Heinrich Heine
The first great wave of admiration brought to Heine also a host of cavillers and doubters of his genius.
Young Levin, brother of Rahel Varnhagen, once told Heine, partly in fun, partly seriously, that his poems particularly, did not deserve the extravagant praise everybody bestowed on them, and that their chief charm lay in the quick transition from the highly pathetic to the trivial, and that anybody who had caught the trick could imitate them very easily.
“Well, compose a poem à la Heine,” said the poet laughingly. “I am not afraid of your competition.”
Next day his friend returned, handing him the manuscript of a lyric poem:
“Sie gab mir bei ihren Tode
Ein blasses, blaues Band—
Es liegt in meiner Commode
Im Schube rechter hand.”
(“She gave me while dying
A pale blue bow—
In my desk it is lying
To this day, just so!”)
This was what Heine read, and falling on his friend’s neck in comical despair, cried:—“If you publish that I am lost!” declaring himself vanquished by this pretended take-off.