JUDGMENT:
You can die from
someone else’s misery – emotional states are as infectious as diseases. You may
feel you are helping the drowning man but you are only precipitating your own
disaster. The unfortunates sometimes draw misfortune on themselves; they will
also draw it on you. Associate with the happy and fortunate instead.
Born
in Limerick, Ireland, in 1818, Marie Gilbert came to Paris in 1840s to make her
fortune as a dancer and performer. Taking the name Lola Montez (her mother was
of distant Spanish descent), she claimed to be a flamenco dancer from Spain. By
1845 her career was languishing, and to survive she became a courtesan –
quickly one of the more successful in Paris.
Only
one man could salvage Lola’s dancing career: Alexandre Dujarier, owner of the
newspaper with the largest circulation in France, and also the newspaper’s
drama critic. She decided to woo and conquer him. Investigating his habits, she
discovered that he went riding every morning. An excellent horsewoman herself,
she rode out one morning and “accidentally” ran into him. Soon they were riding
together every day. A few weeks later Lola moved into his apartment.
For
a while the two were happy together. With Dujarier’s help, Lola began to revive
her dancing career. Despite the risk to his social standing, Dujarier told
friends he would marry her in the spring. (Lola had never told him that she had
eloped at age nineteen with an Englishman, and was still legally married.)
Although Dujarier was deeply in love, his life started to slide downhill.
His
fortunes in business changed and influential friends began to avoid him. One
night Dujarier was invited to a party, attended by some of the wealthiest young
men in Paris. Lola wanted to go too but he would not allow it. They had their
first quarrel, and Dujarier attended the party by himself. There, hopelessly
drunk, he insulted an influential drama critic, Jean-Baptiste Rosemond de
Beauvallon, perhaps because of something the critic had said about Lola. The
following morning Beauvallon challenged him to a duel. Beauvallon was one of
the best pistol shots in France. Dujarier tried to apologize, but the duel took
place, and he was shot and killed. Thus ended the life of one of the most
promising young men of Paris society. Devastated, Lola left Paris.
In
1846 Lola Montez found herself in Munich, where she decided to woo and conquer
King Ludwig of Bavaria. The best way to Ludwig, she discovered, was through his
aide-de-camp, Count Otto von Rechberg, a man with a fondness for pretty girls.
One day when the count was breakfasting at an outdoor café, Lola rode by on her
horse, was “accidentally” thrown from the saddle, and landed at Rechberg’s
feet. The count rushed to help her and was enchanted. He promised to introduce
her to Ludwig.
Rechberg
arranged an audience with the king for Lola, but when she arrived in the
anteroom, she could hear the king saying he was too busy to meet a
favor-seeking stranger. Lola pushed aside the sentries and entered his room
anyway. In the process, the front of her dress somehow got torn (perhaps by
her, perhaps by one of the sentries), and to the astonishment of all, most
especially the king, her bare breasts were brazenly exposed. Lola was granted
her audience with Ludwig. Fifty-five hours later she made her debut on the
Bavarian stage; the reviews were terrible, but that did not stop Ludwig from
arranging more performances.
Ludwig
was, in his own words, “bewitched” by Lola. He started to appear in public with
her on his arm, and then he bought and furnished an apartment for her on one of
Munich’s most fashionable boulevards. Although he had been known as a miser,
and was not given to flights of fancy, he started to shower Lola with gifts and
to write poetry for her. Now his favored mistress, she catapulted to fame and
fortune overnight.
Lola
began to lose her sense of proportion. One day when she was out riding, an
elderly man rode ahead of her, a bit too slowly for her liking. Unable to pass
him, she began to slash him with her riding crop. On another occasion she took
her dog, unleashed, out for a stroll. The dog attacked a passerby, but instead
of helping the man get the dog away, she whipped him with the leash. Incidents
like this infuriated the stolid citizens of Bavaria, but Ludwig stood by Lola
and even had her naturalized as a Bavarian citizen. The king’s entourage tried
to wake him to the dangers of the affair, but those who criticized Lola were
summarily fired.
While
Bavarians who had loved their king now outwardly disrespected him, Lola was
made a countess, had a new palace built for herself, and began to dabble in
politics, advising Ludwig on policy. She was the most powerful force in the
kingdom. Her influence in the king’s cabinet continued to grow, and she treated
the other ministers with disdain. As a result, riots broke out throughout the
realm. A once peaceful land was virtually in the grip of civil war, and
students everywhere were chanting, “Raus mit Lola!”
By
February of 1848, Ludwig was finally unable to withstand the pressure. With
great sadness he ordered Lola to leave Bavaria immediately. She left, but not
until she was paid off. For the next five weeks the Bavarians’ wrath was turned
against their formerly beloved king. In March of that year he was forced to
abdicate.
Lola
Montez moved to England. More than anything she needed respectability, and
despite being married (she still had not arranged a divorce from the Englishman
she had wed years before), she set her sights on George Trafford Heald, a promising
young army officer who was the son of an influential barrister. Although he was
ten years younger than Lola, and could have chosen a wife among the prettiest
and wealthiest young girls of English society, Heald fell under her spell. They
were married in 1849. Soon arrested on the charge of bigamy, she skipped bail,
and she and Heald made their way to Spain. They quarreled horribly and on one
occasion Lola slashed him with a knife. Finally, she drove him away. Returning
to England, he found he had lost his position in the army. Ostracized from
English society, he moved to Portugal, where he lived in poverty. After a few
months his short life ended in a boating accident. A few years later the man
who published Lola Montez’s autobiography went bankrupt.
In
1853 Lola moved to California, where she met and married a man named Pat Hull.
Their relationship was as stormy as all the others, and she left Hull for
another man. He took to drink and fell into a deep depression that lasted until
he died, four years later, still a relatively young man.
At
the age of forty-one, Lola gave away her clothes and finery and turned to God.
She toured America, lecturing on religious topics, dressed in white and wearing
a halo like white headgear. She died two years later, in 1861.
Lola
Montez attracted men with her wiles, but her power over them went beyond the
sexual. It was through the force of her character that she kept her lovers
enthralled. Men were sucked into the maelstrom she churned up around her. They
felt confused, upset, but the strength of the emotions she stirred also made
them feel more alive.
As
is often the case with infection, the problems would only arise over time.
Lola’s inherent instability would begin to get under her lovers’ skin. They would find themselves drawn into her problems, but
their emotional attachment to her would make them want to help her. This
was the crucial point of the disease – for Lola Montez could not be helped. Her
problems were too deep. Once the lover identified with them, he was lost. He
would find himself embroiled in quarrels. The infection would spread to his
family and friends, or, in the case of Ludwig, to an entire nation. The only
solution would be to cut her off, or suffer an eventual collapse.
The
infecting-character type is not restricted to women; it has nothing to do with
gender. It stems from an inward instability that radiates outward, drawing
disaster upon itself. There is almost a desire to destroy and unsettle. You
could spend a lifetime studying the pathology of infecting characters, but
don’t waste your time – just learn the lesson. When you suspect you are in the
presence of an infector, don’t argue, don’t try to help, don’t pass the person
on to your friends, or you will become enmeshed. Flee the infector’s presence
or suffer the consequences.
Yond Cassius has a lean and
hungry look. He thinks too much… I do not know the man I should avoid so soon
as that spare Cassius… Such men as he be never at heart’s ease whiles they
behold a greater than themselves, and therefore are they very dangerous.
Julius Caesar, William
Shakespeare, 1564-1616
Those
misfortunates among us who have been brought down by circumstances beyond their
control deserve all the help and sympathy we can give them. But there are
others who are not born to misfortune or unhappiness, but who draw it upon
themselves by their destructive actions and unsettling effect on others. It
would be a great thing if we could raise them up, change their patterns, but
more often than not it is their patterns that end up getting inside and
changing us. The reason is simple – humans are extremely susceptible to moods,
emotions, and even the ways of thinking of those with whom they spend their
time.
The
incurably unhappy and unstable have a particularly strong infecting power
because their characters and emotions are so intense. They often present
themselves as victims, making it difficult, at first, to see their miseries as
self-inflicted. Before you realize the real nature of their problems they have
infected you.
Understand
this: In the game of power, the people you associate with are critical. The
risk of associating with infectors is that you will waste valuable time and
energy trying to free yourself. Through a kind of guilt by association, you
will also suffer in the eyes of others. Never underestimate the dangers of
infection.
There
are many kinds of infector to be aware of, but one of the most insidious is the
sufferer from chronic dissatisfaction. Cassius, the Roman conspirator against
Julius Caesar, had the discontent that comes from deep envy. He simply could
not endure the presence of anyone of greater talent. Probably because Caesar
sensed the man’s interminable sourness, he passed him up for the position of
first praetor ship, and gave the position to Brutus instead. Cassius brooded
and brooded, his hatred for Caesar becoming pathological. Brutus himself, a
devoted republican, disliked Caesar’s dictatorship; had he had the patience to
wait, he would have become the first man in Rome after Caesar’s death, and
could have undone the evil that the leader had wrought. But Cassius infected
him with his own rancor, bending his ear daily with tales of Caesar’s evil. He
finally won Brutus over to the conspiracy. It was the beginning of a great
tragedy. How many misfortunes could have been avoided had Brutus learned to
fear the power of infection.
There
is only one solution to infection: quarantine. But by the time you recognize
the problem it is often too late. A Lola Montez overwhelms you with her
forceful personality. Cassius intrigues you with his confiding nature and the
depth of his feelings. How can you protect yourself against such insidious
viruses? The answer lies in judging people on the effects they have on the world
and not on the reasons they give for their problems.
Image: A Virus. Unseen, it
Infectors can be
recognized by the misfortune they draw
Enters your pores without
on themselves,
their turbulent past, their long line of
warning, spreading silently
and
broken
relationships, their unstable careers, and the very
slowly. Before you are aware
of
force of their
character, which sweeps you up and makes
the infection, it is deep
inside you.
you lose your
reason. Be forewarned by these signs of an infector; learn to see the
discontent in their eye. Most important of all, do not take pity. Do not enmesh
yourself in trying to help. The infector will remain unchanged, but you will be
unhinged.
The
other side of infection is equally valid, and perhaps more readily understood:
There are people who attract happiness to themselves by their good cheer,
natural buoyancy, and intelligence. They are a source of pleasure, and you must associate with them to share the
prosperity they draw upon themselves.
This
applies to more than good cheer and success: All positive qualities can infect
us. Talleyrand had many strange and intimidating traits, but most agreed that
he surpassed all Frenchmen in graciousness, aristocratic charm, and wit. Indeed
he came from one of the oldest noble families in the country, and despite his
belief in democracy and the French Republic, he retained his courtly manners.
His contemporary Napoleon was in many ways the opposite – a peasant from
Corsica, taciturn and ungracious, even violent.
There
was no one Napoleon admired more than Talleyrand. He envied his minister’s way
with people, his wit and his ability to charm women, and as best he could, he
kept Talleyrand around him, hoping to soak up the culture he lacked. There is
no doubt that Napoleon changed as his rule continued. His constant association
with Talleyrand smoothed many of the rough edges.
Use
the positive side of this emotional osmosis to advantage. If, for example, you
are miserly by nature, you will never go beyond a certain limit; only generous
souls attain greatness. Associate with the generous, then, and they will infect
you, opening up everything that is tight and restricted in you. If you are
gloomy, gravitate to the cheerful. If you are prone to isolation, force
yourself to befriend the gregarious. Never associate with those who share your
defects – they will reinforce everything that holds you back. Only create
associations with positive affinities. Make this a rule of life and you will
benefit more than from all the therapy in the world.
Authority: Recognize the
fortunate so that you may choose their company, and the unfortunate so that you
may avoid them. Misfortune is usually the crime of folly, and among those who
suffer from it there is no malady more contagious:
Never open your door to the
least of misfortunes, for, if you do, many others will follow in its train….
Do not die of another’s
misery.
(Baltasar Gracian, 1601-1658)
This law admits of no reversal. Its application
is universal. There is nothing to be gained by associating with those who
infect you with their misery; there is only power and good fortune to be
obtained by associating with the fortunate. Ignore this law at your peril.