Part 15

Heine, as we see, has disdained all explanations. We enjoy the marvellous conciseness of these monumental words, this power as it were of hewing out the speech in stone. But what, on closer investigation, is the spiritual substance of the poem? Not much more than a laconic combination of the words love and death. It is the same combination that is to be found in all Heine's youthful poems, in the shape of love and suffering, love and poison, love and suicide--in Alfred de Musset, too, there is the same stereotyped coupling of _l'amour_ and _la mort_.

Here, as in general with Heine, the expression is epigrammatic, therefore quite simple.

We have now sufficient material before us to give us a certain insight into the formation of Heine's poetic style. It will be interesting to study it finished and fully developed.

We may start from the last-mentioned poem with its epigrammatic point. It is characteristic of Heine that neither here nor elsewhere does he deeply concern himself with the true inwardness of a feeling; he only, as a rule, points and sharpens the expression of it. This is the case even with the feeling of love, which he has treated more frequently than any other. And it is characteristic of his want of the power to put himself in another's place, that it has only been possible for him to give expression to masculine love; he has never put a passionate utterance of feeling into the mouth of a woman.

Nothing would have been more impossible for Heine than to write such a poem as Goethe's famous:

"Freudvoll und leidvoll, Gedankenvoll sein, Langen und bangen In schwebender Pein, Himmelhoch jauchzend, Zum Tode betrübt, Glücklich allein Ist die Seele die liebt."[12]

[12]

Gladness And sadness And pensiveness blending; Yearning And burning In torment ne'er ending; Sad unto death, Proudly soaring above, Happy alone Is the soul that doth love. (BOWRING)

For this is the living delineation of a woman's heart, this is the very inner life of love, its pulsation, its oscillation between bliss and woe. The epigrammatic quality of Heine's style alone would make such an unfolding of the emotional life impossible. And there is the same concentration when he narrates an event. It is a condensation without parallel in poetry; he produces his effect by making the briefest possible statement or suggestion. As an example of this take the lines:

"Es war ein alter König, Sein Herz war schwer, sein Haupt war grau; Der arme, alte König Er nahm eine junge Frau.

Es war ein schöner Page, Blond war sein Haupt, leicht war sein Sinn, Er trug die seid'ne Schleppe Der jungen Königin."[13]

[13]

There was an aged monarch, His heart was sad, his head was grey; This foolish, fond old monarch A young wife took one day.

There was a handsome page, too, Fair was his hair and light his mien; The silken train he carried Of the beautiful young queen.

Observe the telling effect of the inversion: "Blond war sein Haupt;" it is as if the verse began to rejoice and dance. Then comes the end:

"Kennst du das alte Liedchen? Es klingt so süss, es klingt so trüb; Sie mussten beide sterben, Sie hatten sich viel zu lieb."[14]

[14]

Dost know the ancient ballad? It sounds so sweet, it sounds so sad: Both of them had to perish Too much love to each other they had.

This is admirable. But we are not told the story; we only suspect it as we suspect the story of the slave and the sultan's daughter. And here again love is coupled with death.

A certain emptiness in Heine's conception of love strikes us here again. This love has no real substance, no spiritual significance. It was not till shortly before he lay down upon his death-bed that Heine began to describe a love that has real inward substance. The love of the _Buch der Lieder_ is for the most part wrath excited by coldness or faithlessness, an unfruitful thing, that awakens no sympathy. The later of the love-poems are frequently sensual or frivolous, and the more exaggerated the expression, the less are we affected by the value of the feeling:

"Mein Herz ist wie die Sonne, So flammend anzuseh'n. Und in ein Meer von Liebe Versinkt es gross und schön."[15]

15:

My heart is like the sun, dear, Yon kindled flame above; And sinks in large-orbed beauty Within a sea of love. (E. LAZARUS.)

There is too much self-observation and too much boastfulness in this youthful rodomontade. And it is the same with:

"Ich hab' dich geliebet und liebe dich noch, Und fiele die Welt zusammen, Aus ihren Trummern stiegen doch Hervor meiner Liebe Flammen."[16]

16:

I have loved thee long, and I love thee now, And, though the world should perish, O'er its dying embers still would glow The flames of the love I cherish. (LELAND)

Admitting that this is probably so expressed for the sake of artistic effect, we must also admit that the style is a good, perfectly modern style. We can see it all with the mind's eye. The heart sinks like the sun into a sea. From the ruins of the world rise the flames of love. And still more powerful and much more picturesque is the scene in which the name of Agnes is written on the vault of heaven. What is wanting is substance in the feeling. Think, for the sake of comparison, of those profoundly human lines of Goethe's:

"Kanntest jeden Zug in meinem Wesen, Spähtest, wo die reinste Nerve klingt, Konntest mich mit einem Blicke lesen, Den so schwer ein sterblich Aug' durchdringt."[17]

[17] Thou knewest every impulse of my nature, thine eye detected where the nerve thrilled keenest, thou couldst read me at a glance, me, so impenetrable to mortal eye.

--or of the following, which complete the impression:

"Tropftest Mässigung dem heissen Blute, Richtetest den wilden, wirren Lauf, Und in deinen Engelsarmen ruhte Die zerstörte Brust sich wieder auf."[18]

[18] The hot blood by thee was tempered, the wild, aimless course by thee directed; and in thine angel arms the torn breast found rest and healing.

This is the expression of the healthiest, fullest, mutual sympathy, of love's gratitude, of perfect understanding. For such feeling Heine did not find expression until, with the shadow of death upon him, he loved _la Mouche_, the guardian angel of his death-bed. Until then it is never the healthy, tranquillising, happy element in love that he concerns himself with. It is in another domain that he is master. The modern poet, he reproduces passionate desire with a Correggio-like blending of colours and tones that is more effective than Goethe's antique limpidity. With Goethe desire is Greek or Italian. Think, for instance, of the poem of the orange:

"Ich trete zu dem Baume Und sage: Pomeranze! Du reife Pomeranze; Du süsse Pomeranze! Ich schüttle, fühl', ich schüttle, O fall in meinen Schoos!"[19]

[19]

I take my stand beneath the tree, And cry: O orange! O orange ripe! O orange sweet! Feel, feel how I shake thy tree! O fall into my lap

Then compare the feeling, the glow, the fragrance, the exuberance of such a poem of desire as Heine's wonderful: _Die Lotosblume ängstigt sich vor der Sonne Pracht_ ("The lotus-flower is fearful of the sun's resplendent beam").

It is very characteristic of the two poets that (as has already been noted), whenever the representation of love-longing glides into a delineation of foreign lands, Goethe prefers to paint Italy, Heine Hindostan. In Mignon's song of longing, without a superlative or a diminutive, with a power like that of a God, Goethe summons before our eyes the picture of the classic land where the citrons bloom. There is a power in it all, a force in each distinguishing trait, that Heine does not attain to. But compare this with the bewitching sweetness of Heine's _Auf Flügeln des Gesanges_ ("Oh, I would bear thee, my love, my bride, afar on the wings of song"), the dreamy longing, the charm and the mystery of the perspective that opens out to us:

"Es hüpfen herbei und lauschen Die frommen, klugen Gazelln, Und in der Ferne rauschen Des heiligen Stromes Welln."[20]

[20]

Gazelles come bounding from the brake, And pause, and look shyly round; And the waves of the sacred river make A far-off slumb'rous sound. (Sir THEODORE MARTIN)

This is an immortal stanza. Goethe, even when he gives the reins to longing, is always, like his own goldsmith of Ephesus, the great, wise heathen, who makes images of the gods; in Heine's visionary brain there was that particle of divine frenzy without which it had been impossible for the Düsseldorf merchant's son to understand and reproduce the fatalistic, self-effacing dreaminess of ancient India.

Heine's peculiarities of style stand out even more sharply against the background of Goethe's, when we compare the way in which the two give expression to what is not exactly desire, but the pure longing of love.

Think of the following lines, which Goethe puts into Mignon's mouth:

"Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt, weiss was ich leide, Allein und abgetrennt von aller Freude, Seh' ich an's Firmament nach jener Seite. Ach, der mich liebt und kennt, ist in der Weite.-- Es schwindelt mir, es brennt mein Eingeweide. Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt, weiss was ich leide."[21]

21:

My grief no mortals know, except the yearning! Alone, a prey to woe, all pleasure spurning, Up towards the sky I throw a gaze discerning. He who my love doth know seems ne'er returning; With strange and fiery glow _my heart is burning_[*] My grief no mortals know, except the yearning. (BOWRING)

[*]In the original, _my bowels are burning_.

This is the master in the fulness of his power. Much art has been expended in the representation of the wearing monotony of longing--the five doubly rhyming lines, the languishing metre--interrupted by the audacious, realistic expression: "Es schwindelt mir, es brennt mein Eingeweide." Now compare with this, one of Heine's most perfect expressions of pure love-longing, and we shall see what the plastic fancy and the perfected laconicism of style which we traced in course of development have succeeded in producing for time and eternity:

"Ein Fichtenbaum steht einsam Im Norden auf kahler Höh'. Ihn schläfert: mit weisser Decke Umhüllen ihn Eis und Schnee.

Er träumt von einer Palme, Die fern im Morgenland Einsam und schweigend trauert Auf brennender Felsenwand."[22]

[22]

A pine-tree stands alone on A bare bleak northern height; The ice and snow they swathe it As it sleeps there, all in white.

'Tis dreaming of a palm-tree, In a far-off Eastern land, That mourns, alone and silent, On a ledge of burning sand. (Sir THEODORE MARTIN.)

This is hardly rhymed. The only real rhyme is the very commonplace _Land_ and _Wand_. The pine dreams in the snow, the palm grieves dumbly in the burning heat--that is all. It is not seen, it is fancied or invented, hence it cannot be painted (though I did once see a painting of it in a German exhibition, an idiotically absurd, double picture); but it is, nevertheless, an unforgettable, an immortal poem. And the reason is that the symbol is so marvellously effective in its simplicity--these two clear outlines instinct with feeling, which express the impossibility of overcoming the obstacle which prevents the union of two who really belong to each other.

If Goethe's strength lies in the expression of healthy feelings, comparatively simple and uncomplicated, Heine's lies in the expression of complex modern feeling, of feelings whose unsound state is the result of painful experiences. Goethe could never have written the following lines, with their jarring contrasts and enigmatical meaning:

"Wenn ich in deine Augen seh' So schwindet all mein Leid und Weh: . . . . . . . . . . . Doch wenn du sprichst: ich liebe dich! So muss ich weinen bitterlich."[23]

[23]

Whene'er I look into thine eyes, Then every fear that haunts me flies: . . . . . . . . . . . But when thou sayest: "I love thee;" Then must I weep, and bitterly. (Sir THEODORE MARTIN)

Why must he weep? I have heard the naïve answer: Because she is lying. Alas! it is not such a simple matter as that. He has heard these words from other lips, lips which have now ceased to utter words of love; he knows how long such a passion as a rule lasts, and the sound of her voice startles him out of his forgetfulness--he doubts the durability of her feeling or the durability of his own. It is very interesting to note the way in which Heine had wrestled with these words. Originally the last line was: "Dann wein' ich still und bitterlich." Then the word "bitterlich" was altered to "freudiglich," which changed the original tenor of the poem, and finally the line received its present form.[24]

[24] H. Hüffer: _Aus dem Leben Heinrich Heines,_ p. 153.

Heine was not happy enough and not great enough to attain to reconciliation with existence. It was not possible, apart from all else, that the man who was so long an exile, so long sick to death, should look upon life with the same eyes as the man who was thoroughly sound and healthy, in affluent circumstances, honoured by the great majority, the friend of his sovereign. Hence the expressions of revolt, of bitterness, and of cynicism so frequently to be found in Heine are exceedingly rare in Goethe. Goethe, as a rule, puts them into the mouth of his Mephistopheles. Heine, who was destitute of the dramatic faculty, is himself responsible for every outburst, because he always speaks in his own name. Goethe's bitterest utterances, moreover, are not contained in his works. It is only in the Paralipomena to _Faust_, for instance, that we find this passage:

"Nach kurzem Lärm legt Fama sich zur Ruh, Vergessen wird der Held so wie der Lotterbube, Der grösste König schliesst die Augen zu, Und jeder Hund bepisst gleich seine Grube."[25]

[25]

Fame's short-liv'd turmoil o'er, she sleeps, Hero and waif, oblivion's their doom; The greatest king, life o'er, his eyes doth close, And straightway every dog defiles his tomb.

Heine dwells upon the ideas which Goethe only calls up to banish again. Goethe, too, can be blasphemous. He wrote that poem which is so frequently quoted, so seldom understood: _Wer nie sein Brod mit Thränen ass_ ("He that with tears did never eat his bread"). It is a bitter, passionate appeal against the ordering of the world. But its bitterness is a bitterness that is choked with tears, not the wild and desperate bitterness of Heine's splendid _Fragen_ ("Questions") or the poem _Lass die heiligen Parabeln_ ("Holy parable discarding"), in which occur the lines:

"Warum schleppt sich blutend, elend, Unter Kreuzlast der Gerechte, Während glücklich als ein Sieger Trabt auf hohem Ross der Schlechte?

Also fragen wir beständig, Bis man uns mit einer Handvoll Erde endlich stopft die Mäuler, Aber ist das eine Antwort?"[26]

[26]

Wherefore bends the Just One, bleeding 'Neath the cross's weight laborious, While upon his steed the Wicked Rides all-proudly and victorious?

Thus are we for ever asking, Till at length our mouths securely With a clod of earth are fastened-- That is not an answer, surely? (BOWRING)

The expression is here, as usual with Heine, on a lower plane, more terrestrial, more boldly outspoken, yet by no means unworthy of the subject.

Outbursts of satiety and weariness of life are not infrequent with him. We do not need to search long among his poems to find expressions of the mood of having done for good and all with principle, with endeavour. Nothing of this kind is to be found in Goethe. His _Vanitas vanitatum_, the song _Ich hab' meine Sache auf Nichts gestellt_ ("My trust in nothing now is placed") has, very significantly, become a convivial drinking song. In other words, there is no real, bitter earnest about Goethe's desperation; therefore it soon changes into jovial recklessness. Goethe has not Heine's overpowering feeling of the misery of life, and in so far he is really less Christian.

If it is instructive to compare the two poets' lyric expression of fatalistic indifference, it is equally so to compare their expression of the feeling of aspiration, of manly resolve. In this case we may take the song _Feiger Gedanken_ ("Cowardly Thoughts") from _Claudine von Villa Bella_, as characteristic of Goethe; it might serve as a motto for his conduct throughout life. One can hardly imagine a more vigorous expression of manly determination than that of the lines: "Allen Gewalten zum Trutz sich erhalten," &c. (A bold front shown, to powers of earth and heaven).

Compare with this Heine's poem, _An die Jungen_ ("To the Young"). The impetuous rush of the rhythm and the picturesque quadruple rhyme would alone suffice to make this a splendid, fascinating composition. The first verse, with its allusion to the golden apples which Hippomenes dropped in front of Atalanta, is a whole poem in itself:

"Lass dich nicht kirren, lass dich nicht wirren Durch goldne Aepfel in deinem Lauf. Die Schwerter klirren, die Pfeile schwirren, Doch halten sie nicht den Helden auf."[27]

[27] Heed not the confusion, resist the illusion Of golden apples that lie in thy way! The swords are clashing, the arrows are flashing, But they cannot long the hero delay. (BOWRING.)

From the picture and example of the hero, who will not be stopped in his career, we pass to that of Alexander. What is wanted is determination and boldness:

"Ein kühnes Beginnen ist halbes Gewinnen, Ein Alexander erbeutet die Welt, Kein langes Besinnen! Die Königinnen Erwarten schon kniend den Sieger im Zelt.

Wir wagen und werben! besteigen als Erben Des alten Darius' Bett und Thron. O süsses Verderben! o blühender Sterben! Berauschter Triumphtod zu Babylon!"[28]

28:

A daring beginning is half way to winning, An Alexander once conquered the earth! Restrain each soft feeling! the queens are all kneeling In the tent, to reward thy victorious worth.

Surmounting each burden, we win as our guerdon The bed of Darius of old, and his crown; O deadly seduction! O blissful destruction! To die drunk with triumph in Babylon town. (BOWRING.)

Upon victory follows the homage of the queens, then sweet perdition, seductive ruin, death in the intoxication of triumph--what Sardanapalian sentiment in this appeal to youth, this exhortation to relentless determination! The fight here is for honour, and for women as the spoil of battle, not that struggle for the combatant's own individual freedom, of which Goethe writes so simply:

"Nimmer sich beugen, Kräftig sich zeigen, Rufet die Arme Der Götter herbei."[29]

29:

Nevermore yield thee! Show life has steeled thee! Thus call the arms of The Gods to thine aid.

Goethe's feeling is purer and fuller, the music of his language is simpler; with Heine the melody is, as it were, gorgeously orchestrated. In Goethe's case there is nothing for the eye, not a single picture. It is characteristic that his idea is the grander, Heine's the more modern, more complex, just as Heine's metrical expression is more sensuously insinuating, produced by an art which devotes more attention to detail.

Now take a picturesque, descriptive subject--the Three Kings of the East, as they are called to mind at the Feast of the Epiphany. It is treated in a broad, lively, popular, genuinely naïve manner in Goethe's _Epiphanias:_ "Die heil'gen drei König' mit ihrem Stern" (The Three Kings of the East with their Star). The three kings, the white, the brown, and the black, are described as they appeared when they went about, dressed up, from house to house in the country; and the poem ends:

"Die heil'gen drei König' sind wohlgesinnt, Sie suchen die Mutter und das Kind, Der Joseph fromm sitzt auch dabei, Der Ochs und Esel liegen auf Streu."[30]

[30]

The Three Kings of the East with reverence lowly Seek out the babe and mother holy, Good Joseph's there too, and close by The ox and ass on the litter lie.

Heine does not view the legend in a more religious light than Goethe, but he settles his features into a more serious expression, speaks more concisely, draws with a sharper outline, obtains a totally different effect. Goethe rouses and cheers his readers by his broad and merry artlessness; Heine's words bore their way into men's minds and leave their sting there. He seems to aim at producing the same effect as that of an old Florentine painting:

"Die heil'gen drei König' aus Morgenland, Sie frugen in jedem Städtchen: Wo geht der Weg nach Bethlehem, Ihr lieben Buben und Mädchen?

Die Jungen und Alten, sie wussten es nicht, Die Könige zogen weiter, Sie folgten einem goldenen Stern, Der leuchtete lieblich und heiter.

Der Stern blieb steh'n über Josephs Haus, Da sind sie hineingegangen, Das Oechslein brüllte, das Kindlein schrie, Die heil'gen drei Könige sangen."[31]

[31]

The three holy kings from the Eastern land Inquired in every city: Where is the road to Bethlehem, Ye boys and maidens pretty?

The young and the old, they could not tell, The kings went onward discreetly; They followed the track of a golden star, That sparkled brightly and sweetly.

The star stood still over Joseph's house And they entered the dwelling lowly, The oxen bellowed, the infant cried, While sang the three kings holy. (BOWRING.)

There is a certain amount of waggery in this. What a concert! But also, what painting! The fewest words possible--not a stroke, not a touch too much, and the most telling, prompt effect.

Let us now, in conclusion, think of one of those abstract figures which occur in all lyric poetry--more or less carefully wrought-out personifications of an idea such as peace, happiness, unhappiness--and in this domain also compare Heine with Goethe. Here again it will be observed that Goethe has the fuller note, Heine the firmer outline.

Goethe wrote these lines to peace:

"Der du von dem Himmel bist, Alles Leid und Schmerzen stillest, Den, der doppelt elend ist, Doppelt mit Erquickung füllest, Ach, ich bin des Treibens müde! Was soll all der Schmerz, die Lust? Süsser Friede! Komm, ach komm in meine Brust!"[32]

32:

Child of heaven, that soothing calm On every pain and sorrow pourest, And a doubly healing balm Find'st for him whose need is sorest, Oh, I am of life aweary! What availeth its unrest-- Pain that findeth no release, Joy that at the best is dreary? Gentle peace, Come, oh come unto my breast! (Sir THEODORE MARTIN.)

There is no picture here, no real personification. There is a crescendo movement through the first six lines, which culminates in the outburst: "Süsser Friede!"--though we could not feel quite certain that this outburst was coming.

Now take Heine's personifications of fortune and misfortune, as contained in the following verses:

"Das Glück ist eine leichte Dirne Und weilt nicht gern am selben Ort, Sie streicht das Haar dir von der Stirne Und küsst dich rasch und flattert fort.

Frau Unglück hat im Gegentheile Dich liebefest an's Herz gedrückt, Sie sagt, sie habe keine Eile, Setzt sich zu dir an's Bett und strickt."[33]

[33]

Oh, Joy, she is a lichtsome hizzy, She winna bide wi' ye ava'; She strokes your broo an' maks ye dizzy Wi' ae fond kiss, then flits awa'.

Dame Sorrow is a canty kimmer, A fond embrace ye'll hae frae her; She vows she's naewise thrang, the limmer, Knits by your bed an' winna stir. (W. A.)

Seldom have two ideas been transformed into two living forms with so few strokes; and there is nothing much finer in all modern myth-creation than the last two lines, between which are to be read the record of profound and terrible experience.