An English writer who heard a great deal of her and who saw her often about this time writes that there was nothing wonderful about her except “her beauty and her impudence.”  She had no talent nor any of the graces which make women attractive; yet many men of talent raved about her.  The clever young journalist, Dujarrier, who assisted Emile Girardin, was her lover in Paris.  He was killed in a duel and left Lola twenty thousand francs and some securities, so that she no longer had to sing in the streets as she did in Warsaw.

She now betook herself to Munich, the capital of Bavaria.  That country was then governed by Ludwig I., a king as eccentric as Lola herself.  He was a curious compound of kindliness, ideality, and peculiar ways.  For instance, he would never use a carriage even on state occasions.  He prowled around the streets, knocking off the hats of those whom he chanced to meet.  Like his unfortunate descendant, Ludwig II., he wrote poetry, and he had a picture-gallery devoted to portraits of the beautiful women whom he had met.

He dressed like an English fox-hunter, with a most extraordinary hat, and what was odd and peculiar in others pleased him because he was odd and peculiar himself.  Therefore when Lola made her first appearance at the Court Theater he was enchanted with her.  He summoned her at once to the palace, and within five days he presented her to the court, saying as he did so: 

“Meine Herren, I present you to my best friend.”

In less than a month this curious monarch had given Lola the title of Countess of Landsfeld.  A handsome house was built for her, and a pension of twenty thousand florins was granted her.  This was in 1847.  With the people of Munich she was unpopular.  They did not mind the eccentricities of the king, since these amused them and did the country no perceptible harm; but they were enraged by this beautiful woman, who had no softness such as a woman ought to have.  Her swearing, her readiness to box the ears of every one whom she disliked, the huge bulldog which accompanied her everywhere—­all these things were beyond endurance.

She was discourteous to the queen, besides meddling with the politics of the kingdom.  Either of these things would have been sufficient to make her hated.  Together, they were more than the city of Munich could endure.  Finally the countess tried to establish a new corps in the university.  This was the last touch of all.  A student who ventured to wear her colors was beaten and arrested.  Lola came to his aid with all her wonted boldness; but the city was in commotion.

Daggers were drawn; Lola was hustled and insulted.  The foolish king rushed out to protect her; and on his arm she was led in safety to the palace.  As she entered the gates she turned and fired a pistol into the mob.  No one was hurt, but a great rage took possession of the people.  The king issued a decree closing the university for a year.  By this time, however, Munich was in possession of a mob, and the Bavarians demanded that she should leave the country.