For Heinrich Heine, reality was just a coin, and he would cover up and expose his truth. He is never easy to understand, but there are multiple faces that are permeable.

Admirers call him a sentimental outcast, conservatives attack him for being paranoid and unapproachable, and leftists portray him as a hot-blooded revolutionary icon.

He is a contradiction born in a complex era, an outsider to an era, but his friendship with Sir Arthur Hastings makes his tortuous life simple and clear.

—Fritz Radatz, Heinrich Heine

In the market area of Paris, there is a street called Rue Saint-Denis.

As one of the oldest streets in the whole of Paris, rue Saint-Denis bears many traces of history.

The street is as lively as ever, with horse-drawn carriages, pedestrians, vendors, taverns and cafés, as if it were hundreds of years ago.

However, if you look closely, you can detect 'new wounds' on both sides of the street that have not yet scabbed.

There are still a small number of street lamps on the side of the road that have not been completely repaired, and some houses can still see subtle wounds on the glass, and even the walls of the houses can see a lot of gray bullet marks.

Yes, in June last year, it was one of the main battlegrounds of the uprising, and even before that, cholera had looted the market by the foul winds.

All the residents of Rue Saint-Denis know how memorable the nights of last year were.

Barricades were everywhere, from the corner to the end of the street, the street lights were destroyed, and the windows of all the houses were closed. After dark, all the windows with lights on were hit by bullets. The eerie spectacle overwhelmed everything. Everything was black, and the rows of windows, the uneven chimneys and roofs, or the muddy pavement, all fell into darkness.

Around this desolate, disturbing, labyrinthine street, there are still occasional sparsely lit places. By the light, you can faintly see the cold light of sabers and bayonets flickering, hear the wheels of the cannon cart rolling silently, and see the wing expanding silently like an ant colony, slowly approaching the rue Saint-Denis.

They were like a pair of horrific, slowly tightening nooses, which finally grabbed each of the rioters by the throat, suffocating their eyes and drowning out their tongues, and the darkness of the night was their shroud.

A well-timed rainstorm washed away the filthy streets of Rue Saint-Denis, black with no mud and red without blood, and the streets were filled with the grumbling of pedestrians and vendors who were anxious to take shelter from the rain.

A horse-drawn cab pulled up at the corner of rue Saint-Denis, and the coachman shivered with cold as he wiped his dripping face.

He first sighed at the palm of his hand, then turned his head and said to the guest: "Sir, you will be charged sixteen su for the fare." ”

The guest took a silver coin of one franc from his pocket and handed it over: "Extra, please have a cup of coffee, please wait for me a while, and then I will use the car." ”

The coachman took the silver coin and wiped it on his sleeve, nodded with a smile, and said, "Sir, I think you should have come to Paris for business from other provinces, right?" Why don't you just charter my car for 10 francs a day, and if you rent it for a week, I can give you a discount. ”

When Arthur heard this, he felt that it was indeed very affordable, and he turned to find a gold louis: "Then I'll buy it for two days first." ”

"Okay, then I'll wait here for you to come out."

The coachman took over the work, and his bad mood was much better when he was wet by the heavy rain.

He helped Arthur out of the carriage, and then found a small alley to keep out the rain and drove the carriage in.

Arthur held up the Fox umbrella he had brought from London, first looked up at the house number of the house on St. Denis Street, and quickly locked on his destination.

23 rue Saint-Denis, an apartment and the home of an old friend in Paris.

Arthur took out his pocket watch and glanced at it, it was not much different from the agreed time, and he thought that the friend should be waiting for him at home at this time.

And just as Arthur had guessed, he had just walked downstairs to the apartment when he heard a playful whistle overhead.

Heine leaned against the window and joked at him, "Should I call you Sir Arthur Hastings?" Or Mr. Arthur Sigma, the famous "British"? Well...... Perhaps, you would be best in Paris as the pianist Arthur Hastings. Parisians have no resistance to the handsome, talented young pianist, and look at Liszt, all the Parisians are rushing to pat him on the back. ”

Arthur heard something wrong in Heine's words, and he looked up and replied, "Heinrich, it sounds like you're not happy with Liszt?" But when I visited Frederick beforehand, he strongly recommended Mr. Liszt to me. He told me that Liszt was as passionate as I was about adapting Paganini's violin pieces for piano. ”

Heine scoffed at this and said, "I have no problem with Monsieur Chopin, he is a good man, and his piano skills are also first-class. But I disagree with him on matters related to Liszt, Arthur, Liszt is just a fraudster, his piano skills may be very good, but when it comes to talent, character and ability, he is not as good as you. ”

When Arthur heard Heine put on so many top hats in a row, he knew that things were not as simple as he thought.

It's easy to hurt this Jewish-German nationalist poet, but it's harder to get a word of praise from his mouth than to get it to heaven.

Liszt, a young pianist in Paris, probably had some kind of enmity with Heine, which aroused Heine's vitriolic nature.

However, judging from Heine's terminology, most of them only have some personal grievances, rather than any differences in political views, otherwise, Heine would have cursed Metternich a long time ago, scolding Liszt for German hemorrhoids and urinary incontinence.

Heine stood by the window and beckoned Arthur, "Come up first, it's raining out there very quickly, and if you stand a little longer, you'll catch an infectious disease." Although cholera is not as bad as it used to be, there are still a few sporadic cases in Paris, Arthur, you don't want to squat in the toilet all day, do you? ”

"Of course not." Arthur replied with a smile: "I'll get hemorrhoids if I keep squatting in the toilet, I'm still young, so I don't want to enjoy the same treatment as Metternich so early." ”

Heine laughed when he heard this: "Come on, I have prepared black tea for you, you can choose whether you want to add milk or sugar." ”

Arthur entered the apartment, bypassed the stairs, and soon found Heine's room.

The space in the room is not spacious, but it is still rich enough for a single-handed poet in his thirties like Heine.

At least the kitchen, bedroom and living room are all available, and although the furniture display is simple, there is no shortage of tea sets, bookshelves and wardrobes.

Heine walked out of the kitchen with a tea tray, and before he could say anything, he found Arthur pulling an envelope from his bosom and placing it on the table.

"This is the remaining remuneration that was not settled to you last year, and I have converted it into francs for you, a total of 35 gold louis, that is, 700 francs."

Heine didn't look at the envelope, but the smile in the corner of his eyes couldn't be hidden: "Arthur, you're really a godsend, how do you know I'm running out of money lately?" ”

"Huh?"

Arthur poured some milk into the teacup: "You're short on hand? Heinrich, I remember that before you returned home last year, the editorial office paid you 20 pounds, and in Liverpool I gave you another 100 pounds, which added up to 2,400 francs. But in a year, you spent so much money? ”

Heine picked up the teacup and leaned on the sofa with Erlang's legs crossed: "It's hard to make money, isn't it easy to spend money?" I used the money to pay off the 1,000 francs I owed, and then I ate and drank as I pleased, traveled around, and occasionally went to social events. You think, you have to buy a chicken in Paris for 145 s, and if you go to a restaurant and eat it, the price of a chicken will easily double. Going to the restaurant twice a day, even if I don't eat anything but chicken, it costs 3 francs a day, which is close to 1,100 francs a year, so in addition to paying the bill, I only use 1,400 francs a year, which is considered saving. ”

Arthur didn't refute him when he heard this, but took a sip of tea and nodded in agreement: "It's true, but if you want to live a richer life, you'll have to work harder to give us a feed." Your work has been well received in London, are you interested in continuing to work with British? ”

Arthur's words hit Heine's heart, and he immediately agreed: "Arthur, I have to say that 'The Englishman' is the most well-known literary magazine I have ever seen." In my opinion, Blackwood's status in Britain will not be long before you surpass it. You have insight, content, and self-cultivation, and you never procrastinate or pick and search in the settlement of remuneration, you know how valuable my work is, if Liszt's eyes were half as bright as yours, I would not be able to ......"

As soon as Heine's words came to this, Arthur immediately grabbed his words: "Liszt? Doesn't he play the piano? Could it be that this gentleman has recently been planning to venture into the field of literary criticism? So I wrote specifically to criticize your work. ”

Heine snorted disdainfully: "Arthur, don't compare Liszt with you, not every pianist can cross over to engage in literary creation." I say that Liszt is illiterate because I had previously written an essay touting him, "Paganini and Liszt", which was well received throughout Paris. You see, I took so much trouble to promote and make a name for him, so he should get me some remuneration if he said anything, right? ”

Arthur was stunned for a long time when he heard this: "Remuneration? ”

"That's right, I just asked him for some remuneration. Or you can call it hard work. ”

Heine said with an unhappy face: "After the article received a response, I sent him a bill of 1,000 francs. It's only 1,000 francs, which seems like a lot in terms of numbers, but if you convert it into pounds, it's only fifty pounds, and I made two fifty pounds on a trip to Liverpool with you. But Liszt turned a deaf ear to my letters, as if he had no idea that I had written for him. ”

Arthur Guri asked strangely, "Heinrich." ”

"What's wrong?"

"It's not appropriate to say that, but ...... If I'm not mistaken, are you a bit of a blackmail suspect by doing this? ”

"Blackmail? Never. Heine emphasized: "I have worked hard and achieved results, and I am not targeting Liszt alone. I had previously sung praises to Meyerbel's opera "Robert the Devil" and sent him a letter, and Mr. Meyerbel was quite generous in paying the bill for me. ”

"Then you're a repeat offender."

"What repeat offenders? Whatever is beautiful is true, and it does not have to be conclusive or reasonable. Arthur, I treat you so well today, don't talk too badly. ”

Arthur saw that he was so emotional, for fear that he would mention the matter of hemorrhoids again, so he had to reassure: "Well, Heinrich, there may be something else in this that I don't understand." And if your article really has such a good publicity effect, 1000 francs is not too expensive. ”

When Heine heard this, he immediately began to condemn Liszt: "Arthur, that's why I said that you are also a pianist, but your pattern and vision simply don't know how high you are than Liszt." Liszt was a villain, and he could not afford to be sought after by the Parisians. In fact, there are not so many people who like him at all, he is a fan who spends money to buy, just like Benjamin elected to Congressman. Liszt paid an audience member to throw bouquets of flowers on stage, and hired someone to faint at his recital. He is a mental contagion that makes the audience lose their minds. ”

Heine said this, and then replied hatefully: "Ever since Lisztbeth prostituted my article, I have been trying to reveal the filthy heart hidden behind his elegant exterior, but no one believed me. His playing seemed unremarkable to me, and how amazing it was that he made himself so powerful just by his appearance! This society can actually make a guy like Liszt famous, it is indeed sick. ”

When Arthur heard this, he finally understood why he was reluctant to mention Heine when he visited Chopin earlier.

As a mutual friend of Liszt and Heine, the introverted Chopin was sandwiched between the two, which was indeed a bit difficult to do.

With Heine's spicy and vicious style, once he made up his mind to attack someone, all kinds of unsightly words would be piled up together.

Not to mention that Chopin did not have strong social skills, even if he did, he would not be able to make Heine shake hands with Liszt in the face of Heine's hemorrhoidal attacks.

Heine scolded Liszt for a long time, and finally had a good time, only to find that Arthur had not squeaked for half a day.

Heine looked at Arthur's face, looked at it carefully for a long time, and suddenly slapped his palms and said in surprise: "Arthur, I almost forgot, you are also famous for adapting Paganini's "Bell", right?" Do you have any plans to hold a concert in Paris this time? ”

"Huh?" Arthur's eyelids jumped: "Heinrich, what are you thinking?" If you ask me to go to the streets to deal with hooligans, ten Liszt will not compare to me. But if it's about playing, Liszt only needs one hand to win. ”

Heine stood up and circled around Arthur, the more he looked at it, the more he felt that Arthur could slap Liszt in the face for him: "Arthur, Liszt is not as strong as you think, and the biggest reason why he is famous in Paris is his face, not his playing." The same goes for Mr. Chopin, of course, I don't mean to belittle Mr. Chopin, I just want to prove that there is no way to be crazy about not being handsome and being able to play the piano.

Liszt's greatest contribution to the piano was that he murdered the piano, and his playing was all skill, without any emotion. But you're different, Arthur, my friend, you're a true piano master, with a handsome face, an elegant temperament, a jazz title, and I'll write poetry for you. Damn it! I should have thought that you came to Paris in the dark, and fate chose you to expose the false name of Liszt and his ilk. ”

(End of chapter)