But what interests us most is the translation which he made of the Gulistān, published in 1654, under the title of Persianischer Rosenthal. True, it was not the first in point of time. As early as 1634 du Ryer had published at Paris an incomplete French version, and shortly afterwards this version was translated into German by Johann Friedrich Ochsenbach of Tübingen, but apparently without attracting much notice.[54] In 1644, Levin Warner of Leyden had given the Persian text and Latin version of a number of Saʻdī's maxims,[55] while Gentius had published the whole text with a Latin translation at Amsterdam in 1651. But it was the version of Olearius that really introduced the Gulistān to Europe.
The edition of Olearius, from which we have cited, contains also a translation of the Būstān, called Der Persianische Baumgarten, made, however, not directly from the Persian, but from a Dutch version. Besides this, the edition contains also the narratives of two other travellers, Jürgen Andersen and Volquard Iversen, as well as an account of Persia by the French missionary Sanson. Iversen, in speaking of the Parsi religion, gives an essentially correct account of the Zoroastrian hierarchy, of the supreme god and his seven servants, each presiding over some special element, evidently an allusion to Ahura Mazda and his six Amesha Spentas, with the possible addition of Sraosha.[56] Sanson states that the Gavres have kept up the old Persian language and that it is entirely different from modern Persian,[57] a distinct recognition of the existence of the Avestan language. The eighteenth century saw the discovery of the Avesta by Anquetil du Perron, and its close found men like Jones, Revizky, de Sacy and Hammer busily engaged in spreading a knowledge of Persian literature in Europe.
India, as far as its literature was concerned, did not fare so well. The struggles of European nations for the mastery of that rich empire did little towards promoting a knowledge of its religion or its language. Nor were the efforts of missionaries very successful. Most of their attention was devoted to the Dravidian idioms of Southern India, not to Sanskrit. We have the authority of Friedrich Schlegel for the statement that before his time there were but two Germans who were known to have gained a knowledge of the sacred language, the missionary Heinrich Roth and the Jesuit Hanxleben.[58] Even their work was not published and was superseded by that of Jones, Colebrooke and others. Most valuable information on Hindu religion was given by the Dutch preacher Abraham Roger in his well known book De Open-Deure tot het Verborgen Heydendom, published at Leyden in 1651, two years after the author's death. This book also gave to the West the first specimen of Sanskrit literature in the shape of a Dutch version of two hundred maxims of Bhartṛhari, not a direct translation from the Sanskrit, but based on oral communication imparted by a learned Brahman Padmanaba.[59] As a rule the rendering is very faithful, sometimes even literal. The maxims were translated into German by C. Arnold and were published at Nuremberg in 1663.
This, however, ended the progress of Sanskrit literature in Europe for the time being. Information came in very slowly. The Lettres Édifiantes of the Jesuits, and the accounts of travellers like Sonnerat began to shed additional light on the religious customs of India, but its sacred language remained a secret. In 1785, Herder wrote that what Europe knew of Hindu literature was only late legends, that the Sanskrit language as well as the genuine Vēda would probably for a long time remain unknown.[60] Sir William Jones, however, had founded the Asiatic Society a year before and the first step towards the discovery of Sanskrit had really thus been taken.
But let us consider what bearing all this had on German poetry. In this field the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were desperately dreary. In the former century the leading thinkers of Germany were absorbed in theological controversy, while in the next the Thirty Years' War completely crushed the spirit of the nation. There is little poetry in this period that calls for even passing notice in this investigation. Paul Fleming, although he was with Olearius in Persia, has written nothing that would interest us here. Andreas Gryphius took the subject for his drama "Catharina von Georgien" (1657) from Persian history. It is the story of the cruel execution of the Georgian queen by order of Shāh ʻAbbās in 1624.[61] Nor is Oriental influence in the eighteenth century more noticeable. Occasionally an Oriental touch is brought in. Pfeffel makes his "Bramine" read a lesson to bigots; Matthias Claudius in his well-known poem makes Herr Urian pay a visit to the Great Mogul; Bürger, in his salacious story of the queen of Golkonde, transports the lovers to India; Lessing, in "Minna von Barnhelm" (Act i. Sc. 12) represents Werner as intending to take service with Prince Heraklius of Persia, and he chooses an Oriental setting for his "Nathan der Weise."
In the prose writings of this period Oriental influence is much more discernible. In the literature dealing with magic Zoroaster always played a prominent part. The invention of the Cabala was commonly ascribed to him.[62] European writers on the black art, as for instance Bodinus, whose De Magorum Dæmonomania was translated by Fischart (Strassburg, 1591), repeat about Zoroaster all the fables found in classical or patristic writers. So the Iranian sage figures prominently also in the Faust-legend. He is the prince of magicians whose book Faust studies so diligently that he is called a second Zoroastris.[63] This book passes into the hands of Faust's pupil Christoph Wagner, who uses it as diligently as his master.[64]
In all this folkbook-literature India is a mere name. Thus in the oldest Faust-book of 1587 the sorcerer makes a journey in the air through England, Spain, France, Sweden, Poland, Denmark, India, Africa and Persia, and finally comes to Morenland.[65]