Poor Kleist. Though I got to say, I feel even sorrier for his sister Ulrike, because first your knock yourself over help your little brother throughout his life, including a stint of personally saving him from French imprisonment, and otherwise dedicate your life to him, then he writes to your mutual cousin in his last but one letter before offing himself that you were too cold, and then he writes one last letter to you saying "sorry about that bit in the letter to our cousin where I essentially blamed you for my impending suicide , I didn't mean it, truth is you did all you could und das mir auf Erden nicht mehr zu helfen war, farewell! If he hadn't tragically killed himself, you'd want to slap him with a cold fish from here to eternity for that. Well, I would.

(I still greatly enjoyed Löhr getting him laid by Humboldt in his novel, though.)

On to lighter things, I do love those letters and applaud your Heinrich salutation. :) Or, as our fellow fan Fontane put it about Heinrich in the Wanderungen: wenn er in seinen Antworten auch nicht dem Richard Löwenherz glich, der mit seinem Schwert ein zolldickes Eisen zerhieb, so glich er doch dem Saladin, der mit seiner Halbmondklinge das in die Luft geworfene Seidentuch im Niederfallen durchschnitt.