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Updated: May 18, 2025
But Heine's good sayings went the round of Parisian society, and he loved the subtleties of wine and the table. "That dish," he said once, "should be eaten on one's knees." Only on paper, and then rarely, was his heart lacerated by savage indignation. Except for brief periods of poverty, in the Zion of exile he lived very much at ease, nor did the zeal of the Lord ever consume him.
As you will not get the Monatsschrift, because it will be discontinued, I send you another number with an article entitled "Wir," by Solger; it is written so prettily that I should almost like you to read it. So many stupid things have appeared in that Monatsschrift that the detached good bits really deserve attention. As to Heine's stupid joke you will probably not be in need of comfort.
And, talking of that, a volume of Hazlitt's essays would be a capital pocket-book on such a journey; so would a volume of Heine's songs; and for TRISTRAM SHANDY I can pledge a fair experience. If the evening be fine and warm, there is nothing better in life than to lounge before the inn door in the sunset, or lean over the parapet of the bridge, to watch the weeds and the quick fishes.
H. Heine's first principle of criticising a book was, What motive is the author trying to carry out, or express or accomplish? and the second, Has he achiev'd it? Every page of my poetic or attempt at poetic utterance therefore smacks of the living physical identity, date, environment, individuality, probably beyond anything known, and in style often offensive to the conventions.
"I am teaching myself, with such poor aid as I can obtain from that miserable vagabond, Barilli, who is generally intoxicated three days out of every six. Did you expect to find Heine's yellow-haired Loreley, or a treacherous Ligeia, sitting on a rock, wooing passers-by to speedy destruction?" "I certainly did not expect to meet my friend Salome alone at this hour and place.
In the last, however, the cheery majesty that realizes Heine's likening of Death to a cool night after the sultry day of Life, is superb. Then there are some four-hand pieces, two collections, that leave no excuse for clinging to the hackneyed classics or modern trash. They are not at all difficult, and the second player has something to employ his mind besides accompanying chords.
Rocked in blissful dreams, I receive at last a letter of Heine's, with an enclosure from Wigand namely, a money-order for ten louis d'or, which, from your letter, I had unfortunately expected would come to twenty louis d'or. "I am sorry for Heine and Fischer. Poor fellows! they picture me floating along on a sea of Parisian hopes; they will be greatly and painfully undeceived.
And then Heine tells the same story that is told by Schreiber. It is the eighth of the seventeen Sagen in question. This, then, is proof that Heine knew Schreiber so long before 1835 that he was no longer sure he could depend upon his memory. But it is impossible to say whether Heine's memory was good for twelve years, or more, or less. But there is better evidence than this.
Of Heine's personality, of the poet's historic position, political tendencies or importance, I knew nothing; in these love-poems I looked more especially for those verses in which violent self-esteem and blase superiority to every situation find expression, because this fell in with the Petsjorin note, which, since reading Lermontof's novel, was the dominant one in my mind.
But it is not at all within the province of a prose essayist to give a picture of this hyperbolical frame of mind; and the thing has been done already, and that to admiration. In "Adelaïde," in Tennyson's "Maud," and in some of Heine's songs, you get the absolute expression of this midsummer spirit.
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