An old friend of mine, who was for many years a baggage master on the New York Central, told me the other day a story of Lola Montez, which is rather funny and quite characteristic of the self-willed Lola, of whom I have already written in these reminiscences, and who was really one of the most remarkable women who ever visited New York.
Lola had been playin’ at the Bowery Theatre, and had made a hit. She was billed for Central New York after this, and so took the cars at Albany for her destination. Palace cars were a luxury not known in those days, so Lola proceeded to make herself as comfortable as possible without ‘em.
The cars were well filled on that trip, and among her fellow passengers was a straight-laced old Presbyterian Minister and his sister, a still straighter-laced and tight-laced old maid, who, as luck would have it, had their seats right behind that which Lola Montez occupied.
Lola had a supreme contempt for “the common people,” caught probably from her intimacy with the king of Bavaria. Besides she always had made it a rule through life to do just as she pleased anyhow. So after the cars had started she pulled a package of cigarettes from her pocket, selected a cigarette, produced a match box set in diamonds, a present from her old admirer, took from it a match, lit the match, lit the cigarette, and puttin’ the cigarette to her pretty mouth coolly puffed at the cigarette. This series of proceedin’s had been watched with the most intense astonishment by the Presbyterian minister, and with the most intense disgust by the minister’s sister. When the proceedin’s were completed, and the cigarette was gettin’ smoked, this astonishment and disgust found vent in energetic ejaculations. By this time the attention of all the rest of the passengers in the car had been attracted to Lola. Every eye was on her, but she smoked on as undisturbed as if she was in her own room, with her boon companions. In fact she rather enjoyed the sensation she was creatin’.
The conductor of the train, a young man, who, however, knew Lola by sight, happened to be in the car at this moment, and anticipatin’ what trouble might be in store for him from the eccentric women’s freak, went into the car behind, where Lola’s agent and her maid were seated together, and requested the agent to inform Lola that smokin’ was strictly prohibited in the passenger cars among the ladies.
The agent refused to carry madame any such message. He said, and truly, it would cost him his place, and for all he knew would raise a row between himself and his principal. Lola always treated her agent and people around her very kindly as long as they did precisely what she liked, and behaved like what she considered ‘em–her servants. But the moment they bothered her in any way she would either whip ‘em with a little whip she constantly carried with her (and which whip she had by her side in the car this trip), or ship ‘em, or both. The agent this time was a nice little poodle dog sort of a chap, who got $30 a week, and was afraid as death of Lola. so you can easily imagine he wasn’t goin’ to risk everythin’ just to oblige a car conductor.
The conductor himself was now in somethin’ of a quandary, and determined he wouldn’t act in the matter till forced to; he wouldn’t say anythin’ to Lola till somebody said somethin’ to him.
He hadn’t long to wait. The old maid sittin’ behind Lola, and gettin’ the full benefit (?) of her smoke, made such a fuss that her brother was compelled, reluctantly, to get up and hunt up the conductor and complain. Then the conductor summoned up his courage and his smiles, and beamingly informed madame that the other ladies in the car objected to her smokin’, and that it was against the custom of the country for ladies to smoke, as well as against the rules of the railroad company.
Lola Montez didn’t make as much fuss with the conductor himself as he had expected, but she vented her wrath on the old maid and her brother behind her, to whom she rightly attributed the interference of the conductor.
“Show me ze ladies who objects,” said Lola, who often spoke broken English, as if a foreigner, although she was said to be really an Irish girl by birth.
“This lady objects, for one,” answered the conductor, pointin’ to the minister’s sister, “and that gentleman,” pointin’ to the minister, glad to throw the responsibility off his own shoulders.
“Zat creature,” cried Lola, looking at the minister’s sister, “and zat thing,” looking at the minister. “Have they ever traveled and been abroad in all zair leetle lives? Have zey ever been at court? Bah! what do zees canaille know of ze manners and customs of ze fine ladies and gentlemen’s of ze world? Bah!” And she puffed her cigarette more fiercely than ever, and tossin’ it out, gave the minister and his sister the final puffs thereof, right in their faces, makin’ ‘em cough desperately.
Then she turned to the conductor, and with great majesty inquired, “Have you on ze train any place where a lady (a most tremendous emphasis on the “lady”) can enjoy her cigarette, undisturbed by ze barkin’ of ze canaille?” (A most tremendous look at the seat behind her.)
“The only place on this train where smokin’ is allowed is in the baggage car, in the rear,” said the conductor.
“Zen show me the baggage car,” said Lola, risin’.
The conductor, stammering, tried to assure madame that the baggage car was uncomfortable, and not in any respect the place for her; but madame persisted, sayin’ “Show me ze baggage car. Better to be surrounded by ze baggage zan ze boors.” (Another tremendous glance at the old maid and her reverend brother.)
The conductor reluctantly led Madame Lola, snappin’ her whip viciously every now and then (as if she was lashin’ some imaginary minister and old maid), through the train and the baggage car, which was then full of trunks, includin’ her own, and occupied by the baggage master and several assistants.
The conductor thought madame would be disgusted by the looks of things here, but he didn’t know women and Lola Montez. She would have smoked now on top of the engine boiler itself. Drawin’ the skirts of her rather short dress, black velvet, as usual, tightly around her and takin’ no more notice of the baggage men than if they had been so much baggage, the madame mounted on top a big black trunk, and kickin’ her heels against its sides every now and then tappin’ it with her little whip, smoked a fresh cigarette, and smoked it with a vengeance, scatterin’ the sparks about.
Somewhat annoyed at the contemptuous way in which she had utterly ignored his presence, the baggage master remarked to her, “Madame must be careful that she does not set fire to the baggage.”
With a look of freezin’ dignity, worthy of her friend the king himself, Lola drew herself up on the trunk, looked at it a moment, and then said:
“How you dare speak to me in zat way. I am sitting on my own baggage–smokin’ on my own trunk.” (As she was.) “If I set fire to zis I will stand ze loss. Meanwhile I will sit and smoke.” And she did so for an hour, smokin’ some ten cigarettes without speakin’ one word.
Lola Montez, like Ada Isaacs Menken, had the faculty of attractin’ women to like her. Although Menken was looked down upon by society women, the women who met her, or were around her on the stage, fairly worshiped her. Lola had an adorer in madame Leoni, the swordswoman. This Leoni first met Lola at a ball at Niblo’s saloon on Washington’s birthday, and fell in love with her on the spot just as if she had been a man. Lola was dressed in her favorite style, rich black velvet, with fine old lace, the dress being modestly high-necked, long sleeved, but fittin’ very closely to her perfect figure. She stood a little apart from the crowd with a gentleman, lookin’ at the animated scene with her big ,round black eyes, which were the great feature of her face.
Leoni was “struck” at once, got introduced to Lola right off, and kept as near to her as she could all the rest of the evenin’. Lola didn’t dance, so Leoni didn’t dance, much to the disgust of her partner. Lola didn’t eat any supper, Leoni didn’t eat any supper, either, still more to the disgust of her partner. Lola left the ball at an early hour, Leoni left right after her, most of all to the disgust of her partner, who soon “withdrew” in favor of his rival, Lola Montez, bein’ the only case I ever heard of in which a man backed out of courtin’ one woman on account of her courtin’ another woman.
But although Montez had several female admirers besides this Leoni, yet it was a woman who went back on her at last, and it was this woman’s goin’ back on her that chiefly caused her death.
There lived in Brooklyn a pretty and clever young girl, who attracted Lola’s notice one evenin’ in some way–I don’t precisely know what. At any rate, Lola took a wild fancy to this girl, and wanted to adopt her, but to this her mother wouldn’t consent. She did consent, however, to Lola’s spendin’ money on her daughter, which she did in her lavish way, as if money was water, and there was never to be any water famine, either.
The young girl had a fancy to go on the stage, and this fancy Lola gratified, of course, givin’ her some instructions herself and gettin’ good teachers to impart the balance.
Lola wasn’t flush at this time, but she raised all the money needed for her new hobby by pledgin’ her diamond rings, of which she had plenty.
But, spite of all Lola’s lovin’ care, the young girl didn’t do as well on the stage as Lola expected. So she tried to introduce her to some rich young men whom Lola had met around town, thinkin’ that the clever young girl might get well married and settled, which would be far better than makin’ a stage hit, after all.
Her hopes on this point were gratified. A young swell about New York, the junior partner of a bankin’ house, met the girl at Lola’s place, took a fancy to her, and finally married her.
Now this young swell had been a kind of pet of Lola’s, and she had always treated him well when he called on her, which he had done pretty often.
But knockin’ around town is one thing, and marryin’ is another thing, and it don’t do to get the two things mixed. So when he proposed to marry this clever young girl he exacted of her two promises, one that she would retire from the stage, and give up all idea of ever becoming an actress; the other promise was that from the time she pledged herself to marry him she should have nothin’ more to do with Lola Montez–should never call to see her, nor let Lola call on her, should never write or speak to her, should act as if no such woman as Lola Montez had ever lived.
The clever young girl married the rich young man, and Lola Montez was not at the weddin’ because she was not invited. But Lola, although the highest spirited kind of female, ready to resent a slight on anybody anywhere at any risk, didn’t resent this indignity, but tried to kind of explain it away to herself and friends as a strange mistake, but only a mistake.
And one mornin’, meetin’ the clever young girl, now a bloomin’ bride, alightin’ from her carriage on Broadway, Lola Montez, in her warm-hearted, impulsive way, rushed up to the girl she had fondled, loved, educated, spent money on, pledged her diamonds for and got a husband for, and openin’ her arms would have held her darlin’ in her embrace.
But the lady (?) she would have embraced drew back, pretendin’ not to know her, or as if Lola was crazy, and passed on without a word or look of recognition from her carriage to the store, where she bought a bill of goods, as calmly as if she had not just committed a crime blacker than thievin’–a crime at which many a pickpocket or cutthroat would have shrunk, and which no sort of a dog could ever have committed under any possible circumstances.
Meanwhile Lola struggled and staggered on the sidewalk, and came near faintin’ away.
She went back to her home, or rather her lodgin’s, for she lived in a very humble way then, over in Brooklyn, near where she had just met this ungrateful girl. She had no money now, no diamonds to pledge for it. They had all been swallowed up in reckless acts of generosity and in doctors’ bills.
She went back to her room in Brooklyn and wept the rest of the day like a baby. She had never wept when the king, her lover, turned his back on her, and the mob had clamored against her. She had been full of fight then. But now she felt, like Old King Lear in the play, heartbroken, and from the same cause, and pretty soon she acted like King Lear. She didn’t do all weepin’– she did a good deal of cursin’, ere she got through.
The next mornin’ she called at the house of her ungrateful charge, forced her way into her private room, and there in the presence of her husband and her maid upbraided her terribly. She looked and talked then just as grandly as ever Ned Forrest did in the curse scene of Lear himself.
She had her revenge. The husband felt for awhile thoroughly ashamed of himself, and as for the bride she could have crawled through a knot hole, for her new French maid from Paris was looking on and understood pretty well what it was all about.
But it was not revenge for Lola wanted most just the–it was love, and medicine, and affectionate nursin’, which she couldn’t get. True, the lodging housekeeper over in Brooklyn did what she could for her, and tended her till she died, in return for which Lola left her all her worldly goods, which didn’t at that end amount to much, but still Lola Montez missed at her deathbed what she ought to have had–the gratitude of the girl she loved, and she died not only in a strange land, but poor, and among strangers, and of a broken heart.
[Editor’s notes: The top picture of this post, showing Lola holding a cigarette, is the first photo taken of a woman smoking. A short summary of Lola’s amazing life can be found at her burial place, Green-wood cemetery in Brooklyn.
