The Magnificent Montez - From Courtesan to Convert
by Horace Wyndham
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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 cortege 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:



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.


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 Athenaeum 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.


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. Doellinger, 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 seances, 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 seances 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.


The body of Lola Montez, Countess of Landsfeld, and Canoness of the Order of St. Therese, 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; coryphee, 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.

* * * * *






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.


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.


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.


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.

* * * * *




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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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!

* * * * *


Abel, Carl von, 115,120,126,129,143,149

Abrahamowicz, Colonel, 68, 69

Academie, 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

Assemblee Nationale, 179

Astley's Theatre, 243

Athenaeum, 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, Honore 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, Maitre, 84, 87

Berrymead Priory, 168, 180

Best, Captain, 158

"Betsy Watson," 123, 124

"Betsy James," 54

Bhurtpore, Battle of, 18

Bibliotheque 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

Buelow, Prince von, 122

Bulwer, Edward, 168

Burns, Robert, 104

Burr, Rev. Chauncey, 6, 194, 230, 237, 248

Byron, Lord, 5, 20, 264, 277

Cafe 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 Elysees, 182

Chanoines de St. Therese, 102, 265

Charles X, 20

Chartist Riots, 163

Chase, Lewis, 8

Chatham, 16

Chester Cathedral, Visit to, 242

Chevalier, Emile, 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

Comedie Francaise, 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, Maitre, 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

Doellinger, 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

Dumilatre, Adele, 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

Eugenie, 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, Fraeulein, 98, 101

Freres-Provencaux 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, Theophile, 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, Emile de, 81, 181, 227

Giuglini, Antonio, 243

Globe, 171

Glyptothek Gallery, 96

"Golden West," 196

Goodrich, Peter, 187

Goerres, Joseph, 109, 137, 162

Gougaud, Dom, 144

Granada, 47

Granby, Marchioness of, 51

Granby, Marquess of, 51

"Grand Sebastopol Matinee," 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

Gueronniere, de la, M., 231

Guillen, Manuel, 204

Guise, Dr. de, 80, 81

Guizot, M., 71

Gumpenberg, Colonel von, 128

Hagen, Charlotte, 105

Halevy, 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

Harre, 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 Debats, 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

Kruedener, 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

Lavalliere, 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 Debats, 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

Lievenne, 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, Abbe, 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

"Maitresse 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

Melanie, 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

Memoires de M. Montholon, 76

Menken, Adah Isaacs, 6, 165, 211

Mery, 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, Eugene de, 20, 65, 67, 179, 231, 232

Mission Dolores, Church of, 198, 199

Moliere, 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 debut at Her Majesty's, 54; Continental wanderings, 61; liaison with Liszt, 62; fiasco at Academie Royale, 66; mistress of Dujarier, 71; evidence at Rouen trial, 87; "hooking a prince," 91-93; career in Munich, 98-152; "Maitresse 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

Nelida, 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, Leon, 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

Schoenheitengalerie, 105

Schneider, Rudi, 264, 265

Schrenck, Count von, 128

Schroeder, Fraeulein, 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

Stael, 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, Eugene, 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

Varietes 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

Wuerzburg, Bishop of, 141

Ziegler, Rudolph, 6

"Zoyara the Hermaphrodite," 200

Zu Rhein, Freiherr, 128

* * * * *


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