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ANTHOLOGIA GERMANICA-NO. XIV.

GELLERT'S TALES AND FABLES.*

THE world is about to come to an end. Here is a book from the Leipsic press, -printed legibly-on paper in which hairs and straws do not usurp the place of every third line of types. Have the recent improvements made in their typography by the Calmuc Tartars and the Kirghisians of the Russian Steppes begun to awaken the jealousy of Saxony? Or is there a conspiracy to smash the glass-manufactories by enabling all classes to read without spectacles? Whatever be the cause, we rejoice in the effect, and accordingly receive this first earnest of a willingness in our German friends to send us something in the shape of books which we shall not be under the necessity of sending to the chandler's shop-we

receive this, we say, as thankfully as if we had got it for nothing.

Our first surprise being over, let us inspect the phenomenon a little more nearly. Gellert's Fabeln und Erzählungen. Very good. Gellert's was the hand to spin out such articles. "Like a ropemaker's were his ways,

For still one line upon another

He formed; and, like his hempen brother, Kept going backward all his days." But the retrograde progression of our fabulist was wholly as to his corporeal man. He laboured under perpetual hypochondriacism—

"And Melancholy marked him for her own."

From nineteen to fifty-fourt

"that surly spirit Did bake his blood, and make it thick and heavy."

* C. F. Gellert's sämmtliche Fabeln und Erzählungen, in drei Büchern. Vignetten von G. Osterwald. Leipzig; in der Hahnschen Verlagsbuchhandlung; 1838.

† As a slight biographical notice of Gellert may be acceptable, we subjoin the following from Hirsching's Memoiren.

"Christian Feargod Gellert was born in 1715, near Freyberg, in Saxony. In 1734 he studied theology at Leipsic, and at the end of four years returned home and commenced preaching; but his constitutional bashfulness and cautiousness prevented him from attaining success as an orator. Accordingly, in 1739 he accepted the situation of preceptor to a young gentleman living near Dresden, and soon afterwards to a nephew of his own, whom he accompanied to Leipsic in 1741. About this period his literary tastes began to be developed; and in 1742 he produced his first work, Belustigungen des Verstandes und Witzes, The Recreations of Reason and Wit, which procured him a considerable share of notice. His bad state of health and the labour which his sermons cost him now induced him to relinquish his ecclesiastical views and devote himself exclusively to the instruction of youth. In 1744 he took the degree of Master of Arts, and in 1745 appeared the first volume of his Fables, a few plays and Das Leben der Swedischen Gräfinn, The History of a Swedish Countess, the first readable work in the shape of a prose tale that Germany had produced. He now formed an intimacy with all the literary characters of the day, and among others with Klopstock, who has made honorable mention of him in one of his earliest odes. [The passage here alluded to is this—

Ach! in schweigender Nacht erblickt 'ich die offenen Gräber,
Und der unsterblichen Schaar.

Wenn mir nicht mehr das Auge des zärtlichen GISEKE lächelt,
Wenn, von dem Lande fern,

Unser redlicher CRAMER verwes't; wenn GARTNER, wenn RABNER
Nicht sokratisch mehr spricht,

Wenn in des edelmüthigen GELLERT harmonischem Leben

Jede Saite verstummt.

Oh! in the depths of the night 1 saw the graves laid bare!
Around me thronged the Immortal Band!

O, woe! when GISECKE's eye no longer its lustre shall wear!
When upright CRAMER, lost to our land,

Shall moulder in dust! when the words that GARTNER and RABNER have spoken
Shall only be echoed through years in distance!

He saw about him, within the narrow they shall have immediately—in the precincts of his chamber, Queen's English.

"more (blue) devils than vast hell can hold ;" and when he went abroad

"the sheeted Dead

Did squeak and gibber in the German streets." He was forced-thrust-carted-as Maginn would say, "pitchforked" into a Professor's chair in Leipsic-having previously quitted the pulpit because his congregation, who should have merely looked up to him, were accustomed to look up at him also. Yet what matter! A modest poet may be stared out of countenance and be compelled to profess philosophy malgré lui-but such a man will never, even in a Professor's chair,

*"Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster," for any length of time. Gellert was born to evoke, as Schiller hath it,

"Schöne Wesen aus dem Fabelland,†

And here they be,

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Reader! carry back your imagination a century. Yet, stay; that is going too fast and far. Carry it back ninety-two years. You will find your.

self then, if our deduction be correct, (we mean the deduction of 92 from 1839) somewhere about 1747. Well: at that period the only writer in Germany who was German to the backbone, and disdained stooping to pick up the crumbs that fell from the literary tables of other nations, was Clockstop we beg pardon; our pen is bad Klopstock. All his contemporaries wore Anglican masks or Gallican-or, to speak intelligibly, were Bodmerians or Gottschedians; and foremost among the Gottschedians stood Gellert. At every distinguished small tea-party in Leipsic

"he beat

The kettle drum with curious heat" on behalf of Boileau and Lafontainerather appropriate names, by the by, on the occasion. Lafontaine was his especial model; and what the Frenchman was from the direct impulses of his own genius, the German determined to become by force of imitation. Gellert had some invention and a fair knowledge of arithmetic: his invention considerably assisted him in inventing; while his arithmetic helped him to count the feet in his verses. The result

When every sweetly-sounding chord shall be ruefully broken
In the noble GELLERT'S harmonious existence !]

Henceforward the reputation of Gellert continued progressively increasing, but, alas! at the expense of his health and tranquillity. He was attacked with incurable hypochondriasis; a disease which had first invaded his constitution in early youth; and in 1751 he was with difficulty prevailed on to accept the Professorship of Moral Philosophy in the College of Leipsic, though a liberal salary was attached to it. Notwithstanding his constant ill-health he still continued his exertions to entertain and edify the reading public, until death at length in the year 1769 put a period to his labours and sufferings. His loss was deeply and universally lamented, for he had rendered himself in some measure the instructor of the nation. Every person capable of handling a pen immediately turned writer in his praise. His likeness was cast in gypsum and moulded in wax; it was engraved on copper and represented in all forms of painting. A century will perhaps elapse, says Kutner, before we have another poet capable of exciting the love and admiration of his contemporaries in so eminent a degree as Gellert; and of exercising so powerful an influence on the taste and way of thinking of all ranks. Though not a genius of the first order, he was an agreeable and versatile writer; the poet of religion and virtue, and an able reformer of public morals. His private character also was one of the highest worth. He was humane, benevolent and tolerant of the infirmities of others. Timidity rendered him exceedingly modest. No literary man was ever readier to allow the superior merit of other writers. He set the greatest value on talents which he himself did not possess he preferred learning to genius. As long as the Germans shall understand their present language will the works of Gellert be read, and his character will be honored while virtue is known and respected.'

"Fair creations from the Land of Fable."

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was a book rivalling his master's, and universally admired. It is written in German," said the Great Frederick, "and yet it can be read!" Stranger still, it was translated-but alas! into Hebrew. Before last year the book, we believe, never came to Ireland. Here, however, it now lies before us; and we hail it as an old friend,-nay, as better than a friend, because it lies before us, while a friend commonly lies

behind our back. We must hasten to show it up. Not that we can pretend to Lafontainize: our originality is too mighty for us and refuses to be burked: we must therefore have carte blanche to out-and-out it, i. e. to perform our task in a mode characteristic of Ourself. And as we reckon that the first care of every man should be Number One, we will commence with that, an't please the Public.

No. I.

Make the Lion the Painter.

One day, some centuries back, in old Berlin,
A picture was exhibited, wherein,

As Vander Voorst and Wynckelhooff inform us,
A man was getting himself laurel-crowned
For having hurled a lion of enormous

Bulk and strength and stature to the ground.
This masterpiece assembled a vast crowd,
And all the lookers on of course were proud
That one man could accomplish such a feat,
And boasted loudly of it. By-and-by,
However, a great Lion sauntered down the street,
And, glancing at the picture with an eye
Of cool contempt, and then at the spectators,
Silenced at once the silly knot of praters.
Quoth Leo, quietly, "I see, 'tis true,
That here the victory is ascribed to you;
But that is humbug everybody knows
The artist fabricated what he chose.
Apparently his love of truth was fainter

Than his desire to please the eyes of men :
Just let the Lion, for a spell, turn painter,
And who is like to come off conqueror then ?"

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The granary and the stable-doors-
Digs up the garden, kitchen, hall-
Ransacks the barns-cuts through the floors-
But still meets nothing after all.

At last when every toil was vain,

And none could spy the looked-for Treasure ;
Resolved to search, himself, at leisure,
He sends the hirelings back again

And seeks alone. And oh! what pleasure
Is his!-he lights upon the dear deposit,
The so much sought-for golden hoard,-
Where? In his father's sleeping closet
Snug under a deal board!

My fellow-men! TRUTH would, no doubt,
Be sooner found by most of us,
Were we content to seek her out
With less pomposity and fuss,
And take right Reason as our star :
Concealed, indeed, the goddess lies,
But not ten thousand fathoms far
Below the ken of mortal eyes.
Nor need we look to vain pretenders,
The self-styled Eminent and Wise ;
The specious aid that Quackery renders
Is but Destruction in disguise.

The Power that framed the human mind
Has, in its very darkest phases,
Lent it redundance of ability

Alone to seek, alone to find

Truth's Temple, even through Error's mazes,
When he that seeks seeks with humility.

The application of this fable is like the abstraction of an empty purse from a buttoned pocket,-ingenious, but unprofitable. We should even be inclined to go further and pronounce it reprehensible. More injury than benefit is done to young persons by descanting on Truth and Virtue to them, and then leaving it to themselves to find out what Truth and Virtue are. Accustomed to be lectured on abstractions, and meeting with nothing on all sides but tangibilities, they soon begin to consider terms as things, and are satisfied to substitute theory for practice. Teach them, say we, the principles that are true, the actions that are virtuous; show them what their belief shall be, and why and how their conduct should be regulated by their belief that is the way to tutor them.

Gellert has not at all deduced the legitimate moral from his fable. It incul cates the necessity of circumspection ; it instructs us when, we are hunting for a stray shilling not to pull down the house about our ears. But it has no reference to abstractions of any sort. The Temple of Truth under a fog is too awful an affair to be happily imaged by a crock of coin under a deal board. We might as well think of representing the University of Leipsic by a pot of potatoes. By the by, we take leave to ask Gellert one question. Was Truth taught in Leipsic University, or was it not taught? If it was taught, the University of Leipsic was the genuine Temple of Truth, and Gellert's lines, to preclude ambiguity and save shoeleather, should have run

Alone to seek and find the U-
niversity of Leipsic through
The mazes of, &c.

If it was not taught, the Professor might have lighted his pipe with his moral. His vague generalities, disproved in his own instance, fall unheeded on the ear, and pass from the

mind, to use the fclicitous illustration of the poet—

"Like water from the white back of a duck!"

Come-we will hope that No. III. may be less objectionable.

III.

The Last Resource.

In former times there lived a father,
Who, like, alas! too many another,
Had got a son who plagued him rather,
But was the idol of his mother.

He drank, and diced, and scoured the streets-
Was reckless, riotous, and rude-
Was foremost in all madcap feats-
In short, a finished gutterblood.
The father, thinking to reclaim him,
In spite of all his wife could say
Dispatched him to Ameri-ca;
But did the transportation tame him?
Not it! He crossed the herring-pool
Once more a rakehell and a fool.
His mother wept-his father stormed-
While he, the scoundrel! grinned at both :
At last the baffled senior formed

Another project :-he was loth

To send his heir, his only son,

To swell the army's rabble ranks;

But remedy besides was none

To wean him from his devil's pranks,

And so, behold young Smashlamp a dragoon!
But even this step was unavailing : Soon

The captain found he had caught a German Tartar,
And gave him in a few weeks' time the charter

Of his discharge. Half-crazed with sheer perplexity,
The father now consulted a Wise Man,

Whose spectacles were green and beard was grey. "I fear the vagabond will break his neck," said he, Unless your noddle can devise a plan

To keep him cool. I don't know what to say."
The Wise Man fell to pondering very hard:
'Twas all upon the brain. My bothered friend,"
He said at length, "a Will works out a Way:

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Your son, you tell me, is a sad black-guard :

What then? He has the greater room to mend. Give him good books." The parent shook his head: No use in life; the scapegrace never read.

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'Harangue him." Twaddle. Give him a good peeling." Pooh! he himself peeled in the Fives' Court.

Him in a vault, with trap-door in the ceiling."

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Lost labour: he was always up to trap.

"Clap

Hamstring the scamp." No go, Sir. "Starve him." That Had once been tried, but vainly. "Souse him in

A horsepond." Bah! he was a water-rat.

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The Sage pursed up his mouth and stroked his chin.

Humph! Touch him with a crow-bar." "Twouldn't tell His own frame was of iron also. Well,"

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Resumed the Green-eyed, after a long pause,

And some premonitory hums' and 'haws,'

"I know of only ONE remaining remedy,

But that is so severe-though some defend it

That, saving in a case of great extremity,

I should be half afraid to recommend it."

"For Heaven's sake, out with it!" exclaimed the sire;
"Since all my plans have hitherto miscarried."
"Then," said the Cynic, "if you wish to tire

And tame him, soul and body, Get him Married!"

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