CHAPTER XVII

THE CURTAIN FALLS

I

At the end of the year 1859, Lola, once more a bird of passage, was on

the way back to America, taking with her some fresh material for

another lecture campaign. This, entitled "John Bull at Home," fell

very flat; and instead of, as hitherto, addressing crowded halls, she

now found scanty gatherings wherever she was booked. Even when the

charge of admission was reduced from the original figure of a dollar

to one of 25 cents, "business" did not improve. Uncle Sam made it

obvious that he took no sort of interest in John Bull, either at home

or elsewhere.

America, however, was, as it happened, taking a very lively interest

in something else just then that did happen to be connected with John

Bull's country. This was the visit of the Prince of Wales. It had been

announced by an imaginative journalist that H.R.H. was to be "piloted"

during his tour by John Camel Heenan, otherwise the "Benicia Boy." It

was, however, under the more rigid tutelage of General Bruce that the

distinguished guest landed on American shores. Mere prose not being

adequate to record the historic incident a laureate set to work:

He came! A slender youth and fair!

A courtly, gentlemanly grace--the Grace of God!

The tenure of his mother's Throne, and great men's fame

Sat like a sparkling jewel on his brow.

Ah, Albert Edward! When you homeward sail

Take back with you, and treasure in your soul

A wholesome lesson which you here may learn!

While he was in New York a ball in honour of the Prince was given at

the Opera House by the "Committee of Welcome." This inspired a second

laureate, Edmund Clarence Stedman:

But as ALBERT EDWARD, young and fair,

Stood on the canopied dais-chair,

And looked from the circle crowding there

To the length and breadth of the outer scene,

Perhaps he thought of his mother, the QUEEN:

(Long may her empery be serene!

Long may the Heir of England prove

Loyal and tender; may he pay

No less allegiance to her love

Than to the sceptre of her sway!)

The visit of the Prince of Wales was not the only attraction

challenging the popularity of Lola Montez at this period. There was

another rival, and one in more direct competition with herself. This

was Sam Cowell, a music-hall "star" from England. A comedian of

genuine talent, he took America by storm with a couple of ballads,

"The Rat-Catcher's Daughter" and "Villikins and his Dinah." The public

flocked to hear him in their thousands. Lola's lectures fell very

flat. Even fresh material and reduced prices failed to serve as a

lure. The position was becoming serious.

But, while her manager looked glum when he examined the box-office

figures, Lola was not upset, for she had suddenly developed another

activity, and one to which she was giving all her attention. This was

the occult. The "Voices" at whose bidding she had abandoned the stage

a couple of years earlier were now insistent that she should drop the

platform; and, casting in her lot with the "Spirits," get into touch

with a mysterious region vaguely referred to as "the Beyond."

It was a time when spiritualism was flourishing like a green bay tree.

Mrs. Hayden ("the wife of a respectable journalist") and the Fox

Sisters had been playing their pranks for years and collecting dollars

from dupes all over the country; and their rivals, the Davenport

Brothers, with Daniel Dunglas Home (Browning's "Sludge, the Medium")

were humbugging Harvard professors, financial magnates, and Supreme

Court judges; and, not to be behindhand, other experts were (for a

cash consideration) calling up Columbus and Shakespeare and Napoleon,

who talked to them at séances as readily as if they were at the end of

a telephone, but with pronounced American accents.

[Illustration: _Countess of Landsfeld. A favourite portrait_

(_Harvard Theatre Collection_)]

Lola's first reaction was all that could be desired. There never was a

more promising recruit or a more receptive one. Quite prepared to take

the "Voices" on trust, and to contribute liberally to the "cause," she

attended a number of psychic circles, arranged by Stephen Andrews and

other charlatans; listened to mysterious rappings and tappings coming

out of the darkness; felt inanimate objects being lifted across the

room; heard tambourines rattled by invisible hands; and unquestionably

swallowed all the traditional tomfoolery that appears to be part and

parcel of such "phenomena."

This state of things might have continued indefinitely. By, however,

an unfortunate mischance, a "medium," from whom much was expected,

went, in his endeavour to give satisfaction, a little too far. Not

keeping a vigilant eye on European happenings, he announced at one

such gathering that the "spirit" addressing the assembly was that of

Ludwig of Bavaria. As, however, Ludwig was still in the land of the

living (where, by the way, he remained for several years to come) it

was a bad slip. The result was, Lola felt her faith shaken, and,

convinced that she was being exploited, shut up her purse, and

withdrew from the promised "guidance."

II

Under stress of emotion, some women take to the bottle; others to the

Bible. With Lola Montez, however, it was a case of from Bunkum to

Boanerges, from the circle to the conventicle. Spiritualism had been

tried and found wanting. Casting about for something with which to

fill the empty niche and adjust her equilibrium, she turned to

religion for consolation. The brand she selected was that favoured by

the Methodists. One would scarcely imagine that Little Bethel would

have had much appeal to her. But perhaps its very drabness and

remoteness from the world of the footlights proved a welcome relief.

Having "got religion," Lola fastened upon it with characteristic

fervour. It occupied all her thoughts; and in the process she soon

developed what would now be dubbed a marked inferiority-complex.

"Lord," she wrote at this period, "Thy mercies are great to me. Oh!

how little are they deserved, filthy worm that I am! Oh! that the Holy

Spirit may fill my soul with prayer! Lord, have mercy on Thy weary

wanderer, and grant me all I beseech of Thee! Oh! give me a meek and

lowly heart. Amen."

A doctor, had she consulted one just then, would probably have

prescribed a blue pill.

There is a theory that the "Light" had been vouchsafed as the result

of a chance visit to Spurgeon's Tabernacle when she was last in

England. Although Spurgeon himself never put forward any such claim, a

diary that Lola kept at the time has a significant entry:

LONDON,

_September 10, 1859._

How many, many years of my life have been sacrificed to

Satan and my own love of sin! What have I not been guilty of

in thought or deed during these years of wretchedness! Oh! I

dare not think of the past. What have I not been! I only

lived for my own passions; and what is there of good even in

the best natural human being! What would I not give to have

my terrible and fearful experience given as an awful warning

to such natures as my own!

A week later, things not having improved during the interval, she took

stock of her position in greater detail:

I am afraid sometimes that I think too well of myself. But

let me only look back to the past. Oh! how I am humbled....

How manifold are my sins, and how long in years have I lived

a life of evil passions without a check!

To-morrow (the Lord's Day) is the day of peace and

happiness. Once it seemed to me anything but a happy day.

But now all is wonderfully changed in my heart.... This week

I have principally sinned through hastiness of temper and

uncharitableness of feeling towards my neighbour. Oh! that I

could have only love for others and hatred of myself!

Another passage ran:

To-morrow is Sunday, and I shall go into the poor little

humble chapel, and there will I mingle my prayers with the

fervent pastor, and with the good and true. There is no pomp

or ceremony among these. All is simple. No fine dresses, no

worldly display, but the honest Methodist breathes forth a

sincere prayer, and I feel much unity of souls.

The "conversion" of Lola Montez was no flash in the pan, or the result

of a sudden impulse. It was a real one, deep and sincere and lasting.

Her former triumphs on the stage and in the boudoir had become as dust

and ashes. Compared with her new-found joy in religion, all else was

vanity and emptiness.

"I can forget my French and German, and everything else I have

valued," she is declared to have said to a pressman, who, scenting a

"news story," followed hot-foot on her track, "but I cannot forget my

Christ."

She had been "Montez the Magnificent." Now she was "Montez the

Magdalen." The woman whose voluptuous beauty and unbridled passion had

upset thrones and fired the hearts of men was now concerned with the

saving of souls. As such, she resolved to spread "the Word" among

others less happily circumstanced. To this end, she preached in

conventicles and visited hospitals, asylums, and prisons, offering a

helping hand to all who would accept one, and especially to

"unfortunates" of her own sex. She had her disappointments. But

neither snubs nor setbacks, nor sneers nor jeers could turn her from

the path she had elected to tread.

"In the course of a long experience as a Christian minister," says a

clergyman whom she encountered at this period, "I do not think I ever

saw deeper penitence and humility, more real contrition of soul, and

more bitter self-reproach than in this poor woman."

"With," he adds, in an oleaginous little tract on the subject, "a

heart full of generous sympathy for the poor outcasts of her own sex,

she devoted the last few months of her life to visiting them at the

Magdalen Asylum, near New York.... She strove to impress upon them not

only the awful guilt of breaking the divine law, but the inevitable

earthly sorrow which those who persisted with thoughtless desperation

in sinful courses were assuredly treasuring up for themselves."

But, except those who encountered her charity and self-sacrifice,

there were few who had a good word for Lola Montez in her character as

a Magdalen. People who had fawned upon her in the days of her success

now jeered and sneered and affected to doubt the reality of her

penitence. "Once a sinner, always a sinner," they declared; and "Lola

in the pulpit is rich!" was another barbed shaft.

In thus abandoning the buskin for the Bible, Lola Montez was following

one example and setting another. The example she followed was that of

Mlle Gautier, of the Comédie Française, who, after flashing across the

horizon of Maurice de Saxe (and several others), left the footlights

and retired to a convent. "It is true," she says in her memoirs, "that

I have encountered during my theatrical career a number of people

whose morals have been as irreproachable as their talents, but I

myself was not among them." This was putting it--well--mildly, for,

according to Le d'Hoefer, "her stage career was marked by a freedom

of manner pushed to the extremity of licence."

In the sisterhood that she joined the new name of Mlle Gautier was

Sister Augustine. As such, she lived a Carmelite nun for thirty-two

years. But time did not hang heavy on her hands, for, in addition to

religious exercises and domestic tasks, she occupied herself with

painting miniatures and composing verses. "I am so happy here," she

wrote from her cell, "that I much regret having delayed too long

entering this holy place. The real calm and peace I have now

discovered have made me imagine all my previous life an evil dream."

The example that Lola Montez was setting was to be followed, fifty

years later, by another member of her calling. This was Eve

Lavalliére, who, after a distinctly hectic career, cut herself adrift

from the footlights of Paris and entered the mission-field of North

Africa. "Here at your feet," she says in one of her letters, "lies the

vilest, lowest, and most contemptible object on earth, a worm from the

dung-heap, the most infamous, the most soiled of all creatures. Lord,

I am but a poor sheep in your flock!"

There is also something of a parallel between the career of Lola

Montez and that of Theodora, who, once in the circus ring, and, at the

start, a lady of decidedly easy virtue, afterwards became the consort

of the Emperor Justinian and shared his throne. Like Lola, too,

Theodora endeavoured to make amends for her early slips by voluntarily

abandoning the pomp and power she had once enjoyed and giving herself

up to the redemption of "fallen women."

III

Perhaps the "Spirits" resented being abandoned by her in summary

fashion; perhaps she had overtaxed her energies addressing outdoor

meetings in all weathers. At any rate, and whatever the cause, while

she was travelling in the country during the winter of 1860, Lola

Montez was suddenly stricken down by a mysterious illness. As it

baffled the hospital doctors, she had to be taken back to New York.

There, instead of getting better, she gradually got worse, developing

consumption, followed by partial paralysis.

"What a study for the thoughtless; what a sermon on the inevitable

result of human vanity!" was the ghoulish comment of a scribbler.

Rufus Blake, an entrepreneur, under whose banner she had once starred,

has some reminiscences of her at this period. "She lived," he says,

"in strict retirement, reading religious books, and steadily, calmly,

hopefully preparing for death, fully convinced that consumption had

snapped the pillars of her life and that she was soon to make her

final exit."

After an interval, word of Lola's collapse reached England by means of

a cutting in a theatrical paper. There it appears to have touched a

long slumbering maternal chord. "Mrs. Craigie," says a paragraphist,

"suddenly arrived in America, anxious, as next of kin, to secure her

daughter's property. On discovering, however, that none existed, she

hurried back again, leaving behind her a sum of three pounds for

medicine and other necessities."

Cast off by her fair-weather friends, bereft of her looks,

poverty-stricken, and ravaged by an insidious illness, the situation

of Lola Montez was, during that winter of 1860, one to excite pity

among the most severe of judges. Under duress, even her new found

trust in Providence began to falter. Was prayer, she wondered

forlornly, to fail her like everything else? Suddenly, however, and

when things were at their darkest, a helping hand was offered. One

bitter evening, as she sat brooding in the miserable lodging where she

had secured temporary shelter, she was visited by a Mrs. Buchanan,

claiming her as a friend of the long distant past. The years fell

back; and, with an effort, Lola recognised in the visitor a girl, now

a mature matron, whom she had last met in Montrose.

The sympathy of Mrs. Buchanan, shared to the full by her husband, a

prosperous merchant, was of a practical description. Although

familiar with the many lapses in Lola's career, they counted for

nothing beside the fact that she was in sore need. Bygones were

bygones. Insisting that the stricken woman should leave her wretched

surroundings, Mrs. Buchanan took her into her own well-appointed

house, provided doctors and nurses, and did all that was possible to

smooth her path. Deeply religious herself, she soon won back her

faltering faith, and summoned a clergyman, the Rev. Dr. Hawks, to

prepare her for the inevitable and rapidly approaching end.

A smug little booklet, _The Story of a Penitent: Lola Montez_,

published under the auspices of the "Protestant Society for the

Promotion of Evangelical Knowledge," was afterwards written by this

shepherd. Since his name did not appear on the title page, he was able

to make several unctuous references to himself.

"Most acceptable," he says in one characteristic passage, "were his

ministrations. Refreshing, too, to his own spirit were his interviews

with her."

"It was," he continues, "in the latter part of 1860 that I received a

message from the unhappy woman so well known to the public under the

name of Lola Montez, earnestly requesting me to visit her and minister

to her spiritual wants. She had been stricken down by a paralysis of

her left side. For some days she was unconscious, and her death seemed

to be at hand. She had, however, rallied, and a most benevolent

Christian female, who had been her schoolmate in Scotland in the days

of her girlhood, and knew her well, had stepped forward and provided

for the temporal comfort of the afflicted companion of her childhood.

The real name of Lola Montez was Eliza G., and she was of respectable

family in Ireland, where she was born."

But neither the Rev. Mr. Hawks, with his oiliness and smug piety, nor

Mrs. Buchanan, with her true womanly sympathy and understanding, could

bring Lola Montez back to health, any more than--for all their pills

and purges--could the doctors and nurses round her bed. She lay there,

day after day, aware of their presence, but unable to move or speak.

Yet, able to think. Thoughts crowded upon her in a series of flashing

pictures; a bewildering phantasmagoria, coming out of the shadows, and

beckoning to her. Childhood's memories of India; hot suns, marching

men, palanquins and elephants; Montrose and a dour Calvinism; Bath and

Sir Jasper Nicolls; love's young dream; Lieutenant James and the

runaway marriage in Dublin; another experience of India's coral

strand; kind-hearted Captain Craigie and hard-hearted George Lennox;

the Consistory Court proceedings; fiasco at Her Majesty's Theatre;

Ranelagh and Lumley; _wanderjahre_ and odyssey; Paris and Dujarier;

Ludwig and the steps of a throne; passion and poetry; intrigues and

liaisons; Cornet Heald and Patrick Hull; voyages from the old world to

the new; mining camps and backwoods; palaces and conventicles;

glittering triumphs and abject failures. And now, gasping and

struggling for breath, the end.

The sands were running out. The days slipped away, and, with them, the

last vitality of the woman who had once been so full of life and the

joy of living.

The doctors did what they could. But it was very little, for Lola

Montez was beyond their help. The end was fast at hand. It came with

merciful swiftness. On January 17, 1861, she turned her face to the

wall and drew a last shuddering breath.

"I am very tired," she whispered.

The funeral took place two days later. "Accompanied by some of our

most respected citizens and their families," says an eye-witness, "the

cortège left the house of Mrs. Buchanan for Green-Wood cemetery."

"The Rev. Dr. Hawks," adds a second account, "was constantly at the

bedside of Lola Montez, and gave her the benefit of his pastoral care

as freely as if she had been a member of his own flock. He conducted

her obsequies in an impressive fashion; and Mr. Brown, his assistant,

who had himself attended so many funerals and weddings in his day,

was seen to wipe the tears from his eyes, as he heard the reverend

gentleman remark to Mrs. Buchanan that he had never met with an

example of more genuine penitence."

"Is not this a brand plucked from the burning?" enquired the Rev. Mr.

Hawks, as he stood addressing the company assembled round the grave.

He himself was assured that the description was thoroughly applicable

to the woman lying there.

"I never saw," he declared, "a more humble penitent. When I prayed

with her, nothing could exceed the fervour of her devotion; and never

have I had a more watchful and attentive hearer when I read the

Scriptures.... If ever a repentant soul loathed past sin, I believe

hers did."

Possibly, since it could scarcely have been Mrs. Buchanan, it was this

clerical busybody who was responsible for the inscription on Lola's

headstone:

MRS. ELIZA GILBERT

DIED

JANUARY 17, 1861.

An odd mask under which to shelter the identity of the gifted woman

who, given in baptism the names Marie Dolores Eliza Rosanna, had

flashed across three continents as Lola Montez, Countess of Landsfeld.

[Illustration: _Grave of Lola Montez, in Green-wood Cemetery, New

York_

(_Photo by Miss Ida U. Mellen, New York_)]

IV

Misrepresented as she had been in her life, Lola Montez was even more

misrepresented after her death. The breath was scarcely out of her

body, when a flood of cowardly scurrilities was poured from the gutter

press. Her good deeds were forgotten; only her derelictions were

remembered.

One such obituary notice began:

"A woman who, in the full light of the nineteenth century,

renewed all the scandals that disgraced the Middle Ages,

and, with an audacity that is almost unparalleled, seated

herself upon the steps of a throne, is worthy of mention; if

only to show to what extent vice can sometimes triumph, and

to what a fall it can eventually come."

An editorial, which was published in one of the New York papers,

contained some odd passages:

"Among the most ardent admirers of Lola Montez was a young

Scotsman, a member of the illustrious house of Lennox, who

was with difficulty restrained by his family from offering

her his hand. In London the deceased led a gay life, being

courted by the Earl of Malmesbury and other distinguished

noblemen. Wherever she went, she was the observed of all

observers, conquering the hearts of men of all countries by

her beauty and blandishments, and their admiration by her

unflinching independence of character and superior

intellectual endowments."

The death of Lola Montez did not pass without comment in England. The

_Athenæum_ necrologist accorded her half a column of obituary, in

which she was described as "this pretty, picaroon woman, whose name

can never be omitted from any chronicle of Bavaria."

A Grub Street hack, employed by the curiously named _Gentleman's

Magazine_, slung together a column of abuse and lies, founded on

tap-room gossip:

"When not yet sixteen, she ran away from a school near Cork

with a young officer of the Bengal Army, Lieutenant Gilbert

(_sic_), who married her and took her to India. In

consequence of her bad conduct there, he was soon obliged to

send her back to Europe. She first tried the stage as a

profession, but, failing at it, she eventually adopted a

career of infamy."

A writer in _Temple Bar_ has endeavoured, and, on the whole, with fair

measure of success, to preserve the balance:

"With more of the good and more of the evil in her

composition than in that of most of her sisters, Lola Montez

made a wreck of her life by giving reins to the latter; and

she stands out as a prominent example of the impossibility

of a woman breaking away from the responsibilities of her

sex with any permanent gain, either to herself or to

society. Her passionate, enthusiastic and loving nature was

her strength which, by fascinating all who came into contact

with her, was also her weakness."

Cameron Rogers, writing on "Gay and Gallant Ladies," sums up the

career of Lola Montez in deft fashion:

"Thus passed one who has been called the Cleopatra and the

Aspasia of the nineteenth century. A very gallant and

courageous lady, certainly; and, though she used her beauty

and her mind not in accordance with the Decalogue, yet

worthy to be remembered as much for the excellent vigour of

the latter as for the perfection of the former. Individual

damnation or salvation in such a case as hers are matters of

strict opinion; but for Lola's brief to the last judgment

there is an ancient tag that might never be more aptly

appended. Like the moral of her life, it is exceedingly

trite--_Quia multum amavit._"

This is well put.

V

Even after she was in it, and might, one would think, have been left

there in peace, the dead woman was not allowed to rest quietly in her

grave. Some years later her mantle was impudently assumed by an

alleged actress, who, dubbing herself "Countess of Landsfeld,"

undertook a lecture tour in America. If she had no other gift, this

one certainly had that of imagination. "I was born," she said to a

reporter, "in Florence, and my mother, Lola Montez, was really married

to the King Ludwig of Bavaria. This marriage was strictly valid, and

my mother's title of countess was afterwards conferred on myself. The

earliest recollections I have are of being brought up by some nuns in

a convent in the Black Forest. But for the help of the good Dr.

Döllinger, who assisted me to escape, I should still have been kept

there, a victim of political interests."

This nonsense was eagerly swallowed; and for some time the

pseudo-"Countess" attracted a following and reaped a rich harvest. It

was not until diplomatic representations were made that her career was

checked.

On Christmas Day, 1898, a New York obituary announced the death of a

woman, Alice Devereux, the wife of a carpenter in poor circumstances.

It further declared that she was the "daughter of the notorious Lola

Montez, and may well have been the grand-daughter of Lord Byron." To

this it added: "Society has maintained a studious and charitable

reserve as to the parentage of Lola Montez. All that is definitely

known on the subject is that a fox-hunting Irish squire, Sir Edward

Gilbert, was the husband of her mother." Thus is "history" written.

Nor would the "Spirits" leave poor Lola in peace. In the year 1888 a

woman "medium," calling herself Madam Anna O'Delia Diss DeBar (but,

under pressure, admitting to several _aliases_) claimed to be a

daughter of Lola Montez. As such, she conducted a number of séances,

and, in return for cash down, evoked the spirit of her alleged mother.

Some of the cash was extracted from the pocket of a credulous lawyer,

one Luther Marsh. Thinking he had not had fair value for his dollars,

he eventually prosecuted Madam for fraud, and had her sent to prison.

She was not disturbed again until the winter of 1929, when an Austrian

"medium," Rudi Schneider, with, to adopt the jargon of his craft, a

"trance-personality" called Olga (who professed to be an incarnation

of Lola Montez), gave some séances in London. The extinguishing of the

lights and the wheezing of a gramophone were followed by the usual

"manifestations." Thus, curtains flapped, books fell off chairs,

tambourines rattled in locked cupboards, and bells jangled, etc. But

Lola Montez herself was too bashful to appear. None the less, a number

of "scientists" (all un-named) afterwards announced that "everything

was very satisfactory."

Thinking that these claims to get into touch with the dead should be

subjected to a more adequate test, Mr. Harry Price, director of the

National Laboratory of Psychical Research, arranged for Rudi

Schneider to give a sample of his powers to a committee of experts. As

a convincing test, Major Hervey de Montmorency (a nephew of the Mr.

Francis Leigh with whom Lola had once lived in Paris) suggested that

the accomplished "Olga" should be asked the name of his uncle (which

was different from his own) and the circumstances under which they had

parted. This was done, and "Olga" promised to give full details at the

next sitting. But the promise was not kept. "She conveniently shelved

every question," says the official report. Altogether, Rudi

Schneider's stock fell.

VI

The body of Lola Montez, Countess of Landsfeld, and Canoness of the

Order of St. Thérèse, has now been crumbling in the dust of a distant

grave, far from her own kith and kindred, for upwards of seventy

years. Her name, however, will still be remembered when that of other

women who have filled a niche in history will have been forgotten.

Lola Montez was no common adventuress. By her beauty and intelligence

and magnetism she weaved a spell on well nigh all who came within her

radius. Never any member of her sex quite like this one. Had she been

born in the Middle Ages, superstition would have had it that Venus

herself was revisiting the haunts of men in fresh guise. But she would

then probably have perished at the stake, accused of witchcraft by her

political opponents. As it was, even in the year 1848 a sovereign

demanded that a professional exorcist should "drive the devil out of

her."

To present Lola Montez at her true worth, to adjust the balance

between her merits and her demerits, is a difficult task. A woman of a

hundred opposing facets; of rare culture and charm, and of whims and

fancies and strange enthusiasms each battling with the other. Thus, by

turns tender and callous, hot-tempered and soft-hearted; childishly

simple in some things, and amazingly shrewd in others; trusting and

suspicious; arrogant and humble, yet supremely indifferent to public

opinion; grateful for kindness and loyal to her friends, but neither

forgetting nor forgiving an injury. Men had treated her worse than she

had treated them.

For the rest, a flashing, vivid personality, full of resource and high

courage, and always meeting hard knocks and buffets with equanimity.

Lola Montez had lived every moment of her life. In the course of their

career, few women could have cut a wider swath, or one more colourful

and glamorous. She had beauty and intelligence much above the average.

All the world had been her stage; and she had played many parts on it.

Some of them she had played better than others; but all of them she

had played with distinction. She had boxed the compass as no woman had

ever yet boxed it. From adventuress to evangelist; coryphée,

courtesan, and convert, each in turn. At the start a mixture of

Cleopatra and Aspasia; and at the finish a feminine Pelagian. Equally

at home in the company of princes and poets and diplomats and

demireps, during the twenty years she was before the public she had

scaled heights and sunk to depths. Thus, she had queened it in palaces

and in camps; danced in opera houses and acted in booths; she had bent

monarchs and politicians to her will; she had stood on the steps of a

throne, and in the curb of a gutter; she had known pomp and power,

riches and poverty, dazzling successes and abject failures; she had

conducted amours and liaisons and intrigues by the dozen; she had made

history in two hemispheres; a king had given up his crown for her; men

had lived for her; and men had died for her.

As with the rest of us, Lola Montez had her faults. Full measure of

them. But she also had her virtues. She was gallant and generous and

charitable. At the worst, her heart ruled her head; and if she did

many a foolish thing, she never did a mean one.

* * * * *

In the final analysis, when the last balance is struck, this will

surely be placed to her credit.

* * * * *

APPENDIX I

EXTRACTS FROM "ARTS OF BEAUTY"

BY MADAME LOLA MONTEZ,

COUNTESS OF LANDSFELD

A BEAUTIFUL FACE

If it be true "that the face is the index of the mind," the recipe for

a beautiful face must be something that reaches the soul. What can be

done for a human face that has a sluggish, sullen, arrogant, angry

mind looking out of every feature? An habitually ill-natured,

discontented mind ploughs the face with inevitable marks of its own

vice. However well shaped, or however bright its complexion, no such

face can ever become really beautiful. If a woman's soul is without

cultivation, without taste, without refinement, without the sweetness

of a happy mind, not all the mysteries of art can ever make her face

beautiful. And, on the other hand, it is impossible to dim the

brightness of an elegant and polished intellect. The radiance of a

charming mind strikes through all deformity of features, and still

asserts its sway over the world of the affections. It has been my

privilege to see the most celebrated beauties that shine in all the

gilded courts of fashion throughout the world, from St. James's to St.

Petersburgh, from Paris to Hindostan, and yet I have found no art

which can atone for an unpolished mind, and an unlovely heart. That

chastened and delightful activity of soul, that spiritual energy which

gives animation, grace, and living light to the animal frame, is,

after all, the real source of beauty in a woman. It is _that_ which

gives eloquence to the language of her eyes, which sends the sweetest

vermilion mantling to the cheek, and lights up the whole _personnel_

as if her very body thought. That, ladies, is the ensign of beauty,

and the herald of charms, which are sure to fill the beholder with

answering emotion and irrepressible delight.

PAINTS AND POWDERS

If Satan has ever had any direct agency in inducing woman to spoil or

deform her own beauty, it must have been in tempting her to use

_paints_ and _enamelling_. Nothing so effectually writes _memento

mori!_ on the cheek of beauty as this ridiculous and culpable

practice. Ladies ought to know that it is a sure spoiler of the skin,

and good taste ought to teach them that it is a frightful distorter

and deformer of the natural beauty of the "human face divine." The

greatest charm of beauty is in the _expression_ of a lovely face; in

those divine flashes of joy, and good-nature, and love, which beam in

the human countenance. But what expression can there be in a face

bedaubed with white paint and enamelled? No flush of pleasure, no

thrill of hope, no light of love can shine through the incrusted

mould. Her face is as expressionless as that of a painted mummy. And

let no woman imagine that the men do not readily detect this poisonous

mask upon the skin. Many a time have I seen a gentleman shrink from

saluting a brilliant lady, as though it was a death's head he were

compelled to kiss. The secret was that her face and lips were bedaubed

with paints.

A violently rouged woman is a disgusting sight. The excessive red on

the face gives a coarseness to every feature, and a general fierceness

to the countenance, which transforms the elegant lady of fashion into

a vulgar harridan. But, in no case, can even _rouge_ be used by ladies

who have passed the age of life when roses are natural to the cheek. A

_rouged_ old woman is a horrible sight--a distortion of nature's

harmony!

Paints are not only destructive to the skin, but they are ruinous to

the health. I have known paralytic affections and premature death to

be traced to their use. But alas! I am afraid that there never was a

time when many of the gay and fashionable of my sex did not make

themselves both contemptible and ridiculous by this disgusting trick.

Let every woman at once understand that paint can do nothing for the

mouth and lips. The advantage gained by the artificial red is a

thousand times more than lost by the sure destruction of that delicate

charm associated with the idea of "nature's dewy lip." There can be no

_dew_ on a painted lip. And there is no man who does not shrink back

with disgust from the idea of kissing a pair of painted lips. Nor let

any woman deceive herself with the idea that the men do not instantly

detect paint on the lips.

A BEAUTIFUL BOSOM

I am aware that this is a subject which must be handled with great

delicacy; but my book would be incomplete without some notice of this

"greatest claim of lovely woman." And, besides, it is undoubtedly true

that a proper discussion of this subject will seem _peculiar_ only to

the most vulgar minded of both sexes. If it be true, as the old poet

sung, that

"Heaven rests on those two heaving hills of snow,"

why should not a woman be suitably instructed in the right management

of such extraordinary charms?

The first thing to be impressed upon the mind of a lady is that very

low-necked dresses are in exceeding bad taste, and are quite sure to

leave upon the mind of a gentleman an equivocal idea, to say the

least. A word to the wise on this subject is sufficient. If a young

lady has no father, or brother, or husband to direct her taste in this

matter, she will do well to sit down and commit the above statement to

memory. It is a charm which a woman, who understands herself, will

leave not to the public eye of man, but to his imagination. She knows

that _modesty_ is the divine spell that binds the heart of man to her

forever. But my observation has taught me that few women are well

informed as to the physical management of this part of their bodies.

The bosom, which nature has formed with exquisite symmetry in itself,

and admirable adaptation to the parts of the figure to which it is

united, is often transformed into a shape, and transplanted to a place

which deprives it of its original beauty and harmony with the rest of

the person. This deforming metamorphosis is effected by means of stiff

stays, or corsets, which force the part out of its natural position,

and destroy the natural tension and firmness in which so much of its

beauty consists. A young lady should be instructed that she is not to

allow even her own hand to press it too roughly. But, above all

things, to avoid, especially when young, the constant pressure of such

hard substances as whalebone and steel; for, besides the destruction

to beauty, they are liable to produce all the terrible consequences of

abscesses and cancers. Even the padding which ladies use to give a

full appearance, where there is a deficient bosom, is sure in a little

time to entirely destroy all the natural beauty of the parts. As soon

as it becomes apparent that the bosom lacks the rounded fullness due

to the rest of her form, instead of trying to repair the deficiency

with artificial padding, it should be clothed as loosely as possible,

so as to avoid the least artificial pressure. Not only its growth is

stopped, but its complexion is spoiled by these tricks. Let the growth

of this beautiful part be left as unconfined as the young cedar, or as

the lily of the field.

BEAUTY OF DEPORTMENT

It is essential that every lady should understand that the most

beautiful and well-dressed woman will fail to be _charming_ unless all

her other attractions are set off with a graceful and fascinating

deportment. A pretty face may be seen everywhere, beautiful and

gorgeous dresses are common enough, but how seldom do we meet with a

really beautiful and enchanting demeanour! It was this charm of

deportment which suggested to the French cardinal the expression of

"the native paradise of angels." The first thing to be said on the art

of deportment is that what is becoming at one age would be most

improper and ridiculous at another. For a young girl, for instance, to

sit as grave and stiff as "her grandmother cut in alabaster" would be

ridiculous enough, but not so much so, as for an old woman to assume

the romping merriment of girlhood. She would deservedly draw only

contempt and laughter upon herself.

Indeed a modest mien always makes a woman charming. Modesty is to

woman what the mantle of green is to nature--its ornament and highest

beauty. What a miracle-working charm there is in a blush--what

softness and majesty in natural _simplicity_, without which pomp is

contemptible, and elegance itself ungraceful.

There can be no doubt that the highest incitement to love is in

modesty. So well do wise women of the world know this, that they take

infinite pains to learn to wear the semblance of it, with the same

tact, and with the same motive that they array themselves in

attractive apparel. They have taken a lesson from Sir Joshua Reynolds,

who says: "men are like certain animals who will feed only when there

is but little provender, and that got at with difficulty through the

bars of a rack; but refuse to touch it when there is an abundance

before them." It is certainly important that all women should

understand this; and it is no more than fair that they should practise

upon it, since men always treat them with disingenuous untruthfulness

in this matter. Men may amuse themselves with a noisy, loud-laughing,

loquacious girl; it is the quiet, subdued, modest, and seeming bashful

deportment which is the one that stands the fairest chance of carrying

off their hearts.

* * * * *

APPENDIX II

EXTRACTS FROM "LOLA MONTEZ' LECTURES"

BEAUTIFUL WOMEN

The last and most difficult office imposed on Psyche was to descend to

the lower regions and bring back a portion of Proserpine's beauty in a

box. The too inquisitive goddess, impelled by curiosity or perhaps by

a desire to add to her own charms, raised the lid, and behold there

issued forth--a vapour I which was all there was of that wondrous

beauty.

In attempting to give a definition of beauty, I have painfully felt

the force of this classic parable. If I settle upon a standard of

beauty in Paris, I find it will not do when I get to Constantinople.

Personal qualities, the most opposite imaginable, are each looked upon

as beautiful in different countries, and even by different people of

the same country. That which is deformity in New York may be beauty in

Pekin. At one place the sighing lover sees "Helen" in an Egyptian

brow. In China, black teeth, painted eyelids, and plucked eyebrows are

beautiful; and should a woman's feet be large enough to walk upon,

their owners are looked upon as monsters of ugliness.

With the modern Greeks and other nations on the shores of the

Mediterranean, corpulency is the perfection of form in a woman; the

very attributes which disgust the western European form the highest

attractions of an Oriental fair. It was from the common and admired

shape of his countrywomen that Reubens, in his pictures, delights in a

vulgar and almost odious plumpness. He seems to have no idea of beauty

under two hundred pounds. His very Graces are all fat.

Hair is a beautiful ornament of woman, but it has always been a

disputed point as to what colour it shall be. I believe that most

people nowadays look upon a red head with disfavour--but in the times

of Queen Elizabeth it was in fashion. Mary of Scotland, though she had

exquisite hair of her own, wore red fronts out of compliment to

fashion and the red-headed Queen of England.

That famous beauty, Cleopatra, was red-haired also; and the Venetian

ladies to this day counterfeit yellow hair.

Yellow hair has a higher authority still. THE ORDER OF THE GOLDEN

FLEECE, instituted by Philip, Duke of Burgundy, was in honour of a

frail beauty whose hair was yellow.

So, ladies and gentlemen, this thing of beauty which I come to talk

about, has a somewhat migratory and fickle standard of its own. All

the lovers of the world will have their own idea of the thing in spite

of me.

But where are we to detect this especial source of power? Often

forsooth in a dimple, sometimes beneath the shade of an eyelid or

perhaps among the tresses of a little fantastic curl!

I once knew a nobleman who used to try to make himself wise, and to

emancipate his heart from its thraldom to a celebrated beauty of the

court, by continually repeating to himself: "But it is short-lived,"

"It won't last--it won't last!"

Ah, me! that is too true--it won't last. Beauty has its date, and it

is the penalty of nature that girls must fade and become wizened as

their grandmothers have done before them.

In teaching a young lady to dress elegantly we must first impress upon

her mind that symmetry of figure ought ever to be accompanied by

harmony of dress, and that there is a certain propriety in habiliment,

adapted to form, complexion, and age. To preserve the health of the

human form is the first object of consideration, for without that you

can neither maintain its symmetry nor improve its beauty. But the

foundation of a just proportion must be laid in infancy. "As the twig

is bent the tree's inclined." A light dress, which gives freedom to

the functions of life, is indispensable to an unobstructed growth. If

the young fibres are uninterrupted by obstacles of art, they will

shoot harmoniously into the form which nature drew. The garb of

childhood should in all respects be easy--not to impede its movements

by ligatures on the chest, the loins, the legs, or the arms. By this

liberty we shall see the muscles of the limbs gradually assume the

fine swell and insertion which only unconstrained exercise can

produce. The chest will sway gracefully on the firmly poised waist,

swelling in noble and healthy expanse, and the whole figure will start

forward at the blooming age of youth, and early ripen to the maturity

of beauty.

The lovely form of women, thus educated, or rather thus left to its

natural growth, assumes a variety of charming characters. In one

youthful figure, we see the lineaments of a wood nymph, a form slight

and elastic in all its parts. The shape:

"Small by degrees, and beautifully less,

From the soft bosom to the slender waist!"

A foot as light as that of her whose flying step scarcely brushed the

"unbending corn," and limbs whose agile grace moved in harmony with

the curves of her swan-like neck, and the beams of her sparkling eyes.

To repair these ravages, comes the aid of padding to give shape where

there is none, stays to compress into form the swelling chaos of

flesh, and paints of all hues to rectify the dingy complexion; but

useless are these attempts--for, if dissipation, late hours,

immoderation, and carelessness have wrecked the loveliness of female

charms, it is not in the power of Esculapius himself to refit the

shattered bark, or of the Syrens, with all their songs and wiles, to

save its battered sides from the rocks, and make it ride the sea in

gallant trim again. The fair lady who cannot so moderate her pursuit

of pleasure that the feast, the midnight hour, the dance, shall not

recur too frequently, must relinquish the hope of preserving her

charms till the time of nature's own decay. After this moderation in

the indulgence of pleasure, the next specific for the preservation of

beauty which I shall give, is that of gentle and daily exercise in the

open air. Nature teaches us, in the gambols and sportiveness of the

lower animals, that bodily exertion is necessary for the growth,

vigour, and symmetry of the animal frame; while the too studious

scholar and the indolent man of luxury exhibit in themselves the

pernicious consequences of the want of exercise.

Many a rich lady would give thousands of dollars for that full rounded

arm, and that peach bloom on the cheek, possessed by her kitchen-maid.

Well, might she not have had both, by the same amount of exercise and

simple living?

But I weary of this subject of cosmetics, as every woman of sense will

at last weary of the use of them. It is a lesson which is sure to

come; but, in the lives of most fashionable ladies, it has small

chance of being needed until that unmentionable time, when men shall

cease to make baubles and playthings of them. It takes most women

two-thirds of their lifetime to discover that men may be amused by,

without respecting, them; and every woman may make up her mind that to

be really respected she must possess merit; she must have

accomplishments of mind and heart, and there can be no real beauty

without these. If the soul is without cultivation, without refinement,

without taste, without the sweetness of affection, not all the

mysteries of art can make the face beautiful; and, on the other hand,

it is impossible to dim the brightness of an elegant and polished

mind; its radiance strikes through the encasements of deformity, and

asserts its sway over the world of the affections.

GALLANTRY

A history of the beginning of the reign of gallantry would carry us

back to the creation of the world; for I believe that about the first

thing that man began to do after he was created, was to make love to

woman.

There was no discussion, then, about "woman's rights," or "woman's

influence"--woman had whatever her soul desired, and her will was the

watchword for battle or peace. Love was as marked a feature in the

chivalric character as valour; and he who understood how to break a

lance, and did not understand how to win a lady, was held to be but

half a man. He fought to gain her smiles--he lived to be worthy of her

love.

In those days, to be "a servant of the ladies" was no mere figure of

the imagination--and to be in love was no idle pastime; but to be

profoundly, furiously, almost ridiculously in earnest. In the mind of

the cavalier, woman was a being of mystic power. As in the old forests

of Germany, she had been listened to like a spirit of the woods,

melodious, solemn and oracular. So when chivalry became an

institution, the same idea of something supernaturally beautiful in

her character threw a shadow over her life, and she was not only loved

but revered. And never were men more constant to their fair ladies

than in the proudest days of chivalry.

There is no such thing as genuine gallantry either in France or

England. In France the relation between the sexes is too fickle,

variable, and insincere, for any nearer approach to gallantry than

flirtation; while in England the aristocracy, which is the only class

in that country that could have the genuine feeling of gallantry, are

turned shop-owners and tradesmen. The Smiths and the Joneses who

figure on the signboards have the nobility standing behind them as

silent partners. The business habits of the United States and the

examples of rapid fortunes in this country have quite turned the head

of John Bull, and he is very fast becoming a sharp, thrifty,

money-getting Yankee. A business and commercial people have no leisure

for the cultivation of that feeling and romance which is the

foundation of gallantry. The activities of human nature seek other

more practical and more useful channels of excitement. Instead of

devoting a life to the worship and service of the fair ladies, they

are building telegraphs, railroads, steamboats, constructing schemes

of finance, and enlarging the area of practical civilization.

HEROINES OF HISTORY

In attempting to give a definition of strong-minded women, I find it

necessary to distinguish between just ideas of strength and what is so

considered by the modern woman's rights' movement.

A very estimable woman by the name of Mrs. Bloomer obtained the

reputation of being strong-minded by curtailing her skirts six inches,

a compliment which certainly excites no envious feeling in my heart;

for I am philosophically puzzled to know how cutting six inches off a

woman's dress can possibly add anything to the height of her head.

One or two hundred women getting together in convention and resolving

that they are an abused community, and that all the men are great

tyrants and rascals, proves plainly enough that they--the women--are

somehow discontented, and that they have, perhaps, a certain amount of

courage, but I cannot see that it proves them to have any remarkable

strength of mind.

Really strong-minded women are not women of words, but of deeds; not

of resolutions, but of actions. History does not teach me that they

have ever consumed much time in conventions and in passing resolutions

about their rights; but they have been very prompt to assert their

rights, and to defend them too, and to take the consequences of

defeat.

Thus all history is full of startling examples of female heroism,

which prove that woman's heart is made of as stout a stuff and of as

brave a mettle as that which beats within the ribs of the coarser sex.

And if we were permitted to descend from this high plane of public

history into the private homes of the world, in which sex, think you,

should we there find the purest spirit of heroism? Who suffers sorrow

and pain with the most heroism of heart? Who, in the midst of poverty,

neglect and crushing despair, holds on most bravely through the

terrible struggle, and never yields even to the fearful demands of

necessity until death wrests the last weapon of defence from her

hands? Ah, if all this unwritten heroism of woman could be brought to

the light, even man himself would cast his proud wreath of fame at her

feet!

Rousseau asserts that "all great revolutions were owing to women." The

French Revolution, the last great and stirring event upon which the

world looks back, arose, as Burke ill-naturedly expresses it, "amidst

the yells and violence of women." We accept the compliment which Burke

here pays to the power of woman, and attribute the coarseness of his

language to the bitter repugnance which every Englishman of that day

had to everything that was French. No, Mr. Burke, it was not by "yells

and violence" that the great women of France helped on that mighty

revolution--it was by the combined power of intellect and beauty. Nor

will women who get together in conventions for the purpose of berating

men, ever accomplish anything. They can effect legislation only by

quiet and judicious counsel, with such means as control the judgment

and the heart of legislators. And the experience of the world has

pretty well proved that a man's judgment is pretty easily controlled

when his heart is once persuaded.

COMIC ASPECT OF LOVE

My subject to-night is the comic aspect of love. No doubt most of you

have had some little experience, at least in the sentimental and

sighing side of the tender passion; and what I propose to do is to

give you the humorous or comic side. Perhaps I ought to begin by

begging pardon of the ladies for treating so sacred a thing as love in

a comic way, or for turning the ludicrous side of so charming a thing

as they find love to be, to the gaze of men--but I wish to premise

that I shall not so treat sensible or rational love. Of that beautiful

feeling, less warm than passion, yet more tender than friendship, I

shall not for a moment speak irreverently; of that pure disinterested

affection--as charming as it is reasonable, which one sex feels for

the other, I cannot speak lightly. But there is a certain romantic

senseless kind of love, such as poets sometimes celebrate, and men

and women feign, which is a legitimate target for ridicule. This kind

of love is fanciful and foolish; it is not the offspring of the heart,

but of the imagination. I know that generous deeds and contempt of

death have sometimes covered this folly with a veil. The arts have

twined for it a fantastic wreath, and the Muses have decked it with

the sweetest flowers: but this makes it none the less ridiculous nor

dangerous. Love of this romantic sort is an abstraction much too light

and subtle to sustain a tangible existence in the midst of the

jostling relations of this busy world. It is a mere bubble thrown to

the surface by the passions and fancies of men, and soon breaks by

contact with the hard facts of daily life. It is a thing which bears

but little handling. The German Wieland, who was a great disciple of

love, was of opinion that "its metaphysical effects began with the

first sigh, and ended with the first kiss!" Plato was not far out of

the way when he called it "a great devil"; and the man or woman who is

really possessed of it will find it a very hard one to cast out.

Of the refinements of love the great mass of men can know nothing. The

truth is that sentimental love is so much a matter of the imagination

that the uncultivated have no natural field for its display. In

America you can hardly realise the full force of this truth, because

the distinctions of class are happily nearly obliterated. Here

intellectual culture seems to be about equally divided among all

classes. I suppose it is not singular in this country to find the

poorest cobbler, whose little shanty is next to the proud mansion of

some millionaire, a man of really more mental attainments than his

rich and haughty neighbour; in which case the millionaire will do well

to look to it that the cobbler does not make love to his wife; and if

he does, nobody need care much, for the millionaire will be quite sure

to reciprocate.

The great statute, "tit-for-tat," is, I believe, equally the law of

all nations; besides, love is a great leveller of distinction, and it

is in this levelling mission that it performs some of its most

ridiculous antics. When a rich man's daughter runs off with her

father's coachman, as occasionally happens, the whole country is in a

roar of laughter about it. There is an innate, popular perception of

the ridiculous, but everybody sees and feels that in such cases it is

misplaced and grotesque. Everyone perceives that the woman's heart has

taken the bit in its mouth, and run away with her brains. But, as

comedy is often nearly allied to tragedy, so sorrow is sure to come as

soon as the little honeymoon is over. This romantic love cannot

flourish in the soil of poverty and want. Indeed, all the stimulants

which pride and luxury can administer to it can hardly keep it alive.

The rich miss who runs away with a man far beneath her in education

and refinement must inevitably awake, after a brief dream, to a state

of things which have made her unfortunate for life; and he, poor man,

will not be less wretched, unless she has brought him sufficient money

to give him leisure and opportunity to indulge his fancies with that

society which is on a level with his own tastes and education.

WITS AND WOMEN OF PARIS

The French wits tell a laughable story of an untravelled Englishman

who, on landing at Calais, was received by a sulky red-haired hostess,

when he instantly wrote down in his note-book: "All French women are

sulky and red-haired."

We never heard whether this Englishman afterwards corrected his first

impressions of French women, but quite likely he never did, for there

is nothing so difficult on earth as for an Englishman to get over

first impressions, and especially is this the case in relation to

everything in France. An aristocratic Englishman may live years in

Paris without really knowing anything about it. In the first place, he

goes there with letters of introduction to the Faubourg St. Germain,

where he finds only the fossil remains of the old _noblesse_,

intermixed with a slight proportion of the actual intelligence of the

country, and here he moves round in the stagnant circles of historical

France, and it is a wonder if he gets so much as a glimpse of the

living progressive Paris. There is nothing on earth, unless it be a

three-thousand-year-old mummy, that is so grim and stiff and

shrivelled, as the pure old French nobility. France is at present the

possessor of three separate and opposing nobilities. First, there is

the nobility of the Empire, the Napoleonic nobility, which is based on

military and civil genius; second, there is the Orleans nobility, the

family of the late Louis-Philippe, represented in the person of the

young Comte de Paris; third, the Legitimists, or the old aristocracy

of the Bourbon stock, represented in the person of Henry V, Duc de

Bordeaux, now some fifty years old, and laid snugly away in exile in

Italy.

No description which I can give can convey a just idea of the

fascination of society among such wits as Dejazet; and nowhere do you

find that kind of society so complete as in Paris. Nowhere else do you

find so many women of wit and genius mingling in the assemblies and

festive occasions of literary men; and I may add that in no part of

the world is literary society so refined, so brilliant, and charmingly

intellectual as in Paris. It is a great contrast to literary society

in London or America. Listen to the following confession of Lord

Byron: "I have left an assembly filled with all the great names of

_haut-ton_ in London, and where little but names were to be found, to

seek relief from the _ennui_ that overpowered me, in a cider cellar!

and have found there more food for speculation than in the vapid

circles of glittering dullness I had left."

One of the most remarkable and the most noted persons to be met with

in Paris is Madame Dudevant, commonly known as Georges Sand. She is

now about fifty years of age (it is no crime to speak of the age of a

woman of her genius), a large, masculine, coarse-featured woman, but

with fine eyes, and open, easy, frank, and hearty in her manner to

friends. To a discerning mind her writings will convey a correct idea

of the woman. You meet her everywhere dressed in men's clothes--a

custom which she adopts from no mere caprice or waywardness of

character, but for the reason that in this garb she is enabled to go

where she pleases without exciting curiosity, and seeing and hearing

what is most useful and essential for her in writing her books. She is

undoubtedly the most masculine mind of France at the present day.

Through the folly of her relations she was early married to a fool,

but she soon left him in disgust, and afterwards formed a friendship

with Jules Sandeau, a novelist and clever critic. It was he who

discovered her genius, and first caused her to write. It was the name

of this author, Jules Sandeau, that she altered into Georges Sand--a

name which she has made immortal.

Georges Sand in company is silent, and except when the conversation

touches a sympathetic chord in her nature, little given to

demonstration. Then she will talk earnestly on great matters,

generally on philosophy or theology, but in vain will you seek to draw

her into conversation on the little matters of ordinary chit-chat. She

lives in a small circle of friends, where she can say and do as she

pleases. Her son is a poor, weak-brained creature, perpetually

annoying the whole neighbourhood by beating on a huge drum night and

day. She has a daughter married to Chlessindur, the celebrated

sculptor, but who resembles but little her talented mother. Madame

Georges Sand has had a life of wild storms, with few rays of sunshine

to brighten her pathway; and like most of the reformers of the present

day, especially if it is her misfortune to be a woman, is a target to

be placed in a conspicuous position, to be shot at by all dark,

unenlightened human beings who may have peculiar motives for

restraining the progress of mind; but it is as absurd in this glorious

nineteenth century to attempt to destroy freedom of thought and the

sovereignty of the individual, as it is to stop the falls of Niagara.

There was a gifted and fashionable lady (the Countess of Agoult),

herself an accomplished authoress, concerning whom and Georges Sand a

curious story is told. They were great friends, and the celebrated

pianist Liszt was the admirer of both. Things went on smoothly for

some time, all _couleur de rose_, when one fine day Lizst and Georges

Sand disappeared suddenly from Paris, having taken it into their heads

to make the tour of Switzerland for the summer together. Great was the

indignation of the fair countess at this double desertion; and when

they returned to Paris, Madame d'Agoult went to Georges Sand, and

immediately challenged the great writer to a duel, the weapons to be

finger-nails, etc. Poor Lizst ran out of the room, and locked himself

up in a dark closet till the deadly affray was ended, and then made

his body over in charge to a friend, to be preserved, as he said, for

the remaining assailant. Madame d'Agoult was married to an old man, a

book-worm, who cared for nought else but his library; he did not know

even the number of children he possessed, and so little the old

philosopher cared about the matter that when a stranger came to the

house, he invariably, at the appearance of the family, said: "Allow me

to present to you my wife's children"; all this with the blandest

smile and most contented air.

ROMANISM

I know not that history has anything more wonderful to show than the

part which the Catholic Church has borne in the various civilizations

of the world.

What a marvellous structure it is, with its hierarchy ranging through

long centuries almost from apostolic days to our own; living side by

side with forms of civilisation and uncivilisation, the most diverse

and the most contradictory, through all the fifteen hundred years and

more of its existence; asserting an effective control over opinions

and institutions; with its pontificate (as is claimed) dating from the

fisherman of Galilee, and still reigning there in the city that heard

Saint Peter preach, and whom it saw martyred; impiously pretending to

sit in his chair and to bear his keys; shaken, exiled, broken again

and again by schism, by Lutheran revolts and French revolutions; yet

always righting itself and reasserting a vitality that neither force

nor opinion has yet been able to extinguish. Once with its foot on the

neck of kings, and having the fate of empires in its hands, and even

yet superintending the grandest ecclesiastical mechanism that man ever

saw; ordering fast days and feast days, and regulating with omnipotent

fiat the very diet of millions of people; having countless bands of

religious soldiery trained, organized, and officered as such a

soldiery never was before nor since; and backed by an infallibility

that defies reason, an inquisition to bend or break the will, and a

confessional to unlock all hearts and master the profoundest secrets

of all consciences. Such has been the mighty Church of Rome, and there

it is still, cast down, to be sure, from what it once was, but not yet

destroyed; perplexed by the variousness and freedom of an intellectual

civilisation, which it hates and vainly tries to crush; laboriously

trying to adapt itself to the Europe of the nineteenth century, as it

once did to the Europe of the twelfth; lengthening its cords and

strengthening its stakes, enlarging the place of its tent, and

stretching forth the curtains of its habitations, even to this

Republic of the New World.

The only wonder is that such a church should be able to push its

fortunes so far into the centre of modern civilization, with which it

can feel no sympathy, and which it only embraces to destroy. I confess

I find it difficult to believe that a total lie could administer

comfort and aid to so many millions of souls; and the explanation is,

no doubt, that it is all not a total lie; for even its worse doctrines

are founded on certain great truths which are accepted by the common

heart of humanity.

There is such a thing as universal truth, and there is such a thing as

apostolic succession, made not by edicts, bulls, and church canons,

but by an interior life divine and true. But all these Rome has

perverted, by hardening the diffusive spirit of truth into so much

mechanism cast into a mould in which it has been forcibly kept; and by

getting progressively falser and falser as the world has got older and

wiser, till the universality became only another name for a narrow and

intolerant sectism, while the infallibility committed itself to

absurdity, and which reason turns giddy, and faith has no resource but

to shut her eyes; and the apostolic succession became narrowed down

into a mere dynasty of priests and pontiffs. A hierarchy of magicians,

saving souls by machinery, opening and shutting the kingdom of heaven

by a "sesame" of incantations which it would have been the labour of a

lifetime to make so much as intelligible to St. Peter or St. Paul.

Now who shall compute the stupefying and brutalising effects of such a

religion? Who will dare say that a principle which so debases reason

is not like bands of iron around the expanding heart and struggling

limbs of modern freedom?

Who will dare tell me that this terrible Church does not lie upon the

bosom of the present time like a vast unwieldy and offensive corpse,

crushing the life-blood out of the body of modern civilization? It is

not as a religious creed that we are looking at this thing; it is not

for its theological sins that we are here to condemn it; but it is its

effect upon political and social freedom that we are discussing. What

must be the ultimate political and social freedom that we are

discussing? What must be the ultimate political night that settles

upon a people who are without individuality of opinions and

independence of will, and whose brains are made tools of in the hands

of a clan or an order? Look out there into that sad Europe, and see it

all! See, there, how the Catholic element everywhere marks itself with

night, and drags the soul, and energies, and freedom of the people

backwards and downwards into political and social inaction--into

unfathomable quagmires of death!

* * * * *

INDEX

Abel, Carl von, 115,120,126,129,143,149

Abrahamowicz, Colonel, 68, 69

Académie, Royale, 65-67

Acton, 168

Adelaide, Queen Dowager, 51

Adelaide, Australia, 223

Adelbert, Prince, 160

_Adventuresses and Adventurous Ladies_, 15

"Affair of Honour," 80-81

Afghan Campaign, 30, 32

Agra, 33

Albany Museum, 193

Albert, Madame, 76

Alexander I, 95, 105

Alexandra, Princess, 105

Alemannia Corps, 116, 121, 128, 140, 144, 147, 148, 152, 204

Alhambra Theatre, 243

_Allegemeine Zeitung_, 124, 143

_Almanach de Gotha_, 91

"Andalusian Woman," 138

Anderson, Professor, 190, 212

Andrews, Stephen, 253

_Annual Register_, 149

Anstruther, Sir John, 158

_Antony and Cleopatra_, 223

_Archives de la Danse_, 8

Aretz, Gertrude, 7, 113

Argonaut Publishing Company, 8

"Army of the Indus," 30

_Arts of Beauty_, 234-239, 267

Aschaffensberg, 132

Assaye, Battle of, 18

_Assemblée Nationale_, 179

Astley's Theatre, 243

_Athenæum_, 94, 250, 262

Athens, 95

Auckland House, 35

Auckland, Lord, 30-32

Augsburg, Bishop of, 119

_Augsburger Zeitung_, 129

Australia, 203, 211

Austrian Legation, 141

_Autobiography of Lola Montez_, 230, 231

Azan, Dr., 241

Bac, Ferdinand, 6, 7, 91

Baden, 91

Baker, Mrs. Charles, 7

Balaclava, 213

Ballantine, Serjeant, 164, 176

Ballarat, Lola Montez in, 221-227

"Ballarat Reform League," 222

_Ballarat Star_, 223, 226

_Ballarat Times_, 225, 226

Balzac, Honoré de, 75, 81

Bamberg, 125

Barcelona, 178, 179

Bareilly, 33

Barerstrasse, Lola's house in, 106, 107, 113, 138, 141, 151

Barlow, Lucy, 156

Barnum, Phineas, 188, 242

Bath, Lecture at, 242

Bath in the 'Thirties, 19-21

Bauer, Captain, 140

Bavaria, Kingdom of, 94

Bayersdorf Palace, 100

Bayonne, 228

Beaconsfield, Earl of, 169

Beauchene, Atala, 75

Beaujon Villa, 184

"Beautiful for Ever!", 248

"Beautiful Women," Lecture on, 237, 244-248, 271-273

Beauvallon, Rosemond de, 75-90

Beauvoir, Roger de, 75, 79, 87, 184, 249

Bedford, Earl of, 168

Beethoven Festival, 82

Belgium, Lola Montez in, 61

Bendigo, Theatre at, 227

Beneden, Johann, 6

Bengal Artillery, 29

Bengal Native Infantry, 27

Benkendorff, Count, 73

Berkeley, Colonel, 156

Berks, Herr, 116, 144, 149

Berlin, Lola Montez at, 7, 61, 62, 73

Berlin, Royalty at, 61

Berne, 152

Bernhard, Gustav, 6

Bernstorff, Count, 110, 134, 135

Bernstorff, Countess, 135

Berri, Duchesse de, 20

Bertrand, Arthur, 77, 89

Berryer, Maître, 84, 87

Berrymead Priory, 168, 180

Best, Captain, 158

"Betsy Watson," 123, 124

"Betsy James," 54

Bhurtpore, Battle of, 18

Bibliothèque d'Arsenal, 8

Bingham, Peregrine, 172-175

Bishop of London, 245

Bismarck, Prince, 120

_Black Book of British Aristocracy_, 153, 170

Black Forest, 263

Blake, Rufus, 257

Blanchard, Edward, 46

Blessington, Countess of, 20, 245

Bloomer, Mrs., 191, 250, 274

Bloque, M., 133

Blot-Lequesne, M., 186

Blum, Hans, 6

Bluthenberg, 142

Bodkin, William, 172, 175

Boignes, Charles de, 77-79, 81, 84

Bois de Boulogne, 80

Bonaparte, 14, 253

Bonn, 63-82

Bonny, King of, 245

Booth, Edwin, 200

Bordeaux, 185

Borrodaile, Mrs., 56

Boston, Lola Montez in, 193

Boston Public Library, 8

_Boston Transcript_, 193

Bright, John, 241

Brighton, 159, 171, 242

Bristol, Lecture at, 242

"British Raj," 30

Brooks, Preston, 205

Brougham, Lady, 51

Brougham, Lord, 51, 165, 173

Brown, Mrs. General, 17

Browning, Robert, 250, 253

Bruce, General, 251

Bruckenau Castle, 108

Brussels, 61, 120

Buchanan, Mrs., 258, 259, 260, 261

Buckingham Palace, 166

Buffalo, 194

Bülow, Prince von, 122

Bulwer, Edward, 168

Burns, Robert, 104

Burr, Rev. Chauncey, 6, 194, 230, 237, 248

Byron, Lord, 5, 20, 264, 277

Café Anglais, 139

Calcutta, 5, 16, 29, 38, 42, 72, 174, 213

Calcutta, Bishop of, 17

_Calcutta Englishman_, 31

Calcutta, Government House, 22

California in the 'Fifties, 192-210

_California Chronicle_, 206

_Californian_, 201

Californian Pioneers, Library of, 8

Californian State Library, 8

Calvinism, 19, 21, 260

Cambridge, Duke of, 56

Canitz, Freiherr zu, 119, 122

Cannibal Islands, King of, 5

Canning, Sir Stratford, 63, 246

Cape of Good Hope, 29

Capon, Victorine, 75

Cardigan, Earl of, 89

Carl, Prince, 160

Carlos, Don, 123

Carlsbad, 94

Caroline-Augusta, Queen, 112

Cassagnac, Granier de, 77, 83, 88

Castle Oliver, 14

Castlereagh, Lord, 158

Catalini, Angelica, 20

Cavendish, Frederick, 143

Cayley, Edward, 151

Cerito, Mlle, 65-66

Champs Elysées, 182

Chanoines de St. Thérèse, 102, 265

Charles X, 20

Chartist Riots, 163

Chase, Lewis, 8

Chatham, 16

Chester Cathedral, Visit to, 242

Chevalier, Émile, 236

Cholera at Dinapore, 16, 17

Chudleigh, Elizabeth, 168

Churchill, Arabella, 156

Claggett, Horace, 158

Clarence, Duke of, 156

Clark, Mary Anne, 156

Clarkson, William, 172-176

Claudin, Gustave, 71, 72

Clayton, Henry, 199

Clutton, Colonel, 168

Coates, "Romeo," 20

Cole, Henry, 158

_Cologne Gazette_, 125

Combermere, Lord, 97

Comédie Française, 356

"Comic Aspects of Love," Lecture on, 250, 275-277

Conciergerie Prison, 90

Congress of London, 95

Consistory Court, Action in, 43, 176

Constantinople, 16, 63, 246

"Corinthians," 46, 52

Corneille, Pierre, 86

Costa, Michael, 54

Cotta, Baron, 97

Coules, M., 53

"Countess for an Hour," 153

Covent Garden Hotel, 41

Covent Garden Opera House, 54, 60, 163

Cowell, Sam, 252

Coyne, Stirling, 165

Craigie, David, 39, 41

Craigie, Misses, 19

Craigie, Mrs., marries Ensign Gilbert, 14;

early widowhood, 17;

marries Patrick Craigie, 17;

returns to England, 23;

collapse of ambitious schemes, 24;

quarrels with Lola, 26;

partial reconciliation, 34;

visit to New York, 258

Craigie, Patrick, 17, 19, 23, 39, 40, 43, 260

Cremorne Gardens, 243

"Crim. con" action, 42

Crimean Campaign, 213

Crosby, Henry, 227

Crosby, Mrs., 227

Cumberland, Duke of, 156

Cuyla, Madame de, 156

Dacca, 17

D'Agoult, Madame, 64, 117, 278

_Daily Alta_, 198

Daly, Joseph, 194

_Dancing Times_, 7

"Daniel Stern," 64, 117

Daughrity, Professor, 8

D'Auvergne, Edmund, 7, 15

Davenport Brothers, 252

Dawson, Nancy, 168

"Day of Humiliation," 119

DeBar, Anna, 264

D'Ecquevillez, Vicomte, 77, 83-85, 90

Delta State Teachers' College, 8

Denman, Lord, 42

Derby, Countess of, 250

Deschler, Johann, 6

Desmaret, Maître, 186

"Desperado in Dimity," 234

_Deutsche Zeitung_, 154

Devereux, Alice, 264

Devismes, M., 83, 85

Devonshire, Duke of, 156

_Die Deutsche Revolution_, 6

Diepenbrock, Archbishop, 111, 119

Dinapore, Cholera at, 16

Disraeli, Benjamin, 167

Disraeli, Sarah, 167

Döllinger, Dr., 130, 144, 162, 263

Dost Muhammed, 30

"Down Under," 211-227

Dresden, 62-63

Drury Lane Theatre, 46, 163, 243

Dublin, 16, 27, 124, 240, 241

_Dublin Daily Express_, 241

Dujarier, Charles, lover of Lola Montez, 71;

restaurant brawl, 76, 77;

fatal duel with de Beauvallon, 80, 81;

burial at Montmartre, 82

Dumas, Alexandra, 71, 78, 81, 86, 91, 209, 249

Dumas _fils_, 183

Dumilâtre, Adèle, 65

Durand, Colonel, 33

Duval, M., 84, 88, 89

East India Company, 18

_East India Voyage_, 28

Ebersdorf, 91

Ecclesiastical Court, proceedings of, 173

Eden, Hon. Emily, 31, 32, 34

_El Oleano_, 51-53, 60

_Elegant Woman_, 7, 113

Elephant and Castle Theatre, 243

Ellenborough, Lady, 106

Ellenborough, Lord, 32, 33

"Elopement in High Life," 26

Elphinstone, Lord, 40

Elssler, Fanny, 54, 65, 73, 190

Elysium Hill, 35

Englischer Garten, 104

Enriques, Don, 181

_Era_, Criticism in, 247, 248

Erdmann, Dr. Paul, 6

Erskine, Lady Jane, 106

Estafette, 227

_Examiner_, Comment in, 58, 121

"Eton Boy," 221, 229

Eugénie, Empress, 245

Ezterhazy, Count, 51

"Fair Impure," 93, 114

Falk, Bernard, 7

Fane, Sir Henry, 32

Fay, Amy, 183

Feldberg, 131

Fenton, Frank, 8

Fiddes, Josephine, 211

Field, Kate, Letter from, 194

Fitzball, Edward, Benefit Performance, 59-60

"Flare of the Footlights," 49

Flaubert, Gustave, 84

Flers, Comte de, 77, 84

Folkestone, 180

Follard, Charles, 217

Follett, Sir William, 42

"Follies of a Night," 229

Fontblanque, Albany, 168

Foote, Maria, 156

"Fops' Alley," 52

Foreign Office, 151

Forster, John, 168

Fort William, 16

Forty-Fourth Foot, Regiment, 16

Fox Sisters, 252

Frankfort, Rothschilds' Bank at, 154

Frays, Herr, 98, 101

Frederick William III, 63, 126

Frederick William IV, 61, 134

Frenzal, Fräulein, 98, 101

Frères-Provençaux Restaurant, 75

Fuchs, Eduard, 6, 103

Fulda Forest, 108

"Gallantry," Lecture on, 237, 238

"Gallery of Beauties," 105

Garsia, Manuel, 20

Gautier, Mlle, 256, 257

Gautier, Théophile, 66, 71

_Gay and Gallant Ladies_, 263

Geelong, 221

Geneva, 5, 152

_Gentleman's Magazine_, 180, 262

George IV, 62,156

Georges, Mlle, 156

Gilbert, Ensign, runaway marriage, 14;

service in India, 16;

death from cholera, 17

Gilbert, Mrs., 15, 17

Gillingham, Harold, 8

Gillis, Mabel, 7

Girardin, Émile de, 81, 181, 227

Giuglini, Antonio, 243

_Globe_, 171

Glyptothek Gallery, 96

"Golden West," 196

Goodrich, Peter, 187

Görres, Joseph, 109, 137, 162

Gougaud, Dom, 144

Granada, 47

Granby, Marchioness of, 51

Granby, Marquess of, 51

"Grand Sebastopol Matinée," 213

Granville, Earl, 164

Grass Valley, Life in, 201-210

_Grass Valley Telegraph_, 210

Graves _v._ Graves, Divorce action, 43

Gray, Police-sergeant, 173

Great Exhibition of 1851, 179

Green, Miss, 157

Green-Wood cemetery, 260

Grisi, Carlotta, 55

Guadaloupe, 75, 90

"Guermann Regnier," 64

Guéronniere, de la, M., 231

Guillen, Manuel, 204

Guise, Dr. de, 80, 81

Guizot, M., 71

Gumpenberg, Colonel von, 128

Hagen, Charlotte, 105

Halévy, Jacques, 65

Half Moon Street, 164, 173

Hall, Mrs. Lillian, 81

Hamon and Company, 133

Hanover, King of, 51

"Hans Breitmann," 114

Hardwick, William, 175

Harré, T. Everett, 38, 120

Harrington, Countess of, 157

Harte, Bret, 203

Harvard Theatre Collection, 8

Harvard University, 253

Hastings, Lord, 18

Hastings, Warren, 16

Haussmann, Baron, 70

Hawks, Rev. Francis, 259, 260, 261

Hayden, Mrs., 252

Hayes, Catherine, 212

Haymarket Theatre, 153, 165

Hayward, Abraham, 168

Heald, George, 169

Heald, George Trafford, Cornet of Horse, 166;

bigamous marriage with Lola Montez, 167;

deprived of commission, 170;

family interference, 171;

police-court proceedings, 172-176;

matrimonial jars, 178;

separation, 178;

death, 180

Heald, Susannah, 171, 173, 174

_Heavenly Sinner_, 38

Heber, Bishop, 17

Heenan, John Camel, 251

Heine, Heinrich, 97

Henry LXXII, Prince of Reuss, 91, 94, 105

Her Majesty's Theatre, 49, 51, 53, 55, 57, 59, 243, 260

"Heroines of History," 237, 249, 274-275

Hesse-Darmstadt, 94

Hirschberg, Count von, 116, 140, 152

_History of Theatre in America_, 7

Hodgson, Miss D. M., 15

Hof Theatre, Munich, 98, 100, 161

Holden, W. Sprague, 8

Holland, Canon Scott, 111

Homburg, 94

Home, Daniel Dunglas, 252

"Hooking a Prince," 91, 104

Hope Chapel, Lecture at, 234

Hornblow, Arthur, 7

Home, R. H., 218, 220

Horse Guards, 169

Hotel Maulich, 102

Hotham, Sir Charles, 218

Household Cavalry, 166, 169

Howells, W. Dean, 192

Hugo, Victor, 202, 205

Hull, Patrick, 198, 204, 210, 260

Huneker, James, 63

_Il Barbiere di Seviglia_, 49

_Il Lazzarone_, 65

Imperial Hotel, 41, 44

India, Garrison life in, 30-38

India, Voyage to, 28, 29

Inferiority-complex, 254

Ingram, Captain, 45, 174

Ingram, Mrs., 45

Ireland, 26-28, 240, 241

_Irish Ecclesiastical Record_, 144

Irving, Washington, 238

Jacguand, Claudius, 179

James, Rev. John, 27

James, Lieutenant Thomas, accompanies Mrs. Craigie to England, 24;

runaway marriage with Lola Montez, 26;

garrison life in Dublin, 27;

service in India, 28;

drink and gambling, 37;

crim. con. action, 42;

judicial separation, 43;

police-court proceedings, 174

James _v._ James, Consistory Court Trial, 43

James _v._ Lennox, 42

Janin, Jules, 66, 249

Jesuits, Activity of, 114, 122, 141, 231

Joan of Arc, 234

Jobson, Henry, 232, 233

_John Bull_, 172

"John Bull at Home," Lecture on, 251

John, Cecile, guest at tragic supper party 75;

evidence at Rouen trial, 85

"John Company," India under, 18, 37

Joly, Antenon, 231

_Journal des Débats_, 66

Judd, Dr., 192

"Judge and Jury Club," 244

Judicial Separation, 43, 45

Justinian, Emperor, 120, 257

"Just and Persevering," 162

Karr, Alphonse, 75

Kean, Mrs. Charles, 165

Kean, Edmund, 20

Keane, Sir John, 32

Keeley, Mrs., 165

"Keepsake Annuals," 20

Kelly, Fanny, 47

Kelly, William, 227

Kemble, Fanny, 20

Kemble, John Philip, 20

Kerner, Justinus, 147

Khelat, Khan of, 32

King of Sardinia, 200

Kingsley, Charles, 250

Kingston, Duchess of, 168

Kingston, Duke of, 168

Kirke, Baron, 204, 205

Klein, Dr. Tim von, 147

Knapp, Mrs. Dora, 197, 203, 206

Kobell, Luise von, 6, 99, 100

Kossuth, Louis, 188

Krüdener, Baroness, 105, 119

Kurnaul, 29, 36, 37

La Biche au Bois, 74

_La Presse_, 71, 77, 227, 228

"Lady of the Camelias," 71, 183

Lahore, 30

Lamartine, de M., 231

Lamb, Charles, 47

"Lamentation," 148

Landon, Letitia, 168

Landsfeld, Countess of, 131

Landshut, 116, 131

Larousse, Pierre, 77

Lasaulx, Professor, 109, 121, 123

Lavallière, Eve, 257

Lawrence, Henry, 29

Lawrence, Sir Walter, 40

_Le Constitutionnel_, 66

Lecouvreur, Adrienne, 204

Le d'Hoefer, 256

_Le Droit_, 83

_L'Estafette_, 227

_Le Figaro_, 231

_Le Globe_, 77

_Le Pays_, 185, 230

_Lectures of Lola Montez_, 250

"Left-handed Marriage," 167

Legge, Professor J. G., 92

Leigh, Francis, 70, 134, 265

Leiningen, Prince, 116

Leland, Charles Godfrey, 114, 239

Leningrad, 7

Lennox, Captain, 40-44, 56, 58, 260

Leen, Don Diego, 48

_Les Contemporains_, 232

_Les Débats_, 66

Lesniowski, M., 69

_Letters from Up-Country_, 34-37

Lever, Charles, 16

Leveson-Gower, Hon. Frederick, 164

"Liberation of Greece," 96

Lichenthaler, Herr, 112

Liévenne, Anais, 75-76, 85

Life Guards, 166, 170

Limerick, 5, 14, 15, 72

Lind, Jenny, 110

Lindeau, Flight to, 142

"Lion of the Punjaub," 30

Lisbon, 179

Lister, Lady Theresa, 35

Liverpool, Lecture at, 241

Liszt, Abbé, _liaison_ with Lola Montez, 62-65;

Opera House, Dresden, 63;

life in Paris, 71, 183;

visit to Bonn, 63;

correspondence with Madame d'Agoult, 117

Loeb, Herr, 151

"Lola in Bavaria," 194, 211, 229

Lomer, Adjutant, 38

Lomer, Mrs., 38, 45

London, Lola Montez in, 41-47, 49-60, 163-177, 242-250

Londonderry, Marquess of, 169, 171

Lord Chamberlain, 153, 166

Lord Milton, 8

Louis XV, 156

Louis Napoleon, 163, 198, 244

Louis-Philippe, 70, 82, 159

Lovell, John, 236

Lucerne, 16

Lucknow, 29

Ludwig I, architectural aspirations, 96;

lured by Lola Montez, 99-148;

poetry and passion, 101, 105, 137;

dissentions with Cabinet, 120, 127-129, 149, 159;

abdication, 160;

death and burial, 162

Ludwig II, 6

Luitpold, Prince, 146, 160

Lumley, Sir Abraham, 22, 24, 25

Lumley, Benjamin, 49-55, 58, 65, 260

Lushington, Dr., 43

Luther, Martin, 96

Lyceum Theatre, 243

Lytton, Lord, 168

Macaulay, Lord, 30

Macready, W. C., 20, 190

Madeira, 29

Madras, 40, 42, 45

Madrid, 14, 47

_Maga_, 162

Magdalen Asylum, 256

Mahmood, Sultan, 33

"Maidens, Beware!" 221

"Maîtresse du Roi," 118

Malmesbury, Earl of, 46, 48, 49, 59, 262

Maltitz, Baron, 94

Manchester, Free Trade Hall, 241

Mangnall, Mrs., 20

Marden, Caroline, 45

Marie-Antoinette, 94, 95

Marlborough Street police court, 171-177

"Married in Haste," 27

Marseilles, 177, 227

Marsh, Luther, 264

Martin, Mrs., 44

Marysville, 202

_Marysville Herald_, 207, 208

Mathews, Charles, 243

Mathews, Mrs., 157

Mauclerc, M., 220

Maurer, Georg von, 128,129

Maurice, Edward, 151

McMichael, Captain, 199

McMullen, Major, 43

McNaghten, Mrs., 30

Maximilian, Prince, 160

Max Joseph, Prince, 94

Mazzini, 151

Mélanie, Princess, 112, 136

Melbourne, 214, 216-221

_Melbourne Argus_, 216, 218, 219

_Melbourne Herald_, 217, 219, 220

Melbourne, Theatre, 217, 220

Mellen, Ida M., 8

_Mémoires de M. Montholon_, 76

Menken, Adah Isaacs, 6, 165, 211

Méry, Joseph, 71, 81, 86, 209

_Mes Souvenirs_, 72

Metternich, Prince, 120, 159, 163

Metzger, Herr, 106

Milbanke, Sir John, 141

Milbanke, Lady, 106

Milnes, Menckton, 250

Milton, Dr., 219

"Ministry of Dawn," 149

Minto, Earl of, 18

Mirecourt, Eugéne de, 20, 65, 67, 179, 231, 232

Mission Dolores, Church of, 198, 199

Molière, Jean Baptiste, 88

Moller, Baron, 154

Monmouth, Duke of, 156

Montalva, Oliverres de, 14

Montez, Francisco, 14

Montez, Jean Francois, 46, 61, 197

Montez, Lola, birth and parentage, 15;

childhood in India, 19;

sent to Montrose and Bath, 19, 20;

"Love's Young Dream," 25;

runaway marriage, 26;

garrison life in Dublin, 27;

return to India, 29;

_liaison_ with Captain Lennox, 41;

Consistory Court proceedings, 43;

disastrous début at Her Majesty's, 54;

Continental wanderings, 61;

_liaison_ with Liszt, 62;

fiasco at Académie Royale, 66;

mistress of Dujarier, 71;

evidence at Rouen trial, 87;

"hooking a prince," 91-93;

career in Munich, 98-152;

"Maîtresse du Roi," 118-135;

created Countess of Landsfeld, 131;

expelled from Bavaria, 150;

adventures in Switzerland, 152-155;

bigamous union with Cornet Heald, 167;

prosecution for bigamy, 171-177;

life in Paris, 181-187;

theatrical career in America, 187;

marriage with Patrick Hull, 198;

life in California, 197-210;

theatrical tour in Australia, 211-227;

returns to America, 229;

from stage to platform, 234-239;

lectures in London, 244-250;

returns to America, 251;

new role as "Repentant Magdalen," 255;

illness and death, 257-260;

funeral at Green-Wood Cemetery, 260;

obituary notices, 261-263

"Montez the Magdalen," 255

Montmartre Cemetery, 81

Montmorency, Major de, 265

Montrose, 5, 18, 21, 22, 115, 258, 260

"Morning Call," 223

_Morning Herald_, 53

_Morning Star_, 246

Morrison, Colonel, 16

Morton, Savile, 184

Moscheles, Ignatz, 63

Mulgrave, Earl of, 27

Munich, Ludwig I, maker of, 94;

Lola Montez in, 94-250;

Hof Theatre, 98;

public buildings, 96;

Residenz Palace, 98, 105;

revolution in, 160;

flight from, by Lola Montez, 151;

funeral of Ludwig I at, 162

_Music Study in Germany_, 183

Naked Lady, 7

Napier, Sir Charles, 30

Naples, 177

Naussbaum, Lieutenant, 152

"Necrology of the Year," 13

_Nélida_, 64

Nesselrode, Karl, 95

Nevada City, 202

Newcastle, Duke of, 168

New York, 187-193, 209-240, 251-262

_New York Herald_, 188

_New York Times_, 208

_New York Tribune_, 234

Niagara, 194

Nice, hiding at, 161,

Nicholas I, 61, 67, 73, 95

Nicolls, Fanny, 19, 20, 231

Nicolls, Sir Jasper, 19, 20, 22, 25, 260

Niendorf, Emma, 147

Nightingale, Florence, 213, 249

Nilgiri Hills, 38

Normanby, Marquess of, 27

Norton, Hon. Mrs., 20

Nuremberg, 125

Nussbaum, Lieutenant, 152

Nymphenburg Park, 104, 108

Ole Bull, 200

Olga, Princess, 94

Olridge, Mrs., 232

Opserman, Herr, 101

Osborne, Bernal, 27

Osborne, Hon. William, 31

Otto, King of Greece, 95

Osy, Alice, 75

Palatia Corps, 116, 138

Palmerston, Viscount, 95, 111, 120, 141, 143, 151

Papon, Auguste, 102, 106, 152, 154-158

Paris, 7, 14, 20, 21, 65-70, 181-187

Parthenon, 95

_Pas de Fascination_, 165

Paskievich, Prince, 68, 69

Patna, Cantonments at, 16

Pavestra de, Marquise, 231

"Pea Green Hayne," 157

Pechman, Baron, 109, 111

Peel, Robert, 153

Peissner, Fritz, 114, 116, 147, 152, 204

Pennsylvania Historical Society, 8

Perth, 39

Petersham, Lord, 157

Pfaff's Restaurant, 192, 193

Philadelphia, 193

Phoenix Park, 27

Pillet, Léon, 65, 67

Pinakothek Gallery, Munich, 96

Pitti Palace, 96

Plessis, Alphonsine, 71, 183

Poland, Lola Montez in, 67, 68

Porte St. Martin Theatre, 74, 133, 140

Potsdam, 61

Pourtales, Guy de, 64

Preysing, Countess, 142

Price, Harry, 7, 264

Prince Consort, 63, 153, 169

Prince of Wales, 251, 252

Princess Victoria, 20

Prussia, Queen of, 110

Psychical Investigation, Council for, 7

_Punch_, References to Lola Montez, 102, 132

Punjaub, Garrison life in, 37

Queen Victoria, 62, 63, 97, 153, 169

Queen's Bench Division, Court of, 42

_Questions for the Use of Young People_, 20

Rachel, Madame, 56, 248

Rae, Mrs., 44

"Raffaelo, the Reprobate," 223

Raglan, Lord, 213

Ranelagh, Viscount, 52, 54-56, 260

Ranjeet Sing, 30, 31

Rathbiggon, 27

Ratisbon, 96

Rechberg, Count von, 98, 99, 136

Reisach, Count, 118

_Reminiscences of the Opera_, 58

Residenz Palace, 98, 105, 121, 138, 152

Reuss-Lobenstein-Ebersdorf, Principality of, 91

_Rhyme and Revolution in Germany_, 92

Richardson, Philip, 7

Richter, Jean Paul, 162

Rieff, M., 84

_Rienzi_, 63

Rio, Madame, 144

Roberts, Browne, 43

Roberts, Emma, 28, 29

Rogers, Cameron, 263

"Romanism," Lecture on, 237, 238, 279, 280

Rothmanner, Herr, 140

Rothschild, Baroness de, 51

Rotterdam, Embarkation of Prince Metternich at, 163

Rouen, Assize Court, 83-90

Rourke, Constance, 7

Roux, M., 185-187

_Ruff's Guide_, 178

Russell, W. H., 196, 197

Russia, 67, 69, 70

Sacramento City, 199

_Sacramento Union_, 207

"Sahib Log," 30

Saint-Agnan, M. de, 75, 76

Sala, George Augustus, 6, 164, 247

Sale, Mrs. Robert, 30

Salveton, M., 86

Salzburg, 94

San Francisco, 197-199

_San Francisco Alta_, 198, 200

_San Francisco Whig_, 198

Sand, George, 183, 250, 277

Sandeau, Jules, 278

Sandhurst, 227

_Satirist_, 163, 166, 170

Saunders, Beverley, 199

Saxe, Marshal, 256

Saxe-Weimar, Prince Edward of, 51

Sayers, Tom, 209

"Scarlet Woman," 115

Schönheitengalerie, 105

Schneider, Rudi, 264, 265

Schrenck, Count von, 128

Schröder, Fräulein, 161

Schulkoski, Prince, 73

Schwab, Sophie, 148

Schwanthaler, Franz, 162

Second Empire, 70

Sedley, Katherine, 156

Seekamp, Henry, 225, 226

Senfft, Count, 112, 129

Seinsheim, Herr von, 128

Seville, 5, 14, 50, 51, 53, 57, 61, 72, 123

Shah Shuja, 30

Sheridan, Francis, 27

Shipley, Henley, 207, 209

Shore, Jane, 118

Sicklen, Mrs. Putnam van, 8

Simla, 31, 34, 36

Sister Augustine, 257

_Sketches by Boz_, 20

"Sludge, the Medium," 252

Smith, E. T., 242-244

Somnauth, Temple of, 32

"Song of Walhalla," 108

Sophie, Archduchess, 105

Sorel, Agnes, 118

Soule, Frank, 207

Southampton, 48

_Southern Lights and Shadows_, 212, 213

Spence, Lady Theresa, 106

"Spider Dance," 209, 218, 219, 223

Spiritualism, 252, 253, 264

"Spittalsfield Weaver," 223

Spurgeon, Charles Haddon, 254

Staël, Madame de, 238

Stahl, Dr., 141

_Standard_, 169

Stanford University, 8

Stanhope, Colonel, 157

Starenberg, 148

Stedman, Edmund Clarence, 252

Steinberg, Otto von, 126

Steinkeller, Mme, 68

Stewart, William, 202, 206

Stieler, Josef, 105

Stocqueler, J., 33

_Story of a Penitent_, 259

Stowe, Mrs. Harriet Beecher, 222

Stubenrauch, Amalia, 94

Sturgis, Mrs., 40, 41

Stuttgart, 94

St. George's, Hanover Square, 167

St. Helena, 14, 29

St. James's Hall, 244

St. Jean de Luz, 228

St. Louis, 193, 194

St. Petersburg, 60, 61, 67, 69, 72, 246

Sue, Eugéne, 71, 194, 249

Sultan of Turkey, 5, 63, 246

Sumner, Charles, 230

_Sunday Times_, 243

Sutherland, Duchess of, 245

"Swedish Nightingale," 165

Swiss Guards, 141

_Sydney Herald_, 212

Sydney, social life in, 212

Sydney, Victoria Theatre, 211, 212

Taglioni, Marie, 54, 65, 73

Talleyrand, Baron, 51

_Temple Bar_, 262

Tennyson, Alfred, 97, 184

Thackeray, W. M., 184, 190, 192

Theatiner Church, 141

Theatrical Museum, Munich, 8

Theodora, Empress, 120, 257

Theresa of Saxe-Hildburghausen, Princess, 95

Thesiger, Frederick, 42

Thiersch, Friedrich, 139, 162

Thirsch, Wilhelm, 162

Thirty-eighth Native Infantry, 17

Thompson, Edward, 32

Thynne, Lord Edward, 158

Tichatschek, Josef, 63

_Times_, 43, 122, 123, 177

Titiens, Teresa, 243

Tom Thumb, General, 190

Tourville, Letendre de, 84-86

Treitschke, Heinrich von, 6, 103, 143

_Troupers of the Gold Coast_, 7

"Trousers for Women," 191

_Troy Budget_, 194

Tugal, M. Pierre, 8

Tupper, Martin, 97

Twenty-fifth Foot, Regiment, 16

Tyree, Mrs. Annette, 8

_Ulner Chronik_, 127

Ultramontane Policy, 115, 121, 126, 127, 143

_Uncle Tom's Cabin_, 243

"Uncrowned Queen of Bavaria," 120

University, Munich, 116, 121, 130, 139, 145

University Students at Munich, 114, 116, 121, 129, 138, 144, 145

_Up the Country_, 34

Valley, Count Arco, 142, 143

Vandam, Albert, 84, 182, 183

Vanderbilt, Commodore, 192

_Vanity Fair_, 192

Variétés Theatre, St. Louis, 194

Vaubernier, Jeanne, 232

Vaudeville Theatre, 186

Vestris, Madame, 51, 157, 158

Victoria Theatre, Ballarat, 222

Vienna, 112, 117, 143, 159

Villa-Palava, Marquise, 231

Vine Street Police Station, 174

Vrede, Prince, 140

Wagner, Martin, 96

Wagner, Richard, 63, 162

Wainwright, Governor, 199

_Walhalla's Genossen_, 97

Walkinshaw, Mrs., 156

Wallerstein, Prince, 140, 141, 144, 150

Wallinger, Antoinette, 105

Walters, Mrs., 44

Ware, C. P. T., 194

Warsaw, 7, 67, 68

_Warsaw Gazette_, 69

Washington, George, 57

Waterloo, Battle of, 14

Watson, Mrs., 26, 44

Weimar, 71

Weinsberg, 147, 148

_Welcome Guest_, 250

Wellington, Duchess of, 51, 245

Wellington, Duke of, 51, 169, 213

"Whiff of Grapeshot," 140

Whitbread, Samuel, 243

Whitman, Walt, 193

Wilberforce, Edward, 101

William I, of Germany, 91

William IV, 20

Willis, N. P., 187

Willis, Richard Storrs, 187

Wills, Judge, 199

Wilson, Rev. John, 209

Windischmann, Dr., 118

Windsor Castle, 62

"Wits and Women of Paris," 237, 249, 277-279

Wittelsbach, House of, 96

"Woman of Spain," 105

Wurtemburg, 94

Würzburg, Bishop of, 141

Ziegler, Rudolph, 6

"Zoyara the Hermaphrodite," 200

Zu Rhein, Freiherr, 128

* * * * *

End of Project Gutenberg's The Magnificent Montez, by Horace Wyndham