Chapter 447: When We Go to the Paris Concert Hall, We Should Ask Sir Hastings to Come Out

For Heinrich Heine, reality was just a coin, and he would conceal or reveal his truth. He has never been easy to understand, but he has many faces and is permeable.

Admirers say he is a passionate and sexual wanderer, conservatives attack him as paranoid, aggressive and inhumane, while leftists portray him as a passionate revolutionary idol.

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

——Fritz Raddatz, "The Biography of Heinrich Heine"

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

As one of the oldest streets in Paris, Rue Saint-Denis retains many traces of history.

This street is as lively as ever, with horse-drawn carriages, pedestrians, vendors, taverns and cafes, making it as noisy as it was hundreds of years ago.

But if you look carefully, you can notice the 'new wounds' that have not yet scabbed over on both sides of the street.

There are still a small number of street lights on the roadside that have not been completely repaired. Minor wounds can be seen on the glass of some houses, and many gray bullet marks can even be seen on the walls of the houses.

Yes, in June last year, this place was one of the main battlefields of the uprising. Earlier, cholera also plundered this place along with the smelly wind from the wet market.

All the residents of Rue Saint-Denis know how unforgettable those nights they remembered last year were.

There were barricades everywhere, from the street entrance to the end of the street, the street lights on the entire street were broken, and the windows of all the houses were closed tightly. After dark, all the lighted windows were hit with bullets. The eerie sight overwhelmed everything. Everything turned black, no matter the rows of windows, the uneven chimneys and roofs, or the muddy roads, everything was plunged into darkness.

Around this desolate, disturbing, maze-like street, you can still see a few sparse lights. Through the light, you can vaguely see the cold light of sabers and bayonets flashing, hear the wheels of cannon carts rolling silently, and see the regiment expanding silently like a colony of ants, slowly approaching the Rue Saint-Denis. .

They were like a pair of horrifying, slowly tightening nooses, which finally strangled the throats of every rioter, bulging their eyes, sticking out their tongues and drowning out the sounds, and the darkness of the night was Their shroud.

A well-timed rainstorm washed away the filthy streets of Rue Saint-Denis. They were no longer black with mud and red with no blood. The streets were filled with the complaints of pedestrians and vendors eager to take shelter from the rain.

A taxi stopped at the corner of Rue Saint-Denis. The driver wiped his dripping face and shivered from the cold.

He first breathed into the palm of his hand, then turned to the guest and said: "Sir, I charge you sixteen sous for the fare."

The guest took out a one-franc silver coin from his pocket and handed it over: "For the extra money, I'll treat you to a cup of coffee. Please wait for me for a while. I'll need to use the car later."

The coachman took the silver coin and wiped it with his sleeve, nodded with a smile and said: "Sir, I think you come to Paris from another province for business, right? Why don't you just rent my car? It only costs 10 francs a day. If you rent it for a week, , I can also give you a discount.”

When Arthur heard this, he felt that it was indeed a good deal. He then took out another gold Louis: "Then I'll cover it for two days first."

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

The coachman took over the big job, and his bad mood, which was dampened by the heavy rain, improved a lot.

He helped Arthur get out of the car, then found a small alley that could protect him from the rain and drove the carriage in.

Arthur held up the Fox umbrella he brought from London, first looked up at the house numbers of the houses on Saint-Denis Street, and quickly locked his destination.

No. 23, Rue Saint-Denis, is an apartment and the place where an old friend lives in Paris.

Arthur took out his pocket watch and took a look. It was not much different from the agreed time. He thought that his friend should be waiting for him at home.

And the fact was just as Arthur guessed. He had just walked downstairs to the apartment when he heard a joking whistle above his head.

Heine leaned against the window and joked at him: "Should I call you Sir Arthur Hastings? Or Mr. Arthur Sigmar, the famous novelist of "The Englishman"? Well... maybe, It would be best for you to appear in Paris as pianist Arthur Hastings. Parisians are irresistible to handsome and talented young pianists. Look at Liszt, all Parisians are rushing to take pictures. His flattery.”

Arthur heard something wrong in Heine's words. He raised his head and replied: "Heinrich, it sounds like you are very dissatisfied with Liszt? But when I visited Frederick before, he was He highly recommended Mr. Liszt to me. He told me that Liszt shared my passion for transcribing Paganini's violin music for piano."

Heine sneered at this and said: "I have no objection to Mr. Chopin. He is a good person and his piano skills are also first-rate. But I have a disagreement with him on issues related to Liszt. Arthur, Liszt Te is just a swindler. 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 giving him so many high hats in a row, he knew that things were definitely not as simple as he thought.

It's easy to discredit this Jewish-German nationalist poet, but it's even harder to get a word of praise out of his mouth.

Liszt, the young pianist in Paris, probably had some serious enmity with Heine, which aroused Heine's acrimonious nature.

However, judging from Heine's words, they probably just had some personal grudges, rather than any differences in political views. Otherwise, Heine would have probably scolded Liszt for having German hemorrhoids and accompanying them, just like he cursed Metternich. Incontinence of urine.

Heine stood by the window and called to Arthur: "Come up first. It's raining hard outside. If you stand for a little longer, you will catch an infectious disease. Although cholera is not as serious as before, in Paris There are still a few sporadic cases occasionally found, Arthur, you don’t want to squat in the toilet all day long, right?”

"Of course not." Arthur replied with a smile: "You will get hemorrhoids if you squat on the toilet all the time. I am still young, so I don't want to enjoy the same treatment as Metternich so early."

Heine laughed and said, "Come up here, I've prepared black tea for you. You can choose whether to add milk or sugar."

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

The space in the house is not spacious, but it is still wealthy enough for a bachelor poet in his thirties like Heine.

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

Heine walked out of the kitchen with a tea tray. Before he could speak, he found Arthur taking an envelope out of his arms and placing it on the table.

"This is the remaining royalties that were not settled for you last year. I have converted them into francs for you. The total is 35 gold louis, which is 700 francs."

Heine didn't look at the envelope, but he couldn't hide the smile in the corner of his eyes: "Arthur, you are really giving me help in a timely manner. How did you know that I am in a tight financial position recently?"

"Um?"

Arthur poured some milk into the tea cup to adjust: "Are you short of money? Heinrich, I remember that before you returned to China last year, the editorial department paid you 20 pounds in remuneration, and I shared another 100 pounds in Liverpool. You, this adds up to 2,400 francs, but you spent all this money in one year?"

Heine picked up the tea cup and leaned on the sofa with his legs crossed: "It's hard to make money, but isn't it easy to spend it? I used the money to pay off a debt of 1,000 francs, and then I ate, drank, and traveled around. It's useless for occasional social activities. Think about it, buying a chicken in Paris costs fourteen or five sous. If you go to a restaurant, the price of a chicken will easily be doubled every day. Even if you eat nothing but chicken in a restaurant, you will have to spend 3 francs a day, which is close to 1,100 francs a year. Calculating it this way, in addition to paying off the debt, I only used 1,400 francs a year, which is still a saving. "

Arthur did not refute him when he heard this, but took a sip of tea and nodded in agreement: "It is indeed saving, but Heinrich, if you want to be richer, you have to work harder to provide us with articles. "Your work has been well received in London. Are you interested in continuing to work with "British"?"

Arthur's words played into Heine's mind, and he immediately agreed: "Arthur, I have to say that "The Englishman" is the most knowledgeable literary magazine I have ever seen. In my opinion, "Blackwood" Your status in Britain will soon be surpassed by you. You are insightful, content, and cultivated, and you never procrastinate or fuss over the payment of royalties. You know how valuable my works are. , if Liszt’s eyes were half as bright as yours, I wouldn’t be able to..."

As soon as Heine said this, Arthur immediately grabbed his words: "Liszt? Isn't he a piano player? Is this gentleman planning to enter the field of literary criticism recently? So he wrote a special article to criticize your works. ”

Heine snorted disdainfully: "Arthur, don't compare Liszt to you. Not every pianist can cross-border literary creation. I said Liszt was ignorant because I used to specialize in literary creation. I wrote an article praising him, "Paganini and Liszt", and this article received unanimous praise throughout Paris. You see, I worked so hard to promote his reputation, so he should give it to me anyway. How about some royalties?"

Arthur was stunned for a long time after hearing this: "Remuneration?"

"Yes, I just asked him for some royalties. Or you can call it hard work."

Heine said with an unhappy face: "After the response to that article, I sent him a bill of 1,000 francs. It's only 1,000 francs. From a numerical point of view, this seems to be a lot, but if converted into pounds , it’s only fifty pounds, and you and I both made two fifty pounds for a trip to Liverpool, but Liszt turned a deaf ear to my letter, as if he didn’t even know that I wrote an article for him.”

Arthur asked curiously: "Heinrich."

"What's wrong."

"Although it's inappropriate to say this, but...if I understand correctly, does this sound a bit like blackmail?"

"Blackmail? Absolutely nothing." Heine emphasized: "I have worked hard and achieved results, and I am not targeting Liszt alone. I also sang praises for Meyerbeer's opera "Robert the Devil" before. , I also sent him a letter, and Mr. Meyerbeer generously paid the bill for me.”

"Then you are a repeat offender."

"What kind of habitual offender? Whatever is beautiful, it is true. It does not have to be conclusive or reasonable. Arthur, I am entertaining you today, so don't speak too harshly."

Seeing that he was so excited, Arthur was afraid that he would mention the hemorrhoids again, so he could only comfort him: "Okay, Heinrich, there may be some inside information that I don't know about. And if your article really has any With such a good publicity effect, 1,000 francs is not 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 style and vision are simply higher than Liszt. Liszt is just a pianist." A villain, he can't afford the Parisians' admiration for him. In fact, not many people like him. He is a fan whom he paid to elect, just like Liszt paid the audience to throw bouquets of flowers on the stage. , hired people to faint at his concerts. He was a mental contagion that made the audience lose their minds.”

When Heine said this, he added bitterly: "Ever since Liszt bought my article for free, I have been working hard to reveal the dirty heart hidden under his elegant appearance, but no one believes me. His playing is mediocre in my opinion. He only relies on the influence of appearance to make himself so powerful. How surprising that this society can make a guy like Liszt famous. It is indeed sick. "

After hearing this, Arthur finally understood why Chopin was reluctant to mention Heine when he visited him earlier.

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

With Heine's pungent and vicious writing style, once he made up his mind to attack someone, he would inevitably use all kinds of offensive words.

Not to mention that Chopin did not have strong social skills. Even if he had this ability, he would not be able to make Heine and Liszt shake hands and make peace in the face of Heine's continuous hemorrhoid attacks.

Heine scolded Liszt for a long time, and finally found out that Arthur had not said a word for a long time.

Heine looked at Arthur's face, studied it carefully for a long time, then suddenly clapped his hands and said in surprise: "Arthur, I almost forgot, you are also famous for your adaptation of Paganini's "The Bell", right? ? Do you have any plans to hold a concert this time in Paris? "

"Huh?" Arthur's eyelids twitched: "Heinrich, what are you planning? If you let me go to the streets to deal with gangsters, ten Liszts will not be able to compare with me. But when it comes to playing, Liszt I only need one hand to win.”

Heine stood up and walked around Arthur. The more he looked, the more he felt that Arthur could slap Liszt in the face for him: "Arthur, Liszt is not as powerful as you think. He The biggest reason for being 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 you can’t do anything without being handsome and just being able to play the piano. People are crazy about it.

Liszt's greatest contribution to the piano was that he murdered the piano. His playing was all about technique and there was no emotion at all. But you are different, Arthur, my friend, you are the real piano master, with a handsome face, elegant temperament, and the title of knight, and I will also write poems for you to become famous. Damn it! I should have thought a long time ago that you came to Paris somehow because fate chose you to expose the false reputation of Liszt and others. "