All hands were raised in silence, and the impressive scene closed with a storm of acclamation.
But Lassalle was worn out, and he fled for a time from the storm and conflict to Switzerland. Helen at Geneva heard of his sojourn at Righi-Kaltbad, and she made an excursion thither with two or three friends, and thus on July 25 (1864) the lovers met again. An account of their romantic interview comes to us in Helen’s own diary and in the letter which Lassalle wrote to the Countess Hatzfeldt two days later. Helen tells how they climbed the Kulm together, discussing by the way the question of their marriage and the possibility of opposition.
“What have your parents against me?” asked Lassalle; and was told that only once had she mentioned his name before them, and that their horror of the Jew agitator had ever since closed her mouth. So the conversation sped. The next morning their hope of “a sunrise” was destroyed by a fog. “How often,” says Helen, “when in later years I have stood upon the summit of the Righi and seen the day break in all its splendour, have I recalled this foggy, damp morning, and Lassalle’s disappointment!”
As he looked upon her, so pale and trembling, he abused the climate, and promised that he
would give up politics, devote himself to science and literature, and take her to Egypt or India. He talked to her of the Countess, “who will think only of my happiness,” and he talked of religion. Was his Jewish faith against him in her eyes? Mahommedanism and Judaism, it was all one to her, was the answer, but paganism by preference! They parted, to correspond immediately, and Lassalle to write to the astonished, and in this affair, unsympathetic Countess, of the meeting with his beloved. With the utmost friendliness, however, he endeavoured to keep the elder lady at a distance for a time.
On July 20 Helen writes to him, repeating her promise to become his wife.
You said to me yesterday: “Say but a sensible and decided ‘Yes’—et je me charge du reste.” Good; I say “Yes”—chargez-vous donc du reste. I only require that we first do all in our power to win my parents to a friendly attitude. To me belongs, however, a painful task. I must slay in cold blood the true heart of Yanko von Racowitza, who has given me the purest love, the noblest devotion. With heartless egotism I must destroy the day-dream of a noble youth. But for your sake I will even do what is wrong.
Meanwhile Lassalle’s unhappy attempts to
conciliate the Countess continue. He writes of Helen’s sympathy and dwells upon her entire freedom from jealousy. He tells Frau von Hatzfeldt how much Helen is longing to see his old friend. In conclusion, as though not to show himself too blind a lover, he remarks that Helen’s one failing is a total lack of will. “When, however, we are man and wife,” he adds, “then shall I have ‘will’ enough for both, and she will be as clay in the hands of the potter.” The Countess continues obdurate, and in a further letter (Aug. 2) Lassalle says:—
It is really a piece of extraordinary good fortune that, at the age of thirty-nine and a half, I should be able to find a wife so beautiful, so sympathetic, who loves me so much, and who—an indispensable requirement—is so entirely absorbed in my personality.