who received it, was named the "Philtrariata."

Occasionally it happened that the "Philtrariums" had no effect, or even one opposite to

that which was intended.*

**

**

*

But it was not her knowledge of sorcery that induced me to visit the woman from Goch, for though I always kept up her acquaintance, when I was sixteen years of age I used to go to her house more frequently than I had done before, attracted by a magic that was stronger than that of all the bombastic Latin philtraria. She had a niece, who, like myself, was not more than sixteen, but who had grown up suddenly, and whose tall and slender form made her appear much older. On account of her sudden growth she also looked rather thin. She had the small waist which we find among the quadroons of the West Indies, and as she wore no corset and not a dozen petticoats, she resembled with her tightly-clinging dress a statue in wet garment. No marble statue, however, could compete with her in

* We have omitted here a passage which we thought had better remain untranslated.

beauty, and every one of her movements revealed the rhythm of her body, I might even say, the music of her soul. None of the daughters of Niobe had a more finely-cut face. Its color, just as that of her skin in general, was of a changing white. Her great deep-dark eyes looked as if they had just pronounced a riddle and were waiting quietly for an answer, while the mouth with its stronglycurved bow and oblong teeth, white as ivory, seemed to say: You are stupid and never will be able to guess it.

Her hair was red, perfectly blood-red. It fell over her shoulders in long locks which she could tie together under her chin. But this made her appear as if some one had cut her throat, and the blood was welling forth from it in red streams.

The voice of Josepha or of "red Sefchen," as the beautiful niece of the woman from Goch was called, was not exactly sonorous, and occasionally her speech sounded as if it came from a distance, being almost inaudible; when she was excited, however, sounds of the purest metallic tone broke forth which greatly affected me, especially because Josepha's voice resembled so much my

own.

Often, when she spoke, I was startled, thinking I heard myself, and her song also recalled to me dreams in which I have heard myself singing in the same manner in which she sang.

She knew a good many old popular songs, and it was perhaps she who awakened in me a love for this kind of poetry; there is certainly no doubt that she had a great influence upon the nascent poet, SO that my first poems, the "Traumbilder" (Dream-Pictures), which I soon afterwards wrote, have a kind of gloomy coloring and are full of cruelty, just like that attachment to her, which threw its blood-red shadows over my young life and thoughts.*

* In the preface to the French edition of his poems (June 1855), Heine remarks that the first four poems of his "Book of Songs,” are among his earliest literary productions, and were composed at the same time as the ballad of the "Two Grenadiers." In order that the reader may form an idea of the remarkable beauty of the "Dream-Pictures," we give here, in Leland's translation, the one already alluded to in our introductory essay, on the "Life and Works of Heinrich Heine" (p. 37):

A dream right strange yet dread to see,
Delighted once, yet frightened me;
E'en yet I see its grisly forms,

E'en yet my heart still heaves with storms.

Among the songs which Josepha sang, there

was a popular ballad which she had learned from

There rose a garden very fair,

And I was glad to wander there;
There looked upon me pleasant flowers,
They gave me hope of golden hours.

There birds were chirping in the grove
Full many a charming song of love;
The red sun shot a golden ray
On all the flowers in colors gay.

Sweet perfumes stole among the trees,
And light and loving blew the breeze,
And all was gleaming, all was glad,
And all for me in splendor clad.

And in this lovely flower-land
I saw a marble fountain stand;
And washing linen in the stream,
I saw a maiden in my dream.

Sweet cheeks, mild eyes, with glances faint,
The blonde-haired picture of a saint;
And as I looked, the maid seemed grown
So strange, and yet of old well known.

And as she urged her task along,
The maiden sung an elvish song:
"Water, water, run and shine!
Wash my linen fair and fine !"

Then slowly to her side I drew,
And said, "O maiden, tell me true,

Fair as the fairies, sweet and bright,

For whom is washed this garment white?"

the old woman Zippel, and which the latter had, during my childhood, also sung often to me, so

"Be ready soon!" she said aloud,

"It is for you I wash the shroud";

And scarce her words were spoken through,
When forth like foam the vision flew.

And yet enchanted still I stood,

Deep in a dark and gloomy wood;

The trees to heaven their branches raised
And I stood thinking, all amazed.

And hark! a heavy echo rose,

As though some axe struck distant blows.
In haste through brake and bush I roam,
And then into a clearing come.

And central in the verdant space

A mighty oak had found a place;
And see! the maiden strange and fair
Was hewing with a hatchet there!

Blow fell on blow; between each stroke,
She sang her song to axe and oak:

"Iron mine, iron shine!

Cut the oaken coffer fine!"

Then slowly to her side I drew,
And said, "I pray you tell me true,
Young maiden strange, and wondrous fair,
For whom is meant the coffer there?"

"Short time is left," she quickly spoke,
"I cut your coffin from this oak";
And scarce her words were spoken through,
When forth like foam the vision flew.