How the life of Lola Montez changed Munich.
Señora Maria de los Dolores Porris y Montez arrived in Munich on October 7, 1846. Her application for permission to perform at the Königliche Hof-und-National Theater was flatly refused by the director, who had already heard reports of her scandalous performances elsewhere. The director told King Ludwig I that Señora Montez had been thrown out of Berlin for breaking a champagne glass over the head of one police officer and striking another across the face with her riding crop. Ludwig, rather than being appalled, was piqued. The king had always dreamed of visiting distant Spain, and now Spain had come to him in the form of a captivating woman. When Montez begged for a private interview with the king, she was indulged. The interview took place behind closed doors at the royal Residence. After customary courtesies were exchanged in Spanish, Ludwig inquired whether the swell of the lady’s bosom could possibly be real. In response Señora Montez seized a letter opener from His Majesty’s desk and slit open her bodice. Her wish to perform at the Royal Theater was promptly granted. Señora Montez’s career as a dancer in Munich ended after just two performances, but her reputation as a seductress continues to this day. Although expressive in her movements, audiences accustomed to the skillful performances of Fanny Elßler and Pepita de Oliva found Montez talentless and dull. Montez’s strength was seduction, and her goal of becoming rich and powerful by exploiting the weakness of a man would be realized through King Ludwig. Two weeks after her arrival in Munich, Montez agreed to sit for a portrait to be added to Ludwig’s renown Gallery of Beauties. The gallery included portraits of more than thirty women, and his majesty was often present during sittings, making use of the time to better acquaint himself with the current subject. In a letter to a friend, Ludwig confided that he had fallen hopelessly in love with the Spanish dancer. Montez claimed to share those feelings, and King Ludwig, vain as he was, believed her. Only weeks after their first meeting, Ludwig purchased a villa for his new mistress on Barerstrasse. The budget-conscious king set a limit for refurbishing the villa, but by the time it was ready for occupancy, the costs had exceeded one and a half million marks. One visitor expressed his admiration for Villa Montez, “The rooms are adorned in French elegance, enhanced with Munich art and furnished with English comfort.” Who was the woman who inspired such lavish royal attention? One could say that she was a woman born twice. She came not from Spain, but Limerick, Ireland. Her mother was the daughter of an Irish land owner, and her father, an English officer. She was christened Eliza Dolores Gilbert. Infant Eliza’s father was commissioned to the colonies in India. There she grew up swaddled in luxury. While the young Mrs. Gilbert mixed with colonial society, her daughter was left in the care of Indian nannies and servants. Although Officer Gilbert spent little time at home, Eliza was devoted to him. Tragedy struck when Officer Gilbert contracted cholera and died. Six months later, Widow Gilbert married another officer, Major Craigie. Eliza’s new stepfather sent her back to relatives in Scotland for education and “finishing.”As a result of her unusual foreign upbringing, young Eliza spoke almost incomprehensible English and was treated as an exotic curiosity. She enjoyed the sensation her presence caused in Victorian society, and began cultivating her eccentricity. Just as Eliza’s schooling was ending, her mother journeyed back from India to visit her. Accompanied by shipmate Captain James, she informed Eliza that a marriage had been arranged for her to Sir Lumley, a wealthy and distinguished judge. When Eliza was told that the gentleman was over sixty, she screamed “Never!” To escape her fate, Eliza convinced the handsome Captain James to elope with her. The couple fled to Ireland, where they were married. Not long after the nuptials, Captain James was ordered back to India. Soon the excitement of the elopement faded and the new Mrs. James discovered that her prince was less charming than his good looks had promised. She began to regret her hasty decision. Later, in her memoirs, she advised any young girl considering such a desperate act to hang or drown herself instead. James – a pale ghost of a figure compared to his sensational wife – suffered from jealousy and wounded pride. James ceaselessly berated Eliza for petty indiscretions. Weary of a demanding and jealous husband, Eliza went to her mother for help. Eliza’s stepfather gave her 2000 pounds and some valuable jewelry and put her on a ship to England. Once aboard, Mrs. James quickly forgot her troubles in the company of a dashing officer, Captain Lennox. Back in England, Eliza disregarded her stepfather’s directions to join his family in Perth and instead settled in London with her new lover. James filed for divorce. Based on Eliza’s unfaithfulness, a divorce was quickly granted under the condition that neither party could remarry while the other still lived. Disowned by her mother and scorned by relatives, all that was left to her was to bury her past and begin anew. So Señora Maria de los Dolores Porris y Montez, of Seville in Andulusia, Spain, of noble blood and cousin to the renowned bull-fighter Francesco Montez, was born. She countered every attack on her new identity with a conviction that could put doubt in her own mother’s mind. However, her new life almost ended before it began. Señora Montez’s artistic debut in London at Her Majesty’s Theatre, between acts of Rossini’s Barber of Seville, dissolved into a mêlée when in the middle of her dance, a spectator cried out, “Lies, nothing but lies! The lady is Betty James!” Montez, furious but resolute, received positive reviews despite the commotion. But the experience taught her that a career in London would always be haunted by her past. Remembering an invitation made by Henry of Reuss, the monarch of a tiny German kingdom, she wrote to him announcing her pending arrival and left England. His Highness greeted her warmly and proudly escorted Montez on a tour of his gardens. Snapping her riding crop, Senora Montez made a sport of beheading the most beautiful flowers in the garden. It was then that her reputation as the “Lady with the Whip” was established. Four days later, Henry had lost his patience with the fiery Spanish dancer and sent her away. So began Señora Montez’s sensational European tour. In Warsaw, at that time precariously occupied by Russian troops, she managed to turn an unsuccessful performance into a political riot by inciting the Polish spectators against the Russians. In Dresden she met her match in the famous composer and ladies’ darling, Franz Lizst. Lodging at the same hotel, the two celebrities were soon embroiled in a stormy affaire du coeur. When Montez proved too much for the sensitive musician, Lizst had the hotel keeper lock the Señora in her room while he made his escape. Anticipating her wrath, the composer paid damage compensations in advance. Enraged, Montez did indeed demolish the hotel room. In Paris, Montez’s exotic personality gained her admittance into artistic and literary circles. She began an affair with Alexandre Henri Dujarier, a newspaper editor. The affair deepened to love, and the pair planned to marry. Through Dujarier, Montez was given the opportunity to perform at the Paris Opera. The discerning Parisian public was not impressed. Afterwards, she managed to get a booking at a smaller theater and prepared a theatrical coup. The Parisians were probably the least prudish of all Europeans, but when Lola entered the stage in a knee-length tutu, bare-shouldered, with a revealing décolletage, eyebrows shot up. The scandal was complete when she began her dance, for Lola Montez was wearing no tights beneath her tutu. With this performance, she had achieved her goal – overnight Montez was the talk of the town. Her happy days in Paris came to a tragic end however when her fiancé was killed in a duel. So tainted was her reputation in Paris that she decided to move on. Her next destination: Munich. Once installed at the Villa Montez, Lola set out to make her fictitious noble status a reality. After she convinced Ludwig that her Spanish noble blood deserved recognition in Bavaria, Ludwig agreed to make her a duchess. Despite the king’s infatuation with her, she was shunned by members of the upper class. Only Ludwig refused to believe the stories that trickled in from the cities where Lola had left her mark. The more his friends, relatives and advisers tried to convince the king to renounce his Andalusian amore, the more stubborn he became. Ludwig was determined to fulfill her wish. But before he could grant this honor, Montez first had to become a Bavarian citizen, which required approval by the Council of Ministers. The Ministers refused to grant citizenship to a woman of such dubious character. In response, Ludwig abruptly removed four of his ministers, and replaced them with men more sympathetic to his desires. The previously pro-Catholic government now swung sharply toward an anti-clerical, liberal position. The newly appointed ministers approved Montez’s citizenship, and she was at last proclaimed Duchess of Landsfeld. Soon, no one living in Munich could remain neutral about la Señora. In her new role as duchess, Montez hungered for societal acceptance. Not surprisingly, most of her followers were men. Lackeys and opportunists, they hoped to find favor with the king through their association with his mistress. Montez was often ridiculed by the Catholic students, most of whom belonged to fraternities with names like Palatia, Isaria or Franconia. In retaliation, she gathered around her a number of student outcasts and supported them in forming their own group, called Allemania. Through them she became enmeshed in student politics. During a funeral procession honoring Joseph Görres, held by students to promote the liberal, Catholic philosophy he had espoused, Montez appeared and created a scene by cursing at and striking the students. A week later, anti-Montez students got into a brawl with Allemania members in a pub near the Odeonsplatz and one of the Allemania members stabbed an adversary. The crowd grew, as did the tension. Just then, Montez appeared, sparking a riot. Even the courageous Señora was forced to seek shelter in the nearby Theatinerkirche. The morning after, February 10, 1848, students arrived for classes only to discover that Ludwig had closed the University until fall. All non-resident students were ordered to vacate the city within two days. An irate crowd of 2,000 students gathered and made their way to city hall at Marienplatz where a petition was presented to the King asking him to reconsider his order. Ludwig remained steadfast. Student unrest quickly spread to the general populace, and by the next morning a crowd of almost 1,000 Munich residents had surrounded the military units guarding the Villa Montez. Despite the cordon, some managed to break into the garden at the back of the villa. Stones began to fly and windows were broken. Montez ran out to the garden to confront her tormentors. The hush that met her unexpected appearance was broken with the first stone that struck her. Members of Allemania stormed from the house to rescue their heroine. Montez was forced into her coach and rushed to the Menterschwaige, an inn whose proprietors agreed to hide her. Ludwig was pressured into retracting Montez’s title of Duchess and published an order for her arrest. Montez had no choice but to flee to Switzerland. Nine days later, Ludwig I abdicated in response to the uprisings, which had been spurred in part by his beloved Lola. Nevertheless, Ludwig continued to correspond with her for almost three years, even sending his querida Lollita an annual allowance of more than 70,000 gulden. When he was at last convinced of Montez’s infidelities, he broke all personal and financial ties with her. Following her affair with Ludwig, the Señora’s adventures took her all over the world, performing in theaters from San Francisco to Sydney. She died in her New York apartment after suffering a stroke and contracting pneumonia. The final resting place of one of the most controversial personalities of the 19th century, is not, as one might expect, urbane Paris or London, but a humble grave in the Greenwood Cemetery in Brooklyn. The headstone simply reads: “Mrs. Eliza Gilbert, died Jan.17, 1861, age 42.”