told his sister that one day the old woman | his sister: to her he was ever gentle and left a tumbler of milk on the table, and loving, in intercourse with them he could he, seeing no one was looking, emptied not resist indulging in those sarcastic reinto it all the ink out of an ink-bottle marks which made him so feared and disstanding near, and then began to walk up liked. One day his brother Gustave, who and down the room as if nothing had was editor of the Fremdenblatt, came to happened. Another time he filled her call on Heine in Paris. The poet, already snuff-box full of sand, and when she famous in the literary world, showed him asked him why he had done it, he an- some of his new poems, upon which Gusswered, "Because I hate you!" tave offered to make them known through the medium of the Fremdenblatt. Heinrich, taken by surprise, glanced at his brother for an instant with half-shut eyes, a favorite trick of his when he meditated a malicious speech, and then said, with an air of the greatest simplicity and humility, "Ah, yes! I did not think of it before. This is an excellent idea. Through the medium of your Fremdenblatt I may yet become famous." Madame Embden has told her daughter many of her and Heinrich's escapades. When he was about eight years of age, and she six, they used to get up early in the morning, before any one else was about, and amuse themselves by finding rhymes. One day, in spite of all her efforts, the little girl could not succeed in thinking of a word, so she turned to her brother and said, "It seems to me this is much easier for you than for me. I have to consider for a long time before any thing comes, whereas you find one at once. Let us play another game. I will pretend to be a fairy, and we will build a tower in which I can sit down, while you remain outside and invent verses and sing them to me." He and his brother Max, when boys, used to amuse themselves writing rival hexameters and pentameters in German, and we all remember Heine's dream of the unhappy hexameter limping to his bed with five feet, and appealing to him by its classic rights to give him his sixth foot. One day Max read aloud to Heine some The two children set about construct verses of his own composition; the latter ing the tower. In the stable stood many shook his head sadly and said, "You had empty cases. They worked away, plac- better stick to prose, Max; it is quite mising one on top of the other, until they had fortune enough for the family to have one 'reached an altitude of about ten feet; the poet." Another day when he was out little girl then scrambled up to the top walking with him, the brothers stopped case, jumped in, and disappeared, the to look at a spider's web, in which a large sides of the case being higher than her spider had caught his victim. "Observe," small person. Losing sight of her, Hein- Heine said, pointing to the fly, whose rich became frightened, and ran into the blood had just been sucked by the spider; house calling for help; whilst the child," that happens to all fools in the world: wishing to get out herself, felt the cases swaying beneath her, and became very frightened. To make matters worse, she had her new dress on, which was torn to pieces in the mêlée, There she was found lying when the servants came, sobbing bitterly, and trembling at the punishment she felt hanging over her. Moved, however, by the despairing cries and tears of her brother, she at last called out, "I am alive, but my dress is torn !" It was an affair of considerable difficulty to extricate her from her fairy tower. Heinrich's genuine delight softened the hearts of the irate servants, and the children escaped with a severe reprimand. "Only two months before his death," his niece adds, "he referred to this incident, and told me he had not forgotten, although forty-six years had passed, the intense joy he ex-great deal of literary and artistic taste, perienced at that moment." and had, even as a girl, learned secretly to play the flute; it was this, indeed, that first attracted Samson Heine's attention, He does not seem to have ever been as much the companion of his brother as of VOL. XXXIX. 1987 LIVING AGE. the spider is a type of society, its web is the false words that lead us away; but the wise man does this;" and, raising his stick, he destroyed the web. The spider fell. Max wished to put his foot on it. "Leave it," said Heinrich; "it is enough to have destroyed the work of the enemy." For his mother Heine always cherished the truest and deepest affection. From what previous biographers have told us, and from what we now read in her granddaughter's pages, we see her-like many of the mothers of great men to have been a most superior woman. Of his father we hear little; the mother seems to have had the entire charge of the edu cation of her children, and, in spite of her severity, to have been looked up to and respected by all of them. She had a and induced him to fall in love with her. | to her brother with tears. 'Never mind,' The writer of these memoirs says that he said; try to remember all you can → her mother remembered hearing the old | I'll patch it up for you.' An hour afterlady frequently play duets with her young-wards he returned with the composition est son, Gustave. completed, and my mother, delighted at One of the most touching circumstances having got off so easily, did not even connected with the last illness of Hein- take the trouble to read it. The followrich Heine was his dread that his mother ing day she presented her copy-book should hear of it. Meissner tells us how along with that of her companions; they he entered Heine's room one day, and were generally returned immediately by found him writing to the old lady, then the professor, with a mark of approbation bowed down and enfeebled with sor- or disapprobation, but this time he kept row and care. "Do you write to her it, and, sending for her at the end of the often?" asked Meissner. "" Regularly lesson, asked, 'Who wrote your story?' every month." "How unhappy she must In her fright she answered, 'I did.' 'Tell be at your condition!" "At my condi- me the truth,' was his reply; 'I will not tion," answered Heine; "she knows noth-punish you. Who wrote it?' My mothing about it. My mother believes me to be as well and sound as I was when I last saw her. She is old, and reads no newspapers, and has no friends to tell her. I write to her as cheerfully as I can, about my wife and my happy life. If she remarks that the signature only is mine, I explain by telling her that I have pains in my eyes, which will soon pass off. And so she is happy. And, indeed, no mother would believe that a son could be as sick and wretched as I am." And so he closed his letter full of brightness and affected cheerfulness, and sent it to the post. The mother survived her son, and lived to be eighty years of age. One of the simplest and most pathetic poems Heine ever wrote was addressed to her: - In vain delusion from thy side I went, And weary bosom, homeward I return'd. er then felt obliged to confess the truth. me.' At twelve Heine began to write poetry, and his niece tells us that he got into the habit of sitting up at night working. Having no fire in his room, he made himself very ill once or twice, until he at last procured a woollen cap and fur coat to That love for which my heart had always protect himself against the cold. The yearn'd. At ten years of age, the princess tells us, Heine showed the first spark of literary imagination. Her mother was attending a girls' school, directed by nuns, who employed professors to give lessons to their pupils. "One of them, Professor B, related a story to them one day, which they were to write as a theme from memory. By the time she reached home, the little girl found she had forgotten the whole of the story, and confessed as much old family cook provided him with candles, and when she refused to give him any more, he first of all tried to coax them out of her, but finding these means ineffectual, he flew into a passion, and gave her a piece of his mind. She im mediately went and complained to his father, informing him that his children were badly brought up, and had a painful facility in using bad expressions. She also relates another episode of Heine's youth, which, at the time, made quite a sensation at Düsseldorf. One day, when there was a fair going on in the town, all the servants received permission to go out, and the children remained at home in charge of their mother and an old deaf nurse. Madame Heine was relating fairystories to the children, when suddenly a great light flashed out, and they saw flames issuing from the windows of a house close by, in which were large granaries. In a moment they were all in the street and gave the alarm; thanks to their promptitude the fire was soon extinguished, but when the mother and her children returned home they found the door shut, having forgotten, in their hurry, to fasten it back, and it was impossible to make the deaf nurse hear the bell. Heinrich pointed to the open door of the stable, and suggested their entrance that way. A large travelling carriage stood there, covered with holland; in passing close to it, Heinrich saw that a man was hidden underneath. He did not utter a word, or make a sound, but, turning carelessly, said to his mother, "I will return in a moment, I am only going close by to fetch the handkerchief that I left there." His mother, who suspected nothing, remonstrated with him, but he rushed off, and told the neighbors what he had seen. They all collected, entered the stable in a body, and dragged the man, who was armed with a long knife, out of his hidingplace. He turned out to be an escaped convict, and as he walked away in charge of the police, he turned to the child, and said, "Remember! wherever I meet you, little wretch, I will kill you." Many years passed, when one day Heine, who was studying at Bonn, made an expedition to Aquisgrana, in company with other students, to be present at the execution of a murderer. One of his friends, who dabbled in phrenology, obtained permission to see the prisoner and make scientific experiments on him. Urged by curiosity, Heinrich went with him, but directly he saw the man he could not refrain from an exclamation of surprise, for he recognized the culprit he had caused to be arrested years before. Next day he was present at the execution, and he often declared that, before he died, the wretched creature cast a terrible glance of rage and despair at him. We can imagine the impression this event would make on a sensitive nature like Heine's. Our authoress throws some light on the love affair between Heine and his cousin Amelia, and deprives it of a great deal of its romance. She always heard her mother say that Amelia loved Heinrich, and he would have married her if his uncertain position and the unpropitious state of his finances had permitted of his doing so. There was, however, very little breaking of hearts. It is an old, old story, he sings, But still keeps ever new. But, instead of "breaking his heart in His niece touches also on the origin of the exquisite lines, "Du bist wie eine Blume." They were written to a Polish Jewess-Miriam by name - whom he found one day unter den Linden, sitting on a seat crying. Her father and she had come from Gnesen to Berlin, hoping to find employment, and had been robbed of everything; grief had killed her father, and she was left alone in the world. Heine immediately took her to his friend, Rahel von Ense, who received her into her house and got up a subscription for her. Later, however, Rahel's fears became aroused by Heine's pronounced attention to her beautiful protégée, and she made up her mind to send Miriam back to Gnesen, where she married a former lover. Heine paid the newly-married couple a visit in their new home some months later, and it was on his departure that he wrote his celebrated poem. In 1819 Heine went to the University at Bonn, and here he exhibited all the bad and all the good qualities usually possessed by young students. He was extravagant in his expenditure, but generous in giving to any of his comrades who needed help. He was dilatory in attending the lectures necessary to fit him for his intended profession, but assiduous in his study of the languages and literature of other countries. Heine was extremely particular about his dress, and was well known in Bonn as a dandy. His clothes were always cut according to the last fashion, and bis frills and laces folded and goffered with exceptional daintiness. He was of medium height, and his features were of a noble and, at the same time, gentle cast. His hair was brown, his eyes blue, with deeply marked eyebrows, while | munion with superior people, Heine was his lips were full, and a sarcastic smile fickle and changeable as a child in his always hovered round them. When he intercourse with every-day acquaintances first went to the university he had a black and friends, and it was this quality more velvet coat. When it was worn out, he than any other which caused such hard ordered a blue one, and promised his bar- things to be said of him. His sister gave ber to give him the black one, which a party once while he was at Hamburg, generally hung outside in the passage. On for the purpose of introducing him to the day appointed the tailor brought the some of the principal citizens. "Before new suit, and hung it up in place of the they arrived," the princess tells us, "my old one. The barber came later, and as mother begged him to make himself he went away Heinrich said to him, "You agreeable, as all eyes would be upon him. can take the coat I spoke to you about; it Heine, with the contrariety of his temper, is hanging up in the passage." The bar- got away into a corner with one of his ber departed, with profuse bows and little nieces, and told her stories and thanks, carrying away the unexpected gift amused her, and then when no one was with him. Heine continued to dress, but looking crept out of the room and went to what was his surprise when he came to bed. Next morning, when my mother put on his new blue coat to find it no- remonstrated with him, he only answered, where ! When at last the truth dawned My dear little sister, you forgot one upon him, he only said with his usual thing, to put a chain round my neck and nonchalance, "The barber is in luck to lead me about calling out, "Gentlemen day," and put on the old coat. From that and ladies, look at the poet Heine, who time it remained a saying in the family, steals his days from Almighty God, and "The barber is in luck to-day," indicating only makes use of them to write bad a person who came in for an undeserved verses.' stroke of good luck. We all of us remember Heine's amus. ing account of his interview with Goethe at Weimar. "When I visited him at Weimar, and stood in front of him, I looked involuntarily to one side, expecting to see the eagle there with the thunderbolt in its beak. I was on the point of speaking Greek to him, but I observed that he spoke German; so I told him in German that the plums on the road between Jena and Weimar had a very fine taste. I had, during so many winter nights, lain think ing and thinking of the magnificent and profound things I would say to Goethe some day; and when at last I saw him, the only observation I made was that the Saxon plums had a very fine taste, and Goethe smiled." His niece makes an addition to this account by telling us, that the two poets spoke about the weather, and all sorts of indifferent things, until Goethe suddenly interrupted his guest by asking, "What work are you doing at this moment?" "Faust," "answered the young poet quickly. The second volume of Goethe's "Faust" had not yet been published. Struck by the answer, the Weimar Jupiter put on his most godlike air, and replied haughtily, "Have you no other business at Weimar, Herr Heine?" "Having passed the threshold of your house all my business in this city is finished," and thus speaking Henri took his leave. Although fond of society and com Another time, when he was at Monaco, a certain Bavarian princess, who loved to run after celebrated people, said to an aide-de-camp, "I should like to see this original poet." "Your Highness's wish can be easily satisfied," said the aide-decamp; "I know where to find him." A messenger was immediately despatched to the poet's house, with an order to invite Herr Heine to come and take coffee with her Serene Highness. The only answer returned was, "Herr Heine's respectful thanks to her Serene Highness, but he is accustomed to take his coffee where he dines." His niece refers to an "affair of honor" in which Heine was engaged in 1837, and informs us that it arose out of some insolent remarks made about German manners by a young French student. She cites the occurrence as a proof of Heine's patriotism. Dr. Massarellos, of Munich, writes, however, to the Augsburg Allge meine Zeitung, declaring that the origin of the quarrel was an insult offered to Matilde Mirat, who afterwards became his wife. Heine and she and a Dr. Detmold were dining at the Bœuf à la mode, a well-known restaurant at that time. Six French students were dining at a table near, and they soon began to pay a great deal of attention to "the then charmingly beautiful Matilde." Heine, being furiously jealous, was intensely indignant, and at last, unable to restrain himself any longer, sprang up, and boxed the ears of the nearest of the young men. Upon which Dr. Detmold remarked that the bill of fare ought to include a soufflet à la Heine as well as an omelette soufflée, but the students did not feel inclined at all to look upon the affair as a joke. They rushed on Heine armed with knives, and he was with difficulty protected by the waiters. A challenge was sent to the poet. Massarellos agreed to act as his second. The duel never was fought, however, the student being satisfied by an "explanation" which he received from Heine. Matilde did not stop long at Hamburg, her French nature and Parisian manners were not suited to German fashions; and, under pretext of the sudden illness of her mother, she returned home, leaving Heine with his relations, who were delighted to keep him without her." On leaving Hamburg a friend of Heine's gave him a large sausage, begging him to take it to Paris as an offering to a homoeopathic doctor, a friend of his. In the railway carriage Heine tasted a bit of it, and liked it so much that, before he reached Paris, there was only a morsel left. All Heine's family were naturally averse This he enclosed in an envelope and to his marriage with Matilde Mirat, and despatched it with the following letter: the writer of the memoirs talks of her "Dear Doctor, According to the prewith no love. "She was a handsome cepts of homeopathy, the thousandth woman, rather inclined to embonpoint, part is more efficacious than the whole. with black hair, white teeth, a voluptuous, I send you, therefore, that portion of the full-lipped mouth, and gentle, expressive enclosed sausage in the hope that the eyes. She was a regular Parisian grisette, pleasure you derive from it will be a thouand quite uneducated." "One of Ma- sand times greater than if you had retilde's best qualities," said Heine, laugh-ceived it all." ingly, to Sewald, "is that she does not In the year 1846 Heine writes to Varnknow one atom of German literature, and hagen von Ense: "I am sick in body, but has not read a single word of my writ the soul has not suffered much; a weary ings." People say that Heine is a very | flower, it is bent a little, but by no means clever man," she would say, "but I know nothing about it. I suppose I must trust to their word." And, curiously enough, this simple, unsophisticated Naturkind became a great source of happiness in his life. "Only two consolations are left me, and sit caressingly by my pillow my French wife and the German nurse." He was always most indignant if people did not see Matilde's cleverness. 66 withered; and it is rooted fast in truth and love." Twelve months had then elapsed since his terrible malady had first declared itself, "and already," he adds, "my lips are so deadened that even kissing has no effect upon them. I sit whole nights long silent by the side of the fire with my wife. Quelle conversation allemande!' she says sometimes with a sigh. The palate, too, and a part of the In 1843 she went with him to Hamburg. tongue are affected, and all that I eat He thus announced his arrival: "I will tastes like earth; once the sweetest life, come with my family, that is to say, and now nothing but gloom and desire for with my wife and Cocotte the parrot; "death; had I not wife and parrot, I would, his wife not having wished to leave Co- God forgive me! put an end to my miscotte at home. The first words she ery." One of his favorite ways of exspoke to my mother," says the principes pressing intense happiness in days gone "were on the subject of her favorite. by had been, "The nightingales sing in The bird was shut up in a little wooden my heart: now the song of birds was case, its fine brass cage being packed torture to him; even the sunshine he had away amongst the luggage. My father loved so well had to be veiled and darkcame forward and offered to take it from ened ere it entered his room. his sister-in-law; hardly had he touched body," he moaned, "is so shrunk that it, however, ere the parrot put its beak there is hardly anything of me left but out of its prison, and bit one of my father's my voice, and my bed makes me think of fingers. He immediately dropped the the melodious grave of the enchanted box. The cries of Madame Heine, the Merlin, which is in the forest of Brocelaughter of my uncle, the shrieking of the liand in Brittany, under high oaks whose parrot, and the surprise of my father made tops shine like green flowers to heaven. a most comic scene. Heine afterwards | Ah, I envy thee those trees, brother Merwrote a poem on the event, which, un-lin, and their fresh waving! for over my fortunately, was thrown into the fire by mattress-grave here, in Paris, no green the housemaid, who said she really could leaves rustle; and early and late I hear not see the value of such dirty old papers. nothing but the rattle of carriages, ham sa, My |