I
On arriving in London, and (thanks to the bounty of Ludwig) being well provided with funds, Lola took a house in Half Moon Street, Piccadilly. There she established something of a salon, where she gave a series of evening receptions. They were not, perhaps, up to the old Barerstrasse standard; still, they brought together a number of the less important "lions," all of whom were only too pleased to accept invitations.
Among the hangers-on was Frederick Leveson-Gower, a son of Earl Granville. He had met the great Rachel in Paris and was ecstatic about her. "Not long after," he says, "I got to know another much less gifted individual, but who having captivated a King, upset two Ministries, and brought about a revolution in Bavaria, was entitled to be looked upon as celebrated. This was Lola Montez."
In his character of what is still oddly dubbed a "man-about-town," Serjeant Ballantine was also among those who attended these Half Moon Street gatherings. "His hostess," he says, "had certain claims to celebrity. She was, I believe, of Spanish origin, and certainly possessed that country's style of beauty, with much dash of manner and an extremely outré fashion of dress." Another occasional visitor was George Augustus Sala, a mid-Victorian journalist who was responsible for printing more slipshod inaccuracies than any two members of his craft put together. He says that he once contemplated writing Lola's memoirs. He did not, however, get beyond "contemplating." This, perhaps, was just as well, since he was so ill-equipped for the task that he imagined she was a sister of Adah Isaacs Menken.
"About this time," he says, "I made the acquaintance, at a little cigar shop under the pillars in Norreys Street, Regent Street, of an extremely handsome lady, originally the wife of a solicitor, but who had been known in London and Paris as a ballet-dancer under the name of Lola Montez. When I knew her, she had just escaped from Munich, where she had been too notorious as Countess of Landsfeld. She had obtained for a time complete mastery over old King Ludwig of Bavaria; and something like a revolution had been necessary to induce her to quit the Bavarian capital."
A ridiculous story spread that Lord Brougham (who had witnessed her ill-starred début in 1843) wanted to marry her. The fact that there was already a Lady Brougham in existence did not curb the tongues of the gossipers. "She refused the honourable Lord," says a French journalist, "in a manner that redounded to her credit."