Royal Flash fp-2

by George MacDonald Fraser

  In the end, there was nothing for it but to pack up what little I had and make back for Munich. I had a little cash now, thanks to Lola—God, that was the crowning insult—so that at long last I was able to make for home, weary and angry and full of venom. I left Germany poorer than I came in—although of course there was still £250 of Lola's (or Bismarck's) money in the bank at home. I had two sabre cuts and a gash on my arm, a decent grasp of the German language, and several white hairs, I imagine, after what I'd been through. Oh, that was another thing, of course—I had a scalp that looked like a hog's back for bristles, although it grew right in time. And to make my temper even worse, by the time I reached the Channel I heard news that Lola was in Switzerland, fornicating with Viscount Peel, the old prime minister's son—no doubt he was well peeled, too, by the time she had finished with him.

  I've only once been back to Germany. Indeed, I don't include it even among the garrulous reminiscences that have made me the curse of half the clubs in London—those that'll have me. Only once did I tell the tale, and that was privately some years ago, to young Hawkins, the lawyer—I must have been well foxed, or he was damned persuasive—and he has used it for the stuff of one of his romances, which sells very well, I'm told.

  He made it into a heroic tale, of course, but whether he believed it or not when I told it, I've no idea; probably not. It's a good deal stranger than fiction, and yet not so strange, because such resemblances as mine and Carl Gustaf's do happen. Why, I can think of another case, connected with this very story, and I saw it when the Duchess Irma came to London in the old Queen's diamond year—they were related, as I've said. It's the only time I've seen Irma since—I kept well in the background, of course, but I had a good look at her, and even at seventy she was a damned handsome piece, and set me itching back over the years. She was a widow then, Carl Gustaf having died of a chill on the lungs back in the '60's, but she had her son with her; he was a chap in his forties, I should say, and the point is that he was the living spit of Rudi von Starnberg—well, that can only have been coincidence, of course. It gave me quite a turn, though, and for a moment I was glancing nervously round for a quick retreat.

  Rudi I last heard of with the Germans when they marched on Paris there was a rumour of his death, so he's probably been stoking Lucifer's fires these thirty years and good luck to him. Unlike Mr Rassendyll I did not exercise myself daily in arms in expectation of trying another round with him: one was enough to convince me that with fellows like young Rudi the best weapon you can have is a long pair of legs and a good start.

  Bismarck—well, all the world knows about him. I suppose he was one of the greatest statesmen of the age, a shaper of destiny and all the rest of it. He got to his feet for me, though, when I looked down my nose at him—I like to think back on that. And it is queer to consider that but for me, the course of history in Europe might have been very different—though who's to know? Bismarck, Lola, Rudi, Irma, and I—the threads come together, and then run very wide, and are all gathered together again, and go into the dark in the end. You see, I can be philosophical—I'm still here.[43]

  I wasn't feeling so philosophical, though, when I journeyed back from Munich to London, and arrived home at last, soaked and shivering with weariness and our damned March weather. I seem to have come home to that front door so many times—covered with glory once or twice, and other times limping along with my boots letting in. This was one of the unhappier homecomings, and it wasn't improved by the fact that when I was let into the hall, my dear father-in-law, old Morrison, was just coming downstairs. That was almost the last straw—my bloody Scotch relatives were still on the premises when I had hoped that they might have gone back to their gloomy sewer in Renfrew. The only bright spot I had been able to see was that I would be able to celebrate my return in bed with Elspeth, and here was this curmudgeon welcoming me in true Celtic style.

  "Huh!" says he, "it's you. You're hame." And he muttered something about another mouth to feed.

  I gripped my temper as I gave my coat to Oswald, bade him good afternoon, and asked if Elspeth was at home.

  "Oh, aye," says he, looking me over sourly. "She'll be glad tae see ye, nae doot. Ye're thinner," he added, with some satisfaction. "I take it Germany didnae agree wi' ye—if that's where ye've been."

  "Yes, it's where I've been," says I. "Where's Elspeth?"

  "Oh, in the drawin'-room—takin' tea wi' her friends, I suppose. We have all the fashionable habits in this hoose—includin' your ain faither's intemperance."

  "He's well again?" I asked, and Oswald informed me that he was upstairs, lying down.

  "His accustomed position," says old Morrison. "Weel, ye'd better go up, sir, and be reunited wi' the wife ye'll have been yearning for. If ye make haste ye'll be in time for tea, from her fine new silver service—aye, a' the luxuries o' the Saltmarket." And to the sound of his whining I ran upstairs and into the drawing-rooni, feeling that tightness in my chest that I always felt when I was coming back again to Elspeth.

  She gave a little cry at the sight of me, and rose, smiling, from behind the tray from which she had been dispensing tea to the females who were sitting about, all bonnets and gentility. She looked radiantly stupid, as ever, with her blonde hair done a different way, in ringlets that framed her cheeks.

  "Oh, Harry!" She came forward, and stopped. "Why—Harry! Whatever have you done to your head?"

  I should have expected that, of course, and kept my hat on, or worn a wig, or anything to prevent the repetition of that damfool question. Oh, well, I was home again, and in one piece, and Elspeth was holding out her hands and smiling and asking:

  "What did you bring me from Germany, Harry?"

  (The end of the second packet of The Flashman Papers)

  APPENDIX I: THE PRISONER OF ZENDA

  Whether Flashman's real-life experiences in Germany provided Anthony Hope with the basis of his famous romance, The Prisoner of Zenda, is a matter which readers must decide for themselves. Flashman is quite definite in the text in two places—especially where he refers to "Hawkins", which was Hope's real name. There is certainly some similarity in events, and names like Lauengram, Kraftstein, Detchard, de Gautet, Bersonin, and Tarlenheim are common to both stories; Flashman's "Major Sapten" is literary twin brother to Hope's "Colonel Sapt", and no amateur of romantic fiction will fail to identify Ruth von Starnberg with the Count of Hentzau.

  APPENDIX II: LOLA MONTEZ

  Although several of the notes following this appendix refer to Lola Montez, she deserves fuller mention than can be conveniently included there. She was, after all, one of the most remarkable adventuresses in history, with an intellect and personality to match her looks; for these gifts, rather than her capacity for scandalous behaviour, she is worth remembering.

  Her real name was Marie Dolores Eliza Rosanna Gilbert, and she was born in Limerick in 1818, the daughter of a British Army officer. He was probably Scottish; her mother was part-Spanish, and Lola was brought up in India, in Scotland, and on the continent. When she was 18 she ran off with a Captain James, and after living in India, returned to England in 1841. She seems to have begun on her long succession of lovers while still in her 'teens, and James divorced her in 1842. Her career as a Spanish dancer followed, and after a series of Continental appearances, lovers, and scandals, she became the mistress of Ludwig of Bavaria. It has been suggested that his interest in her was purely intellectual; that is a matter of opinion. What is not to be doubted is that she was the ruler of Bavaria—and there have been worse governors of nations—until the revolution of 1848 forced her to leave the country. She later went to America, where she lectured on such subjects as beauty and fashion, and died in New York in 1861, when she was only 43.

  Apart from Captain James she had two other husbands, a young officer named Heald, who died, and a San Francisco editor, Patrick Hall, who divorced her.

  This is the briefest outline of her short life; there is no room to include all the lovers, real and reputed (apar
t from those mentioned by Flashman, gossip included even Lord Palmerston), or the endless catalogue of scandals, scenes, escapes, and triumphs. These can be found in her biographies, of which The Magnificent Montez, by Horace Wyndham, is particularly recommended.

  Flashman's account of Lola's behaviour, and his assessment of her character, seem both authentic and fair. His enthusiasm for her looks and personality were generally shared (even by his old Indian acquaintance, the Hon. Emily Eden); there is ample evidence of her promiscuity, her optimistic cheerfulness, her sudden furious rages, and her tendency to physical violence—the men she horse-whipped included a Berlin policeman, the boots of a Munich hotel, and the editor of the Ballarat Times, Australia. But none of her contemporaries has left such an intimate portrait of her as Flashman has, or come closer to explaining the magnetism she exerted. And in spite of his conduct towards her, he obviously respected her deeply.

  NOTES

  1 The Minor St James Club may have been new to Flashman in 1842, but it was notorious to fashionable London. Its proprietor, a Mr Bond, was successfully sued in that year by a disgruntled punter who received £3500 in respect of his losses. (See L. J. Ludovici's The Itch for Play.)

  2 Mr Wilson's performances were a great success all over England, especially with exiled Scots like Mrs Flashman. His repertoire included "A Nicht wi' Burns", and a lecture on the '45 Rebellion, as well as popular songs. He died during a tour of the United States.

  3 Horse-drawn omnibuses had been running in London since Flashman was a small boy; possibly he is referring to a new service. Their con ductors, or "cads", had a reputation for violence and obscenity which lingers in the word to this day.

  4 Raiding of gambling-hells was common after the Police Act of 1839, which permitted forced entry. Flashman's observations on the proprietors' precautions and their right to sue the police are accurate. (See Ludovici.)

  5 Hughes' passing reference to Speedicut certainly brackets him with Flashman, and can therefore be taken to be highly uncomplimentary. Flashman shows him in a new light, which prompts the thought that Speedicut may have been one (or both) of the anonymous companions in "Tom Brown" who spared the fags in the blanket-tossing episode and was later in favour of only partially roasting Tom before the fire.

  6 The "barbed wire" comparison must have occurred to Flashman at some later date; it was not in common use before the 1870's.

  7 Nick Ward claimed the championship of England after beating Deaf James Burke in September, 1840, and Ben Caunt in February, 1841. He lost a return bout with Caunt three months later.

  8 The second Marquis of Conyngham was among the victims fleeced at Mr Bond's Minor Club; he lost at least £500 on two occasions in 1842.

  9 Flashman's description of Bismarck evokes a different picture from the popular impression of the Iron Chancellor, but it tallies with those details of his early life which biographers seldom dwell on at length. Bismarck's taste for playful violence, his boorish conduct in public places, his whoring, carousing, and riotous behaviour (the habit of firing a pistol into the ceiling to announce his arrival to friends, for example), and his 25 duels in his first term at Göttingen, all testify to a nature not invariably statesmanlike. He appears, in fact, to have been an unpleasant young man, brilliant beyond his years but given to cynicism and arrogance. He was as tall, strong, and handsome as Flashman remembers him, with blond-red hair and an aristocratic bearing.

  As to his presence in London in 1842, he did indeed travel extensively in Britain that year, and was rebuked for whistling in the streets of Leith on a Sunday. He is said to have liked the British; his affection encompassed at least one beautiful English girl, Laura Russell, with whom he had been infatuated some years earlier, but who had broken their engagement to marry an older man. Possibly this prejudiced him in later life.

  10 Peel's introduction in 1842 of an income tax of 7d in the pound on all incomes above £150 was regarded as iniquitous. Lord Brougham argued (with what effect we all know) that "such a tax ought on no account to form a part of the ordinary revenue … but should cease with the necessity which alone could justify its imposition".

  11 Bismarck was accounted something of a wit, and like most wits he seems to have had a habit of repeating himself, His remark that a gift for languages was a fine talent for a head-waiter is also recorded in Prince von Bñlow's "Memoirs", where it is suggested that Bismarck was in the habit of using it on linguistically-gifted young diplomats.

  12 John Gully, M.P. (1783—1863) was one of the most popular and respected champions of the bare-knuckle ring. The son of a Bath butcher, he conducted his father's business so unsuccessfully that he was imprisoned for debt, but while in the King's Bench in 1805 he was visited by an acquaintance, Henry "Game Chicken" Pearce, then champion of England. In a friendly spar with the champion in the jail, Gully was so impressive that sporting patrons paid his debts, and he met Pearce for the title at Hailsham, Sussex, a fortnight before Trafalgar. Before a huge crowd which included Beau Brummel and the Duke of Clarence (later William IV), Pearce narrowly beat Gully over 64 rounds; it has since been suggested that Gully out-fought the champion, but was reluctant to knock out his benefactor. This seems unlikely. However, Gully won the title two years later with decisive victories over Bob Gregson, "the Lancashire Giant", and then retired, aged only 24. He made a fortune on the turf, where he owned several Classic winners, and by investments in coal and land. He was M.P. for Pontefract from 1832 to 1837, was twice married, and had 24 children.

  Flashman's portrait of Gully accords with other contemporary accounts of the gentle, quiet six-footer who, when roused, was one of the most savage and scientific fighters of boxing's golden age. "At heart," says Nat Fleischer, "his ambition was to belong to the gentry. He had little use for the professional ring and its shady followers." Fleischer is probably right when he suggests that, but for chance, Gully would never have become a pugilist at all.

  13 Flashman's reference to a horse called "Running Reins" is most interesting. In May, 1844, a year and a half after the party at Perceval's place, the Derby was won by a horse entered as "Running Rein"; it proved, upon inquiry, to be a four-year-old named Maccabeus, and was disqualified, but not before the scandal had developed into a court case (Wood v. Peel) and become the talk of the sporting world. The principal villain in the case, Abraham Levi Goodman, fled the country; the horse Maccabeus disappeared. But there certainly was a genuine Running Rein, whose performances in the 1843 season had given rise to suspicion. Flashman's mention seems to suggest that Running Rein (his rendering of the name as Reins is obviously a slip) had a reputation earlier still, although not an unsavoury one. Turf records of the day contain no mention of Running Ribbons, however, so Spottswood was probably doing Gully no great favour in offering to sell him.

  14 John L. Sullivan won the first recognised world heavy-weight title when he knocked out Paddy Ryan in nine rounds at Mississippi City, on Feb. 7, 1882. It is reported that the spectators included Henry Ward Beecher, the Rev. T. De Witt Talmage, and Jesse James.

  15 Gents and Mooners. In the 1840's the term Gent was most particularly applied to the young middle-class idler who aped his superiors and dressed extravagantly; the Mooner was rather older and spent his time "mooning" at shop windows and ambling gently about the town. Flashman would consider both species to be well beneath him.

  16 Despite Flashman's enthusiastic notice, it seems probable that Lola Montez was not a particularly good artiste, although the historian Veit Valentin observes that she had "the tigerish vivacity that inspires the Andalusian dance".

  17 The account of Lola's disastrous appearance at Her Majesty's Theatre (June 3, 1843) is splendidly accurate, not only in its description of Lord Ranelagh's denunciation, but even in such details as the composition of the audience and the programme notes. (See Wyndham's Magnificent Montez.) This is a good, verifiable example of Flashman's ability as a straight reporter, and encourages confidence in those other parts of his story where corroboration is lackin
g and checking of the facts is impossible.

  18 Lola had a passionate affair with Liszt in the year following her departure from London; after their first rapture she appears to have had much the same effect on the famous pianist as she did on Flash. man. He tired of her, and did indeed abandon her in a hotel, whereupon she spent several hours smashing the furniture. Typically, Lola bore no grudge in her high days in Munich she wrote to Liszt offering him Bavarian honours.

  19 The coat-of-arms of the Countess of Landsfeld is accurately described; the "fat whale" was a silver dolphin.

  20 Stieler's portrait of Lola in Ludwig's gallery is a model of Victorian respectability, A more characteristic Montez is to be seen in Dartiguenave's lithograph; he has caught not only her striking beauty, but her imperious spirit. ee Mr Barbosa's rendering of Stieler's portrait of Lola on the left side of the front cover of this eclition.l

  21 "Lola was always vain of her bosom". She was indeed, if the story of her first meeting with Ludwig is to be believed. He is supposed to have expressed doubts about the reality of her figure: her indignant reply was to tear open the top of her dress.

  22 There is no supporting evidence that Wagner visited Lola in Munich at this time, but it is not impossible. They met for the first time in 1844, when Liszt took her to a special performance of "Rienzi" at Dresden, and Wagner's impression was of "a painted and jewelled woman with bold, bad eyes". He also described her as "demonic and heartless". Curiously, the great composer gained as much favour from Ludwig II as Lola had done from Ludwig I—so much so that the wits nicknamed him "Lolotte".

  23 The American may have been C. G. Leland, a student at Munich University and a friend of Lola's, He claimed that he was the only one of her intimates at whom she had never thrown "a plate or a book, or attacked with a dagger, poker, broom, or other deadly weapon".