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The Sorrows of Young Werther (48) by J.W. von Goethe
OCTOBER 27.
I could tear open my bosom with vexation to think how little we are capable of influencing the feelings of each other. No one can communicate to me those sensations of love, joy, rapture, and delight which I do not naturally possess; and, though my heart may glow with the most lively affection, I cannot make the happiness of one in whom the same warmth is not inherent.
OCTOBER 27:
Evening: I possess so much, but my love for her absorbs it all. I possess so much, but without her I have nothing. OCTOBER 30. One hundred times have I been on the point of embracing her. Heavens! what a torment it is to see so much loveliness passing and repassing before us, and yet not dare to lay hold of it! And laying hold is the most natural of human instincts. Do not children touch everything they see? And I!
The Sorrows of Young Werther (Die Leiden des jungen Werther) by J.W. von Goethe. Translated by R.D. Boylan.
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The Sorrows of Young Werther (47) by J.W. von Goethe OCTOBER 19. Alas! the void the fearful void, which I feel in my bosom! Sometimes I think, if I could only once but once, press her to my heart, this dreadful void would be filled.OCTOBER 26. Yes, I feel certain, Wilhelm, and every day I become more certain, that the existence of any being whatever is of very little consequence. A friend of Charlotte's called to see her just now. I withdrew into a neighbouring apartment, and took up a book; but, finding I could not read, I sat down to write. I heard them converse in an undertone: they spoke upon indifferent topics, and retailed the news of the town. One was going to be married; another was ill, very ill, she had a dry cough, her face was growing thinner daily, and she had occasional fits. "N--is very unwell too," said Charlotte. "His limbs begin to swell already," answered the other; and my lively imagination carried me at once to the beds of the infirm. There I see them struggling against death, with all the agonies of pain and horror; and these women, Wilhelm, talk of all this with as much indifference as one would mention the death of a stranger. And when I look around the apartment where I now am--when I see Charlotte's apparel lying before me, and Albert's writings, and all those articles of furniture which are so familiar to me, even to the very inkstand which I am using,--when I think what I am to this family--everything. My friends esteem me; I often contribute to their happiness, and my heart seems as if it could not beat without them; and yet---if I were to die, if I were to be summoned from the midst of this circle, would they feel--or how long would they feel the void which my loss would make in their existence? How long! Yes, such is the frailty of man, that even there, where he has the greatest consciousness of his own being, where he makes the strongest and most forcible impression, even in the memory, in the heart, of his beloved, there also he must perish,--vanish,--and that quickly. 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
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The Sorrows of Young Werther (46) by J.W. von Goethe
OCTOBER 10.
Only to gaze upon her dark eyes is to me a source of happiness! And
what grieves me, is, that Albert does not seem so happy as he–hoped to
be–as I should have been–if–I am no friend to these pauses, but here
I cannot express it otherwise; and probably I am explicit enough.
OCTOBER 12.
Ossian has superseded Homer in my heart. To what a world does the
illustrious bard carry me! To wander over pathless wilds, surrounded by
impetuous whirlwinds, where, by the feeble light of the moon, we see the
spirits of our ancestors; to hear from the mountain-tops, mid the roar
of torrents, their plaintive sounds issuing from deep caverns, and the
sorrowful lamentations of a maiden who sighs and expires on the mossy
tomb of the warrior by whom she was adored. I meet this bard with silver
hair; he wanders in the valley; he seeks the footsteps of his fathers,
and, alas! he finds only their tombs. Then, contemplating the pale moon,
as she sinks beneath the waves of the rolling sea, the memory of
bygone days strikes the mind of the hero, days when approaching danger
invigorated the brave, and the moon shone upon his bark laden with
spoils, and returning in triumph. When I read in his countenance deep
sorrow, when I see his dying glory sink exhausted into the grave, as he
inhales new and heart-thrilling delight from his approaching union with
his beloved, and he casts a look on the cold earth and the tall grass
which is so soon to cover him, and then exclaims, “The traveller will
come,–he will come who has seen my beauty, and he will ask, ‘Where is
the bard, where is the illustrious son of Fingal?’ He will walk over my
tomb, and will seek me in vain!” Then, O my friend, I could instantly,
like a true and noble knight, draw my sword, and deliver my prince from
the long and painful languor of a living death, and dismiss my own soul
to follow the demigod whom my hand had set free!
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The Sorrows of Young Werther (45) by J.W. von Goethe
SEPTEMBER 15.
It makes me wretched, Wilhelm, to think that there should be men
incapable of appreciating the few things which possess a real value in
life. You remember the walnut trees at S--, under which I used to sit
with Charlotte, during my visits to the worthy old vicar. Those glorious
trees, the very sight of which has so often filled my heart with
joy, how they adorned and refreshed the parsonage yard, with their
wide-extended branches! and how pleasing was our remembrance of the
good old pastor, by whose hands they were planted so many years ago:
The schoolmaster has frequently mentioned his name. He had it from his
grandfather. He must have been a most excellent man; and, under the
shade of those old trees, his memory was ever venerated by me. The
schoolmaster informed us yesterday, with tears in his eyes, that those
trees had been felled. Yes, cut to the ground! I could, in my wrath,
have slain the monster who struck the first stroke. And I must endure
this!--I, who, if I had had two such trees in my own court, and one had
died from old age, should have wept with real affliction. But there is
some comfort left, such a thing is sentiment, the whole village murmurs
at the misfortune; and I hope the vicar's wife will soon find, by the
cessation of the villagers' presents, how much she has wounded the
feelings of the neighborhhood. It was she who did it, the wife of the
present incumbent (our good old man is dead), a tall, sickly creature
who is so far right to disregard the world, as the world totally
disregards her. The silly being affects to be learned, pretends to
examine the canonical books, lends her aid toward the new-fashioned
reformation of Christendom, moral and critical, and shrugs up her
shoulders at the mention of Lavater's enthusiasm. Her health is
destroyed, on account of which she is prevented from having any
enjoyment here below. Only such a creature could have cut down my walnut
trees! I can never pardon it. Hear her reasons. The falling leaves made
the court wet and dirty; the branches obstructed the light; boys threw
stones at the nuts when they were ripe, and the noise affected her
nerves; and disturbed her profound meditations, when she was weighing
the difficulties of Kennicot, Semler, and Michaelis. Finding that all
the parish, particularly the old people, were displeased, I asked "why
they allowed it?" "Ah, sir!" they replied, "when the steward orders,
what can we poor peasants do?" But one thing has happened well. The
steward and the vicar (who, for once, thought to reap some advantage
from the caprices of his wife) intended to divide the trees between
them. The revenue-office, being informed of it, revived an old claim to
the ground where the trees had stood, and sold them to the best bidder.
There they still lie on the ground. If I were the sovereign, I should
know how to deal with them all, vicar, steward, and revenue-office.
Sovereign, did I say? I should, in that case, care little about the
trees that grew in the country.
The Sorrows of Young Werther (Die Leiden des jungen Werther) by J.W. von Goethe. Translated by R.D. Boylan.
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The Sorrows of Young Werther (44) by J.W. von Goethe
SEPTEMBER 5.
Charlotte had written a letter to her husband in the country, where he
was detained by business. It commenced, “My dearest love, return as
soon as possible: I await you with a thousand raptures.” A friend who
arrived, brought word, that, for certain reasons, he could not return
immediately. Charlotte’s letter was not forwarded, and the same evening
it fell into my hands. I read it, and smiled. She asked the reason.
“What a heavenly treasure is imagination:” I exclaimed; “I fancied for a
moment that this was written to me.” She paused, and seemed displeased.
I was silent.
SEPTEMBER 6.
It cost me much to part with the blue coat which I wore the first time I
danced with Charlotte. But I could not possibly wear it any longer.
But I have ordered a new one, precisely similar, even to the collar and
sleeves, as well as a new waistcoat and pantaloons.
But it does not produce the same effect upon me. I know not how it is,
but I hope in time I shall like it better.
SEPTEMBER 12.
She has been absent for some days. She went to meet Albert. To-day
I visited her: she rose to receive me, and I kissed her hand most
tenderly.
A canary at the moment flew from a mirror, and settled upon her
shoulder. “Here is a new friend,” she observed, while she made him perch
upon her hand: “he is a present for the children. What a dear he is!
Look at him! When I feed him, he flutters with his wings, and pecks so
nicely. He kisses me, too, only look!”
She held the bird to her mouth; and he pressed her sweet lips with
so much fervour that he seemed to feel the excess of bliss which he
enjoyed.
“He shall kiss you too,” she added; and then she held the bird toward
me. His little beak moved from her mouth to mine, and the delightful
sensation seemed like the forerunner of the sweetest bliss.
“A kiss,” I observed, “does not seem to satisfy him: he wishes for food,
and seems disappointed by these unsatisfactory endearments.”
“But he eats out of my mouth,” she continued, and extended her lips to
him containing seed; and she smiled with all the charm of a being who
has allowed an innocent participation of her love.
I turned my face away. She should not act thus. She ought not to excite
my imagination with such displays of heavenly innocence and happiness,
nor awaken my heart from its slumbers, in which it dreams of the
worthlessness of life! And why not? Because she knows how much I love
her.
The Sorrows of Young Werther (Die Leiden des jungen Werther) by J.W. von Goethe. Translated by R.D. Boylan.
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The Sorrows of Young Werther (43) by J.W. von Goethe
SEPTEMBER 4.
It is even so! As nature puts on her autumn tints it becomes autumn with
me and around me. My leaves are sere and yellow, and the neighbouring
trees are divested of their foliage. Do you remember my writing to you
about a peasant boy shortly after my arrival here? I have just made
inquiries about him in Walheim. They say he has been dismissed from his
service, and is now avoided by every one. I met him yesterday on the
road, going to a neighbouring village. I spoke to him, and he told me
his story. It interested me exceedingly, as you will easily understand
when I repeat it to you. But why should I trouble you? Why should I
not reserve all my sorrow for myself? Why should I continue to give you
occasion to pity and blame me? But no matter: this also is part of my
destiny.
At first the peasant lad answered my inquiries with a sort of subdued
melancholy, which seemed to me the mark of a timid disposition; but, as
we grew to understand each other, he spoke with less reserve, and openly
confessed his faults, and lamented his misfortune. I wish, my dear
friend, I could give proper expression to his language. He told me
with a sort of pleasurable recollection, that, after my departure, his
passion for his mistress increased daily, until at last he neither knew
what he did nor what he said, nor what was to become of him. He could
neither eat nor drink nor sleep: he felt a sense of suffocation; he
disobeyed all orders, and forgot all commands involuntarily; he seemed
as if pursued by an evil spirit, till one day, knowing that his mistress
had gone to an upper chamber, he had followed, or, rather, been drawn
after her. As she proved deaf to his entreaties, he had recourse to
violence. He knows not what happened; but he called God to witness that
his intentions to her were honourable, and that he desired nothing more
sincerely than that they should marry, and pass their lives together.
When he had come to this point, he began to hesitate, as if there
was something which he had not courage to utter, till at length he
acknowledged with some confusion certain little confidences she had
encouraged, and liberties she had allowed. He broke off two or three
times in his narration, and assured me most earnestly that he had
no wish to make her bad, as he termed it, for he loved her still as
sincerely as ever; that the tale had never before escaped his lips,
and was only now told to convince me that he was not utterly lost and
abandoned. And here, my dear friend, I must commence the old song which
you know I utter eternally. If I could only represent the man as he
stood, and stands now before me, could I only give his true expressions,
you would feel compelled to sympathise in his fate. But enough: you,
who know my misfortune and my disposition, can easily comprehend
the attraction which draws me toward every unfortunate being, but
particularly toward him whose story I have recounted.
On perusing this letter a second time, I find I have omitted the
conclusion of my tale; but it is easily supplied. She became reserved
toward him, at the instigation of her brother who had long hated him,
and desired his expulsion from the house, fearing that his sister's
second marriage might deprive his children of the handsome fortune they
expected from her; as she is childless. He was dismissed at length; and
the whole affair occasioned so much scandal, that the mistress dared not
take him back, even if she had wished it. She has since hired another
servant, with whom, they say, her brother is equally displeased, and
whom she is likely to marry; but my informant assures me that he himself
is determined not to survive such a catastrophe.
This story is neither exaggerated nor embellished: indeed, I have
weakened and impaired it in the narration, by the necessity of using the
more refined expressions of society.
This love, then, this constancy, this passion, is no poetical fiction.
It is actual, and dwells in its greatest purity amongst that class of
mankind whom we term rude, uneducated. We are the educated, not the
perverted. But read this story with attention, I implore you. I am
tranquil to-day, for I have been employed upon this narration: you see
by my writing that I am not so agitated as usual. I read and re-read
this tale, Wilhelm: it is the history of your friend! My fortune has
been and will be similar; and I am neither half so brave nor half so
determined as the poor wretch with whom I hesitate to compare myself.
The Sorrows of Young Werther (Die Leiden des jungen Werther) by J.W. von Goethe. Translated by R.D. Boylan.
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The Sorrows of Young Werther (42) by J.W. von Goethe
AUGUST 4.
I am not alone unfortunate. All men are disappointed in their hopes, and
deceived in their expectations. I have paid a visit to my good old woman
under the lime-trees. The eldest boy ran out to meet me: his exclamation
of joy brought out his mother, but she had a very melancholy look. Her
first word was, "Alas! dear sir, my little John is dead." He was the
youngest of her children. I was silent. "And my husband has returned
from Switzerland without any money; and, if some kind people had not
assisted him, he must have begged his way home. He was taken ill with
fever on his journey." I could answer nothing, but made the little one
a present. She invited me to take some fruit: I complied, and left the
place with a sorrowful heart.
AUGUST 21.
My sensations are constantly changing. Sometimes a happy prospect opens
before me; but alas! it is only for a moment; and then, when I am
lost in reverie, I cannot help saying to myself, "If Albert were
to die?--Yes, she would become--and I should be"--and so I pursue a
chimera, till it leads me to the edge of a precipice at which I shudder.
When I pass through the same gate, and walk along the same road which
first conducted me to Charlotte, my heart sinks within me at the change
that has since taken place. All, all, is altered! No sentiment, no
pulsation of my heart, is the same. My sensations are such as would
occur to some departed prince whose spirit should return to visit the
superb palace which he had built in happy times, adorned with costly
magnificence, and left to a beloved son, but whose glory he should find
departed, and its halls deserted and in ruins.
SEPTEMBER 3.
I sometimes cannot understand how she can love another, how she dares
love another, when I love nothing in this world so completely, so
devotedly, as I love her, when I know only her, and have no other
possession.
The Sorrows of Young Werther (Die Leiden des jungen Werther) by J.W. von Goethe. Translated by R.D. Boylan.
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The Sorrows of Young Werther (41) by J.W. von Goethe
MAY 25.
I have had a plan in my head of which I did not intend to speak to you
until it was accomplished: now that it has failed, I may as well mention
it. I wished to enter the army, and had long been desirous of taking
the step. This, indeed, was the chief reason for my coming here with the
prince, as he is a general in the service. I communicated my design to
him during one of our walks together. He disapproved of it, and it would
have been actual madness not to have listened to his reasons.
JUNE 11.
Say what you will, I can remain here no longer. Why should I remain?
Time hangs heavy upon my hands. The prince is as gracious to me as any
one could be, and yet I am not at my ease. There is, indeed, nothing
in common between us. He is a man of understanding, but quite of the
ordinary kind. His conversation affords me no more amusement than I
should derive from the perusal of a well-written book. I shall remain
here a week longer, and then start again on my travels. My drawings are
the best things I have done since I came here. The prince has a taste
for the arts, and would improve if his mind were not fettered by cold
rules and mere technical ideas. I often lose patience, when, with
a glowing imagination, I am giving expression to art and nature, he
interferes with learned suggestions, and uses at random the technical
phraseology of artists.
JULY 16.
Once more I am a wanderer, a pilgrim, through the world. But what else
are you!
JULY 18.
Whither am I going? I will tell you in confidence. I am obliged to
continue a fortnight longer here, and then I think it would be better
for me to visit the mines in–. But I am only deluding myself thus. The
fact is, I wish to be near Charlotte again, that is all. I smile at the
suggestions of my heart, and obey its dictates.
JULY 29.
No, no! it is yet well all is well! I her husband! O God, who gave me
being, if thou hadst destined this happiness for me, my whole life would
have been one continual thanksgiving! But I will not murmur–forgive
these tears, forgive these fruitless wishes. She–my wife! Oh, the very
thought of folding that dearest of Heaven’s creatures in my arms! Dear
Wilhelm, my whole frame feels convulsed when I see Albert put his arms
around her slender waist!
And shall I avow it? Why should I not, Wilhelm? She would have been
happier with me than with him. Albert is not the man to satisfy the
wishes of such a heart. He wants a certain sensibility; he wants–in
short, their hearts do not beat in unison. How often, my dear friend,
I’m reading a passage from some interesting book, when my heart and
Charlotte’s seemed to meet, and in a hundred other instances when our
sentiments were unfolded by the story of some fictitious character, have
I felt that we were made for each other! But, dear Wilhelm, he loves her
with his whole soul; and what does not such a love deserve?
I have been interrupted by an insufferable visit. I have dried my tears,
and composed my thoughts. Adieu, my best friend!
The Sorrows of Young Werther (Die Leiden des jungen Werther) by J.W. von Goethe. Translated by R.D. Boylan.
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The Sorrows of Young Werther (40) by J.W. von Goethe
MARCH 24.
I have tendered my resignation to the court. I hope it will be accepted,
and you will forgive me for not having previously consulted you. It
is necessary I should leave this place. I know all you will urge me to
stay, and therefore I beg you will soften this news to my mother. I am
unable to do anything for myself: how, then, should I be competent to
assist others? It will afflict her that I should have interrupted that
career which would have made me first a privy councillor, and then
minister, and that I should look behind me, in place of advancing. Argue
as you will, combine all the reasons which should have induced me
to remain, I am going: that is sufficient. But, that you may not be
ignorant of my destination, I may mention that the Prince of–is here.
He is much pleased with my company; and, having heard of my intention
to resign, he has invited me to his country house, to pass the spring
months with him. I shall be left completely my own master; and, as we
agree on all subjects but one, I shall try my fortune, and accompany
him.
APRIL 19.
Thanks for both your letters. I delayed my reply, and withheld this
letter, till I should obtain an answer from the court. I feared my
mother might apply to the minister to defeat my purpose. But my request
is granted, my resignation is accepted. I shall not recount with what
reluctance it was accorded, nor relate what the minister has written:
you would only renew your lamentations. The crown prince has sent me
a present of five and twenty ducats; and, indeed, such goodness has
affected me to tears. For this reason I shall not require from my mother
the money for which I lately applied.
MAY 5.
I leave this place to-morrow; and, as my native place is only six miles
from the high road, I intend to visit it once more, and recall the happy
dreams of my childhood. I shall enter at the same gate through which
I came with my mother, when, after my father’s death, she left that
delightful retreat to immure herself in your melancholy town. Adieu, my
dear friend: you shall hear of my future career.
MAY 9.
I have paid my visit to my native place with all the devotion of a
pilgrim, and have experienced many unexpected emotions. Near the great
elm tree, which is a quarter of a league from the village, I got out of
the carriage, and sent it on before, that alone, and on foot, I might
enjoy vividly and heartily all the pleasure of my recollections. I stood
there under that same elm which was formerly the term and object of my
walks. How things have since changed! Then, in happy ignorance, I sighed
for a world I did not know, where I hoped to find every pleasure and
enjoyment which my heart could desire; and now, on my return from that
wide world, O my friend, how many disappointed hopes and unsuccessful
plans have I brought back!
As I contemplated the mountains which lay stretched out before me, I
thought how often they had been the object of my dearest desires. Here
used I to sit for hours together with my eyes bent upon them, ardently
longing to wander in the shade of those woods, to lose myself in those
valleys, which form so delightful an object in the distance. With what
reluctance did I leave this charming spot; when my hour of recreation
was over, and my leave of absence expired! I drew near to the village:
all the well-known old summerhouses and gardens were recognised again; I
disliked the new ones, and all other alterations which had taken place.
I entered the village, and all my former feelings returned. I cannot,
my dear friend, enter into details, charming as were my sensations:
they would be dull in the narration. I had intended to lodge in the
market-place, near our old house. As soon as I entered, I perceived that
the schoolroom, where our childhood had been taught by that good old
woman, was converted into a shop. I called to mind the sorrow, the
heaviness, the tears, and oppression of heart, which I experienced in
that confinement. Every step produced some particular impression. A
pilgrim in the Holy Land does not meet so many spots pregnant with
tender recollections, and his soul is hardly moved with greater
devotion. One incident will serve for illustration. I followed the
course of a stream to a farm, formerly a delightful walk of mine, and
paused at the spot, where, when boys, we used to amuse ourselves making
ducks and drakes upon the water. I recollected so well how I used
formerly to watch the course of that same stream, following it with
inquiring eagerness, forming romantic ideas of the countries it was to
pass through; but my imagination was soon exhausted: while the
water continued flowing farther and farther on, till my fancy became
bewildered by the contemplation of an invisible distance. Exactly such,
my dear friend, so happy and so confined, were the thoughts of our good
ancestors. Their feelings and their poetry were fresh as childhood.
And, when Ulysses talks of the immeasurable sea and boundless earth,
his epithets are true, natural, deeply felt, and mysterious. Of what
importance is it that I have learned, with every schoolboy, that the
world is round? Man needs but little earth for enjoyment, and still less
for his final repose.
I am at present with the prince at his hunting lodge. He is a man with
whom one can live happily. He is honest and unaffected. There are,
however, some strange characters about him, whom I cannot at all
understand. They do not seem vicious, and yet they do not carry the
appearance of thoroughly honest men. Sometimes I am disposed to believe
them honest, and yet I cannot persuade myself to confide in them. It
grieves me to hear the prince occasionally talk of things which he has
only read or heard of, and always with the same view in which they have
been represented by others.
He values my understanding and talents more highly than my heart, but I
am proud of the latter only. It is the sole source of everything of our
strength, happiness, and misery. All the knowledge I possess every one
else can acquire, but my heart is exclusively my own.
The Sorrows of Young Werther (Die Leiden des jungen Werther) by J.W. von Goethe. Translated by R.D. Boylan.
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The Sorrows of Young Werther (39) by J.W. von Goethe
MARCH 16.
Everything conspires against me. I met Miss B–walking to-day. I could
not help joining her; and, when we were at a little distance from her
companions, I expressed my sense of her altered manner toward me. “O
Werther!” she said, in a tone of emotion, “you, who know my heart, how
could you so ill interpret my distress? What did I not suffer for you,
from the moment you entered the room! I foresaw it all, a hundred times
was I on the point of mentioning it to you. I knew that the S—-s and
T—-s, with their husbands, would quit the room, rather than remain in
your company. I knew that the count would not break with them: and
now so much is said about it.” “How!” I exclaimed, and endeavoured to
conceal my emotion; for all that Adelin had mentioned to me yesterday
recurred to me painfully at that moment. “Oh, how much it has already
cost me!” said this amiable girl, while her eyes filled with tears.
I could scarcely contain myself, and was ready to throw myself at her
feet. “Explain yourself!” I cried. Tears flowed down her cheeks. I
became quite frantic. She wiped them away, without attempting to conceal
them. “You know my aunt,” she continued; “she was present: and in
what light does she consider the affair! Last night, and this morning,
Werther, I was compelled to listen to a lecture upon my acquaintance
with you. I have been obliged to hear you condemned and depreciated; and
I could not–I dared not–say much in your defence.”
Every word she uttered was a dagger to my heart. She did not feel what a
mercy it would have been to conceal everything from me. She told me, in
addition, all the impertinence that would be further circulated, and how
the malicious would triumph; how they would rejoice over the punishment
of my pride, over my humiliation for that want of esteem for others with
which I had often been reproached. To hear all this, Wilhelm, uttered by
her in a voice of the most sincere sympathy, awakened all my passions;
and I am still in a state of extreme excitement. I wish I could find a
man to jeer me about this event. I would sacrifice him to my resentment.
The sight of his blood might possibly be a relief to my fury. A hundred
times have I seized a dagger, to give ease to this oppressed heart.
Naturalists tell of a noble race of horses that instinctively open a
vein with their teeth, when heated and exhausted by a long course, in
order to breathe more freely. I am often tempted to open a vein, to
procure for myself everlasting liberty.
The Sorrows of Young Werther (Die Leiden des jungen Werther) by J.W. von Goethe. Translated by R.D. Boylan.
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The Sorrows of Young Werther (38) by J.W. von Goethe
MARCH 15.
I have just had a sad adventure, which will drive me away from here. I
lose all patience!–Death!–It is not to be remedied; and you alone are
to blame, for you urged and impelled me to fill a post for which I was
by no means suited. I have now reason to be satisfied, and so have you!
But, that you may not again attribute this fatality to my impetuous
temper, I send you, my dear sir, a plain and simple narration of the
affair, as a mere chronicler of facts would describe it.
The Count of O–likes and distinguishes me. It is well known, and I have
mentioned this to you a hundred times. Yesterday I dined with him. It is
the day on which the nobility are accustomed to assemble at his house
in the evening. I never once thought of the assembly, nor that we
subalterns did not belong to such society. Well, I dined with the count;
and, after dinner, we adjourned to the large hall. We walked up and down
together: and I conversed with him, and with Colonel B–, who joined us;
and in this manner the hour for the assembly approached. God knows, I
was thinking of nothing, when who should enter but the honourable Lady
accompanied by her noble husband and their silly, scheming daughter,
with her small waist and flat neck; and, with disdainful looks and a
haughty air they passed me by. As I heartily detest the whole race,
I determined upon going away; and only waited till the count had
disengaged himself from their impertinent prattle, to take leave, when
the agreeable Miss B–came in. As I never meet her without experiencing
a heartfelt pleasure, I stayed and talked to her, leaning over the
back of her chair, and did not perceive, till after some time, that she
seemed a little confused, and ceased to answer me with her usual ease
of manner. I was struck with it. “Heavens!” I said to myself, “can she,
too, be like the rest?” I felt annoyed, and was about to withdraw; but I
remained, notwithstanding, forming excuses for her conduct, fancying she
did not mean it, and still hoping to receive some friendly recognition.
The rest of the company now arrived. There was the Baron F–, in an
entire suit that dated from the coronation of Francis I.; the Chancellor
N–, with his deaf wife; the shabbily-dressed I–, whose old-fashioned
coat bore evidence of modern repairs: this crowned the whole.
I conversed with some of my acquaintances, but they answered me
laconically. I was engaged in observing Miss B–, and did not notice
that the women were whispering at the end of the room, that the murmur
extended by degrees to the men, that Madame S–addressed the count with
much warmth (this was all related to me subsequently by Miss B–); till
at length the count came up to me, and took me to the window. “You know
our ridiculous customs,” he said. “I perceive the company is rather
displeased at your being here. I would not on any account–” “I beg
your excellency’s pardon!” I exclaimed. “I ought to have thought of
this before, but I know you will forgive this little inattention. I was
going,” I added, “some time ago, but my evil genius detained me.” And I
smiled and bowed, to take my leave. He shook me by the hand, in a manner
which expressed everything. I hastened at once from the illustrious
assembly, sprang into a carriage, and drove to M–. I contemplated the
setting sun from the top of the hill, and read that beautiful passage in
Homer, where Ulysses is entertained by the hospitable herdsmen. This was
indeed delightful.
I returned home to supper in the evening. But few persons were assembled
in the room. They had turned up a corner of the table-cloth, and were
playing at dice. The good-natured A–came in. He laid down his hat when
he saw me, approached me, and said in a low tone, “You have met with
a disagreeable adventure.” “I!” I exclaimed. “The count obliged you to
withdraw from the assembly!” “Deuce take the assembly!” said I. “I was
very glad to be gone.” “I am delighted,” he added, “that you take it
so lightly. I am only sorry that it is already so much spoken of.” The
circumstance then began to pain me. I fancied that every one who sat
down, and even looked at me, was thinking of this incident; and my heart
became embittered.
And now I could plunge a dagger into my bosom, when I hear myself
everywhere pitied, and observe the triumph of my enemies, who say that
this is always the case with vain persons, whose heads are turned with
conceit, who affect to despise forms and such petty, idle nonsense.
Say what you will of fortitude, but show me the man who can patiently
endure the laughter of fools, when they have obtained an advantage over
him. ‘Tis only when their nonsense is without foundation that one can
suffer it without complaint.
The Sorrows of Young Werther (Die Leiden des jungen Werther) by J.W. von Goethe. Translated by R.D. Boylan.
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The Sorrows of Young Werther (37) by J.W. von Goethe
FEBRUARY 8.
For a week past we have had the most wretched weather: but this to me
is a blessing; for, during my residence here, not a single fine day has
beamed from the heavens, but has been lost to me by the intrusion
of somebody. During the severity of rain, sleet, frost, and storm, I
congratulate myself that it cannot be worse indoors than abroad, nor
worse abroad than it is within doors; and so I become reconciled. When
the sun rises bright in the morning, and promises a glorious day, I
never omit to exclaim, “There, now, they have another blessing
from Heaven, which they will be sure to destroy: they spoil
everything,–health, fame, happiness, amusement; and they do this
generally through folly, ignorance, or imbecility, and always, according
to their own account, with the best intentions!” I could often
beseech them, on my bended knees, to be less resolved upon their own
destruction.
FEBRUARY 17.
I fear that my ambassador and I shall not continue much longer together.
He is really growing past endurance. He transacts his business in so
ridiculous a manner, that I am often compelled to contradict him, and do
things my own way; and then, of course, he thinks them very ill done. He
complained of me lately on this account at court; and the minister gave
me a reprimand,–a gentle one it is true, but still a reprimand. In
consequence of this, I was about to tender my resignation, when I
received a letter, to which I submitted with great respect, on
account of the high, noble, and generous spirit which dictated it. He
endeavoured to soothe my excessive sensibility, paid a tribute to my
extreme ideas of duty, of good example, and of perseverance in business,
as the fruit of my youthful ardour, an impulse which he did not seek
to destroy, but only to moderate, that it might have proper play and be
productive of good. So now I am at rest for another week, and no longer
at variance with myself. Content and peace of mind are valuable things:
I could wish, my dear friend, that these precious jewels were less
transitory.
FEBRUARY 20.
God bless you, my dear friends, and may he grant you that happiness
which he denies to me!
I thank you, Albert, for having deceived me. I waited for the news that
your wedding-day was fixed; and I intended on that day, with solemnity,
to take down Charlotte’s profile from the wall, and to bury it with
some other papers I possess. You are now united, and her picture still
remains here. Well, let it remain! Why should it not? I know that I
am still one of your society, that I still occupy a place uninjured in
Charlotte’s heart, that I hold the second place therein; and I intend
to keep it. Oh, I should become mad if she could forget! Albert, that
thought is hell! Farewell, Albert farewell, angel of heaven farewell,
Charlotte!
The Sorrows of Young Werther (Die Leiden des jungen Werther) by J.W. von Goethe. Translated by R.D. Boylan.
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