Albert threw his arms around her neck and kissed her and cried, “We are! We are! And we shall be!” The quiet man had lost his composure and I—I didn’t know I was alive.
“And this good woman is supposed to be gone from us,” Lotte went on. “Dear God, Werther, when I think how one permits the dearest thing in life to be carried away, and no one feels it as keenly as the children. For a long, long time after it was all over they lamented—how the black men came and carried Mama away.”
She rose, and it brought me back to my senses. I was shattered and remained seated, still holding her hand. “Let us go,” she said. “It is late.” She wanted to withdraw her hand, but I clung to it. “We shall meet again!” I cried. “We shall find each other, whatever shape or form we may have. We shall recognize each other. I will go,” I added. “I will go willingly, but if I had to say good-bye forever, I could not bear it. Farewell, Lotte; farewell, Albert. We shall meet again.”
“Tomorrow, I imagine,” she said gaily. I could feel the word “tomorrow.” She didn’t know, as she drew her hand out of mine….
They walked down the path in the moonlight. I stood up and watched them go. Then I threw myself on the ground and wept until I could weep no more, after which I jumped to my feet and ran out onto the terrace. Below, in the shadows of the tall linden trees, I could see her white dress shimmering as the two moved toward the gate. I stretched out my arms…and it vanished.
NOTE: Numbered notes are by the translator and are printed on pages 236–39. Goethe’s notes, marked by asterisks, are set at the foot of the appropriate page.
- The reader need not take the trouble to look up the places that are mentioned here. It was considered necessary to change all real names that were found in the original manuscript.
- We have found it necessary to suppress this part of the letter in order to give no cause for complaint, although actually no author could care very much about the opinion of one girl and a young, unstable man.
- Here, too, the names of some authors have been omitted. Those of whom Lotte approved will surely know it in their hearts, if they have read this far, and the rest need not know anything about it.
- We now have an excellent sermon on this topic by Lavater, among those on the Book of Jonah.
Book Two
October 20th, 1771
We arrived here yesterday. The ambassador is indisposed and will not be going out for a few days. If only he were not so unpleasant, things would be a great deal easier. But fate has many trials in store for me—I know it, I know it. However, let us not lose courage, for a light heart can bear all things. A light heart? I have to laugh. How could I write such words? Ah yes, a little lighter blood could make me the happiest man on earth! Come, come, Werther! How can you doubt your strength, your gifts, when others complacently parade their puny strength and talents? Dear God, who hath bestowed all this upon me, why didst Thou not withhold a half of it and give me instead faith in myself and a modest capacity for contentment?
Patience! Patience! Things will improve.
Because I want to assure you, my dear friend, you are right. Since I spend my days among people again and observe what they do and how they live, I find it much easier to live with myself. Since we mortals happen to be so constituted that we compare everything with ourselves and ourselves with everything around us, our happiness and our misery have to lie in the things with which we compare ourselves. Nothing is therefore more dangerous than solitude. Our imagination, forced by its very nature to unfold, nourished by the fantastic visions of poetry, gives shape to a whole order of creatures of which we are the lowliest, and everything around us seems to be more glorious, everyone else more perfect.
And all this happens quite naturally. We feel so often that there is a great deal lacking in us and that our neighbor possesses just what we lack and, for good measure, we proceed to read into him our finer attributes, adding a bit of idealistic comfort to boot, and with that have rounded out a perfectly happy, fortunate man who is actually a figment of our imagination. If, on the other hand, we can make up our minds to go about our daily tasks, resigned to our failings and hardships, we often find that, in spite of our meanderings and procrastination, we have gone farther than quite a few others have gone with their sails unfurled and steering gear functioning. And, truly, it is a wonderful feeling when one manages somehow to keep up with one’s fellow men, or better still, outpaces them.
November 26th
All things considered, I am beginning to find life quite tolerable here. The best part of it is that I am kept sufficiently busy, and the many different types and the fresh personalities create a colorful spectacle that distracts me. I have met Count C. and have to admire him more and more daily. He is a man of true intellect, never aloof just because he happens to be more discerning than most people. He radiates friendliness and affection. He took an interest in me when I had to transact some business with him and says that he noticed, with the first words we exchanged, that we understood each other and he could speak with me as he could not speak with anyone else. I can’t praise his candor sufficiently. There is no truer, no greater pleasure imaginable than to enjoy the confidence of a truly great mind.
December 24th
The ambassador is causing me a lot of trouble. I saw it coming. He is the most punctilious fool imaginable; everything has to be done step by step—and long-winded! A man who is never satisfied with himself and can therefore never be satisfied. I like to work fast and let it go at that, but he is just as likely to return a paper to me and say, “It isn’t bad but I would go over it again. One can always find a better word, a more precise specification….” Then I could tell him to go to the devil. No “ands” nor “buts,” no conjunctions may be missing, and he is dead set against any inversions that sometimes slip out before I have caught them. And if I don’t let one sentence follow the next in the same singsong rhythm, he can’t follow the meaning at all. Really, working for such a man is misery!
Count von C.’s friendship is the only compensation. The other day he told me quite frankly how dissatisfied he was with my ambassador’s procrastination and pedantry. People make things so difficult for themselves and for others; still, according to him, we have to resign ourselves to it, like a traveler who has to drive across a mountain. Of course the way would be easier and shorter if the mountain were not there, but the mountain is there and has to be crossed! I guess the old man notices too that the Count prefers my company, and that must annoy him; he never misses an opportunity to speak derogatively of the Count to me.
I, of course, don’t let it pass, which only serves to make matters worse. Yesterday he really made me lose my temper, because I knew he was also referring to me. When it was a question of business matters, he declared, the Count did well enough. Things came easily to him, and his style was good, but like all belletrists he lacked erudition! Then he gave me a look as much as to say, “Did that strike home?” But it didn’t. I despise any man who can think and behave like that. I stood up to him and fought back, quite vehemently too. I said that the Count was a man who commanded respect, not only for his intellect but for his character as well. I had never known anyone, I said, who had succeeded so admirably in broadening his mind to include so many subjects and still be able to attend to the daily business of life. All of this was Greek to him, and I retired before I had to swallow any more of his déraisonnement.
And it is all your fault, all of you who talked me into this straitjacket and gave me such a song and dance about having something to do! If the man who plants his potatoes and drives his wagon to town to sell his grain isn’t doing more than I am, I will gladly spend another ten years chained to the galleys as I am now!
And the glittering misery, the boredom of the perfectly horrible people I meet here! Their social aspirations! In their efforts to gain the slightest precedence they can’t take their eyes off the next fellow. The most abject passions are displayed quite shamelessly. There is one woman, for instance, who can talk of nothing but her titles and her estates. One doesn’t have to know her to realize that she is a complete fool who
