The table was set. A good friend, who had only come to enquire about something, stayed and made the conversation at table at least tolerable. Lotte forced herself to some semblance of self-control, conversed, and forgot herself.
The servant brought Werther the weapons. He was delighted when he heard that Lotte had given them to the boy. He had bread and wine brought to him, told the boy to have his dinner, and sat down to write.
“They have passed through your hands. You brushed the dust from them. You touched them. I kiss them a thousand times. The spirit of heaven favors my decision, and you, Lotte, hand me the weapon—you, from whom I wished to receive death and now receive it. Oh, how I questioned my boy! You trembled, he said, as you handed them to him. You said no farewell. Alas—no farewell! Have you closed your heart to me, because of that moment that bound me to you forever? Lotte, not a thousand years can erase that impression. And—I feel it—you cannot hate him who glows with his whole heart for you.”
After dinner he ordered the boy to pack, tore up some papers, and went out and settled a few minor debts. He returned home; then, disregarding the rain, he went out again as far as the gate, from there into the Count’s garden, after which he wandered about the countryside. When night was falling he came home and wrote, “William, I have seen fields, wood, and sky for the last time. Farewell to you, too. Dear Mother, forgive me. Console her, William. God bless you both.
All my affairs are in order. Farewell. We shall meet again under happier circumstances.
“Albert, I have rewarded you poorly, but you will forgive me. I disturbed the peace of your household; I sowed distrust between you and Lotte. Farewell. It is my wish to terminate things. Ah, if only you could be made happy through my death! Albert, make my angel happy! And may God’s blessing be on you both.”
He spent the rest of the evening going through his papers again, tore up many and threw them into the stove, sealed several packets and addressed them to William. The latter contained a few short articles and random observations, several of which I have seen. After having had the stove stoked once more at ten o’ clock and ordering a bottle of wine for himself, he sent his servant to bed. The boy’s room, like the bedrooms of the other domestics, was far off in the back of the house. He lay down with his clothes on in order to be ready to leave early the next morning, for his master had told him that the post chaise would be at the house before six.
After eleven
Everything is so still around me and so calm within my soul. I thank you, God, who gave this last moment of mine such warmth, such strength.
I walk over to the window, my dearest one, and look out. Through the storm clouds flying by, I can still see a few stars in the eternal sky. No, you will not fall. The Eternal One carries you in his heart, as he carries me. I can see the handle of the Big Dipper, my favorite of all the constellations. When I left you that night, as I walked out the gate, it stood in the sky facing me. In what a state of intoxication I have been often when I looked at it. Then I would lift my hand and make a sign of it, a sacred marker for my present bliss. And I still do! Oh, Lotte, what does not remind me of you? Are you not all around me, and haven’t I snatched all sorts of little things and held onto them like an insatiable child—things, my angel, that you touched?
Beloved silhouette. I leave it to you, Lotte, and beg you to respect it. I have pressed thousands of impassioned kisses on it and waved it a thousand greetings when I left the house or returned.
In another note I have asked your father to take care of my remains. There are two linden trees in the cemetery, back in a corner, near the field. That is where I wish to rest. He can—he will do it for his friend. Please ask him, too, to do so. It would be too much to expect a faithful Christian to lie beside a poor unfortunate like me. Oh, how I wish you could bury me by the wayside or in a lonely valley, so that priest and Levite might bless themselves as they pass the stone marker and the Samaritan could shed a tear there.
Here, Lotte…see, it does not make me shudder to grasp the cold and terrible cup from which I shall drink the transport of death. You hand it to me, and I do not hesitate. All! All of it! Thus all the wishes and hopes I had of life are fulfilled…to knock so coldly, so rigidly, on the brazen gates of death.
That I was granted the good fortune to die for you, Lotte, to sacrifice myself for you…I would die courageously, joyously, if only I could re-establish the repose and bliss of your existence. But oh, it has been granted to only a few noble men to shed their life’s blood for those they love and, by their death, kindle a new life for their friends.
I want to be buried, Lotte, in the clothes I have on. You have touched them and made them sacred. I have asked your father, too, to do this for me. My soul floats over the coffin. Please let no one go through my pockets. The pale pink bow that you wore at your breast when I saw you for the first time with your children…kiss them a thousand times and tell them the fate of their unfortunate friend. The darlings…they are tumbling all around me.
Ah, how I attached myself to you from the first moment and could not let go. This bow is to be buried with me. You gave it to me on my birthday. Oh, how greedily I absorbed it all, never thinking that the way would lead here. Be calm, I beseech you, be calm.
It is loaded. The clock strikes midnight. So be it then, Lotte. Farewell. Farewell.
A neighbor saw the flash of gunpowder and heard the shot, but since all remained silent, he paid no further heed to the occurrence.
Next morning at six, the servant came into the room with a light. He found his master lying on the floor, the pistol, and the blood. He cried out, touched him—no response. Werther’s last breath was rattling in his throat. The boy ran for the doctor and for Albert. Lotte heard the bell, and a shiver ran through every member of her body. She woke her husband. They got up. The servant, sobbing and stammering, delivered his message. Lotte sank fainting to the ground at Albert’s feet.
When the doctor arrived, he found the unfortunate man on the floor. There was no hope of saving him. His pulse could still be felt but all his limbs were paralyzed. He had shot himself in the head above the right eye, driving his brains out. Quite superfluously, the doctor undertook a bloodletting of one vein. The blood ran out; Werther was still breathing.
The blood on the armchair was evidence of the fact that he had shot himself while sitting in front of his desk, then had slumped down and twisted himself convulsively out of the chair. He was lying on his back, against the window, fully clad in his blue coat and yellow vest, with his boots on.
The house, the neighborhood, the whole town were filled with commotion. Albert came in. They laid Werther on the bed and bandaged his forehead. His face was already like that of the dead; he did not move a muscle. His breathing was terrible—weak at one moment, then a little stronger. They were waiting for the end to come.
He had drunk only one glass of the wine. Emilia Galotti9 lay open on his lectern.
There are no words to express Albert’s consternation or Lotte’s misery.
The old judge came bursting in as soon as he heard the news. With the hot tears streaming down his cheeks, he kissed the dying man. His oldest sons soon followed him on foot. They fell on their knees beside the bed in attitudes of the wildest grief, kissing the dying man’s hand, his mouth. The oldest one, whom Werther had always loved best, clung to his lips as he expired and had to be forcefully removed.
At twelve noon, Werther died. The presence of the judge and the arrangements he made silenced the crowd. That night, at about eleven, he had the body buried in the spot Werther had chosen. The old man and his sons walked behind the bier; Albert found himself incapable of doing so. They feared for Lotte’s life. Workmen carried the body. There was no priest in attendance.
- Out of respect for this admirable man, this letter and one mentioned later are not included in this collection, in the belief that such
