drove　next　to　the　old　court　garden　beside　the　Rhine　where　the　poet　says
  he　used　to　play　with　the　little　Veronika；　and　probably　did　not。　　At　any
  rate；　the　garden　is　gone；　the　Schloss　was　burned　down　long　ago；　and
  nothing　remains　but　a　detached　tower　in　which　the　good　Elector　Jan
  Wilhelm；　of　Heine's　time；　amused　himself　with　his　many　mechanical
  inventions。　　The　tower　seemed　to　be　in　process　of　demolition；　but　an
  intelligent　workman　who　came　down　out　of　it；　was　interested　in　the
  strangers'　curiosity；　and　directed　them　to　a　place　behind　the　Historical
  Museum　where　they　could　find　a　bit　of　the　old　garden。　　It　consisted　of
  two　or　three　low　trees；　and　under　them　the　statue　of　the　Elector　by　which
  Heine　sat　with　the　little　Veronika；　if　he　really　did。　　Afresh　gale
  blowing　through　the　trees　stirred　the　bushes　that　backed　the　statue；　but
  not　the　laurel　wreathing　the　Elector's　head；　and　meeting　in　a　neat　point
  over　his　forehead。　　The　laurel　wreath　is　stone；　like　the　rest　of　the
  Elector；　who　stands　there　smirking　in　marble　ermine　and　armor；　and
  resting　his　baton　on　the　nose　of　a　very　small　lion；　who；　in　the
  exigencies　of　foreshortening；　obligingly　goes　to　nothing　but　a　tail　under
  the　Elector's　robe。
  This　was　a　prince　who　loved　himself　in　effigy　so　much　that　he　raised　an
  equestrian　statue　to　his　own　renown　in　the　market…place；　though　he
  modestly　refused　the　credit　of　it；　and　ascribed　its　erection　to　the
  affection　of　his　subjects。　　You　see　him　therein　a　full…bottomed　wig；
  mounted　on　a　rampant　charger　with　a　tail　as　big　round　as　a　barrel；　and
  heavy　enough　to　keep　him　from　coming　down　on　his　fore　legs　as　long　as　he
  likes　to　hold　them　up。　　It　was　to　this　horse's　back　that　Heine　clambered
  when　a　small　boy；　to　see　the　French　take　formal　possession　of　Dusseldorf；
  and　he　clung　to　the　waist　of　the　bronze　Elector；　who　had　just　abdicated；
  while　the　burgomaster　made　a　long　speech；　from　the　balcony　of　the
  Rathhaus；　and　the　Electoral　arms　were　taken　down　from　its　doorway。
  The　Rathhaus　is　a　salad…dressing　of　German　gothic　and　French　rococo　as　to
  its　architectural　style；　and　is　charming　in　its　way；　but　the　Marches　were
  in　the　market…place　for　the　sake　of　that　moment　of　Heine's　boyhood。　　They
  felt　that　he　might　have　been　the　boy　who　stopped　as　he　ran　before　them；
  and　smacked　the　stomach　of　a　large　pumpkin　lying　at　the　feet　of　an　old
  market…woman；　and　then　dashed　away　before　she　could　frame　a　protest
  against　the　indignity。　　From　this　incident　they　philosophized　that　the
  boys　of　Dusseldorf　are　as　mischievous　at　the　end　of　the　century　as　they
  were　at　the　beginning；　and　they　felt　the　fascination　that　such　a
  bounteous；　unkempt　old　marketplace　must　have　for　the　boys　of　any　period。
  There　were　magnificent　vegetables　of　all　sorts　in　it；　and　if　the　fruits
  were　meagre　that　was　the　fault　of　the　rainy　summer；　perhaps。　　The　market…
  place　was　very　dirty；　and　so　was　the　narrow　street　leading　down　from　it
  to　the　Rhine；　which　ran　swift　as　a　mountain　torrent　along　a　slatternly
  quay。　　A　bridge　of　boats　crossing　the　stream　shook　in　the　rapid　current；
  and　a　long　procession　of　market　carts　passed　slowly　over；　while　a　cluster
  of　scows　waited　in　picturesque　patience　for　the　draw　to　open。
  They　saw　what　a　beautiful　town　that　was　for　a　boy　to　grow　up　in；　and　how
  many　privileges　it　offered；　how　many　dangers；　how　many　chances　for
  hairbreadth　escapes。　　They　chose　that　Heine　must　often　have　rushed
  shrieking　joyfully　down　that　foul　alley　to　the　Rhine　with　other　boys；　and
  they　easily　found　a　leaf…strewn　stretch　of　the　sluggish　Dussel；　in　the
  Public　Garden；　where　his　playmate；　the　little　Wilhelm；　lost　his　life　and
  saved　the　kitten's。　　They　were　not　so　sure　of　the　avenue　through　which
  the　poet　saw　the　Emperor　Napoleon　come　riding　on　his　small　white　horse
  when　he　took　possession　of　the　Elector's　dominions。　　But　if　it　was　that
  where　the　statue　of　the　Kaiser　Wilhelm　I。　comes　riding　on　a　horse　led　by
  two　Victories；　both　poet　and　hero　are　avenged　there　on　the　accomplished
  fact。　　Defeated　and　humiliated　France　triumphs　in　the　badness　of　that
  foolish　denkmal　（one　of　the　worst　in　all　denkmal…ridden　Germany）；　and　the
  memory　of　the　singer　whom　the　Hohenzollern　family　pride　forbids　honor　in
  his　native　place；　is　immortal　in　its　presence。
  On　the　way　back　to　their　hotel；　March　made　some　reflections　upon　the　open
  neglect；　throughout　Germany；　of　the　greatest　German　lyrist；　by　which　the
  poet　might　have　profited　if　he　had　been　present。　　He　contended　that　it
  was　not　altogether　an　effect　of　Hohenzollern　pride；　which　could　not
  suffer　a　joke　or　two　from　the　arch…humorist；　but　that　Heine　had　said
  things　of　Germany　herself　which　Germans　might　well　have　found
  unpardonable。　　He　concluded　that　it　would　not　do　to　be　perfectly　frank
  with　one's　own　country。　　Though；　to　be　sure；　there　would　always　be　the
  question　whether　the　Jew…born　Heine　had　even　a　step…fatherland　in　the
  Germany　he　loved　so　tenderly　and　mocked　so　pitilessly。　　He　had　to　own
  that　if　he　were　a　negro　poet　he　would　not　feel　bound　to　measure　terms　in
  speaking　of　America；　and　he　would　not　feel　that　his　fame　was　in　her
  keeping。
  Upon　the　whole　he　blamed　Heine　less　than　Germany　and　he　accused　her　of
  taking　a　shabby　revenge；　in　trying　to　forget　him；　in　the　heat　of　his
  resentment　that　there　should　be　no　record　of　Heine　in　the　city　where　he
  was　born；　March　came　near　ignoring　himself　the　fact　that　the　poet
  Freiligrath　was　also　born　there。　　As　for　the　famous　Dusseldorf　school　of
  painting；　which　once　filled　the　world　with　the　worst　art；　he　rejoiced
  that　it　was　now　so　dead；　and　he　grudged　the　glance　which　the　beauty　of
  the　new　Art　Academy　extorted　from　him。　　It　is　in　the　French　taste；　and　is
  so　far　a　monument　to　the　continuance　in　one　sort　of　that　French
  supremacy；　of　which　in　another　sort　another　denkmal　celebrates　the
  overthrow。　　Dusseldorf　is　not　content　with　the　denkmal　of　the　Kaiser　on
  horseback；　with　the　two　Victories　for　grooms；　there　is　a　second；　which
  the　Marches　found　when　they　strolled　out　again　late　in　the　afternoon。　　It
  is　in　the　lovely　park　which　lies　in　the　heart　of　the　city；　and　they　felt
  in　its　presence　the　only　emotion　of　sympathy　which　the　many　patriotic
  monuments　of　Germany　awakened　in　them。　　It　had　dignity　and　repose；　which
  these　never　had　elsewhere；　but　it　was　perhaps　not　so　much　for　the　dying
  warrior　and　the　pitying　lion　of　the　sculpture　that　their　hearts　were
  moved　as　for　the　gentle　and　mournful　humanity　of　the　inscription；　which
  dropped　into　equivalent　English　verse　in　March's　note…book：
  Fame　was　enough　for　the　Victors；　and　glory　and　verdurous　laurel；
  Tears　by　their　mothers　wept　founded　this　image　of　stone。
  To　this　they　could　forgive　the　vaunting　record；　on　the　reverse；　of　the
  German　soldiers　who　died　heroes　in　the　war　with　France；　the　war　with
  Austria；　and　even　the　war　with　poor　little　Denmark！
  The　morning　had　been　bright　and　warm；　and　it　was　just　that　the　afternoon
  should　be　dim　and　cold；　with　a　pale　sun　looking　through　a　September　mist；
  which　seemed　to　deepen　the　seclusion　and　silence　of　the　forest　reaches；
  for　the　park　was　really　a　forest　of　the　German　sort；　as　parks　are　apt　to
  be　in　Germany。　　But　it　was　beautiful；　and　they　strayed　through　it；　and
  sometimes　sat　down　on　the　benches　in　its　damp　shadows；　and　said　how　much
  seemed　to　be　done　in　Germany　for　the　people's　comfort　and　pleasure。　　In
  what　was　their　own　explicitly；　as　well　as　what　was　tacitly　theirs；　they
  were　not　so　restricted　as　we　were　at　home；　and　especially　the　children
  seemed　made　fondly　and　lovingly　free　of　all　public　things。　　The　Marches
  met　troops　of　them　in　the　forest；　as　they　strolled　slowly　back　by　the
  winding　Dussel　to　the　gardened　avenue　leading　to　the　park；　and　they　found
  them　everywhere　gay　and　joyful。　　But　their　elders　seemed　subdued；　and
  were　silent。　　The　strangers　heard　no　sound　of　laughter　in　the　streets　of
  Dusseldorf；　and　they　saw　no　smiling　except　on　the　part　of　a　very　old
  couple；　whose　meeting　they　witnessed　and　who　grinned　and　cackled　at　each
  other　like　two　children　as　they　shook　hands。　　Perhaps　they　were　indeed
  children　of　that　sad　second　childhood　which　one　would　rather　not　blossom
  back　into。
  In　America；　life　is　yet　a　joke　with　us；　even　when　it　is　grotesque　and
  shameful；　as　it　so　often　is；　for　we　think　we　can　make　it　right　when　we
  choose。　　But　there　is　no　joking　in　Germany；　between　the　first　and　second
  childhoods；　unless　behind　closed　doors。　　Even　there；　people　do　not　joke
  above　their　breath　about　kings　and　emperors。　　If　they　joke　about　them　in
  print；　they　take　out　their　laugh　in　jail；　for　the　press　laws　are　severely
  enforced；　and　the　prisons　are　full　of　able　editors；　serious　as　well　as
  comic。　　Lese…majesty　is　a　crime　that　searches　sinners　out　in　every　walk
  of　life；　and　it　is　said　that　in　family　jars　a　husband　sometimes　has　the
  last　word　of　his　wife　by　accusing　her　of　blaspheming　the　sovereign；　and
  so　having　her　silenced　for　three　months　at　least　behind　penitential　bars。
  〃Think；〃　said　March；　〃how　simply　I　could　adjust　any　differences　of
  opinion　between　us　in　Dusseldorf。〃
  〃Don't！〃　his　wife　implored　with　a　burst　of　feeling　which　surprised　him。
  〃I　want　to　go　home！〃
  They　had　been　talking　over　their　day；　and　planni