The Prose Writings of Heinrich HeineHeine, Heinrich
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The Prose Writings of Heinrich Heine
Heine, Heinrich
Heine, Heinrich, 1797-1856 -- Translations into English
That figure never disappears from my memory. I still see him, high on
his horse, with eternal eyes in his marble, imperial face, gazing down
calm as destiny on the Guards defiling past--he was then sending them to
Russia, and the old grenadiers glanced up at him, so terribly devoted,
so consciously serious, so proud in death--
"Te, Cæsar, morituri salutant!"
There often steals over me a secret doubt whether I ever really saw him,
if we were really his contemporaries, and then it seems to me as if his
portrait, torn from the little frame of the present, vanished away more
proudly and imperiously in the twilight of the past. His name even now
sounds to us like a word of the early world, as antique and heroic as
those of Alexander and Cæsar. It has become a rallying word among races,
and when the East and the West meet, they fraternise through that single
name.
How significant and magical that name can sound I once felt in the
deepest manner in the harbour of London, at the India Docks, as I stood
on board an East Indiaman just arrived from Bengal. It was a giant-like
ship, fully manned with Hindoos. The grotesque forms and groups, the
singularly variegated dresses, the enigmatical expressions, the strange
gestures, the wild and foreign ring of their language, their shouts of
joy and their laughter, and the seriousness ever rising and falling on
certain soft, yellow faces, their eyes like black flowers which looked
at me as with melancholy woe--all this awoke in me a feeling like that
of enchantment; I was suddenly as if transported into Scheherezade's
story, and I thought that broad-leaved palms, and long-necked camels,
and gold-covered elephants, and other fable-like trees and animals, must
forthwith appear. The supercargo who was on the vessel, and who
understood as little of the language as I myself, could not, in his
genuine English narrowness, narrate to me enough of what a ridiculous
race they were, nearly all Mahometans collected from every land of Asia,
from the limits of China to the Arabian sea, even jet black,
woolly-haired Africans.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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