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Updated: May 27, 2025
Christopher stopped and raised his hat. Whom were they burying? Supposing it were Gellert. Yes, surely, he thought, it is he: and how gladly, said he to himself, would you now have done him a kindness ay, even given him your wood! Yes, indeed you would, and now he is dead, and you cannot give him any help! As soon as the train had passed, Christopher asked who was being buried.
"Good," he said, "you are an excellent poet; but why do you stand alone?" Gellert shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Your majesty is prejudiced against the Germans." "No, I cannot admit that," said the king, quickly. "At least against German writers," replied Gellert. "Yes, that is true; I cannot deny that. Why have we no good writers in Germany?"
"Yes, sire, I was once in Berlin." "You should go again," said the king then added, as if he regretted having shown the German poet so much sympathy, "at all events, you should travel." "To do so, your majesty, I require health and money." "Are you sick?" asked the king, in a gentle, sympathizing voice. "What is your malady? Perhaps too much learning." Gellert smiled.
Gellert, in accordance with his pious feelings, had composed for himself a course of ethics, which from time to time he publicly read, and thus in an honorable manner acquitted himself of his duty to the public.
At early morning, Gellert was sitting at his table, and reading according to his invariable custom, first of all in the Bible. He never left the Bible open he always shut it with a peaceful, devotional air, after he had read therein: there was something grateful as well as reverential in his manner of closing the volume; the holy words should not lie uncovered.
All these had written in rhyme, and my father held rhyme as indispensable in poetical works. Canitz, Hagedorn, Drollinger, Gellert Creuz, Haller, stood in a row, in handsome calf bindings: to these were added Neukirch's "Telemachus," Koppen's "Jerusalem Delivered," and other translations.
"If your majesty cannot reform this, I certainly cannot," said Gellert, smiling; "I can only advise, but you can command." "But your poems are not written in this stiff, pompous German. Do you not know one of your fables by heart?" "I doubt it, sire, my memory is very treacherous." "Well, try and think of one. In the mean while I will walk backward and forward a little.
At last he felt sure the dog had destroyed his child, and shouting to Gellert, "Monster, thou hast devoured my child," he drew out his sword and plunged it in the greyhound's side, who fell with a deep yell and still gazing in his master's eyes.
But the real object which he had in view, was, I doubt not, a species of excellence which had been long before most happily characterized by the judicious and amiable Garve, whose works are so justly beloved and esteemed by the Germans, in his remarks on Gellert, from which the following is literally translated.
He returned their salutations with a surprised and almost deprecatory air, and yet he knew, and could not conceal from himself, that he was one of the best beloved, not only in the good city of Leipzig, but in all lands far and wide. It was Christian Furchtegott Gellert, the Poet of Fables, Hymns, and Lays, who was just leaving his college.
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