The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 12, No. 346, December 13, 1828

    C.

ORIGIN OF THE WORD BANKRUPT

(For the Mirror.)

This word is formed from the ancient Latin bancus a bench, or table, and ruptus, broken. Bank originally signified a bench, which the first bankers had in the public places, in markets, fairs, &c. on which they told their money, wrote their bills of exchange, &.c. Hence, when a banker failed, they broke his bank, to advertise the public that the person to whom the bank belonged was no longer in a condition to continue his business. As this practice was very frequent in Italy, it is said the term bankrupt is derived from the Italian banco rotto, broken bench. Cowel (in his 4th Institute 227) rather chooses to deduce the word from the French banque, table, and route, vestigium, trace, by metaphor from the sign left in the ground, of a table once fastened to it and now gone. On this principle he traces the origin of bankrupts from the ancient Roman mensarii or argentarii, who had their tabernae or mensae in certain public places; and who, when they fled, or made off with the money that had been entrusted to them, left only the sign or shadow of their former station behind them.

    P.T.W.

ORIGIN OF THE WORD BROKER, &c

(For the Mirror.)

The origin of this word is contested; some derive it from the French broyer, "to grind;" others from brocader, to cavil or riggle; others deduce broker from a trader broken, and that from the Saxon broc, "misfortune," which is often the true reason of a man's breaking. In which view, a broker is a broken trader, by misfortune; and it is said that none but such were formerly admitted to that employment. The Jews, Armenians, and Banians are the chief brokers throughout most parts of the Levant and the Indies. In Persia, all affairs are transacted by a sort of brokers, whom they call "delal" i.e. "great talkers." Their form of contract in buying and selling is remarkable, being done in the profoundest silence, only by touching each other's fingers:—The buyer, loosening his pamerin, or girdle, spreads it on his knee; and both he and the seller, having their hands underneath, by the intercourse of the fingers, mark the price of pounds, shillings, &c., demanded, offered, and at length agreed on. When the seller takes the buyer's whole hand, it denotes a thousand, and as many times as he squeezes it, as many thousand pagods or roupees, according to the species in question demanded; when he only takes the five fingers, it denotes five hundred; and when only one, one hundred; taking only half a finger, to the second joint, denotes fifty; the small end of the finger, to the first joint, stands for ten. This legerdemain, or squeezing system, would not do for the latitude of London.

    P.T.W.

SELECT BIOGRAPHY

DR. GALL

(For the Mirror.)

The loss which the scientific world has lately sustained by the death of Dr. Gall, will be longer and more deeply felt than any which it has experienced for some years. This celebrated philosopher and physician was born in the year 1758, of respectable parents, at a small village in the duchy of Baden, where he received the early part of his education. He afterwards went to Brucksal, and then to Strasburgh, in which city he commenced his medical studies, and became a pupil of the celebrated Professor Hermann. From Strasburgh he removed to Vienna, where he commenced practice, having taken the degree of M.D. In this capital, however, he was not permitted to develope his new system of the functions of the brain; and from his lectures being interdicted, and the illiberal opposition which he here met with, as well as in other parts of Austria, he determined to visit the north of Germany. Here he was well received in all the cities through which he passed, as well as in Prussia, Sweden, and Denmark, and explained the doctrines he had founded on his observations from nature before several sovereigns, who honoured him with such marks of approbation and respect as were due to his talents. In the course of his travels he likewise visited England, and at length, in 1807, settled in Paris, where his reputation had already preceded him, and which, from its central situation, he considered as the fittest place for disseminating his system. In this city, in 1810, he published his elaborate work on the brain, the expenses of which were guaranteed by one of his greatest friends and patrons, Prince Metternich, at that time Austrian minister at the court of France.

It was natural to expect that the system of Dr. Gall, which differed so widely from the long confirmed habits of thinking, and having to contend with so many prejudices, should encounter a large host of adversaries; for if phrenology be true, all other systems of the philosophy of the human mind must consequently be false. The brain, which, from the earliest periods, has generally been considered as the seat of our mental functions, Dr. Gall regards as a congeries of organs, each organ having a separate function of its own. This system, first promulgated by him, is now rapidly advancing in the estimation of the world; and its doctrines, which a few years since were thought too extravagant and absurd for investigation, are now discussed in a more liberal and candid manner. The test for the science of phrenology, and a test by which its validity alone can be tried, consists in an induction of facts and observations; and by this mode it is that the disciples of Gall and Spurzheim challenge their antagonists.

After a life of the most indefatigable industry and active benevolence, Dr. Gall breathed his last at his country house at Montrouge, a short distance from Paris, on August the 22nd, 1828, at the age of seventy-one. The examination of his body took place forty hours after death, in the presence of the following members of the faculty:—Messrs. Fouquier, J. Cloquet, Dauncey, Fossati, Cassimir-Broussais, Robouane, Sarlandière, Fabre-Palaprat, Londe, Costello, Gaubert, Vimont, Jobert, and Marotti. The exterior appearance of the body presented a considerable falling away, particularly in the face. The skull was sawed off with the greatest precaution; the substance of the brain was consistent, and this organ was firm and perfectly regular.

The funeral of Dr. Gall, which was conducted with as much privacy as possible, took place at Paris on the 27th of August. He was interred in the burial-ground of Père la Chaise, between the tombs of Molière and La Fontaine, being attended to the grave by several members of the faculty. Three eloges, or oraisons funèbres, were delivered at the place of interment by Professor Broussais, Dr. Fossati, and Dr. Londe.

Broussais informs us, that Dr. Gall possessed most of the social virtues, particularly beneficence and good-nature—qualities, he observes, precious in all ranks of society, and which ought to make amends for many defects; but for Gall, they had only to palliate a certain roughness of character, which might wound the susceptibility of delicate persons, although the sick and unfortunate never had to complain; and, indeed, the doctor ought, in strict justice, to have more merit in our ideas, from never having once lost sight, in his writings, of either decency or moderation, particularly when it is remembered how severely he was attacked in propagating his favourite doctrine.

    T.B.

FROM CATULLUS

(For the Mirror.)

My Lydia says, "believe me I speak true,
I ne'er will marry any one but you;
If Jove himself should mention love to me,
Not even Jove would be preferred to thee."
She says—but all that women tell
Their doting lovers—I, alas! too well
Know, should be written on the waves or wind,
So little do their words express their mind.

    T.C.

THE NOVELIST

GERMAN TRADITIONS

I have a song of war for knight,
Lay of love for lady bright,
Faery tale to lull the heir,
Goblin grim the maids to scare!

    SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Germany! land of mystery and of mind! birth-place of Schiller and Goëthe, with what emotions does not every lover of romance sit down to peruse thy own peculiar, dreamy traditions! Thy very name conjures up visions of demons, and imps, and elfs, and all the creations of faery land, with their varied legends of diablerie, almost incredible in number and singular in detail—and romance, in his gloomy mood, seems here to have reared his strong hold.

At a time when a taste for the beauties of German literature is becoming general throughout this country, we conceive that a few specimens of her traditions may not be unacceptable to the reader. Few subjects are more interesting than the popular legends of a country, which are the source from whence many of our later novelists draw several of their writings: they offer a field for reflection to the contemplative observer of man; and those of Germany, although some are disfigured with a little too much absurdity in their details, are confessedly a mine of wealth to the lover of research in such matters. Here Schiller first drew the sources of his inspiration; here Goëthe first electrified mankind with his writings—works which will render both immortal; it is, indeed, a mine which has been and will bear much working.

We have chosen the following tradition, both on account of the merit it possesses, and its being the unquestionable origin of Washington Irving's inimitable Rip Von Winkle. Indeed, the similarity of the story is strikingly obvious. We believe there are several legends on this subject, which, with the present, probably all refer to the Emperor Frederic Barbarossa, whose adventures form the source of many a story among the Germans. The original tale is nearly as follows:—It seems the emperor was once compelled to conceal himself, with a party of his followers, amongst the Kyffhaüsen mountains; there he still lives, but is under the influence of magic. He sits with his adherents on a seat before a stone table, leaning his head upon his hands, seeming to slumber; but apparently his sleep is very restless, and his head nods, and seems as if he were going to awake, and his red beard has grown through the table down to his feet. He takes pretty long naps, not more than a hundred years in length at a stretch: when his slumber is interrupted, he is fabled to be very fond of music; and it is said that there was a party of musicians, who once gave him a regular serenade in his subterranean retreat, doubtless expecting some wonderful token of his generosity in return; but they received nothing for their pains but a number of green boughs, which so disgusted them, that they all threw them away on their return to earth, save one, who, however, had no suspicion of its worth, for on showing it to his wife, to his great astonishment, each leaf became a golden coin.

An author before us observes, that this tale of the emperor's slumbers cannot, perhaps, be deemed original, and is probably a popular version of the Seven Sleepers, "not a little disfigured by the peculiar superstition of the country." The same writer remarks, with justice, that it is surprising how few are the sources, and how scanty the parent stock, from whence all the varieties of European legend are derived. Indeed, the foundation of a great part of these legendary stories seems to have been the heathen mythology of the different countries, and the various tales of superstition being handed down from one generation to another, have gradually assumed the shape they now bear; from whence may be traced most of our popular superstitions.

THE LEGEND OF THE GOATHERD

When I behold a football to and fro,
Urged by a throng of players equally,
Methinks I see, resembled in that show,
This round earth poised in the vacant sky.

And all we learn whereas the game is o'er,
That life is but a dream, and nothing more.

    AMADIS JANRYN.
"Know'st thou me not?"–
"Oh, yes, (I cried,) thou art indeed the same."

    GOETHE.
At the peaceful village of Sittendorf dwelt Peter Klaus, the goatherd. He daily tended his flocks to pasture in the Kyffhäusen mountains, and never failed, as evening approached, to muster them in a little mead, surrounded by a stone wall, preparatory to driving them home; for some time, however, he had observed, that one of the finest of his herd regularly disappeared soon after coming to this nook, and did not join her companions till late. One night, watching her attentively, he remarked that she slipped through a hole or opening in the wall, on which he cautiously crept after the animal, and found she was in a cave, busily engaged in gleaning the grains of corn that fell down singly from the roof. Peter did not look long before the shower of corn that now saluted him made him shake his ears, and inflamed his curiosity the more to discover the cause of so singular an occurrence in that out-of-the-way place. However, at last he heard the neigh and stamping of horses, apparently proceed from above; and it was doubtless from their mangers that the oats had fallen.

While standing, still wrapped in amazement at the singularity of the adventure, Peter's surprise was not diminished on observing a boy, who, without saying a word, silently beckoned him to follow. Peter mechanically obeyed the gestures of the lad, and ascended some steps, which led over a walled court into a hollow place, completely surrounded on all sides by lofty rocks, and crowned by the rich foliage of shrubs, through which an imperfect twilight displayed a smooth, well-trimmed lawn, that formed the ground he stood upon. Here were twelve knights, who, without so much as uttering a syllable, were very gravely playing at nine-pins; and as silently was Peter inducted into the office of assistant, namely, in setting up these nine-pins. Peter's courage was none of the strongest during all this time, and his knees smote each other most devoutly as he commenced his duties; while he occasionally ventured to steal a glance at the venerable knights, whose long beards and antique slashed doublets filled him with profound awe.

His fears, however, began to be on the wane, as he became more accustomed to his new employment. Indeed, he went so far as to gaze on one of the noble knights straight in the face—nay, even at last ventured to sip out of a bowl of wine that stood near him, which diffused a most delicious odour around. He found this sip so invigorating, that he soon took a somewhat longer pull; and in a short time Peter had quite forgotten that such things as Sittendorf, Wife, or Goats had ever existed; and on finding himself the least weary, he had only to apply to the never-failing goblet. At last he fell fast asleep.

On waking, Peter found he was in the same little enclosure where he was wont to count his flocks. He shook himself well, and rubbed his eyes; but neither dog nor goats were to be seen; and he was astonished in no slight degree to observe that he was nearly surrounded with high grass, and trees, and shrubs, which he never before remarked, growing about that spot. Lost in perplexity, he followed his way to all the different haunts he had frequented with his herds, but no traces of them were to be discovered; at last he hastily bent his steps to Sittendorf, which lay beneath.

The persons whom he met on his way to the village were all strangers to him; they were differently dressed, and did not precisely speak the language of his acquaintance; and on inquiring after his goats, all stared and touched their chins. At last he mechanically did the same, but what was his surprise when he found his beard lengthened at least a foot; on which he began to conclude that he and those around him were all under the influence of magic or enchantment. Yet the mountain he had descended was certainly the Kyffhäusen—the cottages, too, with their gardens and enclosures, were all quite familiar to him—and he heard some boys reply to the passing questions of a traveller, that it was Sittendorf.

His doubt and perplexity now increased every moment, and he quickened his steps towards his own dwelling; he hardly knew it, it was so much decayed; and before the door lay a strange goatherd's boy, with a dog apparently at the last extreme of age, that snarled when he spoke to him. He entered the house through an opening, which had formerly been closed by a door. All was waste and void within; he staggered out as if he had lost his senses, calling on his wife and children by their names; but no one heard—none answered. Before long, a crowd of women and children had collected around the strange old man, with the long hoary beard, and all inquired what it was he was seeking after. This was almost too much; to be thus questioned before his own door was more than strange, and he felt ashamed to ask after his wife and children, or even of himself; but to get rid of his querists he mentioned the first name that occurred to him, "Kurt Steffen?" The people looked around in silence, till at length an old woman said, "He has been in the churchyard these twelve years past, and you'll not go thither to-day."—"Velten Meier?"—"Heaven rest his soul!" replied an ancient dame, leaning on a crutch. "Heaven rest his soul! he has lain in the house he will never leave these fifteen years!"

The goatherd shuddered to recognise in the last speaker his next neighbour, who seemed all at once to have grown old; but he had lost all desire to inquire further. Suddenly a smart young woman pressed through the surrounding gapers, with an infant in her arms, and leading a girl about fourteen years old—all three the exact image of his wife. With greater surprise than ever he inquired her name. "Maria!"—"And your father's name?"—"Peter Klaus! Heaven rest his soul! It is now twenty years since his goats returned without him, and we sought for him in vain day and night in the Kyffhäusen mountains—I was then hardly seven years old."