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vol. title: Vol Four of The Theosophical Society of The Arya Samaj of Arya-wart vol. period: Sept 1878 – Sept 1879 pages in vol.: 350 |
< Lassalle’s Sad Romance (continued from page 8-51) >
declared he wished not and deserved not to be acquitted unless the appeal to arms was affirmed to be the right and duty of the people. He was condemned to six months imprisonment, and spent this period of confinement in sounding social problems.
During the next two years he worked unceasingly in the elaboration and publication of his ideas looking toward German unity. In 1849, his conviction of a penal offence forbidding his residence in the capital, he was smuggled into Berlin disguised as a wagoner, but, through Humboldt, soon obtained permission to remain. The Countess Hatzfeldt followed him, and in Berlin the two lived together, “devoting themselves,” says the biographer, “to serious intellectual labors, relieved by intercourse with the circle of scientists and philosophers.”
The next three eventful years found Lassalle the active leader of young Germany. It was at the time of the struggle between the Prussian Liberals and Bismarck about the reorganization of the army, and Lassalle flung himself into the political and social ferment as an exponent of more advanced socialist ideas, and gave himself with headlong ardor to their propagation. For the three years during which his active apostolate lasted he seems to have allowed himself scarcely a moment’s repose, but was of every day organizing meetings, making speeches, or turning out pamphlets. He actually succeeded in this short time in creating out of the amorphous socialism floating among the masses a coherent and aggressive political party, which soon developed surprising strength at the polls. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that this one man accomplished in Germany all that the February revolution had done in France.”
It was toward the end of this great struggle that Lassalle met the young girl whose story, as now given to the public for the first time, completes the record of his life. In Germany she did not venture to tell that story. His biographers had but scanty material with which to piece out their account of the final and bloody close of the great agitator’s marvellous career. Their narrative, as briefly given, is this:—
Lassalle was quite well off—his income from inherited property is said to have been $4,000 a year—and he was accustomed every summer to take a vacation by the seaside or in Switzerland, usually in company with the Countess de Hatzfeldt. Thus, in 1863, after founding the General German Association of Workers, he went off for a week’s relaxation to Ostend. In 1864, on the eve of leaving for Switzerland, he delegated to Otto Dammer the exercise of all his powers as President of the above-named society. In June he made a great speech at a mass meeting in Frankfort, and the greater part of this month he spent at Ems with the Countess. In July she went to Wildbad, while Lassalle betook himself to Rigi-Kaltbad, whose fresh breezes had the effect of calming and resting him. Here he received a call one day from an English lady, accompanied by a young girl, Hélène de Doenniges, whom he had already met once at Berlin. At this time Lassalle was nearly 40 years old. His figure was tall and lithe, the lines of his profile delicate and noble, his pale complexion was lit up by dark eyes full of fire. His talk, we are told, was singularly facile, sparkling, and suggestive, kindling at times into a species of infectious eloquence. Altogether, it would seem that women liked him, and he was far from hating them. Fräulein von Doenniges had auburn hair and a romantic disposition, two things which he admired immensely. The wooing appears to have been swift, since after a second interview at Wabern, in the environs of Berne, at the house of the English lady with whom Hélène was residing, they vowed to marry one another in spite of the obstacles which the young lady foresaw on the side of her father, a Bavarian diplomatist, and by no means the sort of a person to court an alliance with the famous socialist. It is a curious feature of this affair that from the outset Lassalle confided his plans to the Countess de Hatzfeldt, who, after some natural remonstrance, lent herself to their furtherance with a generous, and, so to speak, maternal devotion.
“By the 3d of August Fräulein von Doenniges had returned to her father’s house in Geneva, and here Lassalle attempted to pay his addresses in due form. But the Bavarian diplomat stiffly refused to see him, and when his wife informed him of the intended marriage became wild with rage. He cursed his daughter, and swore she should never wed a Jewish vagabond, whereupon the young lady fled from her father’s house and flung herself into her lover’s arms. She bade him take her where he would, but either as his enemies said because he dreaded to lose her dowry, which was considerable, or because he chose to enter the Doenniges family by the front door, he brought her at once home to her mother. Somewhat chilled, apparently, by this act of prudence, or of honor, and vanquished by her friends’ entreaties, Hélène suffered them to remove her from Geneva, heartbroken, she wrote, yet resigned.” At this unexpected news Lassalle was frantic with wrath and wounded vanity. That a man adored by women of the utmost distinction could be discarded and forgotten by a girl of 20 who but yesterday had sworn eternal troth and thrown herself at his mercy, was impossible—unthinkable. It was obviously the old story of a barbarous father spiriting his daughter away, and it behooved the wooer to deliver her.
“He summoned to his aid the Countess Hatzfeldt and another friend, Col. Rüstow, who did everything in their power to work upon Herr von Doenniges. Lassalle himself hastened to Munich, and received a promise that the Minister of Foreign Affairs would interfere in his favor. The Countess went to see the Prince Bishop of Mayence, who showed himself extremely friendly to the brilliant writer and reformer; but neither he nor the Minister could force a father to give away his daughter against his will, and, as it now turned out, against her own. The young lady’s sentiments seem to have undergone a sweeping change, for she abruptly decided to marry a young Wallachian, Baron Janko von Rackowitz, and herself made known her intention to Lassalle. His despair and frenzy were wrought to a climax by these tidings, and nothing could better paint the tumult of a strong and passionate soul than the feverish letters and telegrams which he constantly despatched to his old friends, and to her who had abandoned him, during the month of August, which determined his fate.
“Toward the end of the month Lassalle returned to Geneva, bearing a letter from the Bavarian Prime Minister which would, he hoped, prevail on M. de Doenniges to grant him one interview with Hélène. He was persuaded she could not resist his voice and personal influence, and she seems to have shared the conviction, for she firmly refused to see him. In a transport of rage he insulted her father and demanded reparation. It was Racowitz, the prospective son-in-law, who accepted the challenge. The latter’s seconds, Dr. Arndt and Capt. Kaiserlink, who was to marry Hélène’s sister, demanded the restoration of the lady’s letters, but this Col. Rüstow and the Hungarian Gen. Bethlen, who were acting for Lassalle, positively refused. Thenceforward the duel was equally desired by both combatants and it took place on the 28th of August, in the neighborhood of Carouge. At the first fire Lassalle fell mortally wounded, and three days afterward, at the Hotel Victoria, in Geneva, he died. His body was taken back to the Fatherland, by way of the Rhine country, under the charge of Mme. de Hatzfeldt, its passage being attended with the most imposing demonstrations of popular regret, and to arrest the tumult which was shaking the Socialist party throughout Germany, the police were compelled to seize the coffin at Cologne, and forward it secretly to Breslau, where it now lies in the Jewish cemetery.
“In all the cities and large towns the workingmen’s societies vied with one another in honoring the memory of their friend with funeral pageants, in which he was presented as the martyr and Messiah of the new faith. So profound indeed, was the impression that Lassalle left upon the people that many simple folk believed, and yet believe, him still alive, and that he will straightway return to preside over the great revolution which is to reconstruct society.”
This story is the commonly received version, and has obtained publicity in half a dozen countries. Some of the letters referred to have been translated, and illustrate the more tragic points of the story as no narration by a third party could do.
The night after Hélène visited him, Lassalle evidently having repented of sending her back, and having heard from her relatives, wrote to her:
Come to me. I shall place you under the protection of the law and of my arm. It is impossible that the resolution which thy cousin has communicated to me can have been taken by thee without constraint. But if thou dost not love me, say it to me in a firm voice. I love thee to foolishness since the night of Wednesday.
A little later he wrote:
I know a priest who will unite us, without the least shred of paper, in the indissoluble ties of the Church. I will set out on the 12th for Germany. I leave thee my friend the Brigadier-General Rustow, who will replace me in everything. Do not leave Geneva, and if they want to force you, address yourself to Mr. Amberny, advocate, Rue du Marché, No. 34, who will protect you. Ah! you shall be mine!
On the 19th of August he wrote:
Hélène, thou hast reached thy majority, thou canst quit the house of thy father. We shall go to Italy, and in five days be united by the first convenient priest. Thy letters to thy friend and to Rustow prove nothing. They have been forced from you. * * * If I doubted of this I should die each hour a thousand of deaths. I am bound to thee by chains of adamant. I suffer more than Prometheus suffered chained to the rocks. If thou shouldst have perjured, after so many oaths, and in the face of such love, nature herself shall be dishonored. One may doubt of all that is true, of all that is faithful.
The appeal to the code referred to was contained in the following letter to M. de Doenniges:
Monsieur de Doenniges: After having learned from Col. Rustow that Mlle. Hélène was lost for me, it can no longer be my intention to marry her. The reasons which have prevented me up to the present from demanding satisfaction for the injuries which you have inflicted on me no longer exist. I ask you then to place yourself in relation with the two friends who will bring to you this declaration.
He also wrote as follows to the Prince Racowitz:
Monsieur de Racowitz: Here is an extract from a letter which I have written to Monsieur de Doenniges. You have nothing to fear in me as a rival. I no longer envy your fate, and I renounce with happiness the hand of this lady. With sincere compassion,
Hélène de Doenniges, although now past that first youth which fascinated the famous German, is still a beautiful woman. Her hair, hardly the mere auburn of Lassalle’s biographer, is really a lustrous red—full, wavy, and sure to arrest the attention of even a casual passer-by. She is said to be an accomplished linguist; she has certainly studied much and learned much of the world, as well as books. Since she met Lassalle at twenty—fourteen years ago. Her version of the tragedy differs from that above given in many respects, as was, perhaps, only to be expected; and although she has once or twice corrected statements that have been made in different parts of the world, she has never until now given the whole history for publication. In her pleasant home, yesterday, she reviewed the entire story, and consented that it should be published, her only condition being that her present name and residence should not be given.
“After my visit to Ferdinand Lassalle, whom I loved indeed, truly and dearly,” she said, “he persuaded me to return to the home from which I had been forced to fly by the cruel treatment of my father. I complied, for it was the wish of the man I loved. No one but my father and myself has ever known what happened from that moment in our house. My father locked me in my room, had the windows boarded up, so that all communication with the outer world was ended for me. He threatened all the inmates, including the servants, to shoot like a mad dog any one who would accept a message either to me or from me. So I passed many weeks, seeing no one but my father, who entered daily with the same question: ‘Now, what will you do?’ My answer always was: ‘I marry Lassalle.’
“When my father saw that rigor would not do he tried stronger weapons. He knew that I loved my brothers and sisters devotedly, and they were sent to me, weeping, to ask if I really believed that my own happiness was worth so much to me that I would ruin my whole family to secure it. If I married Lassalle, the notorious demagogue, my brothers would be compelled to give up their career, my father would lose his position, and all kinds of evils would come. It is very hard for any one to throw off all family ties, and harden one’s self toward those one has loved since infancy; and to me, who was so warmly attached to my relatives, it was especially difficult—it proved impossible. My mother wept and lamented, and I surrendered to her tears.
“From Lassalle I had heard nothing more. I had not received any of his letters, for my father had intercepted them all.
“Many of them I only saw years after, so that I did not know but that he had given me up. I was barely more than a child—so I yielded. It was indefensible. I know I ought to have remained steadfast, but it was done, and it cost me the bitterest suffering in after years.
“An interview was said to have occurred between myself and Col. Rustow, who acted as Lassalle’s friend, which was falsely reported. The report does me great injustice, as you may see. I will read it to you.”
And the lady translated the following from an old copy of the Paris Figaro:
Rustow called to see Hélène in her father’s presence, to learn the truth from her own lips and to ask her lover an interview.
“Mademoiselle,” said the Colonel, “Lassalle asks from you the pleasure of a rendezvous. You can be accompanied by one of your parents. As your refusal of him will be his sentence of death, he wishes to hear it pronounced by his judge alone. This is not asking too much, it seems to me.”
“Mon cher, Monsieur,” responded Mlle. Hélène, who was dressed in elegant taste and looked more beautiful than ever. “How will that save him? I know he wishes it, but, frankly, I am disgusted with the whole affair.”
“But, Mademoiselle, your oaths?”
“Ah, sir, I never swear. I have been too well brought up for that.”
“But your visit to the pension bourgeoise?”
“Ah, for that I was very culpable, and I repent it sincerely.”
“M. Lassalle only asks for two hours’ conversation.”
“What can he do in two hours? I am so fond of talking and he talks so much.”
“But you owe him satisfaction.”
“I owe him nothing at all,” smiling graciously on Col. Rustow who took his leave.
“And if this conversation never took place, you say?” asked the writer.
“Never. Col. Rustow, however, I suppose, may have reported such a conversation to Lassalle.”
“Why should he do such a thing?”
“Rustow was the friend and lover of Countess Hatzfeldt, and she had been living with Lassalle for sixteen years. She was much older than Lassalle, and of course did not wish to see him married to a younger woman, who would, of course, have completely annihilated her influence. Both Rustow and the Countess Hatzfeldt were against the marriage, and this, I suppose, was what prompted Col. Rustow to tell of a conversation that never occurred. It was despicable, but perhaps it was human. Rustow did see me in my father’s presence. There was a conversation, but it was nothing like that was reported. I have, however, forgiven him and the Countess long ago.
“My father forced me to promise not to disavow the vow he had made me yield to his commands. The same night that I saw Rustow I was taken by my brother-in-law, the Count Keyserling, across Lake Geneva under a military escort, and was kept concealed in a little town, unknown to the world, for fear that Lassalle would take me away forcibly. And they knew that I would have followed him anywhere and have escaped.
“While I was thus in exile the Prince von Racowitz was sent to me by my parents, and a chapter of the story began which requires an explanation. It seems impossible that I should have ever married any one, feeling as I did toward Lassalle. But I had known the Prince since we had been children together, and we were warmly attached to each other. My father, thinking that he would have more influence over me than any one else, sent him to me, and he came, and, throwing himself on his knees, besought me to accept him.
“I started in surprise. ‘How is it possible for me to accept you when I love only Lassalle?’ I said. ‘I can never change. I shall care for no one but him. If I should marry you and should meet Lassalle afterwards, I would leave you and every one else. I would walk over your dead body to him, and it would be nothing to me.’
“But he insisted. He said that he knew that my life at home was ended. It would never be possible for me to live with my parents again, and he feared it would be impossible for me to escape to join Lassalle. However, if I would pledge myself to him he would fight for me, and if I still insisted, after a reasonable time, he would himself take me to Lassalle. This went on for some time, until, in despair of obtaining any liberty, and believing that Von Racowitz was the only person who sympathized with me, I did in a manner pledge myself to him, and he at once told my father.
“In the mean time, as I learned long after it was all over, Lassalle had left Geneva before I was taken back there, and had gone to the King of Bavaria, who sent a letter to my father (probably the one referred to as from the Prime Minister) asking him to allow the marriage of Lassalle and myself to take place. My father, without intimating to me that he had received such a letter, replied at once by telegram that I had myself renounced the affair and was pledged to another.
“Of course when the King heard that,” continued the lady with a shrug, “he could do nothing. ‘What is it to me?’ he said, and Lassalle’s last hope was gone. Rustow had reported an interview with me that had not occurred, and now my father telegraphs to the King that I had pledged myself to another. Then came the challenge, and the unhappy part played by the Prince von Racowitz. My father said that he could not go to the field, as he was the father of a large family, and it devolved upon the Prince to take his place. He was a gentleman and a nobleman, and he could not refuse a challenge.
“They met and Lassalle was killed. The Prince brought me the news himself, and when he told me I declared that I hated him. It seems impossible that I should have married him after that, but I did. In the first place I could not, and do not now believe that he intended to kill Lassalle. When I reproached him passionately for what he had done, he shuddered with anguish. ‘Do you not think it was horrible to me as it is to you?’ he said, and I believe that he was. I believe that he acted only as an instrument in the hands of my father, and that he had no enmity to Lassalle. Of course he could not refuse to fight, but he did not mean to kill his opponent.
“Then the weary round of solicitation from my parents and from Racowitz began again. I did not say before that when I returned to Geneva I found a letter from the Countess Hatzfeldt. I had written to her before, in the same way that I would have written to Lassalle’s mother. I knew she had been his mistress years before, but I supposed the affaire was ended and that she was merely his friend. In reply, she wrote me an infamous letter. I do not remember the words, but it was a reproach<... continues on page 8-53 >