Part 20 (1/2)
In his character of what is still oddly dubbed a ”man-about-town,”
Serjeant Ballantine was also among those who attended these Half Moon Street gatherings. ”His hostess,” he says, ”had certain claims to celebrity. She was, I believe, of Spanish origin, and certainly possessed that country's style of beauty, with much dash of manner and an extremely _outre_ fas.h.i.+on of dress.” Another occasional visitor was George Augustus Sala, a mid-Victorian journalist who was responsible for printing more slipshod inaccuracies than any two members of his craft put together. He says that he once contemplated writing Lola's memoirs. He did not, however, get beyond ”contemplating.” This, perhaps, was just as well, since he was so ill-equipped for the task that he imagined she was a sister of Adah Isaacs Menken.
”About this time,” he says, ”I made the acquaintance, at a little cigar shop under the pillars in Norreys Street, Regent Street, of an extremely handsome lady, originally the wife of a solicitor, but who had been known in London and Paris as a ballet-dancer under the name of Lola Montez. When I knew her, she had just escaped from Munich, where she had been too notorious as Countess of Landsfeld. She had obtained for a time complete mastery over old King Ludwig of Bavaria; and something like a revolution had been necessary to induce her to quit the Bavarian capital.”
A ridiculous story spread that Lord Brougham (who had witnessed her ill-starred debut in 1843) wanted to marry her. The fact that there was already a Lady Brougham in existence did not curb the tongues of the gossipers. ”She refused the honourable Lord,” says a French journalist, ”in a manner that redounded to her credit.”
Journalists, anxious for ”copy,” haunted Half Moon Street all day long. They were never off her doorstep. ”Town gossip,” declared one of them, ”is in full swing; and the general public are all agog to catch a glimpse of the latest 'lioness.' Lola Montez is on every lip and in everybody's eye. She is causing an even bigger sensation than that inspired by the Swedish Nightingale, Madame Jenny Lind.”
Notwithstanding the ill-success of a former attempt to exploit her personality behind the footlights, Mrs. Keeley produced a sketch at the Haymarket written ”round” Lola Montez. This, slung together by Stirling Coyne, was called: _Pas de Fascination_. The scene was laid in ”Neverask-_where_”; and among the characters were ”Prince Dunbrownski,” ”Count m.u.f.fenuff,” and ”General von Bolte.”
It scarcely sounds rib-rending.
Mrs. Charles Kean, who attended the first performance, described _Pas de Fascination_ as ”the most daring play I ever witnessed.” Lola Montez herself took it in good part. She sat in a box, ”and, when the curtain fell, threw a magnificent bouquet at the princ.i.p.al actress.”
Coals of fire.
Not to be behindhand in offering t.i.t-bits of ”news,” an American correspondent informed his readers that: ”During the early part of 1849, Lola Montez, arrayed in the Royal Bavarian jewels, crashed into one of the Court b.a.l.l.s at Buckingham Palace. Needless to remark,” he added, ”the audacity has not been repeated.” From this, it would appear that the Lord Chamberlain had been aroused from his temporary slumbers.
The _Satirist_ had a.s.sured his readers ”the public will soon be hearing more of Madame Montez.” They did. What they heard was something quite unexpected. This was that she had made a second experiment in matrimony, and that her choice had fallen on a Mr.
George Heald, a callow lad of twenty, for whom a commission as Cornet in the Life Guards had been purchased by his family.
II
The precise reasons actuating Lola in adopting this step were not divulged. Several, however, suggested themselves. Perhaps she was attracted by the Cornet's glittering cuira.s.s and plumed helmet; perhaps by his substantial income; and perhaps she tired of being a homeless wanderer, and felt that here at last was a prospect of settling down and experimenting with domesticity.
When the announcement appeared in print there was much fluttering among the Mayfair dovecotes. As the bridegroom had an income of approximately 10,000 a year, the debutantes--chagrined to discover that such an ”eligible” had been s.n.a.t.c.hed from their grasp--felt inclined to call an indignation meeting.
”Preposterous,” they said, ”that such a woman should have snapped him up! Something ought to be done about it.”
But, for the moment, nothing was ”done about it,” and the knot was tied on July 14. Lola saw that the knot should be a double one; and the ceremony took place, first, at the French Catholic Chapel in King Street, and afterwards at St. George's, Hanover Square.
[Ill.u.s.tration: _Berrymead Priory, Acton, where Lola Montez lived with Cornet Heald_]
A press representative, happening to be among the congregation, rushed off to Grub Street. There he was rewarded with a welcome five s.h.i.+llings by his editor, who, in high glee at securing such a piece of news before any other journal, had a characteristic paragraph on the subject:
Lola Montez, Countess of Landsfeld, the ex-danseuse and ex-favourite of the imbecile old King of Bavaria, is, we are able to inform our readers, at last married legitimately.
_On dit_ that her young husband, Mr. George Trafford Heald, has been dragged into the match somewhat hurriedly. It will be curious to mark the progress of the Countess in this novel position. A sudden change from a career of furious excitement to one in which prudence and a regard for the rules of good society are the very opposite to those observed by loose foreigners must prove a trial to her.
Whipping commissaries of police, and setting ferocious dogs at inoffensive civilians, may do very well for Munich. In England, however, we are scarcely prepared for these activities, even if they be deemed the privilege of a countess.
Disraeli, who had a hearty appet.i.te for all the t.i.t-bits of gossip discussed in Mayfair drawing-rooms, heard of the match and mentioned it in a letter to his sister, Sarah:
_July, 1849._
The Lola Montez marriage makes a sensation. I believe he [Heald] has only 3,000 per annum, not 13,000. It was an affair of a few days. She sent to ask the refusal of his dog, which she understood was for sale--of course it wasn't, being very beautiful. But he sent it as a present. She rejoined; he called; and they were married in a week. He is only twenty-one, and wished to be distinguished. Their dinner invitations are already out, I am told. She quite convinced him previously that she was not Mrs. James; and, as for the King of Bavaria, who, by the by, allows her 1500 a year, and to whom she writes every day--that was only a _malheureuse_ pa.s.sion.
Apropos of this union, a popular riddle went the round of the clubs: ”Why does a certain young officer of the Life Guards resemble a much mended pair of shoes?” The answer was, ”Because he has been heeled [Heald] and soled [sold].”
The honeymoon was spent at Berrymead Priory, a house that the bridegroom owned at Acton. This was a substantial Gothic building, with several acres of well timbered ground and gardens. Some distance, perhaps, from the Cornet's barracks. Still, one imagines he did not take his military duties very seriously; and leave of absence ”on urgent private affairs” was, no doubt, granted in liberal fas.h.i.+on.
Also, he possessed a phaeton, in which, with a spanking chestnut between the shafts, the miles would soon be covered.