HEINRICH HEINE'S LIF TOLD I WORDS sity of California ihern Regional rary Facility HEINRICH HEINE'S LIFE BY THE SAM'E AUTHOR. BOOK OF SONGS. Translated by CHARLES GODFREY 1. ELAND, i8mo, 75 cents. THE ROMANTIC SCHOOL. Translated by S. L. FLRISCHMAN. izmo, $1.50. HENRY HOLT & Co., PUBLISHERS, NEW VORK. 7he frontispiece portrait of Heine was photographed expressly for this volume from the original medallion modeled from life by 'David dangers. // is in the pos- session of Heine's German publishers, {Mess. Hoffmann '.impe, Hamburg. Heine's sister /bought it the best likeness of him HEINRICH HEINE'S LIFE TOLD IN HIS OWN WORDS Edited by GUSTAV KARPELES d Translated from the German by ARTHUR DEXTER NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1893 COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY HENRY HOLT & CO. The editor of this book calls it an autobiography. As Heine did not select the materials of which it is com- posed and join them in a volume to tell the story of his life, I have changed the title. For the same reason I have felt at liberty to omit much that would not interest American readers. The metrical portions of this translation are as literal as I could make them. To judge from any attempts I have ever seen, the melodious union of homely simplicity with wit and pathos, so characteristic of Heine's poetry, cannot be reproduced in English. I have inserted three or four letters taken from " Hein- rich Heine's Familienleben," edited by his nephew, Baron von Embden, and published in November, 1892. They are marked [E.]. A. D. " The style, the trains of thought, the transitions, the gro- tesque fancies, the queer expressions, in short the whole character of the German original is, as far as possible, repeated word for word in this translation. 'Beauties of thought, elegance, charm, and grace have been everywhere pitilessly sacrificed to literal truth. . . Though resolved to make you acquainted with the character of this exotic book, I did not much care to give it to you without abridgment. In the first place, because various passages rest on local or temporary allusions, quibbles on words, and such like par- ticulars . . . ; and further, because various parts of it are aimed in a hostile Spirit at persons unknown here." HEINE (page 2/5). CONTENTS. BOOK I. CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH (1799-1819). CHAPTER PACK I. CHILDHOOD, .3 II. SCHOOL, ii III. MY MOTHER 18 IV. KITH AND KIN 22 V. PALE JOSEPHA 45 VI. MY FIRST BOOKS, 54 VII. AT FRANKFORT-ON-THE-MAIN, 58 VIII. HAMBURG, 62 IX. AMALIE HEINE 67 X. THE FIRST VOYAGE 78 BOOK II. STUDENT YEARS (1819-1825). I. BONN _. 83 II. LITTLE VERONICA 88 III. GOTTINGEN 96 IV. IN BERLIN, 104 V. THE "TRAGEDIES" AND THE "LYRIC INTERLUDE," . . 116 VI. IN LCNEBURG, . I2O VII. THE " RETURN HOME," 122 VIII. CLOSE OF COLLEGE YEARS, 126 BOOK III. YEARS OF WANDERING LIFE (1825-1831). I. THE SEA 135 II. THE " REISEBILDER," 143 III. NORDERNF.Y 148 IV. NEW STRUGGLES, 154 V. LONDON, 157 V vi CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE VI. THE "BOOK OF SONGS," 167 VII. AUTUMN JOURNEYS, 171 VIII. THE "POLITICAL ANNALS," 173 IX. TRIP TO ITALY, 178 X. A SUMMER IN POTSDAM, 183 XI. LIFE IN HAMBURG, 186 XII. THE REVOLUTION OF JULY 191 BOOK IV. IN EXILE (1831-1848). I. FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF PARIS, 199 II. THE CHOLERA 207 III. THE "SALON," 212 IV. FRENCH TRANSLATION OF THE " REISEBILDER," . . 217 V. DE L'ALLEMAGNE 221 VI. IN FOREIGN LANDS, 224 VII. MATHILDE HEINE, 227 VIII. YOUNG GERMANY, 231 IX. AN AUTHOR'S TROUBLF.S, 235 X. LETTERS ON THE THEATER 246 XI. LITERARY PROJECTS, 257 XII. FRIENDS AND FOES, 263 XIII. LUDWIG BORNE, 868 XIV. PUBLIC AFFAIRS, 285 XV. DUEL AND MARRIAGE, 290 XVI. " ATTA TROLL," 297 XVII. TRAVELS IN HIS NATIVE LAND, 305 XVIII. DISPUTE OVER THE INHERITANCE 316 BOOK V. THE MATTRESS-GRAVE (1848-1856). I. ILLNESS, 337 II. THF. " ROMANZEKO," 344 III. THE WILI 349 IV. THE "CONFESSIONS." 355 V. FROM THE MATTRESS-GRAVE, 369 VI. THE LAST YEARS, 372 I ONCE tried, my dear lady, to set forth as truly and honestly as possible the noteworthy events of my time, in so far as I was myself an observer or victim of them. Of these notes, to which I had complacently given the title of " Memoirs," I was obliged to destroy nearly half partly for painful family reasons, and partly through religious scruples. I have since tried to fill up in some measure the blanks in the story ; though I fear that future considerations of pro- priety or a certain self-distrust may lead me to make a new auto-da-ft of my memoirs before I die ; and even what escapes the flames may very likely never see the light of day. From all this you will easily see, my dear lady, that I can- not gratify your desire to read my memoirs and letters. Still, being, as I have always been, a worshiper of your grace, I cannot absolutely disregard any wish of yours ; and will do my best to gratify in some measure the kind curiosity due to your sympathy with all that has befallen me. With that view I have written the following pages ; and such biographical notes as would be of interest to you are herein fully set down. I have honestly written all that is important or characteristic ; and the mutual influence of outward events and inward feelings will furnish you with a true picture of my whole self. It is all straight from my heart, and thou mayest view it in its native beauty. No stains are to be seen there, but only wounds wounds, alas, from the hands of friends and not of enemies ! The night is still. Only the rain plashes on the roof, and the autumn wind moans drearily. THE poor sick chamber is almost cheerful, and I sit at ease in my great chair. A fair form enters without raising the latch ; and thou layest thyself down on the cushions at my feet. Lean thy sweet head on my knee and listen ; but do not raise thine eyes. I will tell thee the story of my life. Should big drops fall on thy curly head, stir not ; it is not the rain dropping from the roof. Weep not. Only press my hand without a word. BOOK FIRST. CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 1799-1819. CHAPTER I. CbtlDbOOD. ROUND my cradle played the last rays of the moonlight of the eighteenth and the first rosy dawn of the nineteenth centuries. My mother relates how, during her pregnancy, she saw an apple hanging in a stranger's garden, but would not pluck it for fear her child might prove a thief. I have all my life had a secret longing for sweet apples joined, however, with a respect for other people's property and a horror of theft. As to the date of my birth, I will state that, according to my certificate of baptism, I was born on the i3th of December, 1799, and certainly at Diisseldorf on the Rhine. As all our family papers were lost by a fire in Hamburg, and as the date of my birth cannot be correctly stated in the Diisseldorf archives for reasons which I do not care to state, the above is the only authentic statement more authentic, at any rate, than my mother's recollection ; and her memory in her old age cannot supply the place of any paper that was destroyed. Place and time are of some importance. I was born at the end of the skeptical eighteenth century, and in a town where, in my childhood, not only Frenchmen but French ideas were paramount at Diisseldorf on the Rhine. Yes, madame, there was I born ; and I insist upon it in case, after my death, seven towns Schilda, Gotham, Polkwitz, Bockum, Diilken, Gottingen, and Schoppenstedt should con- tend for the honor of being my birthplace. Diisseldorf is a town upon the Rhine, and sixteen thousand people live there, Childhood. while many hundred thousand more lie buried there. Among these are a good many of whom my mother says it were better they were yet living ; for instance, my grandfather and my uncle, the elder Herr von Geldern and Herr von Geldern the younger, both celebrated physicians who saved many people's lives, but had to die themselves after all. Good old Ursula too, who carried me in her arms when a child, lies buried there. And a rosebush grows on her grave she loved the scent of roses in her lifetime, and her heart was as sweet as a rose. 'Twas when I was a little lad, And still in petticoats was clad, To the school went every day, And learned my A B C to say. I was the only boy among The crowd that in that bird cage sung ; While girls by dozens, sweet and fair, Like little birds came piping there, With pretty trills and joyous twitters And painful learning of their letters. Frau Hindermans in solemn pose, With spectacles upon her nose, (Or owl's beak, it were better said), Sat in her chair and wagged her head ; And in her hand the birchen rod, With which she flogged the little brood ; Each little, weeping, helpless maid, For every wrong word that she said, From the old woman got a whack That made its mark in blue and black . Ill used and shamed we ever see The fairest in this world must be. Wise old Canonicus, too, is buried there. Lord, how wretched he looked when I last saw him ! He was nothing but intellect and patches ; and day and night he kept on study- ing, as if afraid that the worms would not find ideas enough in his brain. And little Wilhelm lies there and that was my fault. We were schoolmates in the Franciscan cloisters, Little Wilhelm Dusseldorf. and we were playing on that side of them where the Diissel flows between stone walls, when I cried out, " Wilhelm, pull out that kitten that has fallen in." He jumped boldly on to the plank that lay across the stream, and pulled the kitten out of the water ; but he fell in, and when they got him out he was soaking wet and dead. The kitten lived a long while. . . The pearl for the one, the bier for the other, So early I lost thee, O Wilhelm, my brother But the kitten, the kitten was rescued. Boldly he climbed on the treacherous beam, It broke, and he met with his death in the stream But the kitten, the kitten was rescued. . We followed the corpse, this sweet comrade of ours, To the grave that was dug there beneath the mayflowers But the kitten, the kitten was rescued. Ah, thou wert prudent, thou hast outrun Life's tempest, and early thou shelter hast won But the kitten, the kitten was rescued. Hast outrun it early, wert prudent, dear Will, Ere sickness could come wert cured of all ill But the kitten, the kitten was rescued. In these many long years how oft, little friend, With envy and grief have I thought of thine end ! But the kitten, the kitten was rescued. Dusseldorf is very pretty ; and to anyone who thinks of it from a distance and happens to have been born there it seems wonderfully attractive. I was born there, and feel as if I must go straight home again. And when I say go home I mean to the Volkerstrasse and the house where I was born. That house will be very famous some day ; and I have sent word to the old woman who owns it not to sell it on any ac- count. For the whole house she would hardly get as much as the fees will amount to which the maid will some day pick up from Englishwomen of rank in green veils, when she shows them the room where I first saw the light of day, and the cor- ner where my father used to put me when I had been stealing Childhood. grapes, and the brown door on which mother taught me to form my letters in chalk. God ! Madame, if I became a cele- brated writer it gave my mother trouble enough ! . . . [TO HIS SISTER.] My child, when we were children, Two children small and gay, We would creep into the hen-house, And hide us in the hay. We cackled like young cockerels, And to everybody going " Cock-a-doodle-doo ! " we cried ; And they thought the cocks were crowing. We spread old bits of carpet On some chests within the court ; And there we lived together In a house of the finest sort. An old cat of our neighbor's Often came to make a call ; We made her bows and courtesies And compliments and all. We made very kind inquiries About the health of our old friend ; Since then we have had to put the same To old cats without end. We used to sit conversing In a solemn, elderly way ; Complaining how much better Things had been in our day; How Love, Truth, and Religion One hardly ever met ; How coffee had grown very dear, And money hard to get. They all are gone the little games We played at in our youth, And money, and the good old times, And Religion, Love, and Truth. The Elector Jan Wilbelm. But my renown yet sleeps in the quarries of Carrara. The paper laurel wreath that will be laid upon my brow has not yet filled the earth with its perfume ; and when Englishwomen of rank in green veils come to Diisseldorf they do not trouble themselves about the celebrated house, but go straight to the Marktplatz to look at the great, black, equestrian statue in the middle of it. It is supposed to represent the Elector Jan Wilhelm. He is all in black armor, and wears a long, full- bottomed wig. When a child I heard the story how the artist who cast this statue discovered to his horror, during the proc- ess, that his metal was running short ; so the good citizens of the town came running with their silver spoons to fill up the mold. I used to stand by the hour before the statue and puzzle my brains wondering how many silver spoons there were in it, and how many apple tarts might be bought with all that silver. For at that time I had a passion for apple tarts such as I now feel for love, truth, liberty, and shrimp soup. And then, not far from the Elector's statue, at the corner of the theater, there generally stood a queer, dried-up fellow, with bandy legs and a white apron, and a basket slung from his shoulders full of delicious apple tarts, smoking hot, whose praises he was forever singing in treble tones : " Fresh apple tarts, just from the oven ; do you good to smell 'em ! " Upon my word, when the tempter assailed me in later years he had the same treble tones ; and I should never have stayed twelve hours with Signora Giulietta if she had not put on just such a high voice, reminding me of apple tarts. And upon my word, too, apple tarts would never have had such charms for me if crooked old Hermann had not covered them with his white apron so mysteriously 'Tis those aprons that But I am wandering from my subject. I was speaking of the equestrian statue, which has silver spoons and no soup in its inside, and represents the Elector Jan Wilhelm. He must have been a fine man, fond of the arts, and a clever fellow himself. Princes were not so tormented in those times as they are now, and their crowns sat firm upon their heads ; and at night they pulled their nightcaps down over them, and slept soundly. And the people slept soundly at their feet ; and when they waked up in the morning they said, " Good-morning, father." And the princes answered, " Good-morning, my dear children." But all at once things changed. One morning, when we 8 Childhood. waked up in Dusseldorf and were just going to say, "Good- morning, father," our father was gone, and the whole town was in a terrible quandary. People looked as if they were going to a funeral, and sneaked silently to the Market, to read the long proclamation on the door of the townhouse. It was vile weather, but there stood Kilian, the lanky tailor, in the nankeen jacket he generally wore only in the house, and with his blue woolen stockings about his heels, showing his naked shanks, and his thin lips trembling as he read the proclama- tion to himself. An old invalid soldier of the Palatinate was reading it somewhat louder, and big tears were trickling down his brave, white mustache at every word. I took my stand by him and cried for company, and asked him what we were crying for. So he answered, " The Elector has abdicated." Then he read on; and at the words "your well-proved loyalty, "" and release you from all duties toward me," he wept more than ever. It was strange to see an old man, with a faded uniform and scars on his soldierly face, weep so bit- terly. While we were reading, the Electoral arms had been taken down from the townhouse ; everything had an anxious, deserted look, as if an eclipse of the sun were coming ; the town councilors wandered about in an aimless, listless fashion ; and even the mighty beadle looked as if he had nothing more to say, and stood quietly looking on, though mad Aloysius was standing on one leg, babbling the names of the French generals with a hundred foolish grimaces, and crooked Gum- pertz was staggering drunk in the gutter, singing " fa tra, fa ira!" So I went home and began to cry, saying, " The Elector has abdicated." My mother tried her best to comfort me ; but I knew what I knew, and would not be persuaded, but went crying to bed, and dreamed that the end of the world had come. The beautiful flower gardens and green fields were taken and rolled up like carpets ; the beadle went up a tall ladder and took the sun down from heaven ; while Kilian the tailor stood by, saying, " I must go home and put on my best clothes, for I am dead and shall be buried to-day." And it grew darker and darker ; only a few stars were shining, and these were falling like the leaves in autumn. Little by little people disappeared ; and I, poor child, wandered miserably about until I found myself by a willow hedge, near a deserted farmhouse, where a man was digging with a spade, while a horrible old woman stood by, with something like a man's head Entrance of the French. in her apron. It was the moon, and she laid it with anxious care in the open grave, while behind me stood the old invalid, weeping and spelling out the words, " The Elector has abdicated." When I woke the sun was shining in at the window just as usual. There was a drumming in the street ; and when I went into the parlor and said good-morning to my father, who had a sheet over his shoulders and was having his hair powdered, I heard the nimble-footed barber telling him just how they were to do homage to-day in the townhouse to the new Grand Duke Joachim ; how he came of an excellent family, and was married to the Emperor Napoleon's sister, and was a very fine man, and wore his beautiful black hair in curls, and would shortly make his entry, and was sure to please all the women. Meanwhile the drums kept beating in the street ; and I stepped to the door of our house, and saw the French troops march in that famous band of gay fellows that went singing and clattering through the world : the bright, strong-faced grenadiers, with their bearskins and tricolored cockades, the shining bayonets, the voltigeurs full of gayety and/0// d'honneur, and the mighty drum-major with his broad silver lace and the gold-headed staff which he could throw up to the first story, while his eyes went as high as the second story, where some pretty girls were sitting at the windows. I was delighted that some soldiers were billeted on us my mother was not and I hurried to the market place. There all was changed, as if the world had been repainted. A new shield was on the townhouse ; its iron railings were hung with embroidered velvet hangings; French grenadiers were keeping guard ; the old town councilors had put on new faces, were dressed in their Sunday clothes, assumed French airs, and gave each other Bon jour; women were peeping out of all the windows ; curious citizens and gay troopers thronged the square ; and I and some other children climbed upon the Elector's horse and looked down on the motley market place. Our neighbor's boy Fitter and long Kuntz came near breaking their necks ; and it would have been better if they had, for the first ran away from his family afterward, enlisted, deserted, and was shot at Mayence ; as for the other, he made some geographical explorations in strange pockets, and became an active member of a public hemp factory, burst the iron chain which bound him to this and to his native land, got safe over the water, and died in London from a tight cravat, which to Childhood. slipped close when a royal official drew the plank from under his feet. Long Kuntz said there was to be no school on account of the homage ceremony. We had to wait a long while before this began. At last the balcony of the townhouse was crowded with bright-colored men, flags, and trumpets ; and the burgomaster, in his well-known red coat, made a speech, which stretched to some length, like a bit of india rubber, or a nightcap with a stone in the top of it and not the philosopher's stone, by any means. I understood several phrases of it : for example, that we were all to be made happy. And at the last word of it the trumpets blew, the flags waved, the drums beat, and people cheered ; and I cheered, but held fast all the while to the old Elector. It was well I did, for I became fairly giddy, and the people seemed standing on their heads as the world turned round, and the Elector's head, in its full-bottomed wig, nodded and whispered, " Cling to me." It was not until the cannonading began on the walls that I grew sober and clam- bered slowly down from the Elector's horse. On my way home I saw mad Aloysius, still dancing on one leg and babbling the names of the French generals, and crooked Gumpertz, staggering drunk in the gutter, muttering, " fa fra, fa ira." And I told my mother we should all be made happy ; and so there was no school that day. CHAPTER II. Scbool. THE next day the world was all in order again, school kept as usual, and as usual we were learning by heart the kings of Rome, dates, the nouns in im, the verba irregularia, Greek, Hebrew, geography, German grammar, mental arith- metic my head swims at it now. Everything had to be learned by heart. Much of it stood me in good stead later. For if I had not learned the kings of Rome by heart I should not have cared whether Niebuhr did or did not prove that they never had existed. And if I had not known those dates how could I ever have found my way about Berlin where the houses are as much alike as one drop of water or one grenadier is to another, and where you can never find out a friend if you do not have the number of his house in your head ? So I say dates are very useful ; and I know people who have nothing in their heads but a date or two by the help of which they have found out the right houses in Berlin, and become full professors. But all those dates gave me a deal of trouble at school. Reckoning was worse yet. I got on best with subtraction, in which there is one very practical rule : " 4 from 3 I can't, so I must borrow i " though in such cases I rather advise borrowing several groschen, as you never can tell. As to Latin, madame, you have no idea how complicated it is. The Romans would never have had time to conquer the world if they had had to learn Latin first. Those lucky people knew from their cradles what nouns have the accusa- tive in /'///. I had to commit them to memory by the sweat of my brow ; but it is lucky I know them. For example, on the 2oth of July, 1825, when I held a public disputation in Latin in the Aula at Gottingen which was worth hearing, madame if I had said sinapem instead of sinapim, some of the " Foxes " present might have noticed it, to my eternal shame. Vis, buris, sitis, tussis, cucumis, amussis, canabis, sinapis these words which have made such a noise in the 12 School. world have done so because they belong to a definite class, and yet are exceptions ; and therefore I feel a great respect for them ; and the thought that I have them at my fingers' ends if I should suddenly need them affords me, in many sad hours of my life, a deal of consolation and comfort. But the verba irregularia, madame, which differ from the verba regu- laria by being the occasion of many more floggings, are very tough. Under the dark arches of the Franciscan cloisters, near our schoolroom, there hung a gray, wooden figure of Christ on the cross, a terrible object that still comes to me in my dreams occasionally, and stares sadly at me with its wild, bloodshot eyes. I often stood before it and prayed : " O kind God, thou who wast thyself tortured, if it is possible to thee make me keep the verba irregularia in my head." I will not say a word about Greek, for I should lose my temper. The monks of the Middle Ages were not so far wrong when they declared that Greek was an invention of the devil. God knows what misery I suffered with it. Hebrew went better, for I have always had a fondness for Jews, though they crucify my good name to this day. But I could not go as far in Hebrew as my watch did, which made a wide acquaintance among the pawnbrokers, and acquired many Jewish habits refusing to go on the Sabbath, for example and even learned to speak the holy tongue gram- matically ; as I have heard with surprise in sleepless nights, when it ticked away very plainly : katal, katalta, katalti kittel, kittalta, kittalti pokat, pokadeti, pikat, pik, pik. Meanwhile I got on much better with the German lan- guage ; and it is no child's play. For we poor Germans, though we are already oppressed with military service, billet- ings, poll taxes, and a thousand other burdens, must needs load ourselves with Adelung's grammar, and plague each other with accusatives and datives. I learned a deal of Ger- man from old Professor Schallmeyer, a worthy clergyman, who took to me from my earliest childhood. But I also learned something of it from Professor Schramm, who wrote a book on Universal Peace, and in whose class room my schoolmates fought more than in any other. First beginnings are plain indications of what is to come later. And in this connection I often remember a conversa- tion I had with my mother, some eight years ago, when I went to Hamburg to see the venerable lady, then eighty years old. A strange remark escaped her while we were Rector Schallmeyer. 13 talking of the school and my Catholic teachers, among whom I then learned there were many former members of the order of Jesuits. We spoke at length of our dear old Schallmeyer, who had been made rector of the Diisseldorf Lyceum in the French times. He also gave lectures on philosophy to the highest class, in which he explained without reserve the sys- tems of Greek free thought, opposed as these were to the orthodox dogmas, as whose priest he himself used to officiate in full canonical robes at the altar. It is certainly worth noting and the fact will perhaps be admitted as a circonstance attinuante in my favor at the assizes in the Vale of Jehosaphat that I attended these philosophical lectures while still a mere boy. I owed this especial favor to the fact that the rector, as a great friend of our family, felt an interest in me one of my uncles having been a fellow-student with him at Bonn and his college Pylades, while my grandfather had saved his life in a critical illness. On this account the old gentleman often talked with my mother of my education and future course in life ; and it was in such a conversation, as my mother told me afterward in Hamburg, that he advised her to devote me to the service of the Church, and send me to Rome to study theology in a Catholic seminary. Through his influential friends among prelates of the highest rank, the rector declared he could obtain for me some good position in the Church. When my mother told me this she expressed great regret that she had not followed the advice of the clever old gentleman, who had early understood my disposition, and perhaps knew best what spiritual and philosophical influences would be the fittest and healthiest for me. The old lady still repented hav- ing refused such a judicious proposal. But she was then full of dreams of high worldly dignities for me ; she was, moreover, a follower of Rousseau, and a confirmed deist ; and besides, she did not like to put on her oldest son the frock which she saw so ungracefully worn by many German priests. She did not know with what a different chic the Roman abbes wear it, and how coquettishly their shoulders carry the black robe which is the pious uniform of gallantry and wit in ever beauti- ful Rome. Writing straight on in this way and mentioning whatever comes into my head has led me to this chatter about my school days ; and I will take the opportunity, madame, to show you how it was by no fault of mine that I learned so little geog- raphy that I could not afterward make my way in the world. 14 School. The fact is, the French had upset all the boundaries, and the countries were repainted every day ; those that had been blue suddenly turned green and many even became blood-red ; the natives of one country, according to the latest yearbook, got so mixed up with those of another that the devil himself could not keep track of them ; the products of the countries changed, and chicory and beets grew where hares and hunt- ing squires had flourished ; peoples' characters were trans- formed Germans grew lively, Frenchmen stopped paying compliments, Englishmen no longer threw money out of window, and Venetians lost their cunning. In short, it was no time to do much in the way of geography. It is better with natural history, in which there are no great changes ; and there are distinct copperplates of apes, kan- garoos, zebras, rhinoceroses, etc. These remained so stamped upon my mind that I have often met men whom I thought I recognized as old acquaintances. Mythology also flourished. I delighted in the gods who went about naked and ruled the world. I do not believe that any schoolboy in Rome ever knew more than I did about the main doctrines of the old faith for example, the loves of Venus. But my great triumph was in the Abbe d'Aulnoi's class a French emigre", who had written a heap of grammars, wore a red wig, and used to hop about in a wonderful way while expounding his "Art Po&ique "and his " Histoire Alle- mande." He was the only man in the whole gymnasium who taught any German history. He had made various French grammars and chrestomathies, with extracts from the French and German classcis, to be translated by his classes ; and for the highest of them had published an " Art Oratoire " and an "Art Poetique." The first was full of receipts for eloquence out of Quintilian, illus- trated by examples from the sermons of Flechier, Massillon, Bourdaloue, and Bossuet, which I did not find over-tedious. But as to the other, which treated of the definition of poetry (I'art dc peindre par les images) the mere sweepings of the old school of Batteux and French prosody, and the whole system of French meters that was steep. I do not know anything more insipid than the metrical system of French poetry, this art de peindre par les images, as they define it a vicious definition which probably accounts for their constantly falling into pictorial paraphrases. So I think now ; and so as a child I thought then. And it The French Language. 15 may readily be supposed that ill feeling broke out between me and the old fellow in the wig when I declared outright that it was quite impossible for me to write French verses. He vowed I had no soul for poetry, and called me a barbarian from the German woods. I still remember with horror that I had to turn the speech of Caiaphas to the Sanhedrim from the hexameters of Klopstock's " Messiah " into French alexan- drines ! It was a refinement of cruelty surpassing all the tor- tures of the Messiah himself, which even he would not have meekly endured. God forgive me ! how I cursed the world, and foreign oppressors that wanted to cram their meters down our throats ; and was almost ready to devour the French alive. I might have died for France but make French verses ? never, so long as I lived ! The quarrel was made up between the rector and my mother. She was, in fact, none too well pleased to have me learn to make even French verses. She had a dread I should become a poet, the worst thing, she always said, that could happen to me. The ideas then attached to the word poet were, to be sure, not too respectable, as he was supposed to be a poor ragged devil ready to throw off a copy of occasional verses for a couple of thalers, and sure to end his days in the hospital. French has difficulties of its own, as, its study includes billeting, drumming, a deal of apprendre par cceur, with special care not to be a bte allemande. It cost me many a scolding. I remember as if it were yesterday what I suffered about la religion. At least six times I was asked, " Henry, what is der Glaube in French ? " And six times I answered through my tears, " Le credit" For the seventh time the examiner, black with rage, cried, " It is la religion "; and down came a shower of blows, which set all my comrades laughing. I declare, madame, that from that day I have never been able to say the word religion without feeling my back turn blue with fear and my cheeks red with shame. And as a matter of fact, le credit has done more for me in life than la religion. The spirit of the language is an important thing to learn, and there is nothing like drumming for teaching that. Par- bleu! what a lot I owed to the French drummer who was quartered on us so long, and who had the face of a devil and a heart like an angel's. His face was small and mobile, with a fearful black mustache, under which his red lips curved proudly, while his eyes shot fiery glances on every side. Lit- tle fellow as I was I was forever chained to his side, helping 1 6 School. him polish his buttons and chalk his white waistcoat for M. Le Grand was not indifferent to pleasing the eye. I followed him to guard, roll call, and parade ; there was noth- ing but rattling of arms and fun Les jours de fte sont passes. M. Le Grand spoke only a little broken German, only essential words, such as brod, &uss, ehre [bread, kiss, honor]; but he could express himself perfectly on the drum. For example, when I did not know what the word liberte meant he beat the Marseillaise, and I understood. In the same way he taught me the story of the late events. It is true I could not follow the words ; but as he drummed away all the time I knew what he meant to say. This is really the best method of instruction. You comprehend the story of the storming of the Bastille, the taking of the Tuilleries, etc., if you know how the drums beat while it all happened. Whether drumming is an inborn talent, or whether I culti- vated it in my early years, I certainly have it in every limb and in my feet and hands ; and it often comes out against my will. In Berlin I was once in Councilor Schmalz's class in interna- tional law. It was a drowsy summer afternoon, and I sat on the bench hearing less and less ; my head had gone to sleep. All of a sudden I was waked by the noise of my own feet, which had kept awake, and had apparently heard something quite opposed to international law, and insulting to all con- stitutional ideas. As they really understood more of the government of the world than the councilor, for all his big Juno eyes, and could not put their humble opinion into words, my feet began to drum, and got me into disgrace. Those infernal thoughtless feet ! They got me into another scrape when I was for a while attending the lectures of Pro- fessor Saalfeld at Gottingen. He was as usual jerking him- self from side to side in his desk, and getting very warm in trying to belittle the Emperor Napoleon. But no, poor feet ! I cannot blame you for drumming that time, and should not have minded if you had in your simplicity taken active steps to express yourselves more frankly. How could I, Le Grand's pupil, hear the emperor abused ? The empe- ror ! The emperor ! The emperor ! The great emperor ! When I think of the great emperor, all seems bright and golden ; a long linden walk stretches before me in full bloom, nightingales are singing in the leafy branches, the cascade is roaring, flowers are blooming in the round beds, and dream- ily nodding their beautiful heads, while I in some wonderful The Great Emperor. 17 way exchange thoughts with them. The painted tulips greet me with proud condescension ; the sensitive lilies give me a sad and gentle nod ; the drunken red roses smile at me from a distance ; the violets breathe a sigh. I had no acquaint- ance at that time with myrtles or laurels, for they had no bright flowers to charm me ; but the reseda and I, who have since had a quarrel, were on intimate terms. I am speaking of the Diisseldorf court garden, where I often lay on the grass, and eagerly listened, as M. Le Grand told of the great emperor's feats of battle, and drummed the marches that were played during those feats, so that I heard and saw it all. M. Le Grand drummed till he almost broke my ear drums. But what were my feelings when I saw him with my own blessed eyes himself, hosannah ! the emperor ! It was in the avenue of the court garden in Diisseldorf. As I made my way through the gaping crowd I was thinking of the deeds and battles that M. Le Grand had drummed for me, and my heart was beating the " General's March." I was also thinking of the police regulation that no one should ride in that alley under penalty of a fine of five thalers. The empe- ror and his staff came riding along ; the trembling trees bowed down as he passed ; the sunbeams peeped with timid curiosity through the green leaves ; and in the blue heaven above a golden star was brightly shining. The emperor wore his sim- ple green uniform and the world-renowned little three-cornered hat. He was on a small white horse, that moved proudly and surely under him. The emperor rode with a careless, firm seat, holding the reins in one hand and gently stroking his horse's neck with the other. He rode calmly along the alley. No policeman interfered with him ; behind him came his staff on their snorting chargers, covered with gold and jewels ; the drums rolled, the trumpets blew ; mad Aloysius came to my side and screeched out his generals' names ; drunken old Gumpertz was grumbling close by, and the people cried with a thousand tongues, "Long live the emperor ! " CHAPTER III. flbotber. MY mother had lofty, ambitious schemes for me, and all the plans for my education were made with reference to them. She played the principal part in the development of my mind ; she settled the course of my studies, and her plans for my education began before my birth. I followed every wish she expressed ; and must confess she was responsible for the fruit- lessness of most of my attempts and efforts in public posi- tions, which went against my nature. This last had far more to do in determining my future than outward events. The star of our fate is in ourselves. My mother was for a time dazzled by the glories of the Empire, and when the daughter of an iron manufacturer near us, who was a great friend of my mother's and had become a duchess, wrote that her husband [Marshal Soult] had won many victories, and would shortly be promoted to be a king oh ! then my mother dreamed of the brightest gold epaulets or the most splendid court uniform for me in the service of the emperor. So I must pursue the studies most appropriate to such a career, and although rea- sonable attention was paid at the school to mathematics, and the worthy Professor Brewer was steadily putting me through geometry, statics, hydrostatics, hydraulics, etc., and I was floundering in logarithms and algebra, I must have private lessons in all those branches that would fit me to be a great strategist, or, if needful, the administrator of a conquered province. With the fall of the Empire my mother had to abandon all dreams of any such brilliant career for me. She is now eighty-seven, and her faculties are unimpaired by age. She has never pretended to control my opinions, and has been all indulgence and love. Her faith was an uncompromising deism, well suited to her prevailing turn of mind. She was a follower of Rousseau, had read his " Emile," had nursed her own children, and educa- tion was her hobby. She had been well educated herself, and Her Char after. 19 had shared the studies of a brother who became a celebrated physician, and died young. While still a mere girl she used to read aloud to her father Latin dissertations and other learned writings, and often surprised the old man by her questions. Her reason and feelings were thoroughly sound, and I did not inherit from her my taste for the fantastic and romantic. As I have said, she disapproved of poetry, took away a novel if she saw it in my hands, never allowed me to visit the theater or join in popular games, kept watch on my acquaintance, scolded the maids if they told ghost stories before me, and in a word did all she could to preserve me from all superstition and poetry. She was frugal, but only in her own expenses ; for the pleasure of others she could be lavish, and as she did not covet money, but only set a due value on it, she spent it freely, and often surprised me by her liberal charity. What sacrifices she made for her son, not only directing his studies, but, when the times grew harder, furnishing him the means of pursuing them ! When I went to the university my father's affairs had fallen into a very bad state ; and my mother sold some jewels, a necklace and earrings of great value, to provide the cost of my first four college years. I was not the first of our family either to devour precious stones and drink pearls at the uni- versity. My mother's father, as she told me, had the same experience. The jewels which adorned his deceased mother's prayer book had to pay for his maintenance at the university. For his father, old Lazarus de Geldern, had fallen into great poverty through a lawsuit with a married sister about an inheritance, though his father had left him a fortune about which an old great-aunt of mine used to tell wonderful stories. It was like a tale from the Arabian Nights to my childish ears when the old lady spoke about the great palaces, and Persian carpets, and heavy gold and silver services which the good man, who had stood high at the Elector's court, lost in so sad a fashion. The great hotel in the Rheinstrasse was his town house ; the exisiting hospital in the Neustadt had also been his, and a castle near Gravenberg. And at last he had hardly where to lay his head. In fact I do not know exactly what I was thinking about ; pictures of my childhood float dimly through my mind ; I was thinking of my mother's castle, and its neglected garden, with 20 My Mother. the beautiful marble statue lying in the green grass I say my mother's " castle," but I beg you, for mercy's sake, not to fancy anything splendid or fine. It is merely because I have got used to the phrase. My father always said the word " the castle " with emphasis and a peculiar smile. I learned the meaning of the smile later when I made a trip to the castle with my mother, somewhere about my twelfth year. It was my first journey. We traveled a whole day through a thick wood, whose gloomy shadows I have never forgotten, and to- ward evening stopped at a gate leading into a wide meadow. We had to wait near half an hour before the lad came from a mud cottage hard by, unhasped the bar, and let us in. I call him a lad, because old Martha always spoke of her forty-year- old nephew as " the lad." Our servant, who had often heard of " the castle," looked astounded when the lad brought us to the small, broken-down building, where the late master had lived. He was almost confounded when my mother ordered him to bring the beds in. How could he guess there would be no beds to be found in " the castle " ? So he had either not heard her order to take the beds with us or had treated it as unnecessary trouble. The little house, of only one story, had in its best days only five habitable rooms, and was now a sad picture of neglect. Broken furniture, torn wall papers, nota single whole window- pane, the floors broken in many places everywhere the trace of the presence of wanton soldiers. " The boys billeted here had great times," said the lad, with a silly smile. My mother signed to him to leave us alone ; and while he and Johann were busy together I went to look at the garden. This also wore a sad look of decay. The great trees were maimed or broken down, and rank weeds were growing over their trunks. Straggling borders of box here and there showed where the walks had been. Here and there a statue was still standing, having generally lost its head, or at least its nose. I remem- ber a Diana whose lower half was drolly overgrown with ivy, and a goddess of plenty whose horn was filled with foul-smell- ling weeds. One statue had escaped, God knows how, the malice of time and men. Someone had indeed thrown her from her pedestal into the long grass ; but she lay there unharmed, a marble goddess with beautiful Grecian features and deep-parted breasts a revelation of Greek beauty in the tall grass. I was almost frightened at sight of her. I felt a strange, dizzy shyness, and a secret uneasiness soon made me avoid her gaze. The Statue at the Castle. 21 When I got back to my mother she was standing at the win- dow, deep in thought, her head resting on her right hand, while the tears flowed unrestrained down her cheeks. I had never seen her weep so. She hastened to give me a tender embrace, and express her sorrow that, through Johann's care- lessness, I should not have a good bed. " Old Martha is very ill," said she, " and cannot give you her bed, dear child. But Johann shall bring the cushions from the carriage, and lay them so that you can sleep on them, and shall give you his cloak for a blanket. I will sleep here on the straw. This was my dear father's room ; it looked better then. Leave me alone." And the tears fell faster from her eyes. Was it my strange bed or the stirring of my heart which would not let me sleep ? The moon shone so brightly through the broken windows, she seemed to draw me out into the clear summer night. I turned from side to side on my couch, closed my eyes and opened them again ; but all the while I thought of the beautiful statue I had seen lying in the grass. I could not understand the shyness that had come over me at sight of her. I was ashamed of such a childish feeling, and whispered to myself, " I will kiss you in the morning, you beautiful marble face, in the corner of your mouth where your lips meet in such a sweet dimple." An uneasy feeling such as I had never felt ran through all my limbs ; I could not over- come the strange impulse, and sprang boldly from my couch, crying, " What do I care ? I will kiss you now, my beauty ! " Softly, lest my mother should hear me, I left the house with all the more ease as, although there was a fine shield above the doorway, there was no door and hurried through the neglected shrubbery of the garden. There was no sound to be heard ; all lay still and solemn in the moonlight. The shadows of the branches seemed riveted to the ground. In the green grass the fair goddess lay motionless ; no stony death, but a quiet sleep seemed to enchain her lovely limbs; and as I approached I was almost afraid the lightest noise might rouse her from her slumber. I held my breath as I bent over to gaze in her lovely face ; an anxious terror would have persuaded me to flee, but a boyish desire urged me on. My heart beat as if I were bent on murder ; and 1 kissed the lovely goddess with an ardor, a tenderness, and despair that I have never since thrown into a kiss. Nor can I ever forget the fearful, sweet emotion that stirred my soul when my mouth felt the refreshing coldness of those marble lips. CHAPTER IV. fcitb anD Ifcin. NEXT to my mother my education was especially attended to by my uncle Simon de Geldern. He has been dead these twenty years. He was a strange fellow, of a queer and rather ridiculous appearance ; a comfortable looking little man, with a palish, strong face, and a nose of Grecian outline a third longer than the Greeks usually wore their noses. It was said that his nose had been of the usual size in his youth, and had grown so indecently long only through a bad habit he had of pulling it. When we children asked him if this was true he scolded us for our impertinent question, and pulled his nose. He dressed in the old French style, with knee breeches and white silk stockings, buckled shoes, and a long, old-fashioned cue, which wagged from one shoulder to the other as the little man trotted along the street, and cut various capers, as if it were making fun of its owner. When my good uncle was in a deep study or reading the paper I was often seized with a mischievous impulse to take a sly hold of it and pull it like a door bell ; whereat he was greatly enraged, and wrung his hands over these youngsters who had no respect for things earthly or divine, and would end by laying hands on everything sacred. But if his appearance was not calculated to inspire much respect, he was worthy of all esteem, and his heart was the best and truest heart I have met with on earth. There was a sense of honor about the man that reminded you of the punc- tilio of the old Spanish drama, and in his love of truth he was like one of its heroes. He had never occasion to be the " Physician of his own honor," but was a " Constant Prince " of a true and knightly pattern though he did not spout lines of four trochees, nor aspire to a glorious death ; and instead of a knight's mantle wore a shabby swallow-tail coat. No ascetic enemy of amusement, he would join in merry- makings at fairs, and sit in mine host Rasia's common room My Uncle. 23 devouring little birds with juniper sauce ; but he would give up all the little birds and pleasures in life if his notions of what is good and true demanded the sacrifice. And he did it all so simply, nay, almost timidly, that no one saw the martyr hidden in this grotesque figure. From a worldly point of view his life was a failure. Simon de Geldern had studied the humanities (humaniora) at the Jesuits' College ; and when his parents' death left him free to choose his course in life he did not profit by it to seek at a foreign university the means of earning a living, but chose to make his home in Diisseldorf, in " Noah's Ark," as the little house he inherited from his father was called, from the brightly painted carving to be seen over its door. Here he devoted himself 'with restless energy to literary trifles, and foibles such as bibliomania, and, above all, to author- ship, which he practiced in the newspapers and obscure writ- ings of the time : though he not only wrote but even thought with much labor. Perhaps his rage for writing may have sprung from a strong desire to be useful to his fellow-men. He entered into all the questions of the day ; and the reading of papers and pamphlets was a perfect mania with him, fostered by the fact that his father and brother had been physicians. The old women could not be persuaded that the son of the old doctor who had so often attended them had not inherited his father's remedies ; and when they got ill they brought bottles of their water to him, begging him with tears to look and tell them what ailed them. When disturbed in his study after this fashion the old man flew into a rage, wished the old women and their bottles to the devil, and drove them off as far as he could. This uncle it was who directed my education in a great degree ; and I owe him unending thanks for it. Widely as his views differed from mine, and wearisome as his literary efforts were, they may have awakened in my breast the love of literary pursuits. He wrote a formal official style, learned at the Jesuits' College, where Latin was the chief thing ; and found it hard to reconcile himself to my offhand manner, which seemed to him too light, trivial, and irreverent. But his zeal in affording me the means of literary advancement was of great use to me. When I was still a boy he presented me with his finest and costliest books, made me free of his library, rich in classic authors and the pamphlets of the day, and allowed me to Kith and Kin. rummage the chests in the garret of Noah's Ark, where my grandfather's books and writings lay stored. What joy filled my boyish heart when I was permitted to spend whole days in that great room under the roof. It was not a nice place ; and its only tenant, a great Angora cat, was not over-clean, as she occasionally brushed with her tail some of the dust and cobwebs from the heaps of old rubbish piled up there. But my heart was so young, and the sun streamed so brightly through the little window, that all seemed bathed in a fan- tastic light ; the old cat was a princess, who would presently be set free from the spell that bound her, and reappear in her former beauty and splendor, while the garret would change into a palace, as such things happen in fairy tales. But the good old days of fairy tales are gone. Cats remain cats ; and the garret of Noah's Ark remained a dusty lumber room, a hospital for incurable household goods, a salpetrttre for old furniture that had fallen into the last stages of decrepi- tude, and was not thrown out of doors from a sentimental regard for the pious memories that clustered round it. There was a rotten, broken-down cradle in which my mother had been rocked ; and now lying in it, my grandfather's state wig, quite out of fashion, and with a look of having lost its mind through age. A rusty court sword of his, too, and half a pair of tongs and other invalided fire irons hung on the wall. On a crazy shelf stood my grandmother's parrot, stuffed and stripped of most of its feathers, no longer green, but ashy gray, and with a weird look in its one remaining glass eye. Here, too, was a great, green porcelain pug, hollow and with a part of his hinder parts gone. The cat seemed to have a great respect for this piece of Japanese or Chinese art, and made devout bows to it, as if she were saying her prayers to a supernatural being. Cats are so superstitious. In one corner lay an old flute that had once belonged to my mother. She used to play on it when quite a girl, and chose this garret for her music room, that her old father might not be disturbed by the music or perhaps lest he should be jealous of her wasting time over such sentimentalities. The cat had taken the flute for her favorite plaything, dragging it round the floor by the faded pink ribbon still tied round it. Among the antiquities were globes and wonderful orreries, alembics and retorts, souvenirs of researches in astrology and alchemy. The Orientalist. 25 In the chests, under my grandfather's books, were many papers relating to these pursuits. Most of the books were old medical pamphlets. There was no lack of philosophers either ; and near the judicious Cartesius lay the fancies of Paracelsus, von Helmont, and Agrippa von Nettesheim, of whose " Philosophia Occulta " i here first caught sight. My boyish fancy was tickled by his dedicatory epistle to the Abbot Trithem, and the latter's acknowledgment, wherein the old charlatan's bombastic compliments were returned with interest by his friend. The best and most valuable find I made in the dusty chests was a notebook in the hand of a brother of my grandfather, whom they called the Chevalier, or the Orientalist, and of whom my aunts were forever talking. This great-uncle, who was also a Simon de Geldern, must have been a rare character. He gained the nickname of" the Orientalist" from having traveled much in the East, and after his return always wearing the Oriental dress. He seems to have remained longest in the coast settlements in Northern Africa, especially in Morocco, where he learned from a Portuguese the trade of an armorer, and did a flourishing business. He made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and in a convulsion of prayer upon Mount Moriah had a vision. What did he see ? That he never revealed. An independent tribe of Bedouins, not professing Islamism, but a sort of free Mosaic worship, and having its headquarters in an unknown oasis of the North African desert, chose him as their leader or sheik. These warlike people lived at enmity with all the neighboring natives, and were a terror to caravans. In European phrase, my sainted great-uncle, the pious vision- ary of the holy Mount Moriah, became a robber chief. In those fair lands he acquired the skill in horse breeding and riding which gained him so much reputation after his return home. In the' various courts he so long frequented, he shone by his beauty and stately presence, as well as the richness of his Oriental costume, which had an especial attraction for women. His pretended skill in the black art gave him great influence ; and no one dared breathe a word against the powerful necro- mancer in the ears of his high protectors. The spirit of in- trigue feared the spirits of the Cabala. Nothing but his own arrogance could have ruined him ; and my old aunts used to shake their gray heads mysteriously when they whispered of gallant adventures, in which " the Orientalist " and a lady of 26 Kith and Kin. high rank figured, the discovery of which forced him to leave with all haste the court and country. Only by flight, and with the loss of all his valuables, did he avoid certain death, and he owed his escape to his well-known skill as a rider. After this adventure, he seems to have found a safe though humble place of refuge in England. I gather this from a pamphlet of my great uncle's printed in London, which I once found in the library at Diisseldorf, when I had one day happened to climb up to the highest shelf. It was an oratorio in French verse, called " Moses upon Horeb," and probably referred to the vision already mentioned. The preface was in English, and dated at London. The verses, like all French verses, were lukewarm water in rhyme ; but the English prose of the preface betrayed the discontent of a proud man in straitened circumstances. A hard riddle to read was this same great uncle. He had a strange career, such as was possible only in the begin- ning and middle of the eighteenth century. He was half a dreamer, engaged in the propaganda of a Utopia of cosmo- politan improvement, half a free lance, bursting through or leaping over the rotten barriers of a rotten society. At any rate he was a man. His charlatanism, which there is no denying, was of no ordinary kind. He was no common charlatan, pulling out teeth for peasants at a fair ; he walked proudly in the palaces of the great, and boldly wrenched out their back teeth, as the knight Huon de Bordeaux did for the Sultan of Babylon. There is no working without noise, says the proverb ; and to live is work, like anything else. And what remarkable man is not a bit of a charlatan ? The charlatans of modesty, with their meek self-conceit, are the meanest of all. He who would influence men must have some ingredient of charlatanism about him. The end justi- fies the means. Be this as it may, the great uncle prodigiously developed the boy's imagination. All that was told of him made an in- delible impression on my young mind ; and I was so wrapped up in his wanderings and adventures, that in broad daylight there often came over me an uncanny feeling that I was my- self my great uncle deceased, and my life a mere sequel to that of him who had died so many long years ago ! At night I went back to those times in my dreams. My life was like a great newspaper, where the upper part contains fA ^Double Life. 27 the present, the sayings and doings of the day while below is spread out the poetic past in a series of romantic feuil- letons. In my dreams I was identified with my great uncle, and yet had a fearful feeling that I was someone else belong- ing to another time. In places and events of which I had no previous knowledge, I moved with a sure foot and quiet mind. Men in brilliant colors and unfamiliar garments, with strange haggard faces, appeared to me ; and I greeted them as old acquaintances. I understood their wild language though it was quite new to me ; and, to my wonder, I replied in the same tongue, gesticulated with a vehemence quite for- eign to my nature, and said things entirely at variance with my usual moods of thought. This strange state lasted for a full year ; and some traces of it remained after I had regained full possession of my single identity. Many idiosyncrasies and unfortunate sym- pathies, and antipathies foreign to my nature, many actions entirely contrary to my own ideas, I recognize as the results of that dream life in which I was my great-uncle. When I am guilty of faults for which I cannot account, I set them down to the account of my Oriental double. I once spoke to my father of this hypothesis, in excuse for some slight error, and he observed merrily that he hoped my uncle had not signed any drafts that I should have to pay some day. No such Eastern drafts have ever been presented to me ; and I have had quite enough trouble with my own Western ones. Our forefathers leave us worse debts to pay than money debts. Each generation is a sequel to the last, and must an- swer for its deeds. The Scripture says, " The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge." Each age as it comes upon the stage is responsible for the last, and all mankind must pay the debts of those that have gone before them. Instead of looking for examples, I will take my own personal experience, and give an instance where the most harmless facts were made by my enemies the ground of malevolent insinuation. Observing that in my biographical recollections I often speak of my mother's family, and say nothing of my father's kith and kin, they must needs point to this as a shameful case of undue prominence and unworthy reticence attributing to me the same motives that were laid to the charge of my late colleague Wolfang Goethe. It is true, to be sure, that in his memoirs there are frequent 28 Kith and Kin. complacent references to his paternal grandfather, who as the grave Herr Schultheiss presided in the town hall in Frankfort ; while of his grandfather on the mother's side, a worthy repairing tailor, who tucked up his legs on a work- bench in the Bockenheimer Gasse and darned the republic's breeches, he says not a word. It is no business of mine to defend Goethe for thus ignor- ing one of his grandfathers ; but in my own case I must cor- rect the ill-natured and widely repeated insinuation ; for it is not my fault if I have said nothing in my writings of my paternal grandfather. The reason is simple ; I never found out much about him to tell. My late father came to my native town of Diisseldorf as a stranger, and had no relatives there none of those old aunts and cousins, who are the fe- male bards, daily singing with epic monotony the old family legends to the younger generation, with an accompaniment of trumpet tones from their noses, instead of the Scottish bag- pipe. My young mind received only impressions of the deeds of the clans on my mother's side ; but to all that the old Braunles and Brunhildes related I listened attentively. My father himself was a very silent man ; and when, as a little boy, passing weekdays in the old Franciscan cloisters and Sundays at home, I once took occasion to ask him who my grandfather was, he answered, half laughing and half vexed, " Your grandfather was a little Jew, and had a long beard." Next day I went to school and, rinding my comrades all assembled, I hastened to impart to them the important news that my grandfather had been a little Jew with a long beard. I had hardly told the fact, when it flew from mouth to mouth, in all sorts of tones, and an accompaniment of all sorts of animal noises. The boys jumped on to the benches and tables, pulled the blackboards down from the walls, threw them and the inkstands on to the floor, with shouts of laughter, bleatings, gruntings, yelpings, and Growings a fiendish con- cert, with one burden, " His grandfather was a little Jew with a long beard." The class-tutor, hearing the noise, came in with rage in his countenance, and inquired who had stirred up this riot. As usual, each one tried to excuse himself ; and the end of it was that poor I was convicted of having done it all by telling about my grandfather, and was soundly flogged in conse- quence. [My First Flogging. 29 It was the first flogging I ever got ; and I made the philo- sophical reflection that the good Lord, who made rods grow, took care that whoever wielded them should tire himself by so doing otherwise floggings would be unbearable. The stick with which I was beaten was a rattan of a light yellow color ; and the stripes left on my back were dark blue. I have never forgotten this. Nor have I forgotten the name of the teacher who beat me so unmercifully ; it was Father Dickerscheit. He was soon after dismissed from the school, for reasons which I have not forgotten, but will not set down. The liberals have so often unjustly accused the priesthood that they can afford to for- give an unworthy brother for a crime which sprang from a natural, or rather an unnatural, impulse. With the name of the man who gave me my first flogging, I recall the occasion of it, namely my unfortunate genealogical confession ; and the association is still so strong that, when- ever I hear of a little Jew with a long beard, I feel creeps down my back. " The scalded cat fears cold water," says the proverb ; and it will readily be believed that I never afterward felt any great desire to make a nearer acquaintance with such a doubtful grandfather, or to give a description of my family tree to & large audience, when it had been so badly received by a small one. I will not entirely pass by my paternal grandmother, though I have little to say of her. She was a remarkably handsome woman, and the only daughter of a Hamburg banker, known far and wide for his wealth ; which leads me to suppose that the little Jew, who carried her off from her father's house to his humble home in Hanover, must have possessed some qualities besides his long beard, and been a worthy man. He died early, leaving a widow with six children, all young boys. She went back to Hamburg, and there she died at no great age. In my uncle Salomon Heine's bedroom I once saw a por- trait of my grandmother. The painter, who aspired to Rem- brandt-like effect of light and shade, had given her a black, nun-like headdress, an almost equally severe dark costume, and put in an almost pitch-black background ; so that her round face with its double chin stood out like a full moon on a black sky. The features, which still showed the traces of great beauty, were at once gentle and strong ;~and the delicacy of the complexion gave the face an expression of peculiar refine- 30 Kith and Kin. ment. If the painter had put a large diamond cross on the breast, it would certainly have passed for a portrait of the lady abbess of some noble Protestant convent. So far as I know, only two of my grandmother's children in- herited any remarkable beauty namely, my father and my uncle Salomon Heine, the late head of the Hamburg banking house of that name. My father's beauty had a certain weakness and want of character that was almost feminine. His brother was of a more manly beauty ; and in fact he was a man of great strength of character, which appeared in his formal, regular, and almost forbidding features. His children were all, without exception, enchantingly beautiful, but were cut off in their prime ; so that of this garland of beauty but two now survive, the pres- ent head of the banking house and his sister. I loved all these children dearly, and their mother also, so fair and so soon taken away ; and many a tear I shed for them. I have at this moment to shake my cap and bells to banish the sad thoughts they inspire. I have said there was something effeminate in my father's beauty. But I do not mean to impute to him any want of manliness. He showed plenty of this in his youth, and I am a living proof of it myself ; nor is it unbecoming in me to say. I refer only to his outward features, which were soft and gen- tly rounded, not hard and severe. There was a lack of firm- ness in them, and a certain want of decision. He grew fat in later years, and cannot have been slender even in his youth. This was apparent in his portrait, afterward lost in a fire at my mother's house, which represented him as a youth of eighteen or nineteen, in a red uniform, his hair in powder and worn in a bag behind. It was luckily in pastel ; and I say " luckily," because that vehicle is capable of represent- ing, far better than oils with their varnished surface, the bloom which we observe on the faces of those wearing powder and which effectually masks any want of firmness. In this portrait the artist, by the contrast of the powdered hair and the white cravat, had given a higher tone to the face, so that it stood out more boldly. The scarlet coat also, so unpleas- ant in oils, had a good effect, and toned down the high color of the face. Its type of beauty was unlike both the pure and strong ideal of Greek art, and the spiritual and dreamy, yet animal beauty of the Renaissance ; and had rather the character of an age Father. 31 without much character, which preferred the elegant, pretty, and coquettish to the beautiful an age that pushed insipidity almost to poetry the sweet and highly ornamented style of the rococo, the age of hair-bags as it has been called. Had this portrait been of a smaller size, it might have been a work of the celebrated Watteau, destined to be surrounded with bright gems and gilding and figure on the fan of Mme. de Pompadour. It may be worth mentioning that my father, even in his later years, remained true to the old French fashion of powder, and to the time of his death was powdered every day though he had the handsomest hair that can be conceived. It was light, almost golden, and as fine as Chinese floss silk. No doubt he would have gladly continued to wear a bag, but the law of fashion was absolute. So he hit upon an expe- dient that conciliated everything. He sacrificed the form, the black sachet ; but always wore the long locks of hair turned up like a chignon, and fastened on top of his head with a little comb. It was hardly noticeable, thanks to the fineness of his hair and to the powder ; and my father thus escaped apostacy from the old doctrine of the bag, and, like so many crypto-orthodox, conformed only outwardly to the inexorable spirit of the times. The red uniform in which he was painted was a relic of his Hanoverian service. At the beginning of the French Revolu- tion, he found himself one of the followers of Prince Ernest of Cumberland ; and made the campaign of Flanders and Brabant with him as commissary, or rather what the French call an officier de bouche, and the Prussians a mehlwurm. The youngster's real position however was that of a favorite of the prince, a Brummel au petit pied and without a striped cravat ; and he met at last the fate of such playthings of the favor of princes. As long as he lived, my father was persuaded that the prince, afterward King of Hanover, had not forgotten him ; and could never understand why the prince did not send for him and never inquired about him, when he could not have known that his favorite was not in need of help from him. Many habits of which my mother gradually reformed him had been contracted by my father in those campaigning times. For instance, he was readily induced to play high, and was a protector of the dramatic art, or rather of its priestesses ; and horses and hounds were his passion. When he moved to Diisseldorf, where he became a merchant for love of my 32 Kith and Kin. mother, he brought with him twelve superb horses. He gave them up, however, at the desire of his young wife, who per- suaded him that this four-footed capital consumed a great deal of hay and paid no interest. She had harder work to get rid of the head groom a big hulking fellow, who hung about the stables and played cards with any chance acquaintances he could pick up. He finally took himself off, with a gold repeater of my father's and some other valuables. When she had got free of this good-for- nothing, my mother dismissed my father's hounds, excepting one exceedingly ugly brute named Joli. He found favor in her eyes, because, though worthless in hunting, he promised to make a good watch dog. He used to lie in the vacant place of my father's old caleche ; and my father and he ex- changed meaning looks whenever they met. "Ah, poor old Joli ! " my father would say ; and Joli answered with a sad wag of his tail. I believe the dog was a humbug ; and once, in a fit of ill humor, when his favorite made a great howling over a kick, my father vowed the scamp was making believe. At last he grew mangy, and such a walking maga- zine of fleas that he had to be drowned to which my father made no objection. Men sacrifice their fourfooted favorites with the same indifference princes show for their tvvofooted ones. From his campaigning times also dates my father's bound- less love for the calling of, or rather for playing at, soldiering ; his delight at the gay, idle life, where a gold and scarlet outside hides the emptiness within, and vanity masquerades as cour- age. In the surroundings of his youth there was no real mili- tary zeal or desire for fame to say nothing of heroism. The important things were guard-mounting, jingling accouterments, and the close-fitting uniform which is so becoming to a fine figure. How delighted my father was when the Burghers' Guard was established in Diisseldorf ; and, as an officer of it, he could wear the handsome dark blue uniform, with sky blue velvet facings, and march past our house at the head of his column. He would most courteously salute my mother, standing blush- ing at the window, the feather in his three-cornered hat flut- tering bravely, and his epaulets glancing merrily in the sun. And better yet, when his turn came as commanding officer of the Grand Guard to look after the safety of the city. On those days, RUdesheimer and Assmannshauser of the best Father's ^Disposition. 33 years flowed freely for the Grand Guard and all at the charge of the commander, whose liberality his fellow guards- men, tag, rag, and bobtail, could not find words enough to praise. His popularity with them was fully as great as Napo- leon's with the Old Guard. He, to be sure, found other ways of intoxicating his guard. My father's was very bold, espe- cially when called upon to charge a battery of bottles of the largest caliber. It was a different sort of heroism from that of the Old Guard for instead of dying and never surrender- ing, this Guard continued to live, and was forced to " give up " very often. As to the safety of the city, it was no doubt well looked after on the nights when my father was in command. He was careful to send out patrols, who went singing and jin- gling through the streets in all directions. On one occasion it happened that two of these met, and each tried to arrest the other as roisterers and disturbers of the peace. Luckily my fellow countrymen are harmless, goodnatured folk, and amiable in their cups Us ont le vin bon and no harm came of it. Both sides surrendered. An exuberant love of life was a leading trait in my father's disposition ; he loved pleasure, was cheerful and lighthearted. It was ever holiday in his breast, and if no better music could be found, the fiddles were always playing a jig ; the sun was always shining, and all was gay. A mind free from care, for- getting yesterday and careless of to-morrow. This disposition was in curious contrast with the gravity of his strong countenance, and his bearing and motions. A stranger, seeing for the first time that stern countenance with its powdered locks and solemn air, might have taken him for one of the seven wise men of Greece. Nearer acquaintance proved him neither a Thales nor a Pittacus, deep in problems of cosmogony. This gravity was not affected ; but reminded one of those antique bas-reliefs, where a laughing child holds a great tragic mask before his face. He was in truth a great child, with a childish simplicity, which over-solemn folk might mistake for weakness, but often showed itself capable of wise intuitions. His mind seemed to have feelers, by which he arrived at conclusions which wiser people reached by reflection. He thought more with his heart than his head, and had the warmest heart that can be con- ceived. The smile, that often played round his lips in strange contrast to the gravity I have spoken of, was the swift reflec- 34 Kith and Kin. tion of his kind soul. Even his voice, though manly and resonant, had something childlike in it I had almost said like the woodnote of a redbreast and when he spoke, it went straight to the heart, as if it need not pass through the ear. He spoke the dialect of Hanover, where, and in the neigh- borhood to the south, the best German is spoken. From my childhood it was a good lesson for me to hear good German from my father's lips, while in our town they talked the horrid jargon of the lower Rhine which is still bearable in Diissel- dorf, but becomes terrible in Cologne. Cologne is the Tus- cany of a classical bad German that sounds, and almost smells, like breaking rotten eggs. In the Diisseldorf dialect an approach can be observed to the croaking of the Dutch marshes. I will not deny that the Dutch language may have beauties of its own ; but I confess that I have no ear for them. It may be that our German is, as patriotic linguists in the Netherlands declare, only a cor- rupted Dutch. It may be. And this reminds me of a cosmopolitan zoologist, who con- sidered apes the progenitors of the human race. According to him, men are cultivated, overcultivated, apes. If apes could speak they would doubtless declare men merely degen- erate apes, and humanity a corrupted apehood as the Dutch think that German is a corrupted Dutch, I say, if apes could speak ; but I am not persuaded they cannot. The negroes of Senegal stoutly maintain that apes are people, just as much as we are only cleverer, as they do not speak for fear of being recognized as people, and made to work ; and play their monkey-tricks only to persuade the rulers of the earth that they are not worthy of being taxed as we others are. Such an absence of vanity gives me a high opinion of these folk, who keep a dumb incognito, and no doubt chuckle over our simplicity. They live free in their woods, holding fast to their natural condition. They may well believe that men are degenerate apes. Our ancestors may have had the same idea in the eighteenth century ; and, instinctively recognizing that our polished over- civilization was merely varnished corruption and that it was necessary to go back to nature, they strove to draw nearer to the archtype, primitive apehood. They did their best ; and as the one thing they needed to be perfect apes was a tail, they fastened one to their heads. The fashion of bags is then a Why I was called Harry. 35 plain sign of earnest endeavor, and no mere freak of frivolity but I shake my bells in vain ; their noise will not drown the grief I feel when I think of my father. He was of all on earth the one I loved best. He has been dead now for twenty-five years. I never thought I should lose him, and even now can hardly believe I have lost him. It is so hard to persuade yourself of the death of people whom you really love. But they do not die they live in us and dwell in our hearts. There is never a night that I do not think of my father ; and when I wake in the morning, I often fancy I hear the sound of his voice, like the echo of a dream. And then I feel as if I must hurry on my clothes and go to my father in the great room, as I did when I was a boy. My father always rose early, and sat down to his work, winter and summer alike ; and I generally found him at his writing table, where, without looking up, he held out his hand for me to kiss. A handsome, well formed, elegant hand, which he always washed with almond meal. I see it now I see the blue veins hi that marble-white hand. The scent of the almonds rises in my nose, and my eyes are wet. Sometimes there was more than a kiss of the hand, and my father took me between his knees and kissed my forehead. One morning, he put his arms round me with unwonted ten- derness, and said, " I had a nice dream about you last night, and am pleased with you, dear Harry." As he spoke the the words, a smile played round his lips, that seemed to say, "If Harry misbehaves in reality, I will have pleasant dreams about him, and love him." Harry is the familiar name of Englishmen called Henry, and so corresponds to my Christian name Heinrich. The nicknames of the latter in my home-dialect are all ugly, almost contemptuous, as, for example, Heinz, Heinzchen, Hinz. The house-sprite is often called Heinzchen ; and the cat with the seven-leagued boots in the nursery story, and, worse than all, the cat in the folk-song, are " Hinze." But it was not to avoid any such difficulty, but in compli- ment to one of his best friends in England, that my father anglicized my name. Mr. Harry was my father's correspond- ent in Liverpool ; and he knew the best manufacturers of velveteen, an article of commerce very dear to my father, from ambition rather than interest. For, although he declared that he could make a great deal of money out of the article, it 36 Kith and Kin. was a doubtful success ; and my father would, I believe, rrave spent money, if necessary, to sell better and more velveteen than his rivals. For he had no business talent, though he was always at his accounts ; and business was an amusement with him, as children play at being soldiers or cooks. It was enough for him if he could only be busy. Velveteen was his hobby ; and he was happy when the great pack-wagons were unladen, and the whole floor filled with the Jew traders of the neighborhood, his best customers, who not only bought most velveteen, but thought more highly of it than other people. Now, as my father's friend who knew most about buying velveteen was named Harry, I inherited his name, and was called Harry by the family and friends and neighbors. I like to be called so now, though the name was the cause of sad annoyance to me perhaps the greatest annoyance I suffered in my childhood. It is only now, when I am no longer among the living, and all vanity is dead within me, that I can speak of this freely. On my arrival here in Paris, my German name Heinrich was translated into Henri, and I had to get used to it and even adopt it here, for the word Heinrich is unpleasant to French ears, and Frenchmen consult their own convenience in every- thing. They have not even learned to pronounce the name Henri Heine properly ; and most people call me M. Enri Enn, while many run it all together as Enrienne, and some call me Un rien. This sometimes annoys me in literature, but it has some ad- vantages. For instance, among my worthy compatriots who come to Paris there are some who want to abuse me ; but, as they pronounce my name in the German fashion, it never occurs to the French that the miscreant they are railing at, who poisons the fountains of innocence, is no other than their friend M. Enrienne ; and the worthy souls give the reins to their virtuous zeal all in vain. The French do not know that I am in question ; and virtue from over the Rhine shoots its pellets of calumny to no purpose. But there is something unpleasant in having one's name mispronounced. Some people are made very angry by it. I sometimes amused myself by asking old Cherubini if it was true that the Emperor Napoleon always called him Sherubini, and not Kerubini although the emperor knew Italian well enough to know that ch is pronounced like k. The great Harree! 37 matstro used to sputter with rage at the question in a very comical way. I have never felt so myself. Heinrich, Harry, Henri they all sound pleasantly from pretty lips. Best of all is Signer Enrico. That was my name in those clear blue summer nights spangled with stars, in the noble and unfortunate land which is the home of beauty, and the birthplace of Raphael Sanzio of Urbino, Giaccomo Rossini, and the Princess Christiana Belgiojoso. As the state of my health forbids all hope of my ever living in society, which in fact no longer exists for me, I have cast off the fetters of personal vanity that weigh upon all who go about in the world. And so I can speak with a free heart of the annoyance connected with my name of Harry, which embittered and empoisoned the fairest days of my youth. The circumstances were as follows : In my native town there was a man called " Mud Michael," because he went through the streets every morning with a cart to which an ass was harnessed, stopping before each house to take up the rubbish thrown out by the servants, and carry it out of town to the dirt field. The man's looks fitted his business, and the ass, who looked like his master, stood still before the house or moved on, according to the tone in which Michael called out to him, "Harree ! " Was that his name, or a mere cry ? I do not know ; but I do know this that the resemblance of the sound with my name Harry brought on me a terrible amount of teasing from my schoolfellows and the neighbor's children. They annoyed me by calling to me in just the same tones that Mud Michael used in bawling to his donkey ; and if I got angry, the rascals looked as innocent as possible, and begged me, in order to avoid all mistake, to show them how my name and the jack- ass's ought to be pronounced ; vowed they could not under- stand why Michael usually drawled the first syllable and cut the second short while at other times, it was just the oppo- site, and the cry sounded just like my name. And as the boys mixed everything up in the most senseless fashion, confounding me with the ass and the ass with me, the result was a wild coq-a-rdne, which made the others laugh and drove me to tears. When I complained to my mother, she only told me to be dili- gent and learn as fast as I could ; and then people would never take me for an ass. But it was a continual trial to me that my name and the 38 Kith and Kin. mangy long-eared beast's should be the same. The big boys hailed me as they passed with " Harree ;" and the little ones echoed the cry from a safe distance. In school the same thing went on with refined cruelty. If any mention was made of an ass, they all leered at me till I grew red. It is incredi- ble how ingenious schoolboys are in seizing on any means of tormenting. One would ask another, ''What is the difference between Balaam's ass and a zebra ? " The answer was that one spoke Hebrew and the other zebrew. Then came the question, " What is the difference between Mud Michael's ass and his namesake ? " with the impudent answer, " I don't see any." I wanted to fight about it but was persuaded to keep the peace ; and my friend Dietrich, who could draw lovely pictures of saints and was afterward a famous painter, comforted me on one occasion by the promise of a picture. He painted a Saint Michael for me ; but the rascal, to make fun of me, gave the archangel Mud Michael's features, mounted him on his don- key and made him spearing a dead cat instead of a dragon. The fairhaired, gentle, girlish Franz too, whom I loved dearly, once deceived me ; for he put his arms round me, leaned his cheek against mine, and after holding me in a long embrace suddenly roared in my ear, " Harree ! " and ran off, making thewhole length of the cloisters ringwith the hateful cry. I fared worse yet with the neighboring children of the lower classes, such as we called " Haluts " in Diisseldorf a word that the curious etymologist will probably derive from the helots of Sparta. One of these Haluts, was little Jupp that is Joseph ; but I must give his father's name also Flader that he may not be confounded with Jupp Rorsch, who was a nice little fellow of our quarter, and who, I hear, is now em- ployed in the post office at Bonn. Jupp Flader always carried a long fishing pole, and gave me a cut with it when we met. He used also to throw horse buns at me, picking them up in the street, warm from nature's bakery. And he never failed to add a fatal " Harree," in all sorts of tones. This horrible child was the grandson of old Frau Flader, one of my father's pensioners. She was as kindly as he was ill-natured a picture of poverty, pitiable but not repulsive. She was, I should judge, past eighty, with a broad flabby face and sad eyes, and spoke in a faint, plaintive voice; but she said very little when she came begging which always moves one's pity. Father's Charities. 39 My father always gave her a seat when she came to get her month's money on his days for distributing alms. Of these I only remember the ones that occurred in winter, early in the morning, before it was light. My father sat by a table, with little packets of money of various sizes before him. Instead of the silver candlestick and wax candles which he ordinarily used, and which his thoughtful heart would not let him dis- play before these poor people, there stood on the table two tallow candles in copper candlesticks, whose red flames and black charred wicks cast a sad light over the assembled crowd. They were of all ages, and stretched back in a line as far as the outer room. One after another came up to take his pack- age, and many of them got two ; the large package held my father's private gift ; the small one, the alms from the poorbox. I sat on a high stool by my father, and handed him the pack- ages ; for my father wanted me to learn how money should be given in charity, and he was a most admirable example. There are many with hearts in the right place who do not know how to give ; it takes time for the feelings to find the road to the pocket ; good intentions are as slow as the snail-post in arriving at good deeds. But there was a railroad from my father's heart to his pocket. It is easy to see that such a railroad would not make a man's fortune. The Northern or the Lyons roads pay better dividends. Most of my father's clients were women, and very old ; and even in later years, when things had begun to go badly, he had a long list of female pensioners. They lay in wait for him in his daily walks ; so that he had a body guard of old women, like the late sainted Robespierre. Among them were a good many old sluts who did not come through want but from a real attachment to him and his friendly ways. For he was politeness personified to young and old ; and old women, who take such offense if they are slighted, are the most thankful creatuers for attention or con- sideration. Those who like to be paid in flattery will find they give it most ungrudgingly ; while many a pert young girl will hardly give a nod in return for any attention. As handsome men, whose specialty it is to be handsome, feel a real need of flattery, without much caring whether the incense comes from rosy or from faded lips, if it only be strong enough, it will be believed that my dear father drove a flour- ishing business with these old ladies though he was innocent of counting the profits beforehand. It was wonderful how 40 Kith and Kin. strong a dose of incense they sometimes offered him, and how well he could bear it thanks to his happy temperament, cer- tainly not to his credulity. He knew perfectly well that he was being flattered : but he knew that flattery, like sugar, is always sweet. He was like the child who said to his mother, " Now coax me a little ; a little bit too much, you know." My father's relations with these women had their serious side. He was their adviser in everything ; and it was wonderful that a man who could never give himself good counsel could advise others so well when they were in trouble. He looked at the whole case ; and when the distressed client had persuaded him that things were going worse and worse with her, he had a phrase, which I have often heard from his lips, " then we must tap another barrel." Meaning that one should not persist in a hopeless course, but try something else, in some other di- rection stave in the head of the cask, if you cannot get any- thing but a few drops of sour wine out of it, and " tap an- ther barrel." Instead of which men are too apt to lie under the dribbling spigot with their mouths open, and wait in hopes it will run sweeter and faster. When old Hanne declared that her business had failed her and she could not get a morsel to eat nor, what she minded more, a drop to drink he first gave her a thaler, and then thought the matter over. Old Hanne had been an excellent midwife ; but of late she had begun to drink a little, and take a deal of snuff ; and she generally had a drop on her nose, which sometimes fell and stained the clean sheets. So the old woman lost all her customers. When he had thought the matter over, my father said : "We must tap a new barrel and it had better be a barrel of brandy. I advise you to take some place near the harbor, where the sailors hang about, and open a little liquor shop." The ex- midwife took his advice, and set up a drinking place near the quay ; and did so well that she would have made a little for- tune, if she had not been her own best customer. I have often seen her standing in front of her shop, her red nose in the air, a living sign that proved irresistible to many a sailor. One of the sweetest things about my father was the polite- ness he showed to all, rich and poor. I used to notice, on these alms-days, that with every packet he gave the poor creatures a polite word or two. It was a lesson to me ; and a great many men, of well-known benevolence, who throw their Zippel and the Witch . 41 alms at people's heads as if they meant to crack their skulls, might have learned a lesson from my father's politeness. He always asked after the health of the poorest beggar ; and was so accustomed to use the phrase, " I have the honor," that he often said the words as he showed some saucy trull the door. He was most civil to old Flader, always giving her a seat, and indeed she was so weak in the legs that she could but just get along with two canes. The last time that she came for her month's money, she was so shaky that her grandson Jupp had to help her along. He gave me a strange look when he saw me at the table by my father. The old woman received a large 'private packet in addition to the small one, and burst out with a torrent of good wishes and tears. It is terrible to see an old woman weep so bitterly, and I could have cried myself, as she no doubt saw. She could not say often enough what a sweet boy I was, and vowed she would pray to the Virgin that I might never be hungry and have to beg for my bread. My father was rather vexed at the words ; but the old woman meant well. She looked at me in a rather ghostly fashion, though gently and kindly ; and said to her grandson, " Run and kiss the good little boy's hand." Jupp obeyed, though with rather a sour face ; and his kiss stung me like a viper. I cannot tell why I did it ; but I pulled all the coppers I had out of my pocket, and handed them over to Jupp, who counted them over one by one with a sheepish air and put them coolly into his trousers' pocket. Old Flader died soon after ; but Jupp must be alive, unless he has been hanged. The hateful boy did not alter his ways. I met him in the street the very next morning, with his long pole. He gave me a slash with it, flung some horse buns at me, and screamed out the fatal " Harree ! " and so loud, and so exactly in Mud Michael's tone, that the donkey, who hap- pened to be in the next street, took it for his master's voice and answered with a joyous hee-haw. As I say the old woman died shortly after, with the reputation of being a witch ; which she certainly was not, though our Zippel stoutly maintained the theory. Zippel, properly Sibylle, was a woman who was not very old, and had been my first nurse, and afterward remained with us. She happened to be in the room on the morning of the scene I have described, when old Flader had praised me so highly. When Zippel heard it, it roused the old superstition in her 42 Kith and Kin. that it is unlucky for a child to hear such praises, for he will surely be ill or meet with some misfortune. She took the most approved means to guard me from such evil consequences ; and, springing to my side, spat thrice on my head. But this was only a temporary anointing. The knowing ones believe that the charm of a witch's praises can be taken off by no one but another witch ; and Zippel determined to go that very afternoon to a woman who was well known to her as a witch, and had, as I afterward learned, done her many good turns by the forbidden black art. With her thumb wet with spittle this witch stroked the top of my head, and cut some hairs from it ; then stroked me again in various places, muttering some nonsenical abracadabra ; and so, for all I know, I was consecrated to the devil's priesthood, from my early youth. At any rate this woman, with whom I kept up an acquaint- ance, afterward, when I was grown up, initiated me into the black art. And if I was not made a witch, I know what witchery is, and also what is no witchcraft. This woman was called the Mistress, or the Gochin, as she was born in Goch, where her deceased husband, who followed the infamous trade of executioner, had his domicile, but was summoned from far and near to carry out the sentence of the law. People knew he had bequeathed many secrets to his widow, and she knew how to make the most of them. Her best customers were the tapsters, to whom she sold dead men's fingers, supposed to have been left by her hus- band. These came from thieves who had been hanged, and had the virtue of giving a good flavor to a cask of beer, and making it hold out longer. If the finger of a hanged man, especially if he were innocent, was suspended by a thread in the cask, the beer was not only better, but twice or even four times as much could be drawn from it as from ordinary casks of the size. Enlightened tapsters pursue a more rational plan to increase their beer ; but it is apt to weaken it. The Mistress had also consolation for the tender-hearted supplying them with love potions, which in her rage for char- latan Latin of the most aggravated kind she called philtrariums. The man who gave his girl the potion she called the philtra- rius, and the woman the philtrariata. When, as sometimes happened, the philtrarium failed to operate, and even produced a contrary effect, the Mistress saved the reputation of her art by declaring that she had mis- "The Sun Tarings Light at Last." 43 understood the philtrarius, and thought he wanted to be cured of his love. The advice she gave with her philters was of more value than the potions themselves ; as for instance, always to have a piece of gold in your pocket, as gold is healthy, and brings luck to lovers. Who does not remember honest lago's words to Rodrigo ? " Put money in thy purse." Our Zippel was great friends with the Mistress ; and if she no longer went to her for love charms, still had frequent recourse to her art when she wanted to be revenged on a successful rival who had married some old love of hers. "THE SUN BRINGS LIGHT AT LAST!" That was the burden of the song My nurse was ever singing : " The sun brings light at last ! " each note Clear as a bugle ringing. It was the tale of a murderer bold, Whose life was revel and glee, Till they found him once in the gay greenwood, Hanged on a willow tree. They hanged him there, and upon the stem They nailed his sentence fast, Those sturdy knaves of the woodland court : " The sun brings light at last ! " The sun had led them over the hills, As they tracked him far and fast ; And Otilia sighed with her latest breath : " The sun brings light at last ! " The song comes back to me, and my nurse Comes back too, gray and old ; I see once more her kind brown face, With many a wrinkle and fold. For she was born in Miinster town ; And for winter evenings long, Full many a story of ghosts she had, And many an old folk-song. 44 Kith and Kin. And my heart would beat, when my good old nurse Of the king's fair daughter told, Who sat alone on the wide, wide heath, With her hair like shining gold. I held my breath to catch each word Of the story she loved to sing, With her low, sweet voice, of good Redbeard f And how he was once our king ; And how she knew he did not die, Whatever the wise folk say ; But lives high up on the mountain-top, With his warriors brave and gay. She sang full low, and she sang full sweet Those tales of days long past And my heart beat high, and echoed the words, " The sun brings light at. last ! " CHAPTER V. pale 5osepba. IT was no witchcraft that sometimes led me to seek the Cochin. I kept up an acquaintance with her ; and I must have been some sixteen years old when I began to go to her house oftener than before, drawn by a spell stronger than all her dog Latin philtrariums. She had a niece who was hardly sixteen, but had suddenly shot up to a slim height that made her look older. Her rapid growth accounted for her leanness. She had the slender waist we see in the West Indian quadroons ; and as she did not wear corsets and a dozen petticoats, her clinging garments were like the wet drapery of a statue. No marble statue could vie with her in beauty, as every rhythmical motion revealed the graces of her form and, I may say, the music of her soul. Not one of the daughters of Niobe had more nobly chiseled features ; and her skin was of an ever varying fair hue. Her great dark eyes looked out as if they had asked you a riddle and were calmly waiting for an answer : while her mouth, with its small curved lips and somewhat long, but snow white teeth, seemed saying " You are dull, and will never guess it." Her hair was red, deep red, and fell on her shoulders in long locks, so that she could tie it under her chin and when she did so, it looked as if her head had been cut off, and the red blood were flowing in streams. " Red Sefchen," as the Cochin's fair niece Josepha was generally called, had a voice whose tones were usually veiled ; but under the excitement of passion it had a metallic ring that affected me, especially because it was wonderfully like my own. When she spoke I was sometimes startled, and thought I was hearing myself speak ; and her singing reminded me of dreams in which I have heard myself sing in the same tone and style. She knew many folk-songs, and my fancy for them was per- haps awakened by her ; she certainly had a great influence on the awakening poet. So that the first poems of my " Visions," 45 46 Tale fosepha. which I wrote soon after, took a somber and sinister tone from the phantom which threw its gory shadow across my young life. Among Josepha's folk-songs was one she learned of Zippel, who had often sung it to me in my childhood ; so that I remem- ber two verses of it, which I will quote, as I do not find it in any of the existing collections of folk-songs. It ran thus the cruel Tragig being the first speaker : " Otilia mine, Otilia dear, Thou wouldst not be the last one here Say, wilt thou hang on the lofty tree ? Or wilt thou swim in the ocean blue ? Or wilt thou kiss the shining sword, The gift of our ever blessed Lord ? " Whereupon Otilia answers : " I will not hang on the lofty tree, I will not swim in ocean blue ; But I will kiss the shining sword, The gift of our ever blessed Lord." Once, when Red Sefchen was singing this song, and came to the last line of this verse, I saw she was deeply moved ; and my own feelings were so stirred that I burst into tears. We fell weeping into each other's arms, and remained for a full hour without exchanging a single word, the tears running down our cheeks, gazing on each other through a mist of tears. I begged her to copy off the song for me, and she did so ; but wrote it not in ink but in her blood. I lost this red auto- graph afterward, but the lines are fixed in my memory for ever. The Cochin's husband was the brother of Sefchen's father, who also had been an executioner ; but as he died early, the Gochin took the little child home. But when her husband died soon after, and she moved to Diisseldorf, she gave the child to the grandfather, also an executioner, who lived in Westphalia. There, in the " free house," as the headsman's is called, Sefchen lived till her fourteenth year, when her grandfather died and the Gochin again took the orphaned child. Through the stain on her birth Sefchen led a lonely life, and was cut off from all companionship in her grandfather's free The Free House. 47 house. Hence her sensitive shrinking from all strangers, her secret reveries, her sturdy defiance, and insolent, untamable obstinacy. Strange ! Even in her dreams, she told me, she never was living with people, but dreamed only of animals. In that lonely free house she had no companions but her grandfather's old books ; and though he taught her to read and write, he was sparing of speech. He and his aids were often absent for days at a time ; and the child was left alone in the free house, which stood in a retired place in the woods near the gallows. No one was in the house but three old women with nodding heads, who sat at their whirring spinning wheels, coughing, snarling at each other, and drinking brandy. Especially on winter nights, when the wind moaned through the old oaks and the blazing chimney roared so strangely, poor Sefchen felt lonely in the deserted house. They dreaded visits from thieves not living ones, but dead and hanged ones, who came down from the gallows, and tapped at the low window to be let in to warm themselves. They made awful mouths with their frozen faces. The only way to send them off was to fetch one of the headsman's swords from the armory, and threaten them with that ; then they whirled off like a great gust of wind. They often came for something more than to warm themselves at the fire, and wanted to steal back the fingers that the headsman had stolen from them. And if the door was not fast bolted, they played their old thievish pranks, dead as they were, and stole the sheets from the presses and beds. One of the old women, who once caught a dead thief in the act, ran after him and seized the fluttering sheet by one corner, just as the thief had reached the gallows, and was going to climb to the top. On the days when the grandfather was getting ready to carry out some great sentence, his colleagues from the towns roundabout came to visit him ; and then there was boiling and baking, stuffing and guzzling but little talking and no singing. Their drinking-cups were of silver ; but the despised " free-master " and his aids never got anything at the tavern they frequented but a flagon with a wooden cover, while the other guests had mugs with pewter tops. In many places the glass that the headsman had used was broken. No man spoke to him, or would even brush against him. This contempt extended to all his kindred ; so that the families of headsmen married only among themselves. 48 Vale fosepha. When Sefchen was about eight years old, she told me, on one fine autumn day, an unusually large party of guests arrived at the farmhouse, though no execution or other sen- tence was to be carried out. They were more than a dozen, almost all very old men with gray or bald heads ; and under their red cloaks they had their long swords, and their finest, though very old-fashioned, clothes. They had come, as they said, to spend the day ; and the midday meal set before them was of the best that the kitchen and cellar could furnish. They were the oldest executioners from all the most dis- tant parts, and had not met for a long time. There was a great shaking of hands, but little speech, and that often in a language of unintelligible signs and they amused themselves after their own fashion, that is moult tristement, as Froissart says of the English at their feast after the battle of Poictiers. When night fell, the master turned his servants out of doors ; and bade the old women bring three dozen flasks of the best wine from the cellar, and set them on the stone table that stood before the semicircle of old oaks. He ordered the iron stands for the pine torches to be carried out there, and finally sent the three old women out of the house on some pretext. He even threw a horse-blanket over the watch-dog's kennel, where the planks did not quite join, and saw that he was fast chained up. The grandfather let Red Sefchen stay in the house, and bade her scour bright the great silver goblet with the sea gods and their dolphins and conch shells, and put it on the same stone table ; then, with some embarrassment, he told her to go at once to her room and to bed. Red Sefchen dutifully cleaned the Neptune cup, and set it on the table by the flasks of wine, but did not go to bed ; she was so curious that she hid behind a bush near the oaks, where she could not hear much, but could see all that hap- pened. The strangers, with her grandfather at their head, came solemnly, two and two, and sat themselves down on the wooden blocks round the stone table ; and the pine torches cast a sinister light on their stern and earnest faces. For a long time they sat in silence, or only muttering to themselves as if in prayer. Then her grandfather filled the goblet with wine ; and each one drank it off, and filled it again, and passed it to his neighbor ; and after each draft they shook hands heartily.