims to
celebrity. She was, I believe, of Spanish origin, and certainly
possessed that country's style of beauty, with much dash of manner and
an extremely _outré_ fashion of dress." Another occasional visitor was
George Augustus Sala, a mid-Victorian journalist who was responsible
for printing more slipshod inaccuracies than any two members of his
craft put together. He says that he once contemplated writing Lola's
memoirs. He did not, however, get beyond "contemplating." This,
perhaps, was just as well, since he was so ill-equipped for the task
that he imagined she was a sister of Adah Isaacs Menken.
"About this time," he says, "I made the acquaintance, at a little
cigar shop under the pillars in Norreys Street, Regent Street, of an
extremely handsome lady, originally the wife of a solicitor, but who
had been known in London and Paris as a ballet-dancer under the name
of Lola Montez. When I knew her, she had just escaped from Munich,
where she had been too notorious as Countess of Landsfeld. She had
obtained for a time complete mastery over old King Ludwig of Bavaria;
and something like a revolution had been necessary to induce her to
quit the Bavarian capital."
A ridiculous story spread that Lord Brougham (who had witnessed her
ill-starred début in 1843) wanted to marry her. The fact that there
was already a Lady Brougham in existence did not curb the tongues of
the gossipers. "She refused the honourable Lord," says a French
journalist, "in a manner that redounded to her credit."
Journalists, anxious for "copy," haunted Half Moon Street all day
long. They were never off her doorstep. "Town gossip," declared one of
them, "is in full swing; and the general public are all agog to catch
a glimpse of the latest 'lioness.' Lola Montez is on every lip and in
everybody's eye. She is causing an even bigger sensation than that
inspired by the Swedish Nightingale, Madame Jenny Lind."
Notwithstanding the ill-success of a former attempt to exploit her
personality behind the footlights, Mrs. Keeley produced a sketch at
the Haymarket written "round" Lola Montez. This, slung together by
Stirling Coyne, was called: _Pas de Fascination_. The scene was laid
in "Neverask-_where_"; and among the characters were "Prince
Dunbrownski," "Count Muffenuff," and "General von Bolte."
It scarcely sounds rib-rending.
Mrs. Charles Kean, who attended the first performance, described _Pas
de Fascination_ as "the most daring play I ever witnessed." Lola
Montez herself took it in good part. She sat in a box, "and, when the
curtain fell, threw a magnificent bouquet at the principal actress."
Coals of fire.
Not to be behindhand in offering tit-bits of "news," an American
correspondent informed his readers that: "During the early part of
1849, Lola Montez, arrayed in the Royal Bavarian jewels, crashed into
one of the Court balls at Buckingham Palace. Needless to remark," he
added, "the audacity has not been repeated." From this, it would
appear that the Lord Chamberlain had been aroused from his temporary
slumbers.
The _Satirist_ had assured his readers "the public will soon be
hearing more of Madame Montez." They did. What they heard was
something quite unexpected. This was that she had made a second
experiment in matrimony, and that her choice had fallen on a Mr.
George Heald, a callow lad of twenty, for whom a commission as Cornet
in the Life Guards had been purchased by his family.
II
The precise reasons actuating Lola in adopting this step were not
divulged. Several, however, suggested themselves. Perhaps she was
attracted by the Cornet's glittering cuirass and plumed helmet;
perhaps by his substantial income; and perhaps she tired of being a
homeless wanderer, and felt that here at last was a prospect of
settling down and experimenting with domesticity.
When the announcement appeared in print there was much fluttering
among the Mayfair dovecotes. As the bridegroom had an income of
approximately £10,000 a year, the débutantes--chagrined to discover
that such an "eligible" had been snatched from their grasp--felt
inclined to call an indignation meeting.
"Preposterous," they said, "that such a woman should have snapped him
up! Something ought to be done about it."
But, for the moment, nothing was "done about it," and the knot was
tied on July 14. Lola saw that the knot should be a double one; and
the ceremony took place, first, at the French Catholic Chapel in King
Street, and afterwards at St. George's, Hanover Square.
[Illustration: _Berrymead Priory, Acton, where Lola Montez lived with
Cornet Heald_]
A press representative, happening to be among the congregation, rushed
off to Grub Street. There he was rewarded with a welcome five
shillings by his editor, who, in high glee at securing such a piece of
news before any other journal, had a characteristic paragraph on the
subject:
Lola Montez, Countess of Landsfeld, the ex-danseuse and
ex-favourite of the imbecile old King of Bavaria, is, we are
able to inform our readers, at last married legitimately.
_On dit_ that her young husband, Mr. George Trafford Heald,
has been dragged into the match somewhat hurriedly. It will
be curious to mark the progress of the Countess in this
novel position. A sudden change from a career of furious
excitement to one in which prudence and a regard for the
rules of good society are the very opposite to those
observed by loose foreigners must prove a trial to her.
Whipping commissaries of police, and setting ferocious dogs
at inoffensive civilians, may do very well for Munich. In
England, however, we are scarcely prepared for these
activities, even if they be deemed the privilege of a
countess.
Disraeli, who had a hearty appetite for all the tit-bits of gossip
discussed in Mayfair drawing-rooms, heard of the match and mentioned
it in a letter to his sister, Sarah:
_July, 1849._
The Lola Montez marriage makes a sensation. I believe he
[Heald] has only £3,000 per annum, not £13,000. It was an
affair of a few days. She sent to ask the refusal of his
dog, which she understood was for sale--of course it wasn't,
being very beautiful. But he sent it as a present. She
rejoined; he called; and they were married in a week. He is
only twenty-one, and wished to be distinguished. Their
dinner invitations are already out, I am told. She quite
convinced him previously that she was not Mrs. James; and,
as for the King of Bavaria, who, by the by, allows her £1500
a year, and to whom she writes every day--that was only a
_malheureuse_ passion.
Apropos of this union, a popular riddle went the round of the clubs:
"Why does a certain young officer of the Life Guards resemble a much
mended pair of shoes?" The answer was, "Because he has been heeled
[Heald] and soled [sold]."
The honeymoon was spent at Berrymead Priory, a house that the
bridegroom owned at Acton. This was a substantial Gothic building,
with several acres of well timbered ground and gardens. Some distance,
perhaps, from the Cornet's barracks. Still, one imagines he did not
take his military duties very seriously; and leave of absence "on
urgent private affairs" was, no doubt, granted in liberal fashion.
Also, he possessed a phæton, in which, with a spanking chestnut
between the shafts, the miles would soon be covered.
The Priory had a history stretching back to the far off days of Henry
III, when it belonged to the Chapter of St. Paul's Cathedral. Henry
VII, in high-handed fashion, presented it to the Earl of Bedford; and
a subsequent occupant was the notorious Elizabeth Chudleigh, the
bigamous spouse of the Duke of Kingston. Another light lady, Nancy
Dawson, is also said to have lived there as its châtelaine, under the
"protection" of the Duke of Newcastle.
At the beginning of the last century the property was acquired by a
Colonel Clutton. He was followed by Edward Bulwer, afterwards Lord
Lytton, who lived there on and off (chiefly off) with his wife, until
their separation in 1836. On one occasion he gave a dinner-party,
among the guests being John Forster, "to meet Miss Landon,
Fontblanque, and Hayward." To the invitation was added the warning,
"We dine at half-past five, to allow time for return, and regret much
having no spare beds as yet." A spare bed, however, was available for
Lord Beaconsfield, when he dined there in the following year.
On the departure of Bulwer, the house had a succession of tenants; and
for a short period it even sheltered a bevy of Nuns of the Sacred
Heart. It was when they left that the estate was purchased by Mr.
George Heald, a barrister with a flourishing practice. He left it to
his booby son, the Cornet: and it was thus that Lola Montez
established her connection with Berrymead Priory.
While the original house still stands, the garden in which it stood
has gone; and the building itself now serves as the premises of the
Acton Constitutional Club. But the committee have been careful to
preserve some evidence of Cornet Heald's occupancy. Thus, his crest
and family motto, _Nemo sibi Nascitur_, are let into the mosaic
flooring of the hall, and the drawing-room ceiling is embellished with
his initials picked out in gold.
III
Prejudice, perhaps, but unions between the sons of Mars and the
daughters of Terpsichore were in those days frowned upon by the
military big-wigs at the Horse Guards. Hence, it was not long before
an inspired note on the subject of this one appeared in the
_Standard_:
We learn from undoubted authority that, immediately on the
marriage of Lieutenant Heald with the Countess of Landsfeld,
the Marquess of Londonderry, Colonel of the 2nd Life Guards,
took the most decisive steps to recommend to Her Majesty
that this officer's resignation of his commission should be
insisted on; and that he should at once leave the regiment,
which this unfortunate and extraordinary act might possibly
prejudice.
Her Majesty, having consulted the Prince Consort and the Duke of
Wellington, shared this view. Instead, however, of being summarily
"gazetted out," the love-sick young warrior was permitted to "send in
his papers."
Thinking that he had acted precipitately in resigning, Cornet Heald
(egged on, doubtless, by Lola) endeavoured to get his resignation
cancelled. The authorities, however, were adamant. "Much curiosity,"
says a journalistic comment, "has been aroused among the Household
Troops by the efforts of this officer to regain his commission after
having voluntarily relinquished it. Notwithstanding his youth and the
fact that he had given way to a sudden impulse, Lord Londonderry was
positively inflexible. Yet the influence and eloquence of a certain
ex-Chancellor, well known to the bride, was brought to bear on him."
The "certain ex-Chancellor" was none other than Lord Brougham.
Much criticism followed in other circles. Everybody had an opinion to
advance. Most of them were far from complimentary, and there were
allusions by the dozen to "licentious soldiery" and "gilded
popinjays." The rigid editor of _The Black Book of the British
Aristocracy_ was particularly indignant. "The Army," he declared, in a
fierce outburst, "is the especial favourite of the aristocratic
section. Any brainless young puppy with a commission is free to lounge
away his time in dandyism and embryo moustaches at the public
expense."
The _Satirist_, living up to its name, also had its customary sting:
Of course, the gallant Colonel of the Household Troops could
not do less. That distinguished corps is immaculate; and no
breath of wind must come between it and its propriety. There
is but one black sheep in the 2nd Life Guards, and that, in
the eyes of the coal black colonel (him of the collieries),
is the soft, enchanted, and enchained Mr. Heald. Poor Heald!
Indignant Londonderry! How subservient, in truth, must be
the lean subaltern to his fat colonel.
A Sunday organ followed suit. "What," it demanded, "may be the precise
article of the military code against which Mr. Heald is thought to
have offended? One could scarcely have supposed that officers in Her
Majesty's service were living under such a despotism that they should
be compelled to solicit permission to get married, or their colonel's
approbation of their choice."
In addition to thus disapproving of marriages between his officers and
ladies of the stage, Lord Londonderry (a veteran of fifty-five years'
service) disapproved with equal vigour of tobacco. "What," he once
wrote to Lord Combermere, "are the Gold Sticks to do with that sink of
smoking, the Horse Guards' guard and mess-rooms? Whenever I have
visited them, I have found them _worse_ than any pot-house, and this
actually opposite the Adjutant-General's and under his Grace's very
nose!"
The example set by Cornet Heald seems to have been catching. "Another
young officer of this regiment," announced the _Globe_, "has just run
off with a frail lady belonging to the Theatre and actually married
her at Brighton." He, too, was required to "send in his papers."
Besides losing his commission, Cornet Heald had, in his marriage, all
unwittingly laid up a peck of fresh trouble for himself. This was
brought to a head by the action of his spinster aunt, Miss Susannah
Heald, who, until he came of age, had been his guardian. Suspecting
Lola of a "past," she set herself to pry into it. Gathering that her
nephew's inamorata had already been married, she employed enquiry
agents to look into this previous union and discover just how and when
it had been dissolved. They did their work well, and reported that the
divorce decree of seven years earlier had not been made absolute, and
that Lola's first husband, Captain James, was still alive. Armed with
this knowledge, Miss Heald hurried off to the authorities, and, having
"laid an information," had Lola Montez arrested for bigamy.
The case was heard at Marlborough Street police court, with Mr.
Bingham sitting as Magistrate. Mr. Clarkson conducted the prosecution,
and Mr. Bodkin appeared for the defence.
"The proceedings of a London police court," declared _John Bull_,
"have seldom presented a case more fruitful of matter for public
gossip than was exhibited in the investigation at Marlborough Street,
where the mediated wife of a British officer (and one invested with
the distinction of Royal favouritism) answered a charge of imputed
bigamy.... It will readily be inferred that we allude to that
extraordinary personage known as Lola Montez, _alias_ the Countess of
Landsfeld."
Lola had, as the theatrical world would put it, dressed for the part.
She had probably rehearsed it, too. She wore, we learn, "a black silk
costume, under a velvet jacket, and a plain white straw bonnet trimmed
with blue ribbons." As became a countess, she was not required to sit
in the dock, but was given a chair in front of it. "There," said a
reporter, "she appeared quite unembarrassed, and smiled frequently as
she made a remark to her husband. She was described on the charge
sheet as being twenty-four years of age, but in our opinion she has
the look of a woman of at least thirty."
"In figure," added a second occupant of the press box, "madam is
rather plump, and of middle height, with pale complexion, unusually
large blue eyes and long black lashes. Her reputed husband, Mr. Heald,
is a tall young man of boyish aspect, fair hair and small brown
moustachios and whiskers. During the whole of the proceedings he sat
with the Countess's hand clasped in his, occasionally giving it a
fervent squeeze, and murmuring fondly in her ear."
All being ready, Mr. Clarkson opened the case for the prosecution.
"The offence imputed to the lady at the bar," he said, "is
that, well knowing her husband, Captain Thomas James, was
still alive, she contracted another marriage with this young
gentleman, Mr. George Trafford Heald. If this be
established, serious consequences must follow, as I shall
prove that the Ecclesiastical Court merely granted a decree
_a mensa et thoro_." He then put in a copy of this document,
and pointed out that, by its provisions, neither party was
free to re-marry during the lifetime of the other. Counsel
also submitted an extract from the register of the Hanover
Square church, showing that, on July 19, the defendant had,
under the name of "Maria Torres de Landsfeld," gone through
a ceremony of marriage with Cornet Heald.
Police-sergeant Gray, who had executed the warrant, described the
arrest.
"When I told her she must come along with me, the lady up and said:
'This is all rubbish. I was properly divorced from Captain James by
Act of Parliament. Lord Brougham was present when the divorce was
granted. I don't know if Captain James is still alive or not, and I
don't care a little bit. I was married to him in the wrong name, and
that made the whole thing illegal.'"
"Did she say anything else?" enquired the magistrate.
"Yes, Your Worship," returned the sergeant, consulting his note-book.
"She said: 'What on earth will the Royal Family say when they hear of
this? There's bound to be the devil of a fuss.'"
"Laughter in Court!" chronicled the pressmen.
"And what did you say to that?" enquired Mr. Bingham.
"I said that anything she said would be taken down by myself and used
in evidence against her," was the glib response.
The execution of the warrant would appear to have been carried out in
dramatic fashion.
Having evidently got wind of what was awaiting her, Lola and the
Cornet had packed their luggage and arranged to leave England. Just as
they were stepping into their carriage, Miss Susannah Heald and her
solicitor, accompanied by a couple of police officers, drove up in a
cab to Half Moon Street. When the latter announced that they had a
warrant for her arrest, there was something of a scene. "The
Countess," declared an imaginative reporter (who must have been
hovering on the doorstep), "exhibited all the appearance of excessive
passion. She used very strong language, pushed the elderly Miss Heald
aside, and bustled her husband in vigorous fashion. However, she soon
cooled down, and, on being escorted to Vine Street police station,
where the charge of bigamy was booked, she graciously apologised for
any trouble she had given the representatives of the law. She then
begged permission to light a cigar, and suggested that the constables
on duty there should join her in a social whiff."
Miss Susannah Heald, described as "an aged lady," deposed that she was
Cornet Heald's aunt, and that she had been appointed his guardian
during his minority, which had only just expired. She was bringing the
action, she insisted, "from a sense of duty."
Another witness was Captain Charles Ingram, a mariner in the service
of the East India Company. He identified the accused as the Mrs. James
who had sailed in a ship under his command from Calcutta to London in
the year 1842.
While an official return, prepared by the military authorities, showed
Captain James to have been alive on June 13, there was none to show
that he was still in the land of the living on July 19, the date of
the alleged bigamous marriage. The prosecution affected to consider
this point unimportant. The magistrate, however (on whom Lola's bright
eyes had done their work), did not agree.
"The point," he said, "is, to my mind, very important. During the
interval that elapsed between these two dates many things may have
happened which would render this second marriage quite legal. It is
possible, for instance, that Captain James may have been snatched from
this world to another one by any of those numerous casualties--such as
wounds in action or cholera--that are apt to befall members of the
military profession serving in a tropical climate. What do you say to
that, Mr. Clarkson?"
Mr. Clarkson had nothing to say. Mr. Bodkin, however, when it came to
his turn, had a good deal to say. The charge against his client was,
he declared, "in all his professional experience, absolutely
unparalleled." Neither the first nor the second husband, he pointed
out, had advanced any complaint; and the offence, if any, had been
committed under circumstances that fully justified it. He did not wish
to hint at improper motives on the part of Miss Heald, but it was
clear, he protested, that her attitude was governed by private, and
not by public, ends. None the less, he concluded, "I am willing to
admit that enough has been put before the Court to justify further
enquiry."
Such an admission was a slip which even the very rawest of counsel
should have avoided. It forced the hand of the magistrate.
"I am asked," he said, "to act on a presumption of guilt. As proof of
guilt is wanting, I am reluctant to act on such presumption, even to
the extent of granting a remand, unless the prosecution can assure me
that more evidence will be offered at another hearing. Since, however,
the defendant's own advocate has voluntarily admitted that there is
ground for further enquiry, I am compelled to order a remand. But the
accused will be released from custody on providing two sureties of
£500 each, and herself in one of £1000."
The adjourned proceedings began a week later, and were heard by
another magistrate, Mr. Hardwick. This time, however, there was no
defendant, for, on her name being called by the usher, Mr. Bodkin
pulled a long face and announced that his client had left England. "I
cannot," he said, "offer any reason for her absence." Still, he had a
suggestion. "It is possible," he said, "that she has gone abroad for
the benefit of her health." The question of estreating the
recognizances then arose. While not prepared to abandon them
altogether, counsel for the prosecution was sufficiently generous to
say that so far as he was concerned no objection would be offered to
extending them.
When, after two more adjournments, the defendant still failed to
surrender to her bail, the magistrate and counsel for the prosecution
altered their tone.
"Your Worship," said Mr. Clarkson, "it has come to my knowledge that
the person whose real name is Mrs. James, and who is charged with the
felonious crime of bigamy, is now some hundreds of miles beyond your
jurisdiction, and does not mean to appear. Accordingly, on behalf of
the highly respectable Miss Heald, I now ask that the recognizances be
forfeited. My client has been actuated all through by none but the
purest motives, her one object being to remove the only son of a
beloved brother from a marriage that was as illegal as it was
disgraceful. If we secure evidence from India that Captain James is
still alive, we shall then adopt the necessary steps to remove this
deluded lad from the fangs of this scheming woman."
"Let the recognizances be estreated," was the magisterial comment.
"Sensation!" scribbled the reporters.
Serjeant Ballantine, who liked to have a hand in all _causes
célèbres_, declares that he was consulted by Lola's solicitors, with a
view to undertaking her defence. If so, he would seem to have read his
instructions very casually, since he adds: "I forget whether the
prosecution was ultimately dropped, or whether she left England before
any result was arrived at. My impression is that the charge could not
have been substantiated."
Ignoring the fact that the case was still _sub judice_, the _Observer_
offered its readers some severe comments:
"The Helen of the age is most assuredly Lola Montez, _alias_
Betsy James, _alias_ the Gräfin von Lansfelt, _alias_ Mrs.
Heald. As far as can be gathered from her dark history, her
first public act was alleged adultery, as her last is
alleged bigamy.... The evidence produced before the
Consistory Court is of the most clear and convincing nature,
and proves that the character of this lady (whose fame has
become so disgustingly notorious) has been from an early
date that of a mere wanton, alike unmindful of the sacred
ties of matrimony and utterly careless of the opinion of the
world upon morality or religion."
[Illustration: _Lola Montez in London. Aged thirty_
(_Engraved by Auguste Hüssner_)]
By the way, during the police court proceedings, fresh light on the
subject of Lola's parentage was furnished by an odd entry in an Irish
paper:
"Lola Montez, Countess of Landsfeld, is the daughter of a
Cork lady. Her mother was at one time employed as a member
of a millinery establishment in this city; and was married
here to Lieutenant Gilbert, an officer in the army. Soon
after the marriage, he sailed with his wife and child to
join his regiment in India. At the end of last year, Lola's
mother, who is now in delicate health, visited her sister in
Cork."
IV
Thanks to the bright eyes of Lola (or perhaps to the musical jingle of
the Cornet's cash bags), a very loose watch was kept on the pair.
Hence the reason why the Countess of Landsfeld (as she still insisted
on being called) had not kept her second appointment at Marlborough
Street was because, together with the dashing ex-Life Guardsman, she
had left England early that morning. Travelling as Mr. and Mrs. Heald,
the pair went, first, to Paris, and then to Italy.
A British tourist who happened to be in Naples wrote to _The Times_,
giving an account of a glimpse he had of them. According to him, the
couple, "a youthful bridegroom and a fair lady," accompanied by a
courier, a _femme de chambre_, and a carriage, took rooms at the Hotel
Vittoria. After one night there, they left the next morning, hiring a
special steamer, at a cost of £400, to take them to Marseilles. The
hurried departure was said to be due to a lawyer's letters that was
waiting for the bridegroom at his banker's. "I am told," adds the
correspondent, "that Mr. and Mrs. Heald were bound on an excursion to
the Pyramids; and that, when the little business for which the lady is
wanted at home has been settled, they mean to prosecute their
intention. Pray, sir, help Mrs. Heald out of her present affliction.
Is this the first time that a lady has had two husbands? And is she
not bound for the East, where every man has four wives?"
The booby Cornet, with his ideas limited to fox-hunting and a study of
_Ruff's Guide_, was no mate for a brilliant woman like Lola. Hence
disagreements soon manifested themselves. A specially serious one
would seem to have arisen at Barcelona, for, says a letter from a
mutual acquaintance, "the Countess and her husband had a warm
discussion, which ended in an attempt by her to stab him. Mr. Heald,
objecting to such a display of conjugal affection, promptly quitted
the town."
Further particulars were supplied by another correspondent: "I saw Mr.
Heald," says this authority. "He is a tall, thin young man, with a
fair complexion, and often uses rouge to hide his pallor. Many pity
him for what has happened. Others, however, pity the lovely Lola.
Before he left this district, Mr. Heald called on the English Consul.
'I have come,' he said,'to ask your advice. Some of my friends here
suggest that I should leave my wife. What ought I to do about it? If I
stop with her, I am afraid of being assassinated or poisoned.' He then
exhibited a garment covered with blood. The Consul replied: 'I am
positively astonished that, after the attack of which you speak, you
did not complain to the police, and that you have since lived with
your wife on terms of intimacy. If you want to abandon her, you must
do as you think best. I cannot advise you.'"
H.B.M. Consul, however, did stretch a point, since he (perhaps fearing
further bloodshed) offered to _viser_ the applicant's passport for any
other country. Thereupon, Mr. Heald betook himself to Mataro. But,
becoming conscience-smitten, he promptly sat down and wrote an
apologetic letter to the lady he left behind him, begging her
forgiveness. "If you should ever have reason to complain of me again,"
he said, "this letter will always act as a talisman."
Apparently it had the effect, for Lola returned to her penitent
spouse.
The Barcelona correspondent of _L'Assemblée Nationale_ managed to
interview the Cornet.
"He says," announced this authority, "that others persuaded him to
depart, against his real wishes. On rejoining him, Mrs. Heald was most
indignant. Her eyes positively flashed fire; and, if she should chance
to encounter the men who took her husband from her, I quite tremble to
think what will happen!"
Something obviously did happen, for, according to de Mirecourt,
"during their sojourn in Sunny Spain, the admirable English husband
made his wife the gratified mother of two beautiful offspring."
Parenthood, however, would appear to have had an odd effect upon this
couple, for, continues de Mirecourt: "_Mais, en dépit de ces gages
d'amour, leur bonheur est troublé par des querelles intestines._"
It was from Spain that, having adjusted their differences temporarily,
the couple went back to Paris. As a peace offering, a rising young
artist, Claudius Jacquand, was commissioned to paint both their
portraits on a single canvas. During, however, another domestic
rupture, Heald demanded that Lola's features should be painted out. "I
want nothing," he said, "to remind me of that woman." Unfortunately,
Lola had just made a similar demand where the Cornet was concerned.
Jacquand was a man of talent, but he could not do impossibilities.
Thereupon, Lola, breathing fire and fury, took the canvas away and
hung it with its back to the front in her bedroom. "To allow my
husband to watch me always would," she said, "be indelicate!"
There is a theory that, within the next twelve months, the
ill-assorted union was dissolved by Heald getting upset in a
rowing-boat and drowned in Lisbon harbour. The theory, however, is a
little difficult to reconcile with the fact that, on the close of the
Great Exhibition at the end of 1851, he attended an auction of the
effects, where he bought a parquet floor and had it laid down in his
drawing-room at Berrymead Priory. After this he had a number of
structural alterations added; fitted the windows with some stained
glass, bearing his crest and initials; and, finally, did not give up
the lease until 1855. Pretty good work, this, for a man said to have
met with a watery grave six years earlier.
As a matter of strict fact, Cornet Heald was not drowned, either at
Lisbon or anywhere else. He died in his bed at Folkestone, in 1856.
The medical certificate attributed the cause of death to consumption.
In the _Gentleman's Magazine_, however, the diagnosis was different,
viz., "broken heart."
All things pass. In 1859 the executors of the dashing Cornet sold the
Berrymead property for £7000, to be repurchased soon afterwards for
£23,000 by a land-development company. The house now serves as the
premises of the Priory Constitutional Club, Acton. A certain amount of
evidence of Cornet Heald's one-time occupancy still exists. Thus his
crest and motto, _Nemo sibi Nascitur_, are let into the mosaic
flooring of the hall, and the drawing-room ceiling is embellished with
his initials picked out in gold.