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移除书签DECEMBER 12.
Dear Wilhelm, I am reduced to the condition of those unfortunate wretches who believe they are pursued by an evil spirit.
Sometimes I am oppressed, not by apprehension or fear, but by an inexpressible internal sensation, which weighs upon my heart, and impedes my breath!
Then I wander forth at night, even in this tempestuous season, and feel pleasure in surveying the dreadful scenes around me.
Yesterday evening I went forth.
A rapid thaw had suddenly set in:
I had been informed that the river had risen, that the brooks had all overflowed their banks, and that the whole vale of Walheim was under water!
Upon the stroke of twelve I hastened forth.
I beheld a fearful sight.
The foaming torrents rolled from the mountains in the moonlight, – fields and meadows, trees and hedges, were confounded together;
and the entire valley was converted into a deep lake, which was agitated by the roaring wind!
And when the moon shone forth, and tinged the black clouds with silver, and the impetuous torrent at my feet foamed and resounded with awful and grand impetuosity, I was overcome by a mingled sensation of apprehension and delight.
With extended arms I looked down into the yawning abyss, and cried, “Plunge!’ ” For a moment my senses forsook me, in the intense delight of ending my sorrows and my sufferings by a plunge into that gulf!
And then I felt as if I were rooted to the earth, and incapable of seeking an end to my woes!
But my hour is not yet come:
I feel it is not.
O Wilhelm, how willingly could I abandon my existence to ride the whirlwind, or to embrace the torrent!
and then might not rapture perchance be the portion of this liberated soul?
I turned my sorrowful eyes toward a favourite spot, where I was accustomed to sit with Charlotte beneath a willow after a fatiguing walk. Alas!
it was covered with water, and with difficulty I found even the meadow.
And the fields around the hunting-lodge, thought I. Has our dear bower been destroyed by this unpitying storm?
And a beam of past happiness streamed upon me, as the mind of a captive is illumined by dreams of flocks and herds and bygone joys of home!
But I am free from blame. I have courage to die!
Perhaps I have, – but I still sit here, like a wretched pauper, who collects fagots, and begs her bread from door to door, that she may prolong for a few days a miserable existence which she is unwilling to resign.
DECEMBER 15.
What is the matter with me, dear Wilhelm?
I am afraid of myself! Is not my love for her of the purest, most holy, and most brotherly nature?
Has my soul ever been sullied by a single sensual desire?
but I will make no protestations.
And now, ye nightly visions, how truly have those mortals understood you, who ascribe your various contradictory effects to some invincible power!
This night I tremble at the avowal – I held her in my arms, locked in a close embrace:
I pressed her to my bosom, and covered with countless kisses those dear lips which murmured in reply soft protestations of love.
My sight became confused by the delicious intoxication of her eyes.
Heavens!
is it sinful to revel again in such happiness, to recall once more those rapturous moments with intense delight?
Charlotte! Charlotte! I am lost!
My senses are bewildered, my recollection is confused, mine eyes are bathed in tears – I am ill;
and yet I am well – I wish for nothing – I have no desires – it were better I were gone.
Under the circumstances narrated above, a determination to quit this world had now taken fixed possession of Werther’s soul.
Since Charlotte’s return, this thought had been the final object of all his hopes and wishes;
but he had resolved that such a step should not be taken with precipitation, but with calmness and tranquillity, and with the most perfect deliberation.
His troubles and internal struggles may be understood from the following fragment, which was found, without any date, amongst his papers, and appears to have formed the beginning of a letter to Wilhelm.
“Her presence, her fate, her sympathy for me, have power still to extract tears from my withered brain.
“One lifts up the curtain, and passes to the other side, – that is all! And why all these doubts and delays?
Because we know not what is behind – because there is no returning – and because our mind infers that all is darkness and confusion, where we have nothing but uncertainty.”
His appearance at length became quite altered by the effect of his melancholy thoughts;
and his resolution was now finally and irrevocably taken, of which the following ambiguous letter, which he addressed to his friend, may appear to afford some proof.
DECEMBER 20.
I am grateful to your love, Wilhelm, for having repeated your advice so seasonably. Yes, you are right: it is undoubtedly better that I should depart.
But I do not entirely approve your scheme of returning at once to your neighbourhood;
at least, I should Iike to make a little excursion on the way, particularly as we may now expect a continued frost, and consequently good roads.
I am much pleased with your intention of coming to fetch me;
only delay your journey for a fortnight, and wait for another letter from me.
One should gather nothing before it is ripe, and a fortnight sooner or later makes a great difference.
Entreat my mother to pray for her son, and tell her I beg her pardon for all the unhappiness I have occasioned her.
It has ever been my fate to give pain to those whose happiness I should have promoted.
Adieu, my dearest friend.
May every blessing of Heaven attend you! Farewell.
We find it difficult to express the emotions with which Charlotte’s soul was agitated during the whole of this time, whether in relation to her husband or to her unfortunate friend;
although we are enabled, by our knowledge of her character, to understand their nature.
It is certain that she had formed a determination, by every means in her power to keep Werther at a distance;
and, if she hesitated in her decision, it was from a sincere feeling of friendly pity, knowing how much it would cost him, indeed, that he would find it almost impossible to comply with her wishes.
But various causes now urged her to be firm.
Her hushand preserved a strict silence about the whole matter;
and she never made it a subject of conversation, feeling bound to prove to him by her conduct that her sentiments agreed with his.
The same day, which was the Sunday before Christmas, after Werther had written the last-mentioned letter to his friend, he came in the evening to Charlotte’s house, and found her alone.
She was busy preparing some little gifts for her brothers and sisters, which were to be distributed to them on Christmas Day. He began talking of the delight of the children, and of that age when the sudden appearance of the Christmas-tree, decorated with fruit and sweetmeats, and lighted up with wax candles, causes such transports of joy.
“You shall have a gift too, if you behave well,” said Charlotte, hiding her embarrassment under sweet smile.
“And what do you call behaving well?
What should I do, what can I do, my dear Charlotte?” said he.
“Thursday night,” she answered, “is Christmas Eve. The children are all to be here, and my father too: there is a present for each;
do you come likewise, but do not come before that time.” Werther started. “I desire you will not:
it must be so,” she continued.
“I ask it of you as a favour, for my own peace and tranquillity.
We cannot go on in this manner any longer.” He turned away his face walked hastily up and down the room, muttering indistinctly, “We cannot go on in this manner any longer!” Charlotte, seeing the violent agitation into which these words had thrown him, endeavoured to divert his thoughts by different questions, but in vain. “No, Charlotte!” he exclaimed; “I will never see you any more!” “And why so?” she answered. “We may – we must see each other again;
only let it be with more discretion. Oh!
why were you born with that excessive, that ungovernable passion for everything that is dear to you?” Then, taking his hand, she said, “I entreat of you to be more calm:
your talents, your understanding, your genius, will furnish you with a thousand resources.
Be a man, and conquer an unhappy attachment toward a creature who can do nothing but pity you.” He bit his lips, and looked at her with a gloomy countenance. She continued to hold his hand.
“Grant me but a moment’s patience, Werther,” she said.
“Do you not see that you are deceiving yourself, that you are seeking your own destruction?
Why must you love me, me only, who belong to another?
I fear, I much fear, that it is only the impossibility of possessing me which makes your desire for me so strong.” He drew back his hand, whilst he surveyed her with a wild and angry look.
”‘Tis well!” he exclaimed, “‘tis very well!
Did not Albert furnish you with this reflection?
It is profound, a very profound remark.” “A reflection that any one might easily make,” she answered;
“and is there not a woman in the whole world who is at liberty, and has the power to make you happy? Conquer yourself:
look for such a being, and believe me when I say that you will certainly find her.
I have long felt for you, and for us all:
you have confined yourself too long within the limits of too narrow a circle.
Conquer yourself; make an effort:
a short journey will be of service to you.
Seek and find an object worthy of your love;
then return hither, and let us enjoy together all the happiness of the most perfect friendship.”
“This speech,” replied Werther with a cold smile, “this speech should be printed, for the benefit of all teachers.
My dear Charlotte, allow me but a short time longer, and all will be well.” “But however, Werther,” she added, “do not come again before Christmas.” He was about to make some answer, when Albert came in.
They saluted each other coldly, and with mutual embarrassment paced up and down the room.
Werther made some common remarks; Albert did the same, and their conversation soon dropped.
Albert asked his wife about some household matters;
and, finding that his commissions were not executed, he used some expressions which, to Werther’s ear, savoured of extreme harshness.
He wished to go, but had not power to move;
and in this situation he remained till eight o’clock, his uneasiness and discontent continually increasing.
At length the cloth was laid for supper, and he took up his hat and stick.
Albert invited him to remain;
but Werther, fancying that he was merely paying a formal compliment, thanked him coldly, amd left the house.
Werther returned home, took the candle from his servant, and retired to his room alone.
He talked for some time with great earnestness to himself, wept aloud, walked in a state of great excitement through his chamber;
till at length, without undressing, he threw himself on the bed, where he was found by his servant at eleven o’clock, when the latter ventured to enter the room, and take off his boots.
Werther did not prevent him, but forbade him to come in the morning till he should ring.
On Monday morning, the 21st of December, he wrote to Charlotte the following letter, which was found, sealed, on his bureau after his death, and was given to her.
I shall insert it in fragments; as it appears, from several circumstances, to have been written in that manner.
“It is all over, Charlotte: I am resolved to die!
I make this declaration deliberately and coolly, without any romantic passion, on this morning of the day when I am to see you for the last time.
At the moment you read these lines, O best of women, the cold grave will hold the inanimate remains of that restless and unhappy being who, in the last moments of his existence, knew no pleasure so great as that of conversing with you!
I have passed a dreadful night or rather, let me say, a propitious one; for it has given me resolution, it has fixed my purpose.
I am resolved to die. When I tore myself from you yesterday, my senses were in tumult and disorder;
my heart was oppressed, hope and pleasure had fled from me for ever, and a petrifying cold had seized my wretched being.
I could scarcely reach my room. I threw myself on my knees;
and Heaven, for the last time, granted me the consolation of shedding tears.
A thousand ideas, a thousand schemes, arose within my soul;
till at length one last, fixed, final thought took possession of my heart.
It was to die.
I lay down to rest; and in the morning, in the quiet hour of awakening, the same determination was upon me.
To die! It is not despair:
it is conviction that I have filled up the measure of my sufferings, that I have reached my appointed term, and must sacrifice myself for thee.
Yes, Charlotte, why should I not avow it?
One of us three must die:
it shall be Werther. O beloved Charlotte!
this heart, excited by rage and fury, has often conceived the horrid idea of murdering your husband – you – myself!
The lot is cast at length.
And in the bright, quiet evenings of summer, when you sometimes wander toward the mountains, let your thoughts then turn to me:
recollect how often you have watched me coming to meet you from the valley;
then bend your eyes upon the churchyard which contains my grave, and, by the light of the setting sun, mark how the evening breeze waves the tall grass which grows above my tomb.
I was calm when I began this letter, but the recollection of these scenes makes me weep like a child.” About ten in the morning, Werther called his servant, and, whilst he was dressing, told him that in a few days he intended to set out upon a journey, and bade him therefore lay his clothes in order, and prepare them for packing up, call in all his accounts, fetch home the books he had lent, and give two months’ pay to the poor dependants who were accustomed to receive from him a weekly allowance.
He breakfasted in his room, and then mounted his horse, and went to visit the steward, who, however, was not at home.
He walked pensively in the garden, and seemed anxious to renew all the ideas that were most painful to him.
The children did not suffer him to remain alone long.
They followed him, skipping and dancing before him, and told him, that after to-morrow and tomorrow and one day more, they were to receive their Christmas gift from Charlotte;
and they then recounted all the wonders of which they had formed ideas in their child imaginations.
“Tomorrow and tomorrow,” said he, “and one day more!” And he kissed them tenderly.
He was going;
but the younger boy stopped him, to whisper something in his ear.
He told him that his elder brothers had written splendid New-Year’s wishes so large!
one for papa, and another for Albert and Charlotte, and one for Werther;
and they were to be presented early in the morning, on New Year’s Day. This quite overcame him.
He made each of the children a present, mounted his horse, left his compliments for papa and mamma, and, with tears in his eyes, rode away from the place.
He returned home about five o’clock, ordered his servant to keep up his fire, desired him to pack his books and linen at the bottom of the trunk, and to place his coats at the top.
He then appears to have made the following addition to the letter addressed to Charlotte:
“You do not expect me. You think I will obey you, and not visit you again till Christmas Eve. O Charlotte, today or never!
On Christmas Eve you will hold this paper in your hand;
you will tremble, and moisten it with your tears.
I will – I must! Oh, how happy I feel to be determined!”
In the meantime, Charlotte was in a pitiable state of mind.
After her last conversation with Werther, she found how painful to herself it would be to decline his visits, and knew how severely he would suffer from their separation.
She had, in conversation with Albert, mentioned casually that Werther would not return before Christmas Eve;
and soon afterward Albert went on horseback to see a person in the neighbourhood, with whom he had to transact some business which would detain him all night.
Charlotte was sitting alone. None of her family were near, and she gave herself up to the reflections that silently took possession of her mind.
She was for ever united to a husband whose love and fidelity she had proved, to whom she was heartily devoted, and who seemed to be a special gift from Heaven to ensure her happiness.
On the other hand, Werther had become dear to her.
There was a cordial unanimity of sentiment between them from the very first hour of their acquaintance, and their long association and repeated interviews had made an indelible impression upon her heart.
She had been accustomed to communicate to him every thought and feeling which interested her, and his absence threatened to open a void in her existence which it might be impossible to fill.
How heartily she wished that she might change him into her brother, – that she could induce him to marry one of her own friends, or could reestablish his intimacy with Albert.
She passed all her intimate friends in review before her mind, but found something objectionable in each, and could decide upon none to whom she would consent to give him.
Amid all these considerations she felt deeply but indistinctly that her own real but unexpressed wish was to retain him for herself, and her pure and amiable heart felt from this thought a sense of oppression which seemed to forbid a prospect of happiness.
She was wretched: a dark cloud obscured her mental vision.
It was now half-past six o’clock, and she heard Werther’s step on the stairs.
She at once recognised his voice, as he inquired if she were at home.
Her heart beat audibly – we could almost say for the first time – at his arrival.
It was too late to deny herself;
and, as he entered, she exclaimed, with a sort of ill concealed confusion, “You have not kept your word!” “I promised nothing,” he answered.
“But you should have complied, at least for my sake,” she continued.
” I implore you, for both our sakes.”
She scarcely knew what she said or did;
and sent for some friends, who, by their presence, might prevent her being left alone with Werther.
He put down some books he had brought with him, then made inquiries about some others, until she began to hope that her friends might arrive shortly, entertaining at the same time a desire that they might stay away.
