conquer the world’--so impossible he found it to keep his eyes on the
page, whilst the very motes were dancing in the sunshine as it poured in
through the old convent window, which was set just too high in the wall
for a safe jump into freedom. One day the need of sympathy, and possibly
some unconscious association from the dim old cloister, proved
momentarily too strong for the impressionable little lad’s Jewish
instincts; he came across a crucifix in some forgotten niche of the
transformed convent; he looked up, he tells us, at the roughly carved
figure, and dropping on his knees, prayed an earnest heterodox prayer,
‘Oh, Thou poor once persecuted God, do help me, if possible, to keep the
irregular verbs in my head!’
‘Jewish instincts,’ we said, and they could have been scarcely more, for
neither at home, at school, nor in the streets was the atmosphere the
boy breathed favourable to the development of religious principles. The
Judaism of that age was, superficially, very much what the age had made
of it; and its followers and its persecutors alike combined to render
it mightily unattractive to susceptible natures. Samson Heine, stolid
and respectable, we may imagine doing his religious, as he did all his
other duties and avocations, in solemn routine fashion, laying heavy
honest hands on each prose detail, and letting every bit of poetry slip
through his fat fingers, whilst his bright eager wife, with her large
ideas and her small vanities, ruled her household, and read her
Rousseau, and, feeling the outer world shut from her by religion, and
the higher world barred from her by ritual, found the whole thing
cramping and unsatisfying to the last degree. ‘Happy is he whom his
mother teacheth’ runs an old Talmudic proverb; but among the
mother-taught lessons of his childhood, the best was missing to Heinrich
Heine--the real difference between ‘holy and profane’ he never rightly
learnt, and thus it came to pass that Jewish instincts--an ineradicable
and an inalienable, but alas! an incomplete inheritance of the sons of
Israel--were all that Judaism gave to this poet of Jewish race.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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