Last night I had to go out. We had a sudden thaw. I had heard that the river had overflowed its banks, all streams were swollen, and my beloved valley was inundated from Wahlheim down. It was after eleven. I ran outside. What a terrible spectacle, to see the turbulent flood in the moonlight, pouring down from the rocks to cover field, meadow, and hedgerow! Whichever way you looked, the broad valley was one stormy sea in a howling gale. And when the moon came out again above a black cloud, and the flood rushed by me with a dull roar in its gloriously frightening reflection, I was overcome by a great trembling and, once more, a yearning.
With my arms open wide, I stood facing the abyss, breathing down, down, and was lost in the bliss of hurling my torment and suffering into it to be carried off foaming, like the waves…and couldn’t lift my feet from the ground to put an end to my misery! My time is not yet run out. I feel it. William, I would have given my life to be able to tear the clouds apart with the gale that was howling, and to grasp the floodwater itself! Ha! And will not this prisoner perhaps be granted such bliss one day? As I looked down, in my melancholy, at a spot where I had rested once with Lotte under a willow tree during a hot walk, it too had been inundated. And I had scarcely recognized the willow, William, when I had to think, what about her meadows? Her neighborhood? The lodge? Has our summerhouse been destroyed by the torrent? And the sunshine of the past fell upon me as a dream of herds, meadows, and honors falls upon a prisoner. I stood still. I don’t have to reproach myself, for I have the courage to die…I could have…and now I sit here like an old woman who gathers her firewood from broken-down hedges and begs her bread from door to door to prolong her fading, joyless existence one moment more….
December 14th
What would you call it, dearest friend…I am afraid of myself! Is not my love for her the most sacred, chaste, and brotherly love? Has my soul ever known a culpable desire? I have no wish to protest…and now, my dreams! Oh, how truly those men felt who ascribed our dreams to the contrary influences of strange powers! When I think of last night…I tremble to tell it…I held her in my arms, I pressed her to my heart, her adorable lips murmured love, and I covered them with endless kisses. My eyes were lost in the intoxication that lay in hers. Dear God, am I culpable because I can still feel the bliss I experienced then and recall it with a full heart? Lotte! Lotte! It is all over with me. My mind is in a state of confusion. For days now I can’t seem to come to my senses, and my eyes are constantly filled with tears. I am well nowhere and well everywhere. I wish for nothing, demand nothing. It would be best if I were to depart.
Under these conditions, the decision to leave this world took an even greater hold on Werther’s soul. Since his return to Lotte, it had always been his last hope, yet he told himself that he dare not act hastily. He wanted to take the step with the quietest determination possible.
His doubts, his battle with himself, shine forth clearly in a note that is probably the beginning of a letter to William. It was found among his papers with no date.
“Her presence, her fate, her participation in my destiny force the last tears from my parched brain.
“Oh, to be able to lift the curtain and step behind it! That is all there is to it—so why do I hesitate? Because no one knows what it looks like back there? Because no one ever returns? And because it is characteristic of our spirit to anticipate confusion and darkness in what we do not know?”
In the end, he became more and more attuned to the melancholy idea; his decision became fixed and irrevocable. The following ambiguous letter, written to his friend, attests to this.
December 20th
I can thank your love for me, William, for the fact that you understand me as you did. You are right; it would be best for me to leave. Your suggestion that I return to you does not wholly suit me; at any rate, I would like to go out of my way a little, especially since we can count on a long period of frost and good roads. But it suits me very well that you want to come and fetch me; only please let a fortnight pass and wait for one more letter from me. Nothing should be plucked until it is ripe, and a fortnight more or less can make quite a difference. Please ask my mother to pray for me and tell her that I beg her to forgive me for all the trouble I have caused her. It happened to be my fate to distress those to whom I should have brought joy. Farewell, best of friends! May all the blessings of heaven be yours! Farewell!
We scarcely dare to express in words what was going on in Lotte’s soul during this time, and what her feelings were toward her husband and her unfortunate friend, although we can come to a tacit conclusion from our knowledge of her character, and any sensitive feminine soul will be able to think as she did and feel with her.
This much is certain: she was determined to do her best to keep Werther at a distance, and any hesitancy on her part must be attributed to a sincere desire to spare him, since she knew what it would mean to him to stay away and realized that it was as good as impossible for him to do so. Yet she was more inclined, during this time, to go through with her intention. Her husband meanwhile said nothing at all about it, nor did she, all of which made her more determined than ever to express her agreement with his viewpoint, at least in her behavior.
On the same day on which Werther wrote the letter, just inserted, to his friend—it was the Sunday before Christmas—he visited Lotte in the evening and found her alone.
She was busy arranging a few toys she had assembled for her brothers and sisters for Christmas. He spoke about the joy the children would experience and of the days when the unexpected opening of a door and the vision of a decorated Christmas tree with its wax candles, sugar candy, and apples could transport one into paradise. Lotte tried to hide her embarrassment behind a sweet smile. “There will be a present for you, too,” she said, “if you promise to be good. A pretty candle and something else.”
“And what do you call good?” he cried. “How can I be good, dearest Lotte?”
“Thursday evening,” she said, “is Christmas Eve. The children are coming, and my father, and all of them will receive their presents then. I want you to come, too, but not before.”
Werther was stunned.
“Please,” she went on, “that is how it is. I beg you, for the sake of my peace of mind, things can’t go on like this. They can’t.”
He turned away from her and began to pace up and down the room, muttering to himself under his breath, “Things can’t go on like this.” Lotte, who could feel the dread condition into which her words had thrown him, tried with questions about all sorts of things to distract him, but to no avail. “No, Lotte,” he said, “I shall not see you again.”
“But why?” she cried. “Werther…you may—you must come to see us again, only be more moderate. Oh, why did you have to be born with so much vehemence, with this fixed, uncontrollable passion for everything you touch? I implore you,” she went on, taking him by the hand, “practice moderation! Your mind—all your knowledge and talents…think of the happiness they can give you! Be more manly! Divert this tragic devotion from a human creature who can only pity you.”
His jaw set hard, he looked at her somberly. She held fast to his hand. “Think calmly, Werther,” she said, “for just one moment. Don’t you see that you are deceiving and ruining yourself on purpose? Why me, Werther? Why me of all people, who belongs to another? Why? I fear…I fear that it is just the impossibility of possessing me that makes your desire for me so fascinating.”
He drew his hand out of hers, and stared at her with a benumbed, resentful expression.
“Very clever!” he said. “Very clever. Are these perhaps Albert’s words? Very politic, very politic, indeed.”
“Anybody could say them,” she interrupted him. “Isn’t it possible that in this whole wide world there might be a girl who could fulfill the desires of your heart? Master yourself and seek her. I swear that you will find her. Oh, I have been anxious for a long time now, for you and for us, because of the limitation you have imposed on yourself. Try to win control over yourself. A journey might distract you. Surely it
