Thus I notice daily, my dear friend, how foolish we are when we judge others by ourselves. And since I am so preoccupied with myself, and my heart is so tempestuous, I prefer to let others go their way—if only they would let me go mine!
What irritates me most are the deplorable social conditions. I know as well as anyone else how necessary it is that there be differences in rank, and how much this is to my advantage. All I ask is that it should not stand in my way when there is a small chance of my enjoying myself, or a glimmer of hope that I may still know happiness on this earth. A few days ago, while I was out walking, I made the acquaintance of a Fräulein von B., a charming creature who has somehow managed to remain natural in spite of the formalities of life here. We enjoyed our conversation, and when we parted I asked for permission to call on her. She said that I might so unreservedly that I could scarcely wait for the proper time to elapse until I could visit her. She is not from these parts and lives with an aunt. I did not like the looks of the old lady.
I paid her a great deal of attention; almost everything I said was directed at her. But in little less than half an hour I realized what the young lady admitted later—that her dear aunt, with nothing but an inadequate fortune at her disposal and even less intellect, finds sustenance solely in her lineage and security only behind the ramparts of her rank, which is her castle, and takes pleasure in nothing but looking down her nose at the lower classes. In her youth she was beautiful and frittered her life away, at first by making many a young man miserable with her capriciousness; later, in her maturer years, she was completely under the thumb of an old army officer who, in return for having married her and a tolerable maintenance, was her companion in her bronze age, and died. Now, in her iron age, she finds herself alone and no one would pay her any heed if her niece were not so kind.
January 8th, 1772
How dreadful people are who have had nothing on their minds for years but formality, whose every effort and thought are bent toward moving one place higher up at table! And it is not because they have nothing better to do. Not at all! Important work piles up just because one is prevented from attending to it by a thousand vexations concerning rank and promotion. Last week there was a lot of such bickering on our sleigh ride and all the fun was spoiled.
If only the fools would realize that the seating doesn’t really matter, that he who sits at the head of the table rarely plays the leading role. Many a king is ruled by his prime minister and many a minister by his secretary, and then who is first? I would say he who can see through all the others and has the forcefulness or cunning to use their powers and passions to further his own ends.
January 20th
I must write to you, dear Lotte, here in a humble peasant inn where I have taken shelter from a severe storm. When I am in that miserable little town of D., among strangers, with people who are totally alien to my heart, there isn’t a moment, not one, when my heart bids me write to you. But now, in this lowly house, in this solitude and confinement, with hail and snow pelting against the little window of my room, my first thoughts go out to you. When I entered I was overwhelmed by a vision of you, by my memories, oh Lotte—such sacred, such heartfelt memories! Dear God, this is my first moment of happiness since I left!
If you could only see me, dearest—in a whirl of distraction, but how arid is my spirit! Not a heartfelt moment, not a blissful hour—nothing…nothing. Sometimes I feel as if I were standing in front of a peep show. I can see tiny men and horses maneuvering in front of me, and I ask myself if it is not an optical illusion. I join in the games, or rather, I should say that I let myself be manipulated like a puppet, and sometimes I touch my neighbor’s wooden hand and withdraw mine in horror. In the evening I decide to enjoy the sunrise, but in the morning I don’t bother to get up. During the day I look forward to an enjoyment of the moonlight; then at night I stay in my room. I don’t know why I get up or why I go to bed! The leaven that used to set my life in motion is lacking; the stimulus that kept me wide awake late into the night and woke me in the morning is gone.
I have found only one sympathetic female here, a Fräulein von B. She is very like you, dear Lotte, if there can be any comparison. Oh, I can hear you say, “He is in a mood for paying a pretty compliment,” and you would not be entirely wrong. For some time now I have been behaving myself, because that seems to be the only thing to do. I have become quite a wit. The ladies say no one knows how to sing their praises like Werther (and to fabricate like him, they usually add, for there is no other way of doing it, you understand?). But I wanted to speak of Fräulein von B. She is a soulful creature who looks one straight in the eye. Hers are blue. Her rank is a burden to her that satisfies none of her aspirations. She longs to get away from all the hollow confusion around her, and we dream-talk many an hour away in blissfully serene, pastoral surroundings. We talk about you. How often she has to worship at your altar—doesn’t have to, does so willingly. She likes to hear me talk about you; she loves you.
Ah, if only I were sitting at your feet in our cozy little room, with our little darlings romping around us! If they were making too much noise I would gather them around me and tell them an eerie fairy story to calm them down.
The sun is setting magnificently behind a landscape glittering with snow. The storm has passed, and I—I have to lock myself in my cage again. Adieu. Is Albert with you? And how—oh, dear God, forgive me the question!
February 8th
For eight days now we have had the most terrible weather, and it does my heart good, because since I have been here we have not had a nice day that was not spoiled for me by someone. But if it rains and blusters, is chilly or thaws—ha! I tell myself that it can’t get worse inside than out, or if you like, the other way round, and that suits me. But if I see the sun rise in the morning, promising a fine day, I say to myself, “There they have another treasure to do each other out of.” There is nothing in this world, William, that they would not like to do each other out of—health, good repute, happiness, recreation—for the most part because they are foolish, narrow-minded, and dull-witted. You can listen to them with the best of open minds and come to no other conclusion. Sometimes I feel like falling on my knees and imploring them not to be so fanatically intent on cutting each other’s throats.
February 17th
I am afraid my ambassador and I are not going to be able to put up with each other much longer. The man is impossible! His working habits and way of doing business are so ridiculous that I simply cannot control myself and have to contradict him; and often I do a thing the way I feel it should be done, which of course never suits him. He complained about me at court the other day and the minister reprimanded me—gently enough, but all the same, it was a reprimand.
I was about to hand in my resignation when I received a personal letter from him that makes me want to kneel down and worship this infinitely noble and wise mind.* He rebukes me for being overly sensitive, yet respects my exaggerated ideas on effectiveness, influencing others, and succeeding in business, as examples of youthful high spirits and in no way tries to suppress them. All he wants to do is tone them down and guide them into the correct channels, where they may have the right effect. Now I have the strength to carry on for another week and have come to an understanding with myself. Peace of mind and the ability to take pleasure in oneself are glorious things. Dear friend, if only the treasure were not as fragile as it is precious and beautiful!
February 20th
God bless you, my dear ones, and give you all the good days He denies me!
I thank you, Albert, for having deceived me. I waited to be told the day of your wedding, and it was my intention, on that day, to go through the ceremony of taking the little silhouette I
