The Sorrows of Young Werther (39) by J.W. von Goethe

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.
To be continued

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