"Preposterous," they said, "that such a woman should have snapped him up! Something ought to be done about it."
But, for the moment, nothing was "done about it," and the knot was tied on July 14. Lola saw that the knot should be a double one; and the ceremony took place, first, at the French Catholic Chapel in King Street, and afterwards at St. George's, Hanover Square.
A press representative, happening to be among the congregation, rushed off to Grub Street. There he was rewarded with a welcome five shillings by his editor, who, in high glee at securing such a piece of news before any other journal, had a characteristic paragraph on the subject: Lola Montez, Countess of Landsfeld, the ex-danseuse and ex-favourite of the imbecile old King of Bavaria, is, we are able to inform our readers, at last married legitimately. On dit that her young husband, Mr. George Trafford Heald, has been dragged into the match somewhat hurriedly. It will be curious to mark the progress of the Countess in this novel position. A sudden change from a career of furious excitement to one in which prudence and a regard for the rules of good society are the very opposite to those observed by loose foreigners must prove a trial to her. Whipping commissaries of police, and setting ferocious dogs at inoffensive civilians, may do very well for Munich. In England, however, we are scarcely prepared for these activities, even if they be deemed the privilege of a countess.
Disraeli, who had a hearty appetite for all the tit-bits of gossip discussed in Mayfair drawing-rooms, heard of the match and mentioned it in a letter to his sister, Sarah: July, 1849.
The Lola Montez marriage makes a sensation. I believe he [Heald] has only £3,000 per annum, not £13,000. It was an affair of a few days. She sent to ask the refusal of his dog, which she understood was for sale--of course it wasn't, being very beautiful. But he sent it as a present. She rejoined; he called; and they were married in a week. He is only twenty-one, and wished to be distinguished. Their dinner invitations are already out, I am told. She quite convinced him previously that she was not Mrs. James; and, as for the King of Bavaria, who, by the by, allows her £1500 a year, and to whom she writes every day--that was only a malheureuse passion.
Apropos of this union, a popular riddle went the round of the clubs: "Why does a certain young officer of the Life Guards resemble a much mended pair of shoes?" The answer was, "Because he has been heeled [Heald] and soled [sold]."