[95.] For review of Schink’s book see Allg. Litt. Zeitung, 1794, IV, p. 62, October 7. Böttiger seems to think that Schink’s work is but another working over of Stevenson’s continuation.
[96.] It is not given by Goedeke or Meusel, but is given among Schink’s works in “Neuer Nekrolog der Deutschen,” Weimar, 1835–1837, XIII, pp. 161–165.
[97.] In both these books the English author may perhaps be responsible for some of the deviation from Sterne’s style.
[98.] CV, p. 271.
[99.] Kayser notes another translation, “Fragmente in Yorick’s Manier, aus dem Eng., mit Kpf., 8o.” London, 1800. It is possibly identical with the one noted above. A second edition of the original came out in 1798.
[100.] The original of this was published by Kearsley in London, 1790, 12o, a teary contribution to the story of Maria of Moulines.
[ CHAPTER V]
STERNE’S INFLUENCE IN GERMANY
Thus in manifold ways Sterne was introduced into German life and letters.[1] He stood as a figure of benignant humanity, of lavish sympathy with every earthly affliction, he became a guide and mentor,[2] an awakener and consoler, and probably more than all, a sanction for emotional expression. Not only in literature, but in the conduct of life was Yorick judged a preceptor. The most important attempt to turn Yorick’s teachings to practical service in modifying conduct in human relationships was the introduction and use of the so-called “Lorenzodosen.” The considerable popularity of this remarkable conceit is tangible evidence of Sterne’s influence in Germany and stands in striking contrast to the wavering enthusiasm, vigorous denunciation and half-hearted acknowledgment which marked Sterne’s career in England. A century of criticism has disallowed Sterne’s claim as a prophet, but unquestionably he received in Germany the honors which a foreign land proverbially accords.
To Johann Georg Jacobi, the author of the “Winterreise” and “Sommerreise,” two well-known imitations of Sterne, the sentimental world was indebted for this practical manner of expressing adherence to a sentimental creed.[3] In the Hamburgischer Correspondent he published an open letter to Gleim, dated April 4, 1769, about the time of the inception of the “Winterreise,” in which letter he relates at considerable length the origin of the idea.[4] A few days before this the author was reading to his brother, Fritz Jacobi, the philosopher, novelist and friend of Goethe, and a number of ladies, from Sterne’s Sentimental Journey the story of the poor Franciscan who begged alms of Yorick. “We read,” says Jacobi, “how Yorick used this snuff-box to invoke its former possessor’s gentle, patient spirit, and to keep his own composed in the midst of life’s conflicts. The good Monk had died: Yorick sat by his grave, took out the little snuff-box, plucked a few nettles from the head of the grave, and wept. We looked at one another in silence: each rejoiced to find tears in the others’ eyes; we honored the death of the venerable old man Lorenzo and the good-hearted Englishman. In our opinion, too, the Franciscan deserved more to be canonized than all the saints of the calendar. Gentleness, contentedness with the world, patience invincible, pardon for the errors of mankind, these are the primary virtues he teaches his disciples.” The moment was too precious not to be emphasized by something rememberable, perceptible to the senses, and they all purchased for themselves horn snuff-boxes, and had the words “Pater Lorenzo” written in golden letters on the outside of the cover and “Yorick” within. Oath was taken for the sake of Saint Lorenzo to give something to every Franciscan who might ask of them, and further: “If anyone in our company should allow himself to be carried away by anger, his friend holds out to him the snuff-box, and we have too much feeling to withstand this reminder even in the greatest violence of passion.” It is suggested also that the ladies, who use no tobacco, should at least have such a snuff-box on their night-stands, because to them belong in such a high degree those gentle feelings which were to be associated with the article.
This letter printed in the Hamburg paper was to explain the snuff-box, which Jacobi had sent to Gleim a few days before, and the desire is also expressed to spread the order. Hence others were sent to other friends. Jacobi goes on to say: “Perhaps in the future, I may have the pleasure of meeting a stranger here and there who will hand me the horn snuff-box with its golden letters. I shall embrace him as intimately as one Free Mason does another after the sign has been given. Oh! what a joy it would be to me, if I could introduce so precious a custom among my fellow-townsmen.” A reviewer in the Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek[5] sharply condemns Jacobi for his conceit in printing publicly a letter meant for his friend or friends, and, to judge from the words with which Jacobi accompanies the abridged form of the letter in the later editions it would seem that Jacobi himself was later ashamed of the whole affair. The idea, however, was warmly received, and among the teary, sentimental enthusiasts the horn snuff-box soon became the fad. A few days after the publication of this letter, Wittenberg,[6] the journalist in Hamburg, writes to Jacobi (April 21) that many in Hamburg desire to possess these snuff-boxes, and he adds: “A hundred or so are now being manufactured; besides the name Lorenzo, the following legend is to appear on the cover: Animae quales non candidiores terra tulit.” Wittenberg explains that this Latin motto was a suggestion of his own, selfishly made, for thereby he might win the opportunity of explaining it to the fair ladies, and exacting kisses for the service. Wittenberg asserts that a lady (Longo guesses a certain Johanna Friederike Behrens) was the first to suggest the manufacture of the article at Hamburg. A second letter[7] from Wittenberg to Jacobi four months later (August 21, 1769) announces the sending of nine snuff-boxes to Jacobi, and the price is given as one-half a reichsthaler. Jacobi himself says in his note to the later edition that merchants made a speculation out of the fad, and that a multitude of such boxes were sent out through all Germany, even to Denmark and Livonia: “they were in every hand,” he says. Graf Solms had such boxes made of tin with the name Jacobi inside. Both Martin and Werner instance the request[8] of a Protestant vicar, Johann David Goll in Trossingen, for a “Lorenzodose” with the promise to subscribe to the oath of the order, and, though Protestant, to name the Catholic Franciscan his brother. According to a spicy review[9] in the Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek[10] these snuff-boxes were sold in Hamburg wrapped in a printed copy of Jacobi’s letter to Gleim, and the reviewer adds, “like Grenough’s tooth-tincture in the directions for its use.”[11] Nicolai in “Sebaldus Nothanker” refers to the Lorenzo cult with evident ridicule.[12]