With the passage of time the infatuation of the Wittelsbach Lovelace became so marked that it could not be ignored in places beyond Munich. The Countess Bernstorff grew seriously perturbed. "There has long been talk," she confided to a friend, "as to whether King Ludwig would so far presume on the kindness and indulgence of the Queen of Prussia as to bring Lola Montez to Court during Her Majesty's forthcoming stay in Munich." The problem, however, was solved by the tactful action of Lola herself, who gave the palace a wide berth until the visit had come to an end.
In his Memoirs of Madam Jenny Lind-Goldschmidt shocked horror is similarly expressed by Canon Scott Holland at the possibility of the Swedish Nightingale, who was arranging to give a concert there, encountering Lola in her audience: The time fixed for this visit to Munich was, in one respect, most unpropitious; and, for a young artist, unsupported by powerful moral protection, the visit itself might well have proved extremely unpleasant. It was impossible to sing at Court, for the reigning spirit in the household of King Ludwig I was the notorious Lola Montez, who was then at the climax of her ill-gotten power. To have been brought into contact with such a person would have been intolerable. An invitation to Court would have rendered such contact inevitable.
But if Jenny Lind adopted a lofty attitude and refused to fulfil an engagement in the Bavarian capital, lest she should have chanced to rub shoulders with Ludwig's mistress, other visitors did not share these qualms. They arrived in battalions, and evinced no disinclination to make her acquaintance. "To the shame of the aristocracy and the arts," says a rigid commentator, "every day there were to be found at the feet of this Cyprian intruder a throng of princes and philosophers, authors and painters, and sculptors and musicians."
Fresh tactics to get her out of Munich were then adopted. When, however, somebody remarked that Ludwig was old enough to be her grandfather, she sent him away with a flea in his ear.
"It is ridiculous to talk like that," she said. "My Ludwig's heart is young. If you knew the strength of his passion, you would not credit him with being more than twenty!"
As for Ludwig himself he was bombarded with anonymous letters and warnings, calling Lola by every evil name that occurred to the writers. She was La Pompadour and the Sempronia of Sallust in one, a "voluptuous woman," and a "flame of desire." There were also tearful protests from the higher clergy, who, headed by Archbishop Diepenbrock, were positive that the "dancing woman" was an emissary of Satan (sometimes they said of Lord Palmerston) sent from England to destroy the Catholic religion in Bavaria.