The Sorrows of Young Werther (53) by J.W. von Goethe

The Sorrows of Young Werther (53) by J.W. von Goethe

DECEMBER 1.

Wilhelm, the man about whom I wrote to you--that man so enviable in his
misfortunes--was secretary to Charlotte's father; and an unhappy passion
for her which he cherished, concealed, and at length discovered, caused
him to be dismissed from his situation. This made him mad. Think, whilst
you peruse this plain narration, what an impression the circumstance has
made upon me! But it was related to me by Albert with as much calmness
as you will probably peruse it.

DECEMBER 4.

I implore your attention. It is all over with me. I can support this
state no longer. To-day I was sitting by Charlotte. She was playing
upon her piano a succession of delightful melodies, with such intense
expression! Her little sister was dressing her doll upon my lap. The
tears came into my eyes. I leaned down, and looked intently at her
wedding-ring: my tears fell--immediately she began to play that
favourite, that divine, air which has so often enchanted me. I felt
comfort from a recollection of the past, of those bygone days when that
air was familiar to me; and then I recalled all the sorrows and the
disappointments which I had since endured. I paced with hasty strides
through the room, my heart became convulsed with painful emotions. At
length I went up to her, and exclaimed With eagerness, "For Heaven's
sake, play that air no longer!" She stopped, and looked steadfastly at
me. She then said, with a smile which sunk deep into my heart, "Werther,
you are ill: your dearest food is distasteful to you. But go, I entreat
you, and endeavour to compose yourself." I tore myself away. God, thou
seest my torments, and wilt end them!


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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