August 20, 1975 (8 pages)

3 eee er mn -_ ie Eccentric AND THE NEWSPAPERS : —$—— A August 20, 1975 Wed., The Nevada County Nugget 5 —(jm = a ——— Doris Foley shot with a pistol and gun she never could hurt game. She could not bear to see anything die. . “This reminds me to speak of the particularly kind heart of Lola Montez and in spite of frivolity and perfect abandon of the ethics of modern society. I have known her to sit all night with a sick and suffering child in a miner’s family. Once when a little girl of a poor Cornish miner lay very low with typhoid fever, Lola Montez even abandoned her salon and gave several days of solicitous nursing the unconscious patient over the crisis. I have seen her eyes fill with tears at the tale of human suffering in the camp. Again I have seen her wild rage, stamping her: ‘feet and spasmodically working her hands together when she fancied anyone had slighted her. “Qne day she saw a teamster whipping his team of mules, when they were sweating, struggling and exerting their every quivering muscle to haul an overloaded wagon. down through the thick mud of Mill Street. Lola Montez’s feeling for dumb brutes was touched. Running into the house she came out with a loaded pistol. I thought she would surely shoot the brutish driver. She called him every name the French and English languages contain appropriate to the occasion. She dared the brute to get off the wagon. She vowed that one more use of the whip on the poor panting mules, she would shoot him dead. The fellow never said a word and did not use the whip again — at least not while the Countess was in sight. Her rage was something unique in its impressiveness. “One would naturally wonder whether Lola Montez did not pine in Grass Valley for the glories of her former years in the capitals of Europe. I believe there were times when she did long to be back in Paris, and y in Brussels, of which she spoke most often. She had occasional fits of blues, but she never let anyone know their cause. She was intensely proud. “She sold her Grass Valley home and went down to San Francisco. There she spent a month or two getting a little company of performers ready for a tour of Australia. She sailed away in the early part of 1857. On the way to Australia she had several rows with her company of actors, and the Australia tour was a failure before it began. Lola Montez had a series of unhappy adventures during the succeeding three years of her life. She died in poverty at the age of 36 in New York City:”’ —From the San Francisco Examiner, February 19, 1899. REMINISCENCES OF MISKA HAUSER (Miska Hauser, the violinist who accompanied the Montez troupe to Sacramento, wrote in his travel book of Lola’s antics in that city. Reference is made to these reminiscences in Chapter IV.) The curtain went up and Lola appeared in fairylike costume, advanced to the center of the stage and, after letting her challenging, dazzling eyes stray for a moment over the crowd, she commenced to dance. At once uncontrolléd laughter succeeded the storm-brewing quiet. ‘ Lola made a gesture and the music ceased. Advancing daringlyto the very edge of the stage, with pride in her bearing and fire in her eyes, she said, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, Lola Montez has too much respect for the people of California not to perceive that this stupid laughter comes from a few silly puppies.” Renewed laughter. “I will speak!” she cried, raising her voice louder, while her eyes shot flame. ‘‘Come up here,” she shouted, ‘‘Give me your men’s trousers and take in their place my women’s skirts; you are not worthy to be called men.” Tremendous laughter. “Lola Montez is proud to be what she is, but you haven’t the courage to fight with her-yes, this woman, who has no fear of you all, who despises you.” She wished to go on, but the uproar had reached its culmination point; decayed apples and eggs shot through the air and the bombardment lasted so long that this female opponent was constrained to take a better view of the male sex and with strategic backward movement withdrew herself from the firing line. I watched the spectacle from my seat in the loge and with the 444.4 009 9964008 * At VAD . GE ee Pel a We rere eee ere eeowe a eS ls Bi ‘ime . Pharisee I-prayed: ‘“‘Thank God I am not such as these!” when to my horror the director of the theater rushed up to me, breathless and wringing his hands, and begged me to save his institution by improvising something to make the audience forget this unfortunate dance, wlucn would yet be the ruin of him. O wretched moment! Never did a concert giver find himself in a more painful position. I would rather have endeavored to silence the rage of a tempest-swept sea than this audience. But the distress of the director and the $100 which he in his misery offered me for the service touched my heart and in less than 5 minutes I stood armed with my fiddle and bow before the hostile audience. Expecting to have to shield myself with my violin from the renewed onslaught, to my great surprise I was receivéd with a storm of applause. Then all at once it was‘still‘Und rings in Kries a VonMondsuchtheiss ~ Lagerten die grasslichen Katzen! The most appropriate thing I could think of to play under such circumstances seemed to me to be “‘Der Vogel auf dem Baume.” The enemy beneth lying in wait, I began, but the song of the bird had a different ring from the words of Lola Montez, it appeared for the bird on the tree was obliged to sing again. After it was finished they cried loudly for the manager. He appeared. A voice in the parterrre commenced speaking and all was still. “Theater director,”’ began the voice, “We have paid our dollars! The dancer Montez is unworthy to appear before us! The much esteemed Miska Hauser with his magic bow has just performed wonders, appeased an outraged audience and made happy again our angry hearts. Theater director! We do not want to see Lola Montez again, we want to hear Miska Hauser!’’ Stormy applause. Lola, who had been standing in the wing and had heard all, at this moment rushed onto the stage and commenced to dance. Then, like a hurricane which, in its fury, does not disdain to sweep down upon delicate flowers, the attack of the furious public upon Lola began. Everyone pressed towards the stage, benches and chairs were overturned and above the martial music of crashing window panes the following battle cry was distinguishable! ‘Scoundrel! We want our money back!’’ , As the theater manager did not seem disposed to interpret this honorable request in a personal manner, he kept out of sight. Taking courage, I addressed a few soothing words to the public and my broken English was favorably received; to put a point to my speech I seized my violin and played as long as I possibly could the most foolish things Carneval, Yankee Doodle, Vogel auf dem Baume, etc. until the hall was turned from a-madhouse into a theater. Then suddenly the persevering Spaniard again appeared. and in spite of the accelerated and wavering musical accompaniment she danced the spider dance to the end. This time her perseverance won; the more wisely disposed part of the audience withdrew and we were rewarded by the victorious dancer in divers ways. When Lola, protected against attack, reached the Hotal New Orleans, she was honored there with a serenade of awful cat-cries, broken pots and old kettles, flutes and drums added strength to this ear-splitting symphony. The fearless one appeared on the balcony and with a lamp and a shrill voice screamed at them: ‘You cowards, low blackguards, cringing dogs and lazy fellows! I would not despise a dirty dog so much as I do you!”’ Here she was interrupted by vociferous applause. A man climbed up on the balcony and blew out the lights, but at this juncture armed men appeared and dispersed the crowd and so there was an end of this dangerous concert. , The next day Lola was received with tremendous enthusiasm by the same audience; instead of rotten apples, wreaths were flung to her. When I visited her soon after, she laughingly skipped up to me and said naively, ‘‘Believe me, dear H., last evening was worth more to me than $1000. I was delightfully amused and I have added another to the list of my adventures.” . -From the “Diary of Miska Hauser,”’ Courtesy of the California State Library, . Sacramento, California oe E339 ce Feet gents et Oe 0 eaa ees F a: h20 4) BESS SSNS SAAS LY ead ae FAA trtheh SF nh Aik te te

3 eee er mn -_ ie Eccentric AND THE NEWSPAPERS : —$—— A August 20, 1975 Wed., The Nevada County Nugget 5 —(jm = a ——— Doris Foley shot with a pistol and gun she never could hurt game. She could not bear to see anything die. . “This reminds me to speak of the particularly kind heart of Lola Montez and in spite of frivolity and perfect abandon of the ethics of modern society. I have known her to sit all night with a sick and suffering child in a miner’s family. Once when a little girl of a poor Cornish miner lay very low with typhoid fever, Lola Montez even abandoned her salon and gave several days of solicitous nursing the unconscious patient over the crisis. I have seen her eyes fill with tears at the tale of human suffering in the camp. Again I have seen her wild rage, stamping her: ‘feet and spasmodically working her hands together when she fancied anyone had slighted her. “Qne day she saw a teamster whipping his team of mules, when they were sweating, struggling and exerting their every quivering muscle to haul an overloaded wagon. down through the thick mud of Mill Street. Lola Montez’s feeling for dumb brutes was touched. Running into the house she came out with a loaded pistol. I thought she would surely shoot the brutish driver. She called him every name the French and English languages contain appropriate to the occasion. She dared the brute to get off the wagon. She vowed that one more use of the whip on the poor panting mules, she would shoot him dead. The fellow never said a word and did not use the whip again — at least not while the Countess was in sight. Her rage was something unique in its impressiveness. “One would naturally wonder whether Lola Montez did not pine in Grass Valley for the glories of her former years in the capitals of Europe. I believe there were times when she did long to be back in Paris, and y in Brussels, of which she spoke most often. She had occasional fits of blues, but she never let anyone know their cause. She was intensely proud. “She sold her Grass Valley home and went down to San Francisco. There she spent a month or two getting a little company of performers ready for a tour of Australia. She sailed away in the early part of 1857. On the way to Australia she had several rows with her company of actors, and the Australia tour was a failure before it began. Lola Montez had a series of unhappy adventures during the succeeding three years of her life. She died in poverty at the age of 36 in New York City:”’ —From the San Francisco Examiner, February 19, 1899. REMINISCENCES OF MISKA HAUSER (Miska Hauser, the violinist who accompanied the Montez troupe to Sacramento, wrote in his travel book of Lola’s antics in that city. Reference is made to these reminiscences in Chapter IV.) The curtain went up and Lola appeared in fairylike costume, advanced to the center of the stage and, after letting her challenging, dazzling eyes stray for a moment over the crowd, she commenced to dance. At once uncontrolléd laughter succeeded the storm-brewing quiet. ‘ Lola made a gesture and the music ceased. Advancing daringlyto the very edge of the stage, with pride in her bearing and fire in her eyes, she said, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, Lola Montez has too much respect for the people of California not to perceive that this stupid laughter comes from a few silly puppies.” Renewed laughter. “I will speak!” she cried, raising her voice louder, while her eyes shot flame. ‘‘Come up here,” she shouted, ‘‘Give me your men’s trousers and take in their place my women’s skirts; you are not worthy to be called men.” Tremendous laughter. “Lola Montez is proud to be what she is, but you haven’t the courage to fight with her-yes, this woman, who has no fear of you all, who despises you.” She wished to go on, but the uproar had reached its culmination point; decayed apples and eggs shot through the air and the bombardment lasted so long that this female opponent was constrained to take a better view of the male sex and with strategic backward movement withdrew herself from the firing line. I watched the spectacle from my seat in the loge and with the 444.4 009 9964008 * At VAD . GE ee Pel a We rere eee ere eeowe a eS ls Bi

‘ime . Pharisee I-prayed: ‘“‘Thank God I am not such as these!” when to my horror the director of the theater rushed up to me, breathless and wringing his hands, and begged me to save his institution by improvising something to make the audience forget this unfortunate dance, wlucn would yet be the ruin of him. O wretched moment! Never did a concert giver find himself in a more painful position. I would rather have endeavored to silence the rage of a tempest-swept sea than this audience. But the distress of the director and the $100 which he in his misery offered me for the service touched my heart and in less than 5 minutes I stood armed with my fiddle and bow before the hostile audience. Expecting to have to shield myself with my violin from the renewed onslaught, to my great surprise I was receivéd with a storm of applause. Then all at once it was‘still‘Und rings in Kries a VonMondsuchtheiss ~ Lagerten die grasslichen Katzen! The most appropriate thing I could think of to play under such circumstances seemed to me to be “‘Der Vogel auf dem Baume.” The enemy beneth lying in wait, I began, but the song of the bird had a different ring from the words of Lola Montez, it appeared for the bird on the tree was obliged to sing again. After it was finished they cried loudly for the manager. He appeared. A voice in the parterrre commenced speaking and all was still. “Theater director,”’ began the voice, “We have paid our dollars! The dancer Montez is unworthy to appear before us! The much esteemed Miska Hauser with his magic bow has just performed wonders, appeased an outraged audience and made happy again our angry hearts. Theater director! We do not want to see Lola Montez again, we want to hear Miska Hauser!’’ Stormy applause. Lola, who had been standing in the wing and had heard all, at this moment rushed onto the stage and commenced to dance. Then, like a hurricane which, in its fury, does not disdain to sweep down upon delicate flowers, the attack of the furious public upon Lola began. Everyone pressed towards the stage, benches and chairs were overturned and above the martial music of crashing window panes the following battle cry was distinguishable! ‘Scoundrel! We want our money back!’’ , As the theater manager did not seem disposed to interpret this honorable request in a personal manner, he kept out of sight. Taking courage, I addressed a few soothing words to the public and my broken English was favorably received; to put a point to my speech I seized my violin and played as long as I possibly could the most foolish things Carneval, Yankee Doodle, Vogel auf dem Baume, etc. until the hall was turned from a-madhouse into a theater. Then suddenly the persevering Spaniard again appeared. and in spite of the accelerated and wavering musical accompaniment she danced the spider dance to the end. This time her perseverance won; the more wisely disposed part of the audience withdrew and we were rewarded by the victorious dancer in divers ways. When Lola, protected against attack, reached the Hotal New Orleans, she was honored there with a serenade of awful cat-cries, broken pots and old kettles, flutes and drums added strength to this ear-splitting symphony. The fearless one appeared on the balcony and with a lamp and a shrill voice screamed at them: ‘You cowards, low blackguards, cringing dogs and lazy fellows! I would not despise a dirty dog so much as I do you!”’ Here she was interrupted by vociferous applause. A man climbed up on the balcony and blew out the lights, but at this juncture armed men appeared and dispersed the crowd and so there was an end of this dangerous concert. , The next day Lola was received with tremendous enthusiasm by the same audience; instead of rotten apples, wreaths were flung to her. When I visited her soon after, she laughingly skipped up to me and said naively, ‘‘Believe me, dear H., last evening was worth more to me than $1000. I was delightfully amused and I have added another to the list of my adventures.” . -From the “Diary of Miska Hauser,”’ Courtesy of the California State Library, . Sacramento, California oe E339 ce Feet gents et Oe 0 eaa ees F a: h20 4) BESS SSNS SAAS LY ead ae FAA trtheh SF nh Aik te te