HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories
HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories
Heinrich Heine smile on human tears, and makes them a beauteous rainbow on the cloudy background of life; a wit, who holds in his mighty hand the most scorching hghtnings of satire; an artist in prose literature, who has shown even more completely than Goethe the possibilities of German prose; and — in spite of all charges against him, true as well as false — a lover of freedom, who has spoken wise and brave words on behalf of his fellow-men." George Ehot was the first English writer of eminence to appraise Heine as a lyric genius equalled by none save Goethe: "His song has a wide compass of notes; he can take us to the shores of the Northern Sea and thrill us by the sombre subhmity of his pictures and dreamy fancies; he can draw forth our tears by the voice he gives to our sorrows, or to the sorrows of Poor Peter; he can throw a cold shudder over us by a mysterious legend, a ghost story, or a still more ghastly rendering of hard reality; he can charm us by a quiet idyl, shake us with laughter at his overflowing fun, or give us a piquant sensation of surprise by the ingenuity of his transitions from the lofty to the ludicrous. . . . His songs are all music and feeling; they are like birds, that not only enchant us with their deUcious notes, but nestle against us with their soft breasts, [62]
Continuator of Goethe and make us feel the agitated beating of their hearts. He indicates a whole sad history in a single quatrain; there is not an image in it, not a thought; but it is beautiful, simple, and perfect as a big round tear; it is pure feeling breathed in pure music." If in lyric poetry George Eliot ranked Heine as second only to Goethe, she felt that as an artist in prose he surpassed even this genius of Weimar. Heine proved, according to her, what no writer before him had been able to prove, namely, that it was possible to be witty in German. In his hands, prose ceased to be heavy, clumsy, or dull. It became like clay in the hands of a chemist, compact, metaUic, brilliant. It possessed epigrammatic pith, imaginative grace, daring piquancy. It could express every hue of thought from the wildly droll and fantastic to the sombre and the terrible. In outlining Heine's achievements in five directions — as humorist, as wit, as lyricist, as master of prose, and as lover of freedom — George Ehot did not hide the fact that there was brass and iron and miry clay mingled with his precious gold, that coarseness, scurrility, Mephistophelean contempt for the reverent feehngs of other men interpenetrated his exquisite poetry, wit, humor, and just thought. But in the light of his magnificent quali- [63]
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Heinrich Heine<br />
smile on human tears, and makes them a beauteous<br />
rainbow on the cloudy background of life; a wit,<br />
who holds in his mighty hand the most scorching<br />
hghtnings of satire; an artist in prose literature, who<br />
has shown even more completely than Goethe the<br />
possibilities of German prose; and — in spite of all<br />
charges against him, true as well as false — a lover<br />
of freedom, who has spoken wise and brave words<br />
on behalf of his fellow-men."<br />
George Ehot was the first English writer of eminence<br />
to appraise Heine as a lyric genius equalled<br />
by none save Goethe: "His song has a wide compass<br />
of notes; he can take us to the shores of the<br />
Northern Sea and thrill us by the sombre subhmity<br />
of his pictures and dreamy fancies; he can draw<br />
forth our tears by the voice he gives to our sorrows,<br />
or to the sorrows of Poor Peter; he can throw<br />
a cold shudder over us by a mysterious legend, a<br />
ghost story, or a still more ghastly rendering of<br />
hard reality; he can charm us by a quiet idyl, shake<br />
us with laughter at his overflowing fun, or give us<br />
a piquant sensation of surprise by the ingenuity of<br />
his transitions from the lofty to the ludicrous. . . .<br />
His songs are all music and feeling; they are like<br />
birds, that not only enchant us with their deUcious<br />
notes, but nestle against us with their soft breasts,<br />
[62]