ce and sprightliness,
captivated German readers. Some of his songs, like that of the "Lorelei" or
"Thou Art Like a Flower," soon became German folksongs. More
characteristic, perhaps, of Heine's light muse are lines like these:

A youth once loved a maiden,
But for another she sighed;
This other loved still another
And took her for his bride.

The maid for spite then married
The first that came along;
Alas for the youth who loved her,
He suffered grievous wrong!

It is an old, old story,
But yet it is ever new,
And the one to whom it happens
His heart is broken in two.

[Sidenote: The poet in Paris]

[Sidenote: "La Mouche"]

Shortly after the July Revolution, Heine went to Paris, where he became a
contributor to several of the foremost literary journals of the day as a
writer of French feuilletons. His French prose style was almost equal to
his brilliant command of German. Not until 1844 did Heine bring out any new
German poems. Then he published the epic satires "Germany, a Winter's
Tale," and "Atta Troll, a Summer Night's Dream," two works which aroused
intense indignation in Germany. Much was made of the fact that Heine
accepted an annual pension of 4,800 francs from the government of Louis
Philippe. On the other hand, Heine made the terse observation that whenever
he was treated with rude discourtesy he could be sure that he had met a
German. In Paris, the poet was captivated by the charm of young Matilde
Mirat, his "lotos flower," as he called her, or also "la mouche." The
uneducated yet infinitely charming and loyal grisette was the good angel of
Heine's later years. On the eve of the famous duel with his rival poet
Boerne, in 1841, Heine married Matilde at the Church of St. Sulpice.

[Sidenote: Deathbed wit]

To his sorrow the poet lived many more years suffering great agony from a
spinal complaint which confined him to his bed, or "mattress grave" as he
called it. His powers of wit and raillery never failed him, even to the
last. On the night before he died an anxious friend called to bid farewell.
He asked if the dying man had made his "peace with God." Heine replied with
a wan smile: "Do not trouble yourself. God will pardon me. That's his
trade." These were the last recorded words spoken by Heine. Another story
has it that when the physician put a handglass to the lips of the dying man
and said, "Can you hiss (siffler)?" Heine murmured, "No, not even a play of