SOME MODERN LITERARY MEN OF GERMANY.
Professor George Ebers, the distinguished Egyptologist, strange to say, is known in America more by his novels than by his scientific attainments. He had a severe attack of rheumatism, or something similar, which confined him to his bed for a long time, but did not prevent him from using his mind, and during this tedious suffering he undertook, as I think he himself relates, in the preface of his first novel, to put into story facts and history with which his mind was so richly stored. The work grew and fascinated him, and now I dare say it has not only become remunerative but beguiling. Since the death of Prof. Lepsius, the distinguished scholar of Egyptian history, George Ebers will doubtless stand in his stead as the next best informed man in Germany, on Egypt. The deceased Lepsius thought highly of one of our countrymen, Dr. Joseph P. Thompson, as a successful student under him, and here we pay a tribute of respect to this generous man who never failed to escort party after party of Americans through the Egyptian department of the Berlin Museum, explaining the tombs and reading the inscriptions. “The Egyptian King’s Daughter” is the title of Ebers’s most elaborate novel, and if one is disposed to read it carefully and observe all the foot-notes, there is quite a chance for the reader to feel delighted with himself for all he can acquire in this way about Egypt, and to have an inexpressible longing for more. And what a power of enchanting one these Egyptians have, with their gloomy and mystified learning, and their frequent contemplation of death. To give the reader an idea of Ebers’s style, in romance writing and subject matter, we quote what accurate pictures he gives of all the state of affairs in Egypt. Speaking of the schools or universities, in his novel entitled “Uarda,” he says: “The lower school was open to every son of a free citizen, and was often frequented by several hundred boys, who also found night quarters there. The parents were, of course, required either to pay for their maintenance or to send due supplies of provision for the keep of their children at school. This university, or school, was connected with the House of Seti, or one of the sanctuaries of the Necropolis, founded by Rameses I, and carried on by his son Seti. High festivals were held there in honor of the god of the gods of the under world. This extensive building was intended to be equal to the great original foundations of priestly learning at Heliopolis and Memphis; they were regulated on the same pattern, and with the object of raising the royal residence of Upper Egypt, namely, Thebes, above the capitals of Lower Egypt, in regard to philosophical distinction.” “Many proficient in the healing art,” he tells us, “were brought up in the house of Seti, but few need to remain after passing the examination of the degree of Scribe. The most gifted were sent to Heliopolis, where flourished in the great “Hall of the Ancients,” the most celebrated medical faculty of the whole country, whence they returned to Thebes, endowed with the highest honors in surgery, in ocular treatment, or in any other branch of their profession, and became physicians to the king, or made a living by imparting their learning, and by being called in to consult on serious cases.” From this short extract from Ebers any one can see that he treats his situations, although lying so remote in history, in the most simple and natural manner. Egypt, with her enormous architecture, her ponderous institutions, peculiar beliefs and somber, heated atmosphere, is not to him the dark “sorceress of the Nile,” but a real, breathing and tangible thing—he has so seriously studied her that he writes of her as he would of a familiar friend in whom he is intensely interested.
Ebers not alone excels in historical pictures and accurate descriptions, but he has, as a novelist, much feeling, and makes clear comments on human nature—for example, in writing of Nebsecht, the learned surgeon, in his novel “Uarda,” he says: “Nebsecht was of the silent, reserved nature of the learned man, who, free from all desire of external recognition, finds a rich satisfaction in the delights of investigation; and he regarded every demand on him to give proof of his capacity, as a vexatious but unavoidable intrusion on his unanswering but laborious and faithful investigations.” Then he remarks Nebsecht loved Pentaur, who possessed all the gifts he lacked, manly beauty, child-like lightness of heart, the frankest openness, artistic power, and the gift of expressing in word and song every emotion that stirred his soul.
Again, behold the picture or a glimpse into a feast of the best Egyptians. In an open court, surrounded by gaily painted wooden pillars, and lighted by many lamps, sat the feasting priests in two long rows, on comfortable arm chairs. Before each stood a little table, and servants were occupied in supplying them with the dishes and drinks which were laid out on a splendid table in the middle of the court. Joints of gazelle, roasted geese and ducks, meat pasties, artichokes, asparagus, and other vegetables and various cakes and sweet-meats were carried to the guests, and their beakers well filled with the choice wines of which there was never a lack in the lofts of the house of Seti. In the spaces between the guests stood servants with metal bowls, in which they might wash their hands, and towels of fine linen.
“Tante Therese,” a drama in four acts by Paul Lindau, is a cleverly conceived and brightly written thing, showing that the writer is full of pathos and wit. The audience cried and laughed and applauded the first night it was given in Berlin. In fact, Lindau is so sharp a critic and so talented a writer, that, as editor of Die Gegenwart, a neat and pungent weekly, he was a great potentate in Berlin society. His pen spared no one—musician, artist, soldier—and even royalty fell under its point if he, Lindau, was not in sympathy with their productions or actions. He is the life of a dinner party, the most interested musician and art connoisseur, and among journalists and in the literary coterie he is the star which lights or exposes the objects around. His reviews in Die Gegenwart (The Present) are somewhat after the matter of the reviews in The Nation—a little pessimistic or hypercritical, but always accomplishing their object, and whatever comes from his pen is looked for with eagerness. With a lovely home, and a beautiful young wife to do its honors, he attracts about him many brilliant companies. He was once thrown into prison for having written something which was not prudent in regard to government matters—the press being not so free in Germany, as the reader will observe, as in this country.
Dr. Julius Rodenburg, editor of Die Rundschau, is of Jewish extraction, resembling Felix Mendelssohn so much that one must immediately remark it. As Mendelssohn was also a Jew, the association seems to grow more intimate in one’s mind, as an acquaintance with this light-hearted, spirited man progresses. He seems never to be weary—the world and his friend have a charm for him, and he and his intelligent wife know well how to attract them to their weekly receptions. They both speak English well, and have spent some time in England. He has published a little book entitled “Ferien in England”—Vacation in England.
Sometimes he comes out in his review, which corresponds to our Atlantic Monthly, with learned and elaborate articles, but his time is, as editor, consumed with other people’s productions. Editors of papers and presidents of colleges have little time for anything but reflection upon the merits or demerits of others.
Ferdinand Gregorovius, half German and half Italian, has published four volumes of the “History of Rome,” also in 1874 a very attractive volume on “Lucrezia Borgia.” In the back of the book appears a fac-simile letter from Pope Alexander IV. to Lucrezia, and one of hers to Isabella Gonzogo—most curious documents.
Dr. Friedrich Kapp, who came to America when Carl Schurz did, returned after a short residence and entered political life in his own country. Beyond his exertion in this direction he has found time for considerable literary work; has edited the “Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin,” which contains a preface by Berthold Auerbach. Dr. Kapp is better known, perhaps, through the press, than through his books.