Ludwig was curt with His Grace. "You stick to your stola," he said, "and let me stick to my Lola."
A soft answer, perhaps; but not a very satisfactory one.
"It is all very well for kings to have mistresses," was the opinion of the more broad-minded, "but they should select them from their own countrywomen. This one is a foreigner. Why should our hard-earned money be lavished on her?" The grievance was, as it happened, well founded, for Lola was drawing 20,000 marks a year, wrung from the pockets of the tax-payers.
Baron Pechman, the Chief of Police, had a bad reception when he suggested that the populace might get out of control.
"If you can't manage the mob," said Ludwig, turning on him furiously, "I'll get someone who can. A change of air may do you good."
The next morning the discomfited Baron Pechman found himself dégommé and a successor appointed to his office.
The intrigue was too openly conducted to be "hushed up." Word of what was happening in Munich soon filtered through to Vienna. Queen Caroline-Augusta, Ludwig's sister, shook her head. "Alas," she sighed, "my wretched brother is always bringing fresh shame on me." She wrote him letters of tearful protest. They were ignored. She protested by word of mouth. Ludwig, in unbrotherly fashion, told her to "mind her own business." Caroline's next move was to take clerical counsel. "These creatures are always venal," said the Jesuits. "They only care for cash." An emissary was accordingly despatched to the Barerstrasse mansion, to convey an offer. Unfortunately, however, he had not advanced beyond "Gnädige Frau, erlauben," when he himself capitulated to Lola's charms, and returned to the Hofburg, his task unaccomplished. Still, he must have made out some sort of story to save his face, for the Princess Mélanie wrote: "Our good Senfft has come back. He was unable to speak to Lola Montez. The poor country of Bavaria is in a sad condition, which gets worse every day."
The least disturbed individual appeared to be Queen Thérèse. Her attitude was one of placidity itself. But perhaps she was, by this time, accustomed to the dalliance of her Ludwig along the primrose path. Also, she probably knew by experience that it was not the smallest use making a fuss. The milk was spilled. To cry over it now would be a wasted effort.
The King's favourite was good "copy" for the Bavarian press; and the Munich journals were filled with accounts of her activities. Not in the least upset by their uncomplimentary references to himself, Ludwig instructed his librarian, Herr Lichenthaler, to collect all the pasquinades, lampoons, squibs, and caricatures (many of them far from flattering, and others verging on the indecent) that appeared and have them sumptuously bound. It was not long before enough had been assembled to fill half a dozen volumes. His idea was "to preserve for posterity all this mountain of mud, as a witness of Bavaria's shame." That somebody else was responsible for the "shame" did not occur to him.