The Magnificent Montez Part 20

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.

The Priory had a history stretching back to the far off days of Henry III, when it belonged to the Chapter of St. Paul's Cathedral. Henry VII, in high-handed fas.h.i.+on, presented it to the Earl of Bedford; and a subsequent occupant was the notorious Elizabeth Chudleigh, the bigamous spouse of the Duke of Kingston. Another light lady, Nancy Dawson, is also said to have lived there as its chatelaine, under the "protection" of the Duke of Newcastle.

At the beginning of the last century the property was acquired by a Colonel Clutton. He was followed by Edward Bulwer, afterwards Lord Lytton, who lived there on and off (chiefly off) with his wife, until their separation in 1836. On one occasion he gave a dinner-party, among the guests being John Forster, "to meet Miss Landon, Fontblanque, and Hayward." To the invitation was added the warning, "We dine at half-past five, to allow time for return, and regret much having no spare beds as yet." A spare bed, however, was available for Lord Beaconsfield, when he dined there in the following year.

On the departure of Bulwer, the house had a succession of tenants; and for a short period it even sheltered a bevy of Nuns of the Sacred Heart. It was when they left that the estate was purchased by Mr.

George Heald, a barrister with a flouris.h.i.+ng practice. He left it to his b.o.o.by son, the Cornet: and it was thus that Lola Montez established her connection with Berrymead Priory.

While the original house still stands, the garden in which it stood has gone; and the building itself now serves as the premises of the Acton Const.i.tutional Club. But the committee have been careful to preserve some evidence of Cornet Heald's occupancy. Thus, his crest and family motto, _Nemo sibi Nascitur_, are let into the mosaic flooring of the hall, and the drawing-room ceiling is embellished with his initials picked out in gold.

III

Prejudice, perhaps, but unions between the sons of Mars and the daughters of Terpsich.o.r.e were in those days frowned upon by the military big-wigs at the Horse Guards. Hence, it was not long before an inspired note on the subject of this one appeared in the _Standard_:

We learn from undoubted authority that, immediately on the marriage of Lieutenant Heald with the Countess of Landsfeld, the Marquess of Londonderry, Colonel of the 2nd Life Guards, took the most decisive steps to recommend to Her Majesty that this officer's resignation of his commission should be insisted on; and that he should at once leave the regiment, which this unfortunate and extraordinary act might possibly prejudice.

Her Majesty, having consulted the Prince Consort and the Duke of Wellington, shared this view. Instead, however, of being summarily "gazetted out," the love-sick young warrior was permitted to "send in his papers."

Thinking that he had acted precipitately in resigning, Cornet Heald (egged on, doubtless, by Lola) endeavoured to get his resignation cancelled. The authorities, however, were adamant. "Much curiosity,"

says a journalistic comment, "has been aroused among the Household Troops by the efforts of this officer to regain his commission after having voluntarily relinquished it. Notwithstanding his youth and the fact that he had given way to a sudden impulse, Lord Londonderry was positively inflexible. Yet the influence and eloquence of a certain ex-Chancellor, well known to the bride, was brought to bear on him."

The "certain ex-Chancellor" was none other than Lord Brougham.

Much criticism followed in other circles. Everybody had an opinion to advance. Most of them were far from complimentary, and there were allusions by the dozen to "licentious soldiery" and "gilded popinjays." The rigid editor of _The Black Book of the British Aristocracy_ was particularly indignant. "The Army," he declared, in a fierce outburst, "is the especial favourite of the aristocratic section. Any brainless young puppy with a commission is free to lounge away his time in dandyism and embryo moustaches at the public expense."

The _Satirist_, living up to its name, also had its customary sting:

Of course, the gallant Colonel of the Household Troops could not do less. That distinguished corps is immaculate; and no breath of wind must come between it and its propriety. There is but one black sheep in the 2nd Life Guards, and that, in the eyes of the coal black colonel (him of the collieries), is the soft, enchanted, and enchained Mr. Heald. Poor Heald!

Indignant Londonderry! How subservient, in truth, must be the lean subaltern to his fat colonel.

A Sunday organ followed suit. "What," it demanded, "may be the precise article of the military code against which Mr. Heald is thought to have offended? One could scarcely have supposed that officers in Her Majesty's service were living under such a despotism that they should be compelled to solicit permission to get married, or their colonel's approbation of their choice."

In addition to thus disapproving of marriages between his officers and ladies of the stage, Lord Londonderry (a veteran of fifty-five years'

service) disapproved with equal vigour of tobacco. "What," he once wrote to Lord Combermere, "are the Gold Sticks to do with that sink of smoking, the Horse Guards' guard and mess-rooms? Whenever I have visited them, I have found them _worse_ than any pot-house, and this actually opposite the Adjutant-General's and under his Grace's very nose!"

The example set by Cornet Heald seems to have been catching. "Another young officer of this regiment," announced the _Globe_, "has just run off with a frail lady belonging to the Theatre and actually married her at Brighton." He, too, was required to "send in his papers."

Besides losing his commission, Cornet Heald had, in his marriage, all unwittingly laid up a peck of fresh trouble for himself. This was brought to a head by the action of his spinster aunt, Miss Susannah Heald, who, until he came of age, had been his guardian. Suspecting Lola of a "past," she set herself to pry into it. Gathering that her nephew's inamorata had already been married, she employed enquiry agents to look into this previous union and discover just how and when it had been dissolved. They did their work well, and reported that the divorce decree of seven years earlier had not been made absolute, and that Lola's first husband, Captain James, was still alive. Armed with this knowledge, Miss Heald hurried off to the authorities, and, having "laid an information," had Lola Montez arrested for bigamy.

The case was heard at Marlborough Street police court, with Mr.

Bingham sitting as Magistrate. Mr. Clarkson conducted the prosecution, and Mr. Bodkin appeared for the defence.

"The proceedings of a London police court," declared _John Bull_, "have seldom presented a case more fruitful of matter for public gossip than was exhibited in the investigation at Marlborough Street, where the mediated wife of a British officer (and one invested with the distinction of Royal favouritism) answered a charge of imputed bigamy.... It will readily be inferred that we allude to that extraordinary personage known as Lola Montez, _alias_ the Countess of Landsfeld."

Lola had, as the theatrical world would put it, dressed for the part.

She had probably rehea.r.s.ed it, too. She wore, we learn, "a black silk costume, under a velvet jacket, and a plain white straw bonnet trimmed with blue ribbons." As became a countess, she was not required to sit in the dock, but was given a chair in front of it. "There," said a reporter, "she appeared quite unembarra.s.sed, and smiled frequently as she made a remark to her husband. She was described on the charge sheet as being twenty-four years of age, but in our opinion she has the look of a woman of at least thirty."

"In figure," added a second occupant of the press box, "madam is rather plump, and of middle height, with pale complexion, unusually large blue eyes and long black lashes. Her reputed husband, Mr. Heald, is a tall young man of boyish aspect, fair hair and small brown moustachios and whiskers. During the whole of the proceedings he sat with the Countess's hand clasped in his, occasionally giving it a fervent squeeze, and murmuring fondly in her ear."