The Sorrows of Young Werther (45) by J.W. von Goethe

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.
To be continued

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