CHRISTIAN GELLERT'S LAST CHRISTMAS By Berthold Auerbach From "German Tales. " Published by the American Publishers' Corporation. 1869 Three o'clock had just struck from the tower of St. Nicholas, Leipzig, on the afternoon of December 22d, 1768, when a man, wrapped in a looseovercoat, came out of the door of the University. His countenance wasexceedingly gentle, and on his features cheerfulness still lingered, forhe had been gazing upon a hundred cheerful faces; after him thronged atroop of students, who, holding back, allowed him to precede them: thepassengers in the streets saluted him, and some, students, whopressed forwards and hurried past him homewards, saluted him quitereverentially. He returned their salutations with a surprised and almostdeprecatory 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 ofLeipzig, but in all lands far and wide. It was Christian Furchtegott Gellert, the Poet of Fables, Hymns, andLays, who was just leaving his college. When we read his "Lectures upon Morals, " which were not printed untilafter his death, we obtain but a very incomplete idea of the great powerwith which they came immediately from Gellert's mouth. Indeed, it washis voice, and the touching manner in which he delivered his lectures, that made so deep an impression upon his hearers; and Rabener wasright when once he wrote to a friend, that "the philanthropic voice" ofGellert belonged to his words. Above all, however, it was the amiable and pure personal character ofGellert which vividly and edifyingly impressed young hearts. Gellert washimself the best example of pure moral teaching; and the best which ateacher can give his pupils is faith in the victorious might, and thestability of the eternal moral laws. His lessons were for the Life, forhis life in itself was a lesson. Many a victory over the troubles oflife, over temptations of every kind, ay, many an elevation tonobility of thought, and to purity of action, had its origin in thatlecture-hall, at the feet of Gellert. It was as though Gellert felt that it was the last time he would deliverthese lectures; that those words so often and so impressively utteredwould be heard no more from his mouth; and there was a peculiar sadness, yet a peculiar strength, in all he said that day. He had this day earnestly recommended modesty and humility; and itappeared almost offensive to him, that people as he went should tempthim in regard to these very virtues; for continually he heard menwhisper, "That is Gellert!" What is fame, and what is honor? A cloak of many colors, without warmth, without protection: and now, as he walked along, his heart literallyfroze in his bosom, as he confessed to himself that he had as yet donenothing--nothing which could give him a feeling of real satisfaction. Men honored him and loved him: but what was all that worth? Hisinnermost heart could not be satisfied with that; in his own estimationhe deserved no meed of praise; and where, where was there any evidenceof that higher and purer life which he would fain bring about! Then, again, the Spirit would comfort him and say: "Much seed is lost, much falls in stony places, and much on good ground and brings forthsevenfold. " His inmost soul heard not the consolation, for his body was weak andsore burdened from his youth up, and in his latter days yet more thanever; and there are conditions of the body in which the most elevatingwords, and the cheeriest notes of joy, strike dull and heavy on thesoul. It is one of the bitterest experiences of life to discover howlittle one man can really be to another. How joyous is that youthfulfreshness which can believe that, by a thought transferred to another'sheart, we can induce him to become another being, to live according towhat he must acknowledge true, to throw aside his previous delusions, and return to the right path! "The youngsters go their way! Do your words follow after? Whither arethey going? What are now their thoughts? What manner of life will betheirs? My heart yearns after them, but cannot be with them: oh, howhappy were those messengers of the Spirit, who cried aloud to youth ormanhood the words of the Spirit, that they must leave their former ways, and thenceforth change to other beings! Pardon me, O God! that I wouldfain be like them; I am weak and vile, and yet, methinks, there must bewords as yet unheard, unknown--oh! where are they, those words which atonce lay hold upon the soul?" With such heavy thoughts went Gellert away from his college-gate toRosenthal. There was but one small pathway cleared, but the passerscheerfully made way for him, and walked in the snow that they mightleave him the pathway unimpeded; but he felt sad, and "as if each treehad somewhat to cast at him. " Like all men really pure, and cleaving tothe good with all their might, Gellert was not only far from contentinghimself with work already done: he also, in his anxiety to be doing, almost forgot that he had ever done anything, and thus he was, in thebest sense of the word, modest; he began with each fresh day his courseof action afresh, as if he now for the first time had anything toaccomplish. And yet he might have been happy, in the reflection howbrightly beamed his teaching for ever, though his own life was oftenclouded. For as the sun which glows on summer days still lives asconcentrated warmth in wine, and somewhere on some winter night warms upa human heart, so is the sunshine in that man's life whose vocation itis to impart to others the conceptions of his own mind. Nay, thereis here far more; for the refreshing draught here offered is notdiminished, though thousands drink thereof. Twilight had set in when Gellert returned home to his dwelling, whichhad for its sign a "Schwarz Brett" or "black board. " His old servant, Sauer by name, took off his overcoat; and his amanuensis, Gödike, askedwhether the Professor had any commands; being answered in the negative, Gödike retired, and Sauer lighted the lamp upon the study-table. "Someletters have arrived, " said he, as he pointed to several upon the table:Gellert inclined his head, and Sauer retired also. Outside, however, hestood awhile with Gödike, and both spoke sorrowfully of the fact thatthe Professor was evidently again suffering severely. "There is amelancholy, " said Gödike, "and it is the most usual, in which the inwarddepression easily changes to displeasure against every one, and thehousehold of the melancholic suffers thereby intolerably; for thedispleasure turns against them, --no one does anything properly, nothingis in its place. How very different is Gellert's melancholy! Not a soulsuffers from it but himself, against himself alone his gloomy thoughtsturn, and towards every other creature he is always kind, amiable, andobliging: he bites his lips; but when he speaks to any one, he is whollygood, forbearing, and self-forgetful. " Whilst they were talking together, Gellert was sitting in his room, andhad lighted a pipe to dispel the agitation which he would experiencein opening his letters; and while smoking, he could read them much morecomfortably. He reproached himself for smoking, which was said to beinjurious to his health, but he could not quite give up the "horriblepractice, " as he called it. He first examined the addresses and seals of the letters which hadarrived, then quietly opened and read them. A fitful smile passed overhis features; there were letters from well-known friends, full oflove and admiration, but from strangers also, who, in all kinds ofheart-distress, took counsel of him. He read the letters full offriendly applause, first hastily, that he might have the right ofreading them again, and that he might not know all at once; and when hehad read a friend's letter for the second time, he sprang from his seatand cried, "Thank God! thank God! that I am so fortunate as to havesuch friends!" To his inwardly diffident nature these helps were a realrequirement; they served to cheer him, and only those who did not knowhim called his joy at the reception of praise--conceit; it was, on thecontrary, the truest modesty. How often did he sit there, and all thathe had taught and written, all that he had ever been to men in word anddeed, faded, vanished, and died away, and he appeared to himself but auseless servant of the world. His friends he answered immediately;and as his inward melancholy vanished, and the philanthropy, nay, thesprightliness of his soul beamed forth, when he was among men and lookedin a living face, so was it also with his letters. When he bethoughthim of the friends to whom he was writing, he not only acquiredtranquillity, that virtue for which his whole life long he strove; buthis loving nature received new life, and only by slight intimations didhe betray the heaviness and dejection which weighed upon his soul. Hewas, in the full sense of the word, "philanthropic, " in the sight ofgood men; and in thoughts for their welfare, there was for him a realhappiness and a joyous animation. When, however, he had done writing and felt lonely again, the gloomyspirits came back: he had seated himself, wishing to raise his thoughtsfor composing a sacred song; but he was ill at ease, and had no power toexpress that inward, firm, and self-rejoicing might of faith which livedin him. Again and again the scoffers and freethinkers rose up before histhoughts: he must refute their objections, and not until that was donedid he become himself. It is a hard position, when a creative spirit cannot forget theadversaries which on all sides oppose him in the world: they comeunsummoned to the room and will not be expelled; they peer over theshoulder, and tug at the hand which fain would write; they turn imagesupside down, and distort the thoughts; and here and there, from ceilingand wall, they grin, and scoff, and oppose: and what was just gushing asan aspiration from the soul, is converted to a confused absurdity. At such a time, the spirit, courageous and self-dependent, must takerefuge in itself and show a firm front to a world of foes. A strong nature boldly hurls his inkstand at the Devil's head; goes tobattle with his opponents with words both written and spoken; and keepshis own individuality free from the perplexities with which opponentsdisturb all that has been previously done, and make the soul unsteadfastand unnerved for what is to come. Gellert's was no battling, defiant nature, which relies upon itself; hedid not hurl his opponents down and go his way; he would convince them, and so they were always ready to encounter him. And as the applause ofhis friends rejoiced him, so the opposition of his enemies could sinkhim in deep dejection. Besides, he had always been weakly; he had, ashe himself complained, in addition to frequent coughs and a pain inhis loins, a continual gnawing and pressure in the centre of his chest, which accompanied him from his first rising in the morning until heslept at night. Thus he sat for a while, in deep dejection: and, as often before, hisonly wish was, that God would give him grace whereby when his hour wascome, he might die piously and tranquilly. It was past midnight when he sought his bed and extinguished his light. And the buckets at the well go up and go down. About the same hour, in Duben Forest, the rustic Christopher was risingfrom his bed. As with steel and flint he scattered sparks upon thetinder, in kindling himself a light, his wife, awaking, cried: "Why that heavy sigh?" "Ah! life is a burden: I 'm the most harassed mortal in the world. Thepettiest office-clerk may now be abed in peace, and need n't break offhis sleep, while I must go out and brave wind and weather. " "Be content, " replied his wife: "why, I dreamt you had actually beenmade magistrate, and wore something on your head like a king's crown. " "Oh! you women; as though what you see is n't enough, you like tochatter about what you dream. " "Light the lamp, too, " said his wife, "and I 'll get up and make you anice porridge. " The peasant, putting a candle in his lantern, went to the stable; andafter he had given some fodder to the horses, he seated himself uponthe manger. With his hands squeezed between his knees and his head bentdown, he reflected over and over again what a wretched existence he hadof it. "Why, " thought he, "are so many men so well-off, so comfortable, whilst you must be always toiling? What care I if envy be not avirtue?--and yet I 'm not envious, I don't grudge others being well-off, only I should like to be well-off too; oh, for a quiet, easy life! Am Inot worse off than a horse? He gets his fodder at the proper time, andtakes no care about it. Why did my father make my brother a minister? Hegets his salary without any trouble, sits in a warm room, has no care inthe world; and I must slave and torment myself. " Strange to say, his very next thought, that he would like to be madelocal magistrate, he would in no wise confess to himself. He sat still a long while; then he went back again to the sitting-room, past the kitchen, where the fire was burning cheerily. He seated himselfat the table and waited for his morning porridge. On the table layan open book; his children had been reading it the previous evening:involuntarily taking it up, he began to read. Suddenly he started, rubbed his eyes, and then read again. How comes this verse here just atthis moment? He kept his hand upon the book, and so easily had he caughtthe words, that he repeated them to himself softly with his lips, andnodded several times, as much as to say: "That's true!" And he saidaloud: "It's all there together: short and sweet!" and he was stillstaring at it, when his wife brought in the smoking porridge. Taking offhis cap, he folded his hands and said aloud: "Accept God's gifts with resignation, Content to lack what thou hast not: In every lot there 's consolation; There 's trouble, too, in every lot!" The wife looked at her husband with amazement. What a strange expressionwas upon his face! And as he sat down and began to eat, she said: "Whatis the meaning of that grace? What has come to you? Where did you findit?" "It is the best of all graces, the very best, --real God's word. Yes, and all your life you 've never made such nice porridge before. You musthave put something special in it!" "I don't know what you mean. Stop! There 's the book lying there--ah!that's it--and it's by Gellert, of Leipzig. " "What! Gellert, of Leipzig! Men with ideas like that don't live now;there may have been such, a thousand years ago, in holy lands, not amongus; those are the words of a saint of old. " "And I tell you they are by Gellert, of Leipzig, of whom your brotherhas told us; in fact, he was his tutor, and have n't you heard how piousand good he is?" "I would n't have believed that such men still lived, and so near us, too, as Leipzig. " "Well, but those who lived a thousand years ago were also once livingcreatures: and over Leipzig is just the same heaven, and the same sunshines, and the same God rules, as over all other cities. " "Oh! yes, my brother has an apt pupil in you!" "Well, and why not? I 've treasured up all he told us of ProfessorGellert. " "Professor!" "Yes, Professor!" "A man with such a proud, new-fangled title could n't write anythinglike that!" "He did n't give himself the title, and he is poor enough withal! andhow hard it has fared with him! Even from childhood he has been wellacquainted with poverty: his father was a poor minister in Haynichen, with thirteen children; and Gellert, when quite a little fellow, wasobliged to be a copying office-clerk: who can tell whether he did n'tthen contract that physical weakness of his? And now that he 's an oldman, things will never go better with him; he has often no wood, andmust be pinched with cold. It is with him, perhaps, as with that studentof whom your brother has told us, who is as poor as a rat, and yet mustread; and so in winter he lies in bed with an empty stomach, until dayis far advanced; and he has his book before him, and first he takes outone hand to hold his book, and then, when that is numb with cold, theother. Ah! tongue cannot tell how poorly the man must live; and yet yourbrother has told me, if he has but a few pounds, he does n't think atall of himself; he always looks out for one still poorer than he is, andthen gives all away: and he 's always engaged in aiding and assistingothers. Oh! dear, and yet he is so poor! May be at this moment he ishungry and cold; and he is said to be in ill-health, besides. " "Wife, I would willingly do the man a good turn if I could. If, now, hehad some land, I would plough, and sow, and reap, and carry, and threshby the week together for him. I should like to pay him attention in sucha way that he might know there was at least one who cared for him. Buthis profession is one in which I can't be of any use to him. " "Well, just seek him out and speak with him once; you are going to-day, you know, with your wood to Leipzig. Seek him out and thank him; thatsort of thing does such a man's heart good. Anybody can see him. " "Yes, yes; I should like much to see him, and hold out to him myhand, --but not empty: I wish I had something!" "Speak to your brother, and get him to give you a note to him. " "No, no; say nothing to my brother; but it might be possible for me tomeet him in the street. Give me my Sunday coat; it will come to no harmunder my cloak. " When his wife brought him the coat, she said: "If, now, Gellert had awife, or a household of his own, one might send him something; but yourbrother says he is a bachelor, and lives quite alone. " Christopher had never before so cheerfully harnessed his horses and putthem to his wood-laden wagon; for a long while he had not given hishand so gayly to his wife at parting as to-day. Now he started withhis heavily-laden vehicle through the village; the wheels creaked andcrackled in the snow. At the parsonage he stopped, and looked awayyonder where his brother was still sleeping; he thought he would wakehim and tell him his intention: but suddenly he whipped up hishorses, and continued his route. He would n't yet bind himself to hisintention--perchance it was but a passing thought; he does n't own thatto himself, but he says to himself that he will surprise his brotherwith the news of what he has done; and then his thoughts wandered awayto the good man still sleeping yonder in the city; and he hummed theverse to himself in an old familiar tune. Wonderfully in life do effects manifest them-selves, of which we have notrace. Gellert, too, heard in his dreams a singing; he knew not what itwas, but it rang so consolingly, so joyously!. .. Christopher droveon, and he felt as though a bandage had been taken from his eyes; hereflected what a nice house, what a bonny wife and rosy children he had, and how warm the cloak which he had thrown over him was, and how welloff were both man and beast; and through the still night he drove along, and beside him sat a spirit; but not an illusion of the brain, such asin olden time men conjured up to their terror, a good spirit sat besidehim--beside the woodman who his whole life long had never believed thatanything could have power over him but what had hands and feet. It is said that, on troublous nights, evil spirits settle upon the necksof men, and belabor them so that they gasp and sweat for very terror;quite another sort it was to-day which sat by the woodman: and his heartwas warm, and its beating quick. In ancient times, men also carried loads of wood through the night, thatheretics might be burned thereon: these men thought they were doing agood deed in helping to execute justice; and who can say how painful itwas to their hearts, when they were forced to think: To morrow, on thiswood which now you carry, will shriek, and crackle, and gasp, a humanbeing like yourself? Who can tell what black spirits settled on thenecks of those who bore the wood to make the funeral-pile? How verydifferent was it to-day with our woodman Christopher! And earlier still, in ancient times, men brought wood to the temple, whereon they offered victims in the honor of God; and, according totheir notions, they did a good deed: for when words can no longersuffice to express the fervency of the heart, it gladly offers whatit prizes, what it dearly loves, as a proof of its devotion, of theearnestness of its intent. How differently went Christopher from the Duben Forest upon his way! Heknew not whether he were intending to bring a purer offering than menhad brought in bygone ages; but his heart grew warm within him. It was day as he arrived before the gates of Leipzig. Here there methim a funeral-procession; behind the bier the scholars of St. Thomas, in long black cloaks, were chanting. Christopher stopped and raised hishat. Whom were they burying? Supposing it were Gellert. Yes, surely, he thought, it is he: and how gladly, said he to himself, would you nowhave done him a kindness, --ay, even given him your wood! Yes, indeed youwould, 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. It was a simple burgher, it was not Gellert; and in the deep breathwhich Christopher drew lay a double signification: on the one hand, was joy that Gellert was not dead; on the other, a still small voicewhispered to him that he had now really promised to give him the wood:ah! but whom had he promised?--himself: and it is easy to argue withone's own conscience. Superstition babbles of conjuring-spells, by which, without theco-operation of the patient, the evil spirit can be summarily ejected. It would be convenient if one had that power, but, in truth, it is notso: it is long ere the evil desire and the evil habit are removed fromthe soul into which they have nestled; and the will, for a long whilein bondage, must co-operate, if a releasing spell from without is to setthe prisoner free. One can only be guided, but himself must move his feet. As Christopher now looked about him, he found that he had stopped closeby an inn; he drove his load a little aside, went into the parlor, anddrank a glass of warmed beer. There was already a goodly company, andnot far from Christopher sat a husbandman with his son, a student here, who was telling him how there had been lately quite a stir. ProfessorGellert had been ill, and riding a well-trained horse had beenrecommended for his health. Now Prince Henry of Prussia, during theSeven Years' War, at the occupation of Leipzig, had sent him a piebald, that had died a short time ago; and the Elector, hearing of it, hadsent Gellert from Dresden another--a chestnut--with golden bridle, blue velvet saddle, and gold-embroidered housings. Half the city hadassembled when the groom, a man with iron-gray hair, brought the horse;and for several days it was to be seen at the stable; but Gellert darednot mount it, it was so young and high-spirited. The rustic now askedhis son whether the Professor did not make money enough to procure ahorse of his own, to which the son answered: "Certainly not. His salaryis but one hundred and twenty-five dollars, and his further gains areinconsiderable. His Lectures on Morals he gives publicly, i. E. , gratis, and he has hundreds of hearers; and, therefore, at his own lectures, which must be paid for, he has so many the fewer. To be sure, he has nowand then presents from grand patrons; but no one gives him, once andfor all, enough to live upon, and to have all over with a singleacknowledgment. " Our friend Christopher started as he heard this; he had quite made uphis mind to take Gellert the wood: but he had yet to do it. How easywere virtue, if will and deed were the same thing! if performance couldimmediately succeed to the moment of burning enthusiasm! But one mustmake way over obstacles; over those that outwardly lie in one's path, and over those that are hidden deep in the heart; and negligence has athousand very cunning advocates. How many go forth, prompted by good intentions, but let littlehindrances turn them from their way--entirely from their way of life!In front of the house Christopher met other woodmen whom he knew, and--"You are stirring betimes!" "Prices are good to-day!" "But little comesto the market now!" was the cry from all sides. Christopher wanted tosay that all that did n't concern him, but he was ashamed to confesswhat his design was, and an inward voice told him he must not lie. Without answering he joined the rest, and wended his way to the market;and on the road he thought: "There are Peter, and Godfrey, and John, whohave seven times your means, and not one of them, I'm sure, would thinkof doing anything of this kind; why will you be the kind-hearted fool?Stay! what matters it what others do or leave undone? Every man shallanswer for himself. Yes, but go to market--it is better it should be so;yes, certainly, much better: sell your wood--who knows? perhaps he doesn't want it--and take him the proceeds, or at least the greater portion. But is the wood still yours? You have, properly speaking, already givenit away; it has only not been taken from your keeping. .. . " There are people who cannot give; they can only let a thing be takeneither by the hand of chance, or by urgency and entreaty. Christopherhad such fast hold of possession, that it was only after sore wrestlingthat he let go; and yet his heart was kind, at least to-day it wasso disposed, but the tempter whispered: "It is not easy to find sogood-natured a fellow as you. How readily would you have given, had theman been in want, and your good intention must go for the deed. " Still, on the other hand, there was something in him which made opposition, --anecho from those hours, when, in the still night, he was drivinghither, --and it burned in him like sacred fire, and it said, "You mustnow accomplish what you intended. Certainly no one knows of it, and youare responsible to no one; but you know of it yourself, and One aboveyou knows, and how shall you be justified?" And he said to himself, "I'll stand by this: look, it is just nine; if no one ask the price ofyour wood until ten o'clock, until the stroke of ten, --until it hasdone striking, I mean; if no one ask, then the wood belongs toProfessor Gellert: but if a buyer come, then it is a sign that you neednot--should not give it away. There, that's all settled. But how? whatmeans this? Can you make your good deed dependent on such a chance asthis? No, no; I don't mean it. But yet--yet--only for a joke, I 'll tryit. " Temptation kept him turning as it were in a circle, and still he stoodwith an apparently quiet heart by his wagon in the market. The peoplewho heard him muttering in this way to himself looked at him withwonder, and passed by him to another wagon, as though he had not beenthere. It struck nine. Can you wait patiently another hour? Christopherlighted his pipe, and looked calmly on, while this and that loadwas driven off. It struck the quarter, half-hour, three-quarters. Christopher now put his pipe in his pocket; it had long been cold, andhis hands were almost frozen; all his blood had rushed to his heart. Nowit struck the full hour, stroke after stroke. At first he counted; thenhe fancied he had lost a stroke and miscalculated. Either voluntarily orinvoluntarily, he said to himself, when it had finished striking, "You're wrong; it is nine, not ten. " He turned round that he might notsee the dial, and thus he stood for some time, with his hands upon thewagon-rack, gazing at the wood. He knew not how long he had been thusstanding, when some one tapped him on the shoulder, and said, "How muchfor the load of wood?" Christopher turned round: there was an odd look of irresolution in hiseyes as he said: "Eh? eh? what time is it?" "Half-past ten. " "Then the wood is now no longer mine--at least to sell:" and, collectinghimself, he became suddenly warm, and with firm hand turned his horsesround, and begged the woodmen who accompanied him to point him outthe way to the house with the "Schwarz Brett, " Dr. Junius's. There hedelivered a full load: at each log he took out of the wagon he smiledoddly. The wood-measurer measured the wood carefully, turning each logand placing it exactly, that there might not be a crevice anywhere. "Why are you so over-particular to-day, pray?" asked Christopher, and hereceived for answer: "Professor Gellert must have a fair load; every shaving kept back fromhim were a sin. " Christopher laughed aloud, and the wood-measurer looked at him withamazement; for such particularity generally provoked a quarrel. Christopher had still some logs over; these he kept by him on the wagon. At this moment the servant Sauer came up, and asked to whom the woodbelonged. "To Professor Gellert, " answered Christopher. "The man's mad! it isn't true. Professor Gellert has not bought anywood; it is my business to look after that. " "He has not bought it, and yet it is his!" cried Christopher. Sauer was on the point of giving the mad peasant a hearty scolding, raising his voice so much the louder, as it was striking eleven by St. Nicholas. At this moment, however, he became suddenly mute; for yonderfrom the University there came, with tired gait, a man of a noblecountenance: at every step he made, on this side and on that, off camethe hats and the caps of the passers-by, and Sauer simply called out, "There comes the Professor himself. " What a peculiar expression passed over Christopher's face! He lookedat the new-comer, and so earnest was his gaze, that Gellert, who alwayswalked with his head bowed, suddenly looked up. Christopher said: "Mr. Gellert, I am glad to see you still alive. " "I thank you, " said Gellert, and made as though he would pass on; butChristopher stepped up closer to him, and, stretching out his hand tohim, said: "I have taken the liberty--I should like--will you give meyour hand, Mr. Gellert?" Gellert drew his long thin hand out of his muff and placed it in thehard oaken-like hand of the peasant; and at this moment, when thepeasant's hand lay in the scholars palm, as one felt the other'spressure in actual living grasp, there took place, though the mortalactors in the scene were all unconscious of it, a renewal of thathealthy life which alone can make a people one. How long had the learned world, wrapped up in itself, separated fromthe fellow-men around, thought in Latin, felt as foreigners, and livedburied in contemplation of bygone worlds! From the time of Gellertcommences the ever-increasing unity of good-fellowship throughoutall classes of life, kept up by mutual giving and receiving. As thescholar--as the solitary poet endeavors to work upon others by lays thatquicken and songs that incite, so he in his turn is a debtor to his age, and the lonely thinking and writing become the property of all; but theeffects are not seen in a moment; for higher than the most highly giftedspirit of any single man is the spirit of a nation. With the pressurewhich Gellert and the peasant exchanged commenced a mighty change inuniversal life, which never more can cease to act. "Permit me to enter your room?" said Christopher, and Gellert noddedassent. He was so courteous that he motioned to the peasant to enterfirst; however, Sauer went close after him: he thought it must be amadman; he must protect his master; the man looked just as if he weredrunk. Gellert, with his amanuensis, Gödike, followed them. Gellert, however, felt that the man must be actuated by pure motives: hebade the others retire, and took Christopher alone into his study; and, as he clasped his left with his own right hand, he asked: "Well, my goodfriend, what is your business?" "Eh? oh! nothing--I 've only brought you a load of wood there--a fair, full load; however, I 'll give you the few logs which I have in mywagon, as well. " "My good man, my servant Sauer looks after buying my wood. " "It is no question of buying. No, my dear sir, I give it to you. " "Give it to me? Why me particularly?" "Oh! sir, you do not know at all what good you do, what good you havedone me; and my wife was right; why should there not be really piousmen in our day too? Surely the sun still shines as he shone thousandsof years ago; all is now the same as then; and the God of old is stillliving. " "Certainly, certainly; I am glad to see you so pious. " "Ah! believe me, dear sir, I am not always so pious; and that I am sodisposed to-day is owing to you. We have no more confessionals now, butI can confess to you: and you have taken a heavier load from my heartthan a wagon-load of wood. Oh! sir, I am not what I was. In my earlydays I was a high-spirited, merry lad, and out in the field, and indoorsin the inn and the spinning-room, there was none who could singagainst me; but that is long past. What has a man on whose head thegrave-blossoms are growing, " and he pointed to his gray head, "to dowith all that trash? And besides, the Seven Years' War has put a stopto all our singing. But last night, in the midst of the fearful cold, Isang a lay set expressly for me--all old tunes go to it: and it seemedto me as though I saw a sign-post which pointed I know not whither--or, nay, I do know whither. " And now the peasant related how discontentedand unhappy in mind he had been, and how the words in the lay had allat once raised his spirits and accompanied him upon the journey, like agood fellow who talks to one cheerfully. At this part of the peasant's tale Gellert folded his hands in silence, and the peasant concluded: "How I always envied others, I cannot nowthink why; but you I do envy, sir: I should like to be as you. " And Gellert answered: "I thank God, and rejoice greatly that my writingshave been of service to you. Think not so well of me. Would God I werereally the good man I appear in your eyes! I am far from being such as Ishould, such as I would fain be. I write my books for my own improvementalso, to show myself as well as others what manner of men we should be. " Laughing, the peasant replied: "You put me in mind of the story my poormother used to tell of the old minister; he stood up once in the pulpitand said: 'My dear friends, I speak not only for you, but for myselfalso; I, too, have need of it. '" Christopher laughed outrageously when he had finished, and Gellertsmiled, and said: "Yes, whoever in the darkness lighteth another with alamp, lighteth himself also; and the light is not part of ourselves, --itis put into our hands by Him who hath appointed the suns their courses. " The peasant stood speechless, and looked upon the ground: there wassomething within him which took away the power of looking up; he wasonly conscious that it ill became him to laugh so loudly just now, whenhe told the story of the old minister. A longer pause ensued, and Gellert seemed to be lost in reflection uponthis reference to a minister's work, for he said half to himself: "Oh!how would it fulfil my dearest wish to be a village-pastor! To moveabout among my people, and really be one with them; the friend of theirsouls my whole life long, never to lose them out of my sight! Yondergoes one whom I have led into the right way; there another, with whomI still wrestle, but whom I shall assuredly save; and in them all theteaching lives which God proclaims by me. Did I not think that I shouldbe acting against my duty, I would this moment choose a country life forthe remnant of my days. When I look from my window over the country, Ihave before me the broad sky, of which we citizens know but little, ascene entirely new; there I stand and lose myself for half an hour ingazing and in thinking. Yes, good friend, envy no man in the rank ofscholars. Look at me; I am almost always ill; and what a burden is asickly body! How strong, on the contrary, are you! I am never happierthan when, without being remarked, I can watch a dinner-table throngedby hungry men and maids. Even if these folks be not generally so happyas their superiors, at table they are certainly happier. " "Yes, sir; we relish our eating and drinking. And, lately, when fellingand sorting that wood below, I was more than usually lively; it seems asthough I had a notion I was to do some good with it. " "And must I permit you to make me a present?" asked Gellert, resting hischin upon his left hand. The peasant answered: "It is not worth talking about. " "Nay, it might be well worth talking about; but I accept your present. It is pride not to be ready to accept a gift. Is not all we have agift from God? And what one man gives another, he gives, as is mostappropriately said, for God's sake. Were I your minister, I should bepleased to accept a present from you. You see, good friend, we men haveno occasion to thank each other. You have given me nothing of yours, andI have given you nothing of mine. That the trees grow in the forest isnone of your doing, it is the work of the Creator and Preserver ofthe world; and the soil is not yours; and the sun and the rain are notyours; they all are the works of His hand; and if, perchance, I havesome healthy thoughts rising up in my soul, which benefit my fellow-men, it is none of mine, it is His doing. The word is not mine, and thespirit is not mine; and I am but an instrument in His hand. Thereforeone man needs not to utter words of thanks to his fellow, if every onewould but acknowledge who it really is that gives. " The peasant looked up in astonishment. Gellert remarked it, and said:"Understand me aright. I thank you from my heart; you have done a kindaction. But that the trees grow is none of yours, and it is none of minethat thoughts arise in me; every one simply tills his field, and tendshis woodland, and the honest, assiduous toil he gives thereto is hisvirtue. That you felled, loaded, and brought the wood, and wish norecompense for your labor, is very thank-worthy. My wood was more easilyfelled; but those still nights which I and all of my calling pass inheavy thought--who can tell what toil there is in them? There is in theworld an adjustment which no one sees, and which but seldom discoversitself; and this and that shift thither and hither, and the scales ofthe balance become even, and then ceases all distinction between 'mine'and 'thine, ' and in the still forest rings an axe for me, and in thesilent night my spirit thinks and my pen writes for you. " The peasant passed both his hands over his temples, and his look was asthough he said to himself, "Where are you? Are you still in the world?Is it a mortal man who speaks to you? Are you in Leipzig, in thatpopulous city where men jostle one another for gain and bare existence?" Below might be heard the creaking of the saw as the wood was beingsundered: and now the near horse neighs, and Christopher is in the worldagain. "It may injure the horse to stand so long in the cold; and nomoney for the wood! but perhaps a sick horse to take home into thebargain; that would be too much, " he thought. "Yes, yes, Mr. Professor, " said he--he had his hat under his arm, andwas rubbing his hands--"yes, I am delighted with what I have done; andI value the lesson, believe me, more than ten loads of wood: and nevershall I forget you to my dying day. And though I see you are not so pooras I had imagined, still I don't regret it. Oh! no, certainly not atall. " "Eh! did you think me so very poor, then?" "Yes, miserably poor. " "I have always been poor, but God has never suffered me to be a singleday without necessaries. I have in the world much happiness which I havenot deserved, and much unhappi-ness I have not, which perchance I havedeserved. I have found much favor with both high and low, for whichI cannot sufficiently thank God. And now tell me, cannot I give yousomething, or obtain something for you? You are a local magistrate, Ipresume?" "Why so?" "You look like it: you might be. " Christopher had taken his hat into his hands, and was crumpling itup now; he half closed his eyes, and with a sly, inquiring glance, he peered at Gellert. Suddenly, however, the expression of his facechanged, and the muscles quivered, as he said: "Sir, what a man are you!How you can dive into the recesses of one's heart! I have really pinednight and day, and been cross with the whole world, because I could notbe magistrate, and you, sir, you have actually helped to overcome thatin me. Oh! sir, as soon as I read that verse in your book, I had anidea, and now I see still more plainly that you must be a man of God, who can pluck the heart from one's bosom, and turn it round and round. I had thought I could never have another moment's happiness, if myneighbor, Hans Gottlieb, should be magistrate: and with that verse ofyours, it has been with me as when one calms the blood with a magicspell. " "Well, my good friend, I am rejoiced to hear it: believe me, every onehas in himself alone a whole host to govern. What can so stronglyurge men to wish to govern others? What can it profit you to be localmagistrate, when to accomplish your object you must perhaps do somethingwrong? What were the fame, not only of a village, but even of the wholeworld, if you could have no self-respect? Let it suffice for you toperform your daily duties with uprightness; let your joys be centred inyour wife and children, and you will be happy. What need you more? Thinknot that honor and station would make you happy. Rejoice, and again Isay, rejoice: 'A contented spirit is a continual feast. ' I often whisperthis to myself, when I feel disposed to give way to dejection: andalthough misery be not our fault, yet lack of endurance and of patiencein misery is undoubtedly our fault. " "I would my wife were here too, that she also might hear this; I grudgemyself the hearing of it all alone; I cannot remember it all properly, and yet I should like to tell it to her word for word. Who would havethought that, by standing upon a load of wood, one could get a peep intoheaven!" Gellert in silence bowed his head; and afterwards he said: "Yes, rejoicein your deed, as I do in your gift. Your wood is sacrificial-wood. Inolden time--and it was right in principle, because man could not yetoffer prayer and thanks in spirit--it was a custom and ordinance tobring something from one's possessions, as a proof of devotion: this wasa sacrifice. And the more important the gift to be given, or the requestto be granted, the more costly was the sacrifice. Our God will have novictims; but whatsoever you do unto one of the least of His, you do untoHim. Such are our sacrifices. My dear friend, from my heart I thankyou; for you have done me a kindness, in that you have given me a real, undeniable proof, that my words have penetrated your heart, and that Ido not live on for nothing: and treasure it up in your heart, that youhave caused real joy to one who is often, very often, weighed down withheaviness and sorrow. You have not only kindled bright tapers upon myChristmas-tree, but the tree itself burns, gives light, and warms: thebush burns, and is not consumed, which is an image of the presence ofthe Holy Spirit, and its admonition to trust in the Most High in thiswilderness of life, in mourning and in woe. Oh! my dear friend, I havebeen nigh unto death. What a solemn, quaking stride is the strideinto eternity! What a difference between ideas of death in the daysof health, and on the brink of the grave! And how shall I show myselfworthy of longer life? By learning better to die. And, mark, when I sithere in solitude pursuing my thoughts, keeping some and drivingaway others, then I can think, that in distant valleys, upon distantmountains, there are living men who carry my thoughts within theirhearts; and for them I live, and they are near and dear to me, till oneday we shall meet where there is no more parting, no moreseparation. Peasant and scholar, let us abide as we are. Give me yourhand--farewell!" And once again, the soft and the hard hand were clasped together, andChristopher really trembled as Gellert laid his hand upon his shoulder. They shook hands, and therewith something touched the heart of eachmore impressively, more completely, than ever words could touch it. Christopher got downstairs without knowing how: below, he threw downthe extra logs of wood, which he had kept back, with a clatter fromthe wagon, and then drove briskly from the city. Not till he arrivedat Lindenthal did he allow himself and his horses rest or food. He haddriven away empty: he had nothing on his wagon, nothing in his purse;and yet who can tell what treasures he took home; and who can tell whatinextinguishable fire he left behind him yonder, by that lonely scholar! Gellert, who usually dined at his brother's, today had dinner broughtinto his own room, remained quite alone, and did not go out again: hehad experienced quite enough excitement, and society he had in his ownthoughts. Oh! to find that there are open, susceptible hearts, is ablessing to him that writes in solitude, and is as wondrous to him asthough he dipped his pen in streams of sunshine, and as if all he wrotewere Light. The raindrop which falls from the cloud cannot tell uponwhat plant it drops: there is a quickening power in it, but for what?And a thought which finds expression from a human heart; an action, nay, a whole life is like the raindrop falling from the cloud: the wholeperiod of a life endures no longer than the raindrop needs for falling. And as for knowing where your life is continued, how your work proceeds, you cannot attain to that. And in the night all was still around: nothing was astir; the wholeearth was simple rest, as Gellert sat in his room by his lonely lamp;his hand lay upon an open book, and his eyes were fixed upon the emptyair; and on a sudden came once more upon him that melancholy gloom, which so easily resumes its place after more than usual excitement. It is as though the soul, suddenly elevated above all, must stillremember the heaviness it but now experienced, though that expressesitself as tears of joy in the eye. In Gellert, however, this melancholy had a more peculiar phase: a sortof timidity had rooted itself in him, connected with his weak chest, and that secret gnawing pain in his head; it was a fearfulness whichhis manner of life only tended to increase. Surrounded though he wasby nothing but love and admiration in the world, he could not divesthimself of the fear that all which is most horrible and terrible wouldburst suddenly upon him: and so he gazed fixedly before him. He passedhis hand over his face, and with an effort concentrated his looks andthoughts upon surrounding objects, saying to himself almost aloud:"How comforting is light! Were there no light from without to illumineobjects for us, we should perish in gloom, in the shadows of night. Andlight is a gentle friend that watches by us, and, when we are sunk insorrow, points out to us that the world is still here, that it calls, and beckons us, and requires of us duty and cheerfulness. 'You must notbe lost in self, ' it says, 'see! the world is still here:' and a friendbeside us is as a light which illumines surrounding objects; we cannotforget them, we must see them and mingle with them. How hard is life, and how little I accomplish! I would fain awaken the whole world togoodness and to love; but my voice is weak, my strength is insufficient:how insignificant is all I do!" And now he rose up and strode across the room; and he stood at thehearth where the fire was burning, made of wood given to him that veryday, and his thoughts reverted to the man who had given it. Why had henot asked his name, and where he came from? Perchance he might have beenable in thought to follow him all the way, as he drove home; and now. .. But yet 'tis more, 'tis better as it is: it is not an individual, itis not So-and-so, who has shown his gratitude, but all the world bythe mouth of one. "The kindnesses I receive, " he thought, "areindeed trials; but yet I ought to accept them with thanks. I will tryhenceforth to be a benefactor to others as others are to me, withoutdisplay, and with grateful thanks to God, our highest Benefactor: thiswill I do, and search no further for the why and for the wherefore. " Andonce more a voice spoke within him, and he stood erect, and raised hisarms on high. "Who knows, " he thought, "whether at this moment I havenot been in this or that place, to this or that man, a brother, afriend, a comforter, a saviour; and from house to house, may be, myspirit travels, awakening, enlivening, refreshing--yonder in the attic, where burns a solitary light; and afar in some village a mother issitting by her child, and hearing him repeat the thoughts I havearranged in verse; and peradventure some solitary old man, who iswaiting for death, is now sitting by his fireside, and his lips areuttering my words. " "And yonder in the church, the choir is chanting a hymn of yours; couldyou have written this hymn without its vigor in your heart? Oh! no, it_must_ be there. " And with trembling he thought: "There is nothing sosmall as to have no place in the government of God! Should you not thenbelieve that He suffered this day's incident to happen for your joy? Oh!were it so, what happiness were yours! A heart renewed. ". .. He moved tothe window, looked up to heaven, and prayed inwardly: "My soul iswith my brothers and my sisters: nay, it is with Thee, my God, and inhumility I acknowledge how richly Thou hast blessed me. And if, in thekingdom of the world to come, a soul should cry to me: 'Thou didstguide and cheer me on to happiness eternal!' all hail! my friend, mybenefactor, my glory in the presence of God. .. . In these thoughts let medie, and pardon me my weakness and my sins!" "And the evening and morning were the first day. " At early morning, Gellert was sitting at his table, and readingaccording to his invariable custom, first of all in the Bible. He neverleft the Bible open--he always shut it with a peaceful, devotionalair, after he had read therein: there was something grateful as well asreverential in his manner of closing the volume; the holy words shouldnot lie uncovered. To-day, however, the Bible was lying open when he rose. His eye fellupon the history of the creation, and at the words, "And the eveningand the morning were the first day, " he leaned back his head againstthe arm-chair, and kept his hand upon the book, as though he would graspwith his hand also the lofty thought, how night and day were divided. For a long while he sat thus, and he was wondrously bright in spirit, and a soft reminiscence dawned upon him; of a bright day in childhood, when he had been so happy, and in Haynichen, his native place, had goneout with his father for a walk. An inward warmth roused his heart toquicker pulsation; and suddenly he started and looked about him: he hadbeen humming a tune. Up from the street came the busy sound of day: at other times howinsufferable he had found it! and now how joyous it seemed that menshould bestir themselves, and turn to all sorts of occupations! Therewas a sound of crumbling snow: and how nice to have a house and a blazeupon the hearth! "And the evening and the morning were the first day!"And man getteth himself a light in the darkness: but how long, O man!could you make it endure? What could you do with your artificial light, if God did not cause His sun to shine? Without it grows no grass, nocorn. On the hand lying upon the book there fell a bright sunbeam. Howsoon, at other times, would Gellert have drawn the defensive curtain!Now he watches the little motes that play about in the sunbeam. The servant brought coffee, and the amanuensis, Gödike, asked if therewere anything to do. Generally, Gellert scarce lifted his head from hisbooks, hastily acknowledging the attention and reading on in silence;to-day, he motioned to Gödike to stay, and said to Sauer, "Anothercup: Mr. Gödike will take coffee with me. God has given me a day ofrejoicing. " Sauer brought the cup, and Gellert said: "Yes, God has givenme a day of rejoicing, and what I am most thankful for is, that He hasgranted me strength to thank Him with all my heart: not so entirely, however, as I should like. " "Thank God, Mr. Professor, that you are once more in health, andcheerful: and permit me, Mr. Professor, to tell you that I was myselfalso ill a short time ago, and I then learned a lesson which I shallnever forget. Who is most grateful? The convalescent. He learns to loveGod and His beautiful world anew; he is grateful for everything, anddelighted with everything. What a flavor has his first cup of coffee!How he enjoys his first walk outside the house, outside the gate! Thehouses, the trees, all give us greeting: all is again in us full ofhealth and joy!" So said Gödike, and Gellert rejoined: "You are a good creature, and have just spoken good words. Certainly, the convalescent is the most grateful. We are, however, for the mostpart, sick in spirit, and have not strength to recover: and a sickly, stricken spirit is the heaviest pain. " Long time the two sat quietly together: it struck eight. Gellert startedup, and cried irritably: "There, now, you have allowed me to forget thatI must be on my way to the University. " "The vacation has begun: Mr. Professor has no lecture to-day. " "No lecture to-day? Ah! and I believe today is just the time when Icould have told my young friends something that would have benefitedthem for their whole lives. " There was a shuffling of many feet outside the door: the door opened, and several boys from St. Thomas' School-choir advanced and sang toGellert some of his own hymns; and as they chanted the verse-- "And haply there--oh! grant it, Heaven! Some blessed saint will greet me too; 'All hail! all hail! to you was given To save my life and soul, to you!' O God I my God! what joy to be The winner of a soul to thee!" Gellert wept aloud, folded his hands, and raised his eyes to heaven. A happier Christmas than that of 1768 had Gellert never seen; and it washis last. Scarcely a year after, on the 13th of December, 1769, Gellertdied a pious, tranquil death, such as he had ever coveted. As the long train which followed his bier moved to the churchyard of St. John's, Leipzig, a peasant with his wife and children in holiday clothesentered among the last. It was Christopher with his family. The wholeway he had been silent: and whilst his wife wept passionately at thepastor's touching address, it was only by the working of his featuresthat Christopher showed how deeply moved he was. But on the way home he said: "I am glad I did him a kindness in hislifetime; it would now be too late. " The summer after, when he built a new house, he had this verse placedupon it as an inscription: "Accept God's gifts with resignation, Content to lack what thou hast not: In every lot there's consolation; There's trouble, too, in every lot. "