=Heine=
Heine was probably the first German writer to use the term Weltschmerz
in its present sense. Breitinger in his essay "Neues über den alten
Weltschmerz"[181] endeavors to trace the earliest use of the word and
finds an instance of it in Julian Schmidt's "Geschichte der
Romantik,"[182] 1847. He seems to have entirely overlooked Heine's use
of the word in his discussion of Delaroche's painting "Oliver Cromwell
before the body of Charles I." (1831).[183] The actual inventor of the
compound was no doubt Jean Paul, who wrote (1810): "Diesen Weltschmerz
kann er (Gott) sozusagen nur aushalten durch den Anblick der Seligkeit,
die nachher vergütet."[184]
But although Heine may have been the first to adapt the word to its
present use, and although we have fallen into the habit of thinking of
him as the chief representative of German Weltschmerz, it must be
admitted that there is much less genuine Weltschmerz to be found in his
poems than in those of either Hölderlin or Lenau. The reason for this
has already been briefly indicated in the preceding chapter. Hölderlin's
Weltschmerz is altogether the most naïve of the three; Lenau's, while it
still remains sincere, becomes self-conscious, while Heine has an
unfailing antidote for profound feeling in his merciless self-irony. And
yet his condition in life was such as would have wrung from the heart of
almost any other poet notes of sincerest pathos.
In Lenau's case we noted circumstances which point to a direct
transmission from parent to child of a predisposition to melancholia. In
Heine's, on the other hand, the question of heredity has apparently only
an indirect bearing upon his Weltschmerz. To what extent was his long
and terrible disease of hereditary origin, and in what measure may we
ascribe his Weltschmerz to the sufferings which that disease caused him?
The first of these questions has been answered as conclusively as seems
possible on the basis of all available data, by a doctor of medicine, S.
Rahmer, in what is at this time the most recent and most authoritative
study that has been published on the subject.[185] Stage by stage he
follows the development of the disease, from its earliest indications in
the poet's incessant nervous headaches, which he ascribes to
neurasthenic causes. He attempts to quote all the passages in Heine's
letters which throw light upon his physical condition, and points out
that in the second stage of the disease the first symptoms of paralysis
made their appearance as early as 1832, and not in 1837 as the
biographers have stated. To this was added in 1837 an acute affection of
the eyes, which continued to recur from this time on. In addition to the
pathological process which led to a complete paralysis of almost the
whole body, Rahmer notes other symptoms first mentioned in 1846, which
he describes as "bulbär" in their origin, such as difficulty in
controlling the muscles of speech, difficulty in chewing and swallowing,
the enfeebling of the muscles of the lips, disturbances in the functions
of the glottis and larynx, together with abnormal secretion of saliva.
He discredits altogether the diagnosis of Heine's disease as consumption
of the spinal marrow, to which Klein-Hattingen in his recent book on
Hölderlin, Lenau and Heine[186] still adheres, dismisses as
scientifically untenable the popular idea that the poet's physical
dissolution was the result of his sensual excesses, finally diagnoses
the case as "die spinale Form der progressiven Muskelatrophie"[187] and
maintains that it was either directly inherited, or at least developed
on the basis of an inherited disposition.[188] He finds further
evidence in support of the latter theory in the fact that the first
symptoms of the disease made their appearance in early youth, not many
years after puberty, and concludes that, in spite of scant information
as to Heine's ancestors, we are safe in assuming a hereditary taint on
the father's side.
The poet himself evidently would have us believe as much, for in his
Reisebilder he says: "Wie ein Wurm nagte das Elend in meinem Herzen und
nagte,--ich habe dieses Elend mit mir zur Welt gebracht. Es lag schon
mit mir in der Wiege, und wenn meine Mutter mich wiegte, so wiegte sie
es mit, und wenn sie mich in den Schlaf sang, so schlief es mit mir ein,
und es erwachte, sobald ich wieder die Augen aufschlug. Als ich grösser
wurde, wuchs auch das Elend, und wurde endlich ganz gross und
zersprengte mein.... Wir wollen von andern Dingen sprechen...."[189]
And yet Heine's disposition was not naturally inclined to hypochondria.
In his earlier letters, especially to his intimate friends, there is
often more than cheerfulness, sometimes a decided buoyancy if not
exuberance of spirits. A typical instance we find in a letter to Moser
(1824): "Ich hoffe Dich wohl nächstes Frühjahr wiederzusehen und zu
umarmen und zu necken und vergnügt zu sein."[190] Only here and there,
but very rarely, does he acknowledge any influence of his physical
condition upon his mental labors. To Immermann he writes (1823): "Mein
Unwohlsein mag meinen letzten Dichtungen auch etwas Krankhaftes
mitgeteilt haben."[191] And to Merkel (1827): "Ach! ich bin heute sehr
verdriesslich. Krank und unfähig, gesund aufzufassen."[192] In the main,
however, he makes a very brave appearance of cheerfulness, and
especially of patience, which seems to grow with the hopelessness of his
affliction. To his mother (1851): "Ich befinde mich wieder krankhaft
gestimmt, etwas wohler wie früher, vielleicht viel wohler; aber grosse
Nervenschmerzen habe ich noch immer, und leider ziehen sich die Krämpfe
jetzt öfter nach oben, was mir den Kopf zuweilen sehr ermüdet. So muss
ich nun ruhig aushalten, was der liebe Gott über mich verhängt, und ich
trage mein Schicksal mit Geduld.... Gottes Wille geschehe!"[193] Again a
few weeks later: "Ich habe mit diesem Leben abgeschlossen, und wenn ich
so sicher wäre, dass ich im Himmel einst gut aufgenommen werde, so
ertrüge ich geduldig meine Existenz."[194] Not only to his mother, whom
for years he affectionately kept in ignorance of his deplorable
condition, does he write thus, but also to Campe (1852): "Mein Körper
leidet grosse Qual, aber meine Seele ist ruhig wie ein Spiegel und hat
manchmal auch noch ihre schönen Sonnenaufgänge und Sonnenuntergänge."[195]
1854: "Gottlob, dass ich bei all meinem Leid sehr heiteren Gemütes bin,
und die lustigsten Gedanken springen mir durchs Hirn."[196] Much of this
sort of thing was no doubt nicely calculated for effect, and yet these
and similar passages show that he was not inclined to magnify his
physical afflictions either in his own eyes or in the eyes of others.
Nor is he absolutely unreconciled to his fate: "Es ist mir nichts
geglückt in dieser Welt, aber es hätte mir doch noch schlimmer gehen
können."[197]
In his poems, references to his physical sufferings are remarkably
infrequent. We look in vain in the "Buch der Lieder," in the "Neue
Gedichte," in fact in all his lyrics written before the "Romanzero," not
only for any allusion to his illness, but even for any complaint against
life which might have been directly occasioned by his physical
condition. What is there then in these earlier poems that might fitly be
called Weltschmerz? Very little, we shall find.
Their inspiration is to be found almost exclusively in Heine's
love-affairs, decent and indecent. Now the pain of disappointed love is
the motive and the theme of very many of Hölderlin's and Lenau's lyrics,
poems which are heavy with Weltschmerz, while most of Heine's are not.
To speak only of the poet's most important attachments, of his
unrequited love for his cousin Amalie, and his unsuccessful wooing of
her sister Therese,--there can be no doubt that these unhappy loves
brought years of pain and bitterness into his life, sorrow probably as
genuine as any he ever experienced, and yet how little, comparatively,
there is in his poetry to convince us of the fact. Nearly all these
early lyrics are variations of this love-theme, and yet it is the
exception rather than the rule when the poet maintains a sincere note
long enough to engender sympathy and carry conviction. Such are his
beautiful lyrics "Ich grolle nicht,"[198] "Du hast Diamanten und
Perlen."[199] Let us see how Lenau treats the same theme:
Die dunklen Wolken hingen
Herab so bang und schwer,
Wir beide traurig gingen
Im Garten hin und her.
So heiss und stumm, so trübe,
Und sternlos war die Nacht,
So ganz wie unsre Liebe
Zu Thränen nur gemacht.
Und als ich musste scheiden
Und gute Nacht dir bot,
Wünscht' ich bekümmert beiden
Im Herzen uns den Tod.[200]
We believe implicitly in the poet's almost inexpressible grief, and
because we are convinced, we sympathize. And we feel too that the poet's
sorrow is so overwhelming and has so filled his soul that it has
entirely changed his views of life and of nature, or has at least
contributed materially to such a change,--that it has assumed larger
proportions and may rightly be called Weltschmerz. Compare with this the
first and third stanzas of Heine's "Der arme Peter:"
Der Hans und die Grete tanzen herum,
Und jauchzen vor lauter Freude.
Der Peter steht so still und stumm,
Und ist so blass wie Kreide.
* * * * *
Der Peter spricht leise vor sich her
Und schauet betrübet auf beide:
"Ach! wenn ich nicht zu vernünftig wär',
Ich thät' mir was zu leide."[201]
It is scarcely necessary to cite further examples of this mannerism of
Heine's, for so it early became, such as his "Erbsensuppe,"[202] "Ich
wollte, er schösse mich tot,"[203] "Doktor, sind Sie des Teufels;"[204]
"Madame, ich liebe Sie!"[205] and many other glaring instances of the
"Sturzbad," in order to show how the poet himself deliberately
attempted, and usually with success, to destroy the traces of his grief.
This process of self-irony, which plays such havoc with all sincere
feeling and therefore with his Weltschmerz, becomes so fixed a habit
that we are almost incapable, finally, of taking the poet seriously. He
makes a significant confession in this regard in a letter to Moser
(1823): "Aber es geht mir oft so, ich kann meine eigenen Schmerzen nicht
erzählen, ohne dass die Sache komisch wird."[206] How thoroughly this
mental attitude had become second nature with Heine, may be inferred
from a statement which he makes to Friederike Roberts (1825): "Das
Ungeheuerste, das Ensetzlichste, das Schaudervollste, wenn es nicht
unpoetisch werden soll, kann man auch nur in dem buntscheckigen Gewände
des Lächerlichen darstellen, gleichsam versöhnend--darum hat auch
Shakespeare das Grässlichste im "Lear" durch den Narren sagen lassen,
darum hat auch Goethe zu dem furchtbarsten Stoffe, zum "Faust," die
Puppenspielform gewählt, darum hat auch der noch grössere Poet (der
Urpoet, sagt Friederike), nämlich Unser-Herrgott, allen Schreckensszenen
dieses Lebens eine gute Dosis Spasshaftigkeit beigemischt."[207]
In not a few of his lyrics Heine gives us a truly Lenauesque
nature-setting, as for instance in "Der scheidende Sommer:"
Das gelbe Laub erzittert,
Es fallen die Blätter herab;
Ach, alles, was hold und lieblich
Verwelkt und sinkt ins Grab.[208]
This is one of the comparatively few instances in Heine's lyrics in
which he maintains a dignified seriousness throughout the entire poem.
It is worth noting, too, because it touches a note as infrequent in
Heine as it is persistent in Lenau--the fleeting nature of all things
lovely and desirable.[209] This is one of the characteristic differences
between the two poets,--Heine's eye is on the present and the future,
much more than on the past; Lenau is ever mourning the happiness that is
past and gone. Logically then, thoughts of and yearnings for death are
much more frequent with Lenau than with Heine.[210]
Reverting to the point under consideration: even in those love-lyrics in
which Heine does not wilfully destroy the first serious impression by
the jingling of his harlequin's cap, as he himself styles it,[211] he
does not succeed,--with the few exceptions just referred to,--in
convincing us very deeply of the reality of his feelings. They are
either trivially or extravagantly stated. Sometimes this sense of
triviality is caused by the poet's excessive fondness for all sorts of
diminutive expressions, giving an artificial effect, an effect of
"Tändelei" to his verses. For example:
Du siehst mich an wehmütiglich,
Und schüttelst das blonde Köpfchen,
Aus deinen Augen schleichen sich
Die Perlenthränentröpfchen.[212]
Sometimes this effect is produced by a distinct though unintended
anti-climax. Nowhere has Heine struck a more truly elegiac note than in
the stanza:
Der Tod, das ist die kühle Nacht,
Das Leben ist der schwüle Tag.
Es dunkelt schon, mich schläfert,
Der Tag hat mich müde gemacht.[213]
There is the most profound Weltschmerz in that. But in the second stanza
there is relatively little:
Ueber mein Bett erhebt sich ein Baum,
Drin singt die junge Nachtigall;
Sie singt von lauter Liebe,
Ich hör' es sogar im Traum.
Lenau's lyrics have shown that much Weltschmerz may grow out of
unsatisfied love; Heine's demonstrate that mere love sickness is not
Weltschmerz. The fact is that Heine frequently destroys what would have
been a certain impression of Weltschmerz by forcing upon us the
immediate cause of his distemper,--it may be a real injury, or merely a
passing annoyance. What a strange mixture of acrimonious, sarcastic
protest and Weltschmerz elements we find in the poem "Ruhelechzend"[214]
of which a few stanzas will serve to illustrate. Again he strikes a full
minor chord:
Las bluten deine Wunden, lass
Die Thränen fliessen unaufhaltsam;
Geheime Wollust schwelgt im Schmerz,
Und Weinen ist ein süsser Balsam.
This in practice rather than in theory is what we observe in Lenau,--his
melancholy satisfaction in nursing his grief,--and we have promise of a
poem of genuine Weltschmerz. Even through the second and third stanzas
this feeling is not destroyed, although the terms "Schelm" and "Tölpel"
gently arouse our suspicion:
Des Tages Lärm verhallt, es steigt
Die Nacht herab mit langen Flöhren.
In ihrem Schosse wird kein Schelm,
Kein Tölpel deine Ruhe stören.
But the very next stanza brings the transition from the sublime to the
ridiculous:
Hier bist du sicher vor Musik,
Vor des Pianofortes Folter,
Und vor der grossen Oper Pracht
Und schrecklichem Bravourgepolter.
* * * * *
O Grab, du bist das Paradies
Für pöbelscheue, zarte Ohren--
Der Tod ist gut, doch besser wär's,
Die Mutter hätt' uns nie geboren.
It is scarcely necessary to point out that the specific cause which the
poet confides to us of his "wounds, tears and pains" is ridiculously
unimportant as compared with the conclusion which he draws in the last
two lines.
Evidently then, he does not wish us to take him seriously, nor could we,
if he did. Thus in their very attitude toward the ills and vexations of
life, there appears a most essential difference between Lenau and Heine.
Auerbach aptly remarks: "Spott und Satire verkleinern, Zorn und Hass
vergrössern das Object."[215] And Lenau knew no satire; where Heine
scoffed and ridiculed, he hated and scorned, with a hatred that only
contributed to his own undoing. With Heine the satire's the thing,
whether of himself or of others, and to this he willingly sacrifices the
lofty sentiments of which he is capable. Indeed he frequently introduces
these for no other purpose than to make the laugh or grimace all the
more striking. And with reference to his love affair with Amalie, while
the question as to the reality and depth of his feelings may be left
entirely out of discussion, this much may be safely asserted, that in
comparatively few poems do those feelings find expression in the form of
Weltschmerz. Now there is something essentially vague about Weltschmerz;
it is an atmosphere, a "Stimmung" more or less indefinable, rather than
the statement in lyric form of certain definite grievances with their
particular and definite causes. And that is exactly what we find in
Lenau, even in his love-songs. His love-sorrow is blended with his many
other heart-aches, with his disappointments and regrets, with his
yearning for death. He sings of his pain rather than of its immediate
causes, and the result is an atmosphere of Weltschmerz.
Turning to Heine's later poems, especially to the "Romanzero," we find
that atmosphere much more perceptible. But even here the poet is for the
most part specific, and his method concrete. So for instance in "Der
Dichter Firdusi"[216] in which he tells a story to illustrate his belief
that merit is appreciated and rewarded only after the death of the one
who should have reaped the reward. So also in "Weltlauf,"[217] the first
stanza of which suggests a poetic rendering of Matth. 13:12, "For
whosoever hath, to him shall be given and he shall have more abundance;
but whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken away even that he
hath,"--to which the poet adds a stanza of caustic ironical comment:
Wenn du aber gar nichts hast,
Ach, so lasse dich begraben--
Denn ein Recht zum Leben, Lump,
Haben nur, die etwas haben.
And again, the poem "Lumpentum"[218] presents an ironical eulogy of
flattery. His failure to realize the hopes of his youth is made the
subject of "Verlorne Wünsche"[219] which maintains throughout a strain
of seriousness quite unusual for Heine, and concludes:
Goldne Wünsche! Seifenblasen!
Sie zerrinnen wie mein Leben--
Ach ich liege jetzt am Boden,
Kann mich nimmermehr erheben.
Und Ade! sie sind zerronnen,
Goldne Wünsche, süsses Hoffen!
Ach, zu tötlich war der Faustschlag,
Der mich just ins Herz getroffen.
A number of these lyrics from the Romanzero show very strikingly Heine's
objective treatment of his poems of complaint. Such selections as "Sie
erlischt,"[220] in which he compares his soul to the last flicker of a
lamp in the darkened theater, or "Frau Sorge,"[221] which gives us the
personification of care, represented as a nurse watching by his bedside,
bring his objective method into marked contrast with Hölderlin's
subjective Weltschmerz. The same may be said of his autobiography in
miniature, "Rückschau,"[222] which catalogues the poet's experiences,
pleasant and adverse, with evident sincerity though of course with a
liberal admixture of witty irony. Needless to say there is no real
Weltschmerz discoverable in such a pot pourri as the following:
Die Glieder sind mir rheumatisch gelähmt,
Und meine Seele ist tief beschämt.
* * * * *
Ich ward getränkt mit Bitternissen,
Und grausam von den Wanzen gebissen, etc.
It would scarcely be profitable to attempt to estimate the causes and
development of this self-irony, which plays so important a part in
Heine's poetry. Its possibility lay no doubt in his native mother-wit,
with its genial perception of the incongruous, combined, it must be
admitted, with a relatively low order of self-respect. Its first
incentive he may have found in his unrequited love for Amalie. Had it
been like that of Hölderlin for Diotima, or Lenau for Sophie,
reciprocated though unsatisfied, we could not easily imagine the
ironical tone which pervades most of his love-songs. And so he uses it
as a veil for his chagrin, preferring to laugh and have the world laugh
with him, rather than to weep alone. But the incident in Heine's life
which probably more than any other experience fostered this habit of
making himself the butt of his witty irony was his outward renunciation
of Judaism. Little need be said concerning this, since the details are
so well known. He himself confesses that the step was taken from the
lowest motives, for which he justly hated and despised himself. To Moser
he writes (1825): "Ich weiss nicht, was ich sagen soll, Cohen versichert
mich, Gans predige das Christentum und suche die Kinder Israels zu
bekehren. Thut er dieses aus Ueberzeugung, so ist er ein Narr; thut er
es aus Gleissnerei, so ist er ein Lump. Ich werde zwar nicht aufhören,
Gans zu lieben; dennoch gestehe ich, weit lieber wär's mir gewesen, wenn
ich statt obiger Nachricht erfahren hätte, Gans habe silberne Löffel
gestohlen.... Es wäre mir sehr leid, wenn mein eigenes Getauftsein Dir
in einem günstigen Lichte erscheinen könnte. Ich versichere Dich, wenn
die Gesetze das Stehlen silberner Löffel erlaubt hätten, so würde ich
mich nicht getauft haben."[223] But in addition to the loss of
self-respect came his disappointment and chagrin at the non-success of
his move, since he realized that it was not even bringing him the
material gain for which he had hoped. Instead, he felt himself an object
of contempt among Christians and Jews alike. "Ich bin jetzt bei Christ
und Jude verhasst. Ich bereue sehr, dass ich mich getauft hab'; ich sehe
gar nicht ein, dass es mir seitdem besser gegangen sei; im Gegenteil,
ich habe seitdem nichts als Unglück."[224] He is so unhappy in
consequence of this step that he earnestly desires to leave Germany. "Es
ist aber ganz bestimmt, dass es mich sehnlichst drängt, dem deutschen
Vaterlande Valet zu sagen. Minder die Lust des Wanderns als die Qual
persönlicher Verhältnisse (z. B. der nie abzuwaschende Jude) treibt mich
von hinnen."[225]
In his tragedy "Almansor," written during the years 1820 and 1821,[226]
his deep-rooted antipathy to Christianity finds strong expression
through Almansor, although the countervailing arguments are eloquently
stated by the heroine. Prophetic of the poet's own later experience is
the representation of the hero, who is beguiled by his love for Zuleima
into vowing allegiance to the Christian faith, only to find that the
sacrifice has failed to win for him the object for which it was made. In
the character of Almansor, more than anywhere else, Heine's
"Liebesschmerz" and "Judenschmerz" have combined to produce in him an
inner dissonance which expresses itself in lyric lines of real
Weltschmerz:
Ich bin recht müd
Und krank, und kranker noch als krank, denn ach,
Die allerschlimmste Krankheit ist das Leben;
Und heilen kann sie nur der Tod....[227]
But here too, as in "Ratcliff," such passages are exceptional. In the
main these tragedies are nothing more than vehicles for the poet's
stormy protest, much of it after the Storm and Stress pattern;[228] and
mere protest, however acrimonious, cannot be called Weltschmerz.
Certain it is that during these early years numerous disappointments
other than those of love contributed to produce in the poet a gloomy
state of mind. A reflection of the unhappiness which he had experienced
during his residence in Hamburg is found in many passages in his
correspondence which express his repugnance for the city and its people.
To Immanuel Wohlwill (1823): "Es freut mich, dass es Dir in den Armen
der aimablen Hammonia zu behagen beginnt; mir ist diese Schöne zuwider.
Mich täuscht nicht der goldgestickte Rock, ich weiss, sie trägt ein
schmutziges Hemd auf dem gelben Leibe, und mit den schmelzenden
Liebesseufzern 'Rindfleisch[3] Banko!' sinkt sie an die Brust des
Meistbietenden.... Vielleicht thue ich aber der guten Stadt Hamburg
unrecht; die Stimmung, die mich beherrschte, als ich dort einige Zeit
lebte, war nicht dazu geeignet, mich zu einem unbefangenen Beurteiler zu
machen; mein _inneres_ Leben war brütendes Versinken in den düsteren,
nur von phantastischen Lichtern durchblitzten Schacht der Traumwelt,
mein _äusseres_ Leben war toll, wüst, cynisch, abstossend; mit einem
Worte, ich machte es zum schneidenden Gegensatz meines inneren Lebens,
damit mich dieses nicht durch sein Uebergewicht zerstöre."[229] To Moser
(1823): "Hamburg? sollte ich dort noch so viele Freuden finden können,
als ich schon Schmerzen dort empfand? Dieses ist freilich
unmöglich--"[230] "Hamburg!!! mein Elysium und Tartarus zu gleicher
Zeit! Ort, den ich detestiere und am meisten liebe, wo mich die
abscheulichsten Gefühle martern und we ich mich dennoch
hinwünsche."[231] Another letter to Moser is dated: "Verdammtes Hamburg,
den 14. Dezember, 1825."[232] The following year he writes, in a letter
to Immermann: "Ich verliess Göttingen, suchte in Hamburg ein
Unterkommen, fand aber nichts als Feinde, Verklatschung und
Aerger."[233] And to Varnhagen von Ense (1828): "Nach Hamburg werde ich
nie in diesem Leben zurückkehren; es sind mir Dinge von der äussersten
Bitterkeit dort passiert, sie wären auch nicht zu ertragen gewesen, ohne
den Umstand, dass nur ich sie weiss."[234] To his mother's insistent
pleading he replies (1833): "Aber ich will, wenn Du es durchaus
verlangst, diesen Sommer auf acht Tage nach Hamburg kommen, nach dem
schändlichen Neste, wo ich meinen Feinden den Triumph gönnen soll, mich
wiederzusehen und mit Beleidigungen überhäufen zu können."[235]
His several endeavors to establish himself on a firm material footing in
life had failed,--he had sought for a place in a Berlin high school,
then entertained the idea of practising law in Hamburg, then aspired to
a professorship in Munich, but without success. But more than by all
these reverses, more even than by the circumstances and consequences of
his Hebrew parentage, was the poet wrought up by the family strife over
the payment of his pension, which followed upon the death of his uncle
in December, 1844, and which lasted for several years. From the very
beginning he had had much intermittent annoyance through his dealings
with his sporadically generous uncle Salomon Heine. As early as 1823
Heine writes to Moser: "Auch weiss ich, dass mein Oheim, der sich hier
so gemein zeigt, zu andern Zeiten die Generosität selbst ist; aber es
ist doch in mir der Vorsatz aufgekommen, alles anzuwenden, um mich so
bald als möglich von der Güte meines Oheims loszureissen. Jetzt habe ich
ihn freilich noch nötig, und wie knickerig auch die Unterstützung ist,
die er mir zufliessen lässt, so kann ich dieselbe nicht entbehren."[236]
And again in the same year: "Es ist fatal, dass bei mir der ganze Mensch
durch das Budget regiert wird. Auf meine Grundsätze hat Geldmangel oder
Ueberfluss nicht den mindesten Einfluss, aber desto mehr auf meine
Handlungen. Ja, grosser Moser, der H. Heine ist sehr klein."[237] And
when, after his uncle's demise, the heirs of the latter threatened to
cut off the poet's pension, he writes to Campe[238] and to Detmold,[239]
in a frenzy of wrath and excitement, and shows what he is really capable
of under pressure of circumstances. Perhaps it is only fair to suppose
that his long years of suffering, both from his physical condition and
from the unscrupulous attacks of his enemies, had had a corroding effect
upon his moral sensibilities. In his request to Campe to act as mediator
in the disagreeable affair he says: "Sie können alle Schuld des
Missverständnisses auf mich schieben, die Grossmut der Familie
hervorstreichen, kurz, mich sacrificiren." And all this to be submitted
to the public in print! "Ich gestehe Ihnen heute offen, ich habe gar
keine Eitelkeit in der Weise andrer Menschen, mir liegt am Ende gar
nichts an der Meinung des Publikums; mir ist nur eins wichtig, die
Befriedigung meines inneren Willens, die Selbstachtung meiner Seele."
But how he was able to preserve his self-respect, and at the same time
be willing to employ any and all means to attain his end, perhaps no one
less unscrupulous than he could comprehend. He intimates that he has
decided upon threats and public intimidation as being probably more
effective than a servile attitude, which, he allows us to infer, he
would be quite willing to take if advisable. "Das Beste muss hier die
Presse thun zur Intimidation, und die ersten Kotwürfe auf Karl Heine und
namentlich auf Adolf Halle werden schon wirken. Die Leute sind an Dreck
nicht gewöhnt, während ich ganze Mistkarren vertragen kann, ja diese,
wie auf Blumenbeeten, nur mein Gedeihen zeitigen."[240]
It is quite evident that this long drawn out quarrel aroused all that
was mean and vindictive, all that was immoral in the man, and that the
nervous excitement thereby induced had a most baneful effect upon his
entire nature, physical as well as mental. In a number of poems he has
given expression to his anger and has masterfully cursed his
adversaries, for example, "Es gab den Dolch in deine Hand,"[241] "Sie
küssten mich mit ihren falschen Lippen,"[242] and several following
ones. But here, too, his fancy is altogether too busy with the suitable
characterization of his enemies and the invention of adequate tortures
for them, to leave room for even a suggestion of the Weltschmerz which
we might expect to result from such painful emotions.
It is scarcely necessary to theorize as to what would have been the
attitude and conduct of a sensitive Hölderlin or a proud-spirited Lenau
in a similar position. Lenau is too proud to protest, preferring to
suffer. Heine is too vain to appear as a sufferer, so he meets
adversity, not in a spirit of admirable courage, but in a spirit of
bravado. In giving lyric utterance to his resentment, Heine is conscious
that the world is looking on, and so he indulges, even in the expression
of his Weltschmerz, in a vain ostentation which stands in marked
contrast to Lenau's dignified pride. He is quite right when he says in a
letter to his friend Moser: "Ich bin nicht gross genug, um Erniedrigung
zu tragen."[243]
As an illustration of the vain display which he makes of his sadness,
his poem "Der Traurige" may be quoted in part:
Allen thut es weh in Herzen,
Die den bleichen Knaben sehn,
Dem die Leiden, dem die Schmerzen
Auf's Gesicht geschrieben stehn.[244]
A similar impression is made by the concluding numbers of the
Intermezzo, "Die alten, bösen Lieder."[245] And here again the
comparison,--even if merely as to size,--of a coffin with the
"Heidelberger Fass" is most incongruous, to say the least, and tends
very effectually to destroy the serious sentiment which the poem, with
less definite exaggerations, might have conveyed. Similarly overdone is
his poetic preface to the "Rabbi" sent to his friend Moser:[246]
Brich aus in lauten Klagen
Du düstres Märtyrerlied,
Das ich so lang getragen
Im flammenstillen Gemüt!
Es dringt in alle Ohren,
Und durch die Ohren ins Herz;
Ich habe gewaltig beschworen
Den tausendjährigen Schmerz.
Es weinen dir Grossen und Kleinen,
Sogar die kalten Herrn,
Die Frauen und Blumen weinen,
Es weinen am Himmel die Stern.
It is not necessary, even if it were to the point, to adduce further
evidence of Heine's vanity as expressed in his prose writings, or in
poems such as the much-quoted
Nennt man die besten Namen,
So wird auch der meine genannt.[247]
It cannot be denied that this element of vanity, of showiness, only
serves to emphasize our impression of the unreality of much of Heine's
Weltschmerz.
With the reference to this element of ostentation in Heine's Weltschmerz
there is suggested at once the question of the Byronic pose, and of
Byron's influence in general upon the German poet. On the general
relationship between the two poets much has been written,[248] so that
we may confine ourselves here to the consideration of certain points of
resemblance in their Weltschmerz.
Julian Schmidt names Byron as the constellation which ruled the heavens
during the period from the Napoleonic wars to the "Völkerfrühling,"
1848, as the meteor upon which at that time the eyes of all Europe were
fixed. Certainly the English poet could not have wished for a more
auspicious introduction and endorsation in Germany, if he had needed
such, than that which was given him by Goethe himself, whose subsequent
tribute in his Euphorion in the second part of "Faust" is one of Byron's
most splendid memorials. The enthusiasm which Lord Byron aroused in
Germany is attested by Goethe: "Im Jahre 1816, also einige Jahre nach
dem Erscheinen des ersten Gesanges des 'Childe Harold,' trat englische
Poesie und Literatur vor allen andern in den Vordergrund. Lord Byrons
Gedichte, je mehr man sich mit den Eigenheiten dieses ausserordentlichen
Geistes bekannt machte, gewannen immer grössere Teilnahme, so dass
Männer und Frauen, Mägdlein und Junggesellen fast aller Deutschheit und
Nationalität zu vergessen schienen."[249]
It is important to note that this first period of unrestrained Byron
enthusiasm coincides with the formative and impressionable years of
Heine's youth. In his first book of poems, published in 1821, he
included translations from Byron, in reviewing which Immermann pointed
out[250] that while Heine's poems showed a superficial resemblance to
those of Byron, the temperament of the former was far removed from the
sinister scorn of the English lord, that it was in fact much more
cheerful and enamored of life.[251] There is plenty of evidence,
however, to show that it was exceedingly gratifying to the young Heine
to have his name associated with that of Byron; and although he had no
enthusiasm for Byron's philhellenism, he was pleased to write, June 25,
1824, on hearing of the Englishman's death: "Der Todesfall Byrons hat
mich übrigens sehr bewegt. Es war der einzige Mensch, mit dem ich mich
verwandt fühlte, und wir mögen uns wohl in manchen Dingen geglichen
haben; scherze nur darüber, soviel Du willst. Ich las ihn selten seit
einigen Jahren; man geht lieber um mit Menschen, deren Charakter von dem
unsrigen verschieden ist. Ich bin aber mit Byron immer behaglich
umgegangen, wie mit einem völlig gleichen Spiesskameraden. Mit
Shakespeare kann ich gar nicht behaglich umgehen, ich fühle nur zu
sehr, dass ich nicht seinesgleichen bin, er ist der allgewaltige
Minister, und ich bin ein blosser Hofrat, und es ist mir, als ob er mich
jeden Augenblick absetzen könnte."[252] Significant is the allusion in
this same letter to a proposition which the writer seems to have made to
his friend in a previous one: " ... ich darf Dir Dein Versprechen in
Hinsicht des 'Morgenblattes' durchaus nicht erlassen. Robert besorgt
gern den Aufsatz. Byron ist jetzt tot, und ein Wort über ihn ist jetzt
passend. Vergiss es nicht; Du thust mir einen sehr grossen
Gefallen."[253] We shall probably not be far astray in assuming that the
"Gefallen" was to have been the advertising of Heine as the natural
successor of Byron in European literature. Three months later he once
more urges the request: "Auch fände ich es noch immer angemessen, ja
jetzt mehr als je, dass Du Dich über Byron und Komp. vernehmen
liessest."[254]
But it was not long before Heine, with an increasing sense of literary
independence, reinforced no doubt by the reaction of public opinion
against Byron, and influenced also by his friend Immermann's judgment in
particular,[255] was no longer willing to be considered a disciple of
the English master. Several unmistakable references betoken this change
of heart, for example, the following from his "Nordsee" III (1826):
"Wahrlich in diesem Augenblicke fühle ich sehr lebhaft, dass ich kein
Nachbeter, oder, besser gesagt, Nachfrevler, Byrons bin, mein Blut ist
nicht so spleenisch schwarz, meine Bitterkeit kömmt nur aus den
Galläpfeln meiner Dinte, und wenn Gift in mir ist, so ist es doch nur
Gegengift, Gegengift wider jene Schlangen, die im Schutte der alten Dome
und Burgen so bedrohlich lauern."[256] Byron, instead of being regarded
as "kindred spirit" and "cousin," is now characterized as a ruthless
destroyer of venerable forms, injuring the most sacred flowers of life
with his melodious poison, or as a mad harlequin who thrusts the steel
into his heart, in order that he may teasingly bespatter ladies and
gentlemen with the black spurting blood. In remarkable contrast with his
former views, he now writes: "Von allen grossen Schriftstellern ist
Byron just derjenige, dessen Lektüre mich am unleidigsten berührt."
Perhaps the most interesting passage in this connection, because so
thoroughly characteristic of the Byronic pose in Heine, occurs in the
"Bäder von Lucca": "Lieber Leser, gehörst du vielleicht zu jenen frommen
Vögeln, die da einstimmen in das Lied von Byronischer Zerrissenheit, das
mir schon seit zehn Jahren in allen Weisen vorgepfiffen und
vorgezwitschert worden ...? Ach, teurer Leser, wenn du über jene
Zerrissenheit klagen willst, so beklage lieber, dass die Welt selbst
mitten entzwei gerissen ist. Denn da das Herz des Dichters der
Mittelpunkt der Welt ist, so musste es wohl in jetziger Zeit jämmerlich
zerrissen werden. Wer von seinem Herzen rühmt, es sei ganz geblieben,
der gesteht nur, dass er ein prosaisches, weitabgelegenes Winkelherz
hat. Durch das meinige ging aber der grosse Weltriss, und eben deswegen
weiss ich, dass die grossen Götter mich vor vielen andern hoch begnadigt
und des Dichtermärtyrtums würdig geachtet haben."[257] Here while
vociferously disclaiming all kinship or sympathy with Byron, he pays him
the flattering compliment of imitation. Probably nowhere in Byron could
we find a more pompous display of egoism under the guise of Weltschmerz.
Byron's Weltschmerz, like Heine's, had its first provocation in a purely
personal experience. "To a Lady"[258] and "Remembrance"[259] both give
expression in passionate terms to the poet's disappointed love for Mary
Chaworth, the parallel in Heine's case being his infatuation for his
cousin Amalie. The necessity for defending himself against a public
opinion actively hostile to his earliest poems,[260] largely diverted
Byron from this first painful theme, so that from this time on until he
left England, he is almost incessantly engaged in a bitter warfare
against the injustice of critics and of society. To this second period
Heine's development also shows a general resemblance. Thus far both
poets exhibit a purely egoistic type of Weltschmerz. But with his
separation from his wife in 1816, and his final departure from England,
that of Byron enters upon a third period and becomes cosmic. Ostracized
by English society, his relations with it finally severed, he disdains
to defend himself further against its criticism, and espouses the cause
of unhappy humanity. No longer his own personal woes, but rather those
of the nations of the earth are nearest his heart:
What are our woes and sufferance?...
................................ Ye!
Whose agonies are evils of a day--
A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay.[261]
And in contemplating the ruins of the Palatine Hill:
..................... Upon such a shrine
What are our petty griefs? Let me not number mine.[262]
Here we have the essential difference between these two types of
Weltschmerz. Heine does not, like Byron, make this transition from the
personal to the universal stage. Instead of becoming cosmic in his
Weltschmerz, he remains for ever egoistic.
Numerous quotations might be adduced from the writings of both poets,
which would seem to indicate that Heine had borrowed many of his ideas
and even some forms of expression from Byron. Except in the case of the
most literal correspondence, this is generally a very unsafe deduction.
Such passages as a rule prove nothing more than a similarity, possibly
quite independent, in the trend of their pessimistic thought. Compare
for example Byron's lines in the poem "And wilt thou weep when I am
low?"
Oh lady! blessed be that tear--
It falls for one who cannot weep;
Such precious drops are doubly dear
To those whose eyes no tear may steep,[263]
with Heine's stanza:
Seit ich sie verloren hab',
Schafft' ich auch das Weinen ab;
Fast vor Weh das Herz mir bricht,
Aber weinen kann ich nicht.[264]
Or again, "Childe Harold," IV, 136:
From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy
Have I not seen what human things could do?
From the loud roar of foaming calumny
To the small whisper of the as paltry few--
And subtler venom of the reptile crew,[265]
with the first lines of Heine's ninth sonnet:
Ich möchte weinen, doch ich kann es nicht;
Ich möcht' mich rüstig in die Höhe heben,
Doch kann ich's nicht; am Boden muss ich kleben,
Umkrächzt, umzischt von eklem Wurmgezücht,[266]
a thought which in one of his letters (1823) he paraphrases thus: "Der
Gedanke an Dich, liebe Schwester, muss mich zuweilen aufrecht halten,
wenn die grosse Masse mit ihrem dummen Hass und ihrer ekelhaften Liebe
mich niederdrückt."[267] There can be no doubt that Heine for a time
studied diligently to imitate this fashionable model, pose, irony and
all. So diligently perhaps, that he himself was sometimes unable to
distinglish between imitation and reality. So at least it would appear
from No. 44 of "Die Heimkehr:"
Ach Gott! im Scherz und unbewusst
Sprach ich, was ich gefühlet:
Ich hab mit dem Tod in der eignen Brust
Den sterbenden Fechter gespielet.[268]
In summing up our impressions of the two poets we shall scarcely escape
the feeling that while Byron is pleased to display his troubles and his
heart-aches before the curious gaze of the world, they are at least in
the main real troubles and sincere heart-aches, whereas Heine, on the
other hand, does a large business in Weltschmerz on a very small
capital.
Nor is Heine the man more convincing as to his sincerity than Heine the
poet. No more striking instance of this fact could perhaps be found than
his letter to Laube on hearing the news of Immermann's death.[269]
"Gestern Abend erfuhr ich durch das _Journal des Debats_ ganz zufällig
den Tod von Immermann. Ich habe die ganze Nacht durch geweint. Welch ein
Unglück!... Welch einen grossen Dichter haben wir Deutschen verloren,
ohne ihn jemals recht gekannt zu haben! Wir, ich meine Deutschland, die
alte Rabenmutter! Und nicht nur ein grosser Dichter war er, sondern auch
brav und ehrlich, und deshalb liebte ich ihn. Ich liege ganz darnieder
vor Kummer." But scarcely has he turned the page with a short
intervening paragraph, when he continues: "Ich bin, sonderbar genug,
sehr guter Laune," and concludes the letter with some small talk. Now if
he was sincere, as we may assume he was, in the asseveration of his
grief at the death of his friend, then either that grief must have been
anything but profound, or we have the clearest sort of evidence of the
poet's incapacity for serious feeling of more than momentary duration.
It is safe to assert that Heine never set himself a high artistic task,
and remained true to his purpose until the task was accomplished. In
other words, Heine betrays a lack of will-energy along artistic lines,
which in the case of Hölderlin and Lenau was more evident in their
attitude toward the practical things of life.
But the fact that Heine never created a monumental literary work of
enduring worth is not attributable solely to a fickleness of artistic
purpose or lack of will-energy. We find its explanation rather in the
poet's own statement: "Die Poesie ist am Ende doch nur eine schöne
Nebensache."[270] and to this principle, consciously or unconsciously,
Heine steadily adhered. Certain it is that he took a much lower view of
his art than did Hölderlin or Lenau. Hence we find him ever ready to
degrade his muse by making it the vehicle for immoral thoughts and
abominable calumnies.[271]
The question of Heine's patriotism has always been a much-debated one,
and must doubtless remain so. But whatever opinion we may hold in regard
to his real attitude and feelings toward the land of his birth, this we
shall have to admit, that there are exceedingly few traces of
Weltschmerz arising from this source. Genuine feeling is expressed in
the two-stanza poem "Ich hatte einst ein schönes Vaterland"[272] and
also in "Lebensfahrt,"[273] although this latter poem illustrates a
characteristic of so many of his writings, namely that he himself is
their central figure. It is the sublime egoism which characterizes Heine
and all his works. No wonder, then, that one of his few
"Freiheitslieder" refers to his own personal liberty.[274] For the
failings of his countrymen he is ever ready with scathing satire,[275]
he grieves over his separation from them only when he thinks of his
mother;[276] and in regard to the future of Germany he is for the most
part sceptical.[277] In a word, Heine's lyric utterances in regard to
his fatherland are of so mixed a character, that altogether aside from
the question of the sincerity of his feeling toward the land of his
birth, certainly none but the blindest partisan would be able to
discover more than a negligible quantity of Weltschmerz directly
attributable to this influence.
Heine's conscience is at best a doubtful quantity. Where Byron with a
sincere sense and acknowledgment of his guilt writes:
"My injuries came down on those who loved me--
On those whom I best loved: . . . . . .
But my embrace was fatal."[278]
Heine sees it in quite another light: "War ich doch selber jetzt das
lebende Gesetz der Moral und der Quell alles Rechtes und aller Befugnis;
die anrüchigsten Magdalenen wurden purifiziert durch die läuternde und
sühnende Macht meiner Liebesflammen,"[279] a moral aberration which he
attributes to an imperfect interpretation of the difficult philosophy of
Hegel. If further evidence were necessary to show the perversity of
Heine's moral sense, the following paragraph from a letter to Varnhagen
would suffice, in its way perhaps as remarkable a contribution to the
theory of ethics as has ever been penned: "In Deutschland ist man noch
nicht so weit, zu begreifen, dass ein Mann, der das Edelste durch Wort
und That befördern will, sich oft einige kleine Lumpigkeiten, sei es aus
Spass oder aus Vorteil, zu schulden kommen lassen darf, wenn er nur
durch diese Lumpigkeiten (d. h. Handlungen, die im Grunde ignobel sind,)
der grossen Idee seines Lebens nichts schadet, ja dass diese
Lumpigkeiten oft sogar lobenswert sind, wenn sie uns in den Stand
setzen, der grossen Idee unsres Lebens desto würdiger zu dienen."[280]
Scarcely less remarkable is the poet's confession to his friend Moser
that he has a rubber soul: "Ich kann Dir das nicht oft genug
wiederholen, damit Du mich nicht misst nach dem Massstabe Deiner eigenen
grossen Seele. Die meinige ist Gummi elastic, zieht sich oft ins
Unendliche und verschrumpft oft ins Winzige. Aber eine Seele habe ich
doch. I am positive, I have a soul, so gut wie Sterne. Das genüge Dir.
Liebe mich um der wunderlichen Sorte Gefühls willen, die sich bei mir
ausspricht in Thorheit und Weisheit, in Güte und Schlechtigkeit. Liebe
mich, weil es Dir nun mal so einfällt, nicht, weil Du mich der Liebe
wert hältst.... Ich hatte einen Polen zum Freund, für den ich mich bis
zu Tod besoffen hätte, oder, besser gesagt, für den ich mich hätte
totschlagen lassen, und für den ich mich noch totschlagen liesse, und
der Kerl taugte für keinen Pfennig, und war venerisch, und hatte die
schlechtesten Grundsätze--aber er hatte einen Kehllaut, mit welchem er
auf so wunderliche Weise das Wort 'Was?' sprechen konnte, dass ich in
diesem Augenblick weinen und lachen muss, wenn ich daran denke."[281]
Taking him all in all then, Heine is not a serious personality, a fact
which we need to keep constantly in mind in judging almost any and every
side of his nature.
As a matter of fact, Heine's Weltschmerz, like his whole personality, is
of so complex and contradictory a nature, that it would be a hopeless
undertaking to attempt to weigh each contributing factor and estimate
exactly the amount of its influence. All the elements which have been
briefly noted in the foregoing pages, and probably many minor ones which
have not been mentioned, combined to produce in him that "Zerrissenheit"
which finds such frequent expression in his writings. But it must be
remembered that this "Zerrissenheit" does not always express itself as
Weltschmerz. In Heine it often appears simply as pugnacity; and where
wit, satire, self-irony or even base calumny succeeds in covering up all
traces of the poet's pathos we are no longer justified on sentimental or
sympathetic grounds in taking it for granted. In looking for pathos in
Heine's verse we shall not have to look in vain, it is true, but we
shall find much less than his popular reputation as a poet of
Weltschmerz would lead us to expect; and we frequently gain the
impression that his disposition and his personal experiences are after
all largely the excuse for rather than the occasion of his Weltschmerz.
Plümacher maintains: "Der Weltschmerz ist entweder die absolute
Passivität, und die Klage seine einzige Aeusserung, oder aber er
verpufft seine Kräfte in rein subjectivistischen, eudämonischen
Anstrengungen,"[282]--a characterization which certainly holds good in
the case of Lenau and Hölderlin respectively. Hölderlin, although in a
visionary, idealistic way, remains, en in his Weltschmerz, altruistic
and constructive. Lenau is passive, while Heine is solely egoistic and
destructive.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 181: "Studien und Wandertage," Frauenfeld, Huber, 1884.]
[Footnote 182: Vol. II, p. 265.]
[Footnote 183: "Französische Maler. Gemälde-Ausstellung in Paris, 1831."
Heines Sämmtliche Werke, mit Einleitung von E. Elster. Leipzig,
Bibliogr. Inst., 1890. (Hereafter quoted as "Werke.") Vol. IV, p. 61.]
[Footnote 184: "Selina, oder über die Unsterblichkeit," II, p. 132.]
[Footnote 185: "Heinrich Heines Krankheit und Leidensgeschichte." Eine
kritische Studie, von S. Rahmer, Dr. Med., Berlin, 1901.]
[Footnote 186: "Das Liebesleben Hölderlin's, Lenaus, Heines." Berlin,
1901.]
[Footnote 187: Rahmer, op. cit. p. 45.]
[Footnote 188: Rahmer, p. 46.]
[Footnote 189: Werke, Vol. III, p. 194.]
[Footnote 190: Karpeles ed. Werke (2. Aufl.) VIII, p. 441.]
[Footnote 191: _Ibid._, p. 378.]
[Footnote 192: _Ibid._, p. 520.]
[Footnote 193: Karpeles ed. Werke, IX, p. 371.]
[Footnote 194: _Ibid._, p. 374.]
[Footnote 195: _Ibid._, p. 459 ff.]
[Footnote 196: _Ibid._, p. 513.]
[Footnote 197: _Ibid._, p. 475.]
[Footnote 198: Werke, Vol. I, p. 72, Nos. 18 and 19.]
[Footnote 199: Werke, Vol. I, p. 123, No. 62.]
[Footnote 200: Lenaus Werke, Vol. I, p. 257 ff.]
[Footnote 201: Werke, Vol. I, p. 37.]
[Footnote 202: _Ibid._, Vol. II, p. 11.]
[Footnote 203: _Ibid._, Vol. I, p. 97.]
[Footnote 204: _Ibid._, Vol. I, p. 177.]
[Footnote 205: _Ibid._, Vol. I, p. 197.]
[Footnote 206: Karpeles ed. Werke, VIII, p. 408.]
[Footnote 207: _Ibid._, p. 468.]
[Footnote 208: Karpeles ed. Werke, Vol. II, p. 31.]
[Footnote 209: A few other examples of this same coloring in Heine's
lyrics are to be found in the "Neuer Frühling," Nos. 40, 41 and 43.]
[Footnote 210: Werke, Vol. II, p. 89, No. 55, "O Gott, wie hässlich
bitter ist das Sterben!" etc.]
[Footnote 211: Engel: "Heine's Memoiren," p. 133.]
[Footnote 212: Werke, Vol. I, p. 87.]
[Footnote 213: Werke, Vol. I, p. 134.]
[Footnote 214: _Ibid._, Vol. II, p. 102.]
[Footnote 215: "Nicolaus Lenau. Erinnerung und Betrachtung." Wien,
1876.]
[Footnote 216: Werke, Vol. I, p. 367f.]
[Footnote 217: _Ibid._, Vol. I, p. 415.]
[Footnote 218: _Ibid._, Vol. I, p. 48.]
[Footnote 219: _Ibid._, Vol. I, p. 42 f.]
[Footnote 220: _Ibid._, Vol. I, p. 428.]
[Footnote 221: Werke, Vol. I, p. 424.]
[Footnote 222: _Ibid._, Vol. I, p. 416.]
[Footnote 223: Karpeles ed. Werke, VIII, p. 473.]
[Footnote 224: Cf. Heine's letter to Moser, Jan. 9, 1826, in Karpeles'
Autob. p. 191.]
[Footnote 225: Karpeles ed. Werke, VIII, p. 491.]
[Footnote 226: Cf. Werke, Einleitung, Vol. II, p. 241.]
[Footnote 227: Werke, Vol. II, p. 293.]
[Footnote 228: Cf. Almansor's Speech, Werke, Vol. II, p. 288 f.]
[Footnote 229: Karpeles ed. Werke, VIII, p. 363.]
[Footnote 230: _Ibid._, p. 384.]
[Footnote 231: Karpeles ed. Werke, VIII, p. 391.]
[Footnote 232: _Ibid._, p. 472.]
[Footnote 233: _Ibid._, p. 503.]
[Footnote 234: _Ibid._, p. 540.]
[Footnote 235: _Ibid._, IX, p. 25.]
[Footnote 236: _Ibid._, VIII, p. 392.]
[Footnote 237: Karpeles ed. VIII, p. 396.]
[Footnote 238: _Ibid._, IX, p. 308 ff.]
[Footnote 239: _Ibid._, p. 316.]
[Footnote 240: Letter to Detmold, Jan. 9, 1845, Werke (Karpeles ed.),
Vol. IX, p. 310.]
[Footnote 241: Werke, Vol. II, p. 104.]
[Footnote 242: _Ibid._, Vol. II, p. 105.]
[Footnote 243: Cf. Karpeles' Autob. p. 164.]
[Footnote 244: Werke, Vol. I, p. 35.]
[Footnote 245: _Ibid._, Vol. I, p. 92.]
[Footnote 246: Werke, Vol. II, p. 164.]
[Footnote 247: _Ibid._, Vol. I, p. 102.]
[Footnote 248: One of the most exhaustive monographs on the subject is
that of Felix Melchior (Cf. bibliography, _infra_ p. 90), to whom I am
indebted for several of the parallels suggested.]
[Footnote 249: Weimar Ausg. I Abt. Bd. 36, p. 128.]
[Footnote 250: In the _Rheinisch-westfälischer Anzeiger_, May 31, 1822,
No. 23.]
[Footnote 251: Cf. Strodtmann, "H. Heines Leben und Werke," 3. ed.,
Hamburg, 1884. Vol. I, p. 200.]
[Footnote 252: Karpeles ed. Werke, VIII, p. 434.]
[Footnote 253: _Ibid._, p. 433.]
[Footnote 254: _Ibid._, p. 441.]
[Footnote 255: In discussing the first volume of Heine's "Reisebilder,"
Immermann had said: "Man hat Heinen beim Beginn seiner dichterischen
Laufbahn mit Byron vergleichen wollen. Diese Vergleichung scheint nicht
zu passen. Der Brite bringt mit ungeheuren Mitteln nur massige poetische
Effekte hervor, während Heine eine Anlage zeigt, sich künstlerisch zu
begrenzen und den Stoff gänzlich in die Form zu absorbieren."
(_Jahrbücher f. wissenschaftliche Kritik_, 1827, No. 97, p. 767.)]
[Footnote 256: Werke, III, p. 116.]
[Footnote 257: Werke, Vol. Ill, p. 304.]
[Footnote 258: Byron's Works, Coleridge ed., London and New York, 1898.
Vol. I, p. 189 ff.]
[Footnote 259: _Ibid._, p. 211.]
[Footnote 260: Cf. the poems "To a Knot of Ungenerous Critics," "English
Bards and Scotch Reviewers," and others.]
[Footnote 261: Coleridge ed., Vol. II, p. 388 f.]
[Footnote 262: _Ibid._, p. 406.]
[Footnote 263: Coleridge ed., Vol. I, p. 266 f.]
[Footnote 264: Werke, Vol. I, p. 78.]
[Footnote 265: Coleridge ed., Vol. II, p. 429.]
[Footnote 266: Werke, Vol. I, p. 61.]
[Footnote 267: Karpeles ed. Werke, VIII, p. 411.]
[Footnote 268: Werke, I, p. 117.]
[Footnote 269: Werke, Karpeles ed. Vol. IX, p. 162 f.]
[Footnote 270: Letter to Immermann, Werke (Karpeles ed.), Vol. VIII, p.
354.]
[Footnote 271: Cf. his vulgar prognostication of Germany's future, Kaput
XXVI of the "Wintermärchen," Werke, Vol. II, p. 488 ff.]
[Footnote 272: Werke, Vol. I, p. 263.]
[Footnote 273: _Ibid._, Vol. I, p. 308.]
[Footnote 274: _Ibid._, Vol. I, p. 301, "Adam der erste."]
[Footnote 275: _Ibid._, Vol. I, p. 316, "Zur Beruhigung."]
[Footnote 276: _Ibid._, Vol. I, p. 320, "Nachtgedanken."]
[Footnote 277: Cf. _supra_, note 1.]
[Footnote 278: "Manfred," Coleridge ed., IV, p. 101.]
[Footnote 279: Werke VI, p. 48.]
[Footnote 280: Karpeles ed. Werke, VIII, p. 541.]
[Footnote 281: Karpeles ed. Werke, VIII, p. 399.]
[Footnote 282: Plümacher: "Der Pessimismus." Heidelberg, 1888, p. 103.]