THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER (70) BY J.W. VON GOETHE

The Sorrows of Young Werther (70) by J.W. von Goethe

He spent the rest of the evening in arranging his papers: he tore and
burned a great many; others he sealed up, and directed to Wilhelm.
They contained some detached thoughts and maxims, some of which I have
perused. At ten o’clock he ordered his fire to be made up, and a bottle
of wine to be brought to him. He then dismissed his servant, whose room,
as well as the apartments of the rest of the family, was situated in
another part of the house. The servant lay down without undressing, that
he might be the sooner ready for his journey in the morning, his master
having informed him that the post-horses would be at the door before six
o’clock.

“Past eleven o’clock! All is silent around me, and my soul is calm. I
thank thee, O God, that thou bestowest strength and courage upon me in
these last moments! I approach the window, my dearest of friends; and
through the clouds, which are at this moment driven rapidly along by the
impetuous winds, I behold the stars which illumine the eternal heavens.
No, you will not fall, celestial bodies: the hand of the Almighty
supports both you and me! I have looked for the last time upon the
constellation of the Greater Bear: it is my favourite star; for when
I bade you farewell at night, Charlotte, and turned my steps from your
door, it always shone upon me. With what rapture have I at times beheld
it! How often have I implored it with uplifted hands to witness my
felicity! and even still–But what object is there, Charlotte, which
fails to summon up your image before me? Do you not surround me on all
sides? and have I not, like a child, treasured up every trifle which you
have consecrated by your touch?

“Your profile, which was so dear to me, I return to you; and I pray
you to preserve it. Thousands of kisses have I imprinted upon it, and a
thousand times has it gladdened my heart on departing from and returning
to my home.

“I have implored your father to protect my remains. At the corner of the
churchyard, looking toward the fields, there are two lime-trees–there
I wish to lie. Your father can, and doubtless will, do this much for his
friend. Implore it of him. But perhaps pious Christians will not choose
that their bodies should be buried near the corpse of a poor, unhappy
wretch like me. Then let me be laid in some remote valley, or near the
highway, where the priest and Levite may bless themselves as they pass
by my tomb, whilst the Samaritan will shed a tear for my fate.

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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