The Sorrows of Young Werther (35) by J.W. von Goethe

The Sorrows of Young Werther (35) by J.W. von Goethe

DECEMBER 24.

As I anticipated, the ambassador occasions me infinite annoyance. He is
the most punctilious blockhead under heaven. He does everything step by
step, with the trifling minuteness of an old woman; and he is a man whom
it is impossible to please, because he is never pleased with himself. I
like to do business regularly and cheerfully, and, when it is finished,
to leave it. But he constantly returns my papers to me, saying, “They
will do,” but recommending me to look over them again, as “one may
always improve by using a better word or a more appropriate particle.”
I then lose all patience, and wish myself at the devil’s. Not a
conjunction, not an adverb, must be omitted: he has a deadly antipathy
to all those transpositions of which I am so fond; and, if the music
of our periods is not tuned to the established, official key, he cannot
comprehend our meaning. It is deplorable to be connected with such a
fellow.

My acquaintance with the Count C–is the only compensation for such an
evil. He told me frankly, the other day, that he was much displeased
with the difficulties and delays of the ambassador; that people like him
are obstacles, both to themselves and to others. “But,” added he, “one
must submit, like a traveller who has to ascend a mountain: if the
mountain was not there, the road would be both shorter and pleasanter;
but there it is, and he must get over it.”

The old man perceives the count’s partiality for me: this annoys him,
and, he seizes every opportunity to depreciate the count in my hearing.
I naturally defend him, and that only makes matters worse. Yesterday he
made me indignant, for he also alluded to me. “The count,” he said, “is
a man of the world, and a good man of business: his style is good,
and he writes with facility; but, like other geniuses, he has no solid
learning.” He looked at me with an expression that seemed to ask if I
felt the blow. But it did not produce the desired effect: I despise a
man who can think and act in such a manner. However, I made a stand, and
answered with not a little warmth. The count, I said, was a man entitled
to respect, alike for his character and his acquirements. I had never
met a person whose mind was stored with more useful and extensive
knowledge,–who had, in fact, mastered such an infinite variety of
subjects, and who yet retained all his activity for the details of
ordinary business. This was altogether beyond his comprehension; and I
took my leave, lest my anger should be too highly excited by some new
absurdity of his.

And you are to blame for all this, you who persuaded me to bend my
neck to this yoke by preaching a life of activity to me. If the man who
plants vegetables, and carries his corn to town on market-days, is not
more usefully employed than I am, then let me work ten years longer at
the galleys to which I am now chained.

Oh, the brilliant wretchedness, the weariness, that one is doomed
to witness among the silly people whom we meet in society here! The
ambition of rank! How they watch, how they toil, to gain precedence!
What poor and contemptible passions are displayed in their utter
nakedness! We have a woman here, for example, who never ceases to
entertain the company with accounts of her family and her estates. Any
stranger would consider her a silly being, whose head was turned by
her pretensions to rank and property; but she is in reality even
more ridiculous, the daughter of a mere magistrate’s clerk from this
neighbourhood. I cannot understand how human beings can so debase
themselves.

Every day I observe more and more the folly of judging of others by
ourselves; and I have so much trouble with myself, and my own heart is
in such constant agitation, that I am well content to let others pursue
their own course, if they only allow me the same privilege.

What provokes me most is the unhappy extent to which distinctions of
rank are carried. I know perfectly well how necessary are inequalities
of condition, and I am sensible of the advantages I myself derive
therefrom; but I would not have these institutions prove a barrier to
the small chance of happiness which I may enjoy on this earth.

I have lately become acquainted with a Miss B–, a very agreeable girl,
who has retained her natural manners in the midst of artificial life.
Our first conversation pleased us both equally; and, at taking leave,
I requested permission to visit her. She consented in so obliging a
manner, that I waited with impatience for the arrival of the happy
moment. She is not a native of this place, but resides here with her
aunt. The countenance of the old lady is not prepossessing. I paid her
much attention, addressing the greater part of my conversation to her;
and, in less than half an hour, I discovered what her niece subsequently
acknowledged to me, that her aged aunt, having but a small fortune, and
a still smaller share of understanding, enjoys no satisfaction except
in the pedigree of her ancestors, no protection save in her noble birth,
and no enjoyment but in looking from her castle over the heads of the
humble citizens. She was, no doubt, handsome in her youth, and in her
early years probably trifled away her time in rendering many a poor
youth the sport of her caprice: in her riper years she has submitted
to the yoke of a veteran officer, who, in return for her person and her
small independence, has spent with her what we may designate her age of
brass. He is dead; and she is now a widow, and deserted. She spends her
iron age alone, and would not be approached, except for the loveliness
of her niece.

The Sorrows of Young Werther (Die Leiden des jungen Werther) by J.W. von Goethe. Translated by R.D. Boylan.
To be continued

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: -Die Leiden des jungen Werther, Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von