The Sufferings of Young Werther: A New Translation

by J. W. von Goethe

  They confide in me, tell me this and that, and I am particularly delighted by their passions and their naïve outbursts of desire when they are with some of the other village children.

  It has taken considerable effort on my part to alleviate their mother’s concern that they might be inconveniencing the gentleman.

  MAY 30

  What I told you about painting a few days ago certainly holds true for poetry as well; all that matters is to recognize what is excellent and dare to express it, and that, of course, is saying a lot in a few words. I was present at a scene today which, perfectly copied, would make the most beautiful idyll in the world; but then, what is the sense of poetry and scenes and idylls? If we are to take pleasure in a natural phenomenon, must it always be tinkered with?

  If you are expecting something lofty and refined from this introduction, you will once again be cruelly deceived; it is nothing more than a peasant boy who has inspired such lively sympathy in me.—As usual, I will tell the tale badly, and you will, as usual, I think, find that I’ve exaggerated; again it is Wahlheim, and always Wahlheim, that produces these rarities.

  There was a party of people outside under the linden trees, drinking coffee. Because they were not quite suitable, I found some pretext to stay away.

  A peasant boy came out of a neighboring house and busied himself fixing something on the plow that I sketched a few days ago. Since I liked his manner, I spoke to him and asked about his circumstances; we were soon acquainted and, as usually happens when I’m with this sort of person, were soon on familiar terms. He told me that he worked for a widow and that she treated him very well. He said so much about her and praised her so highly that I soon realized he was devoted to her, body and soul. She was no longer young, he said; she had been ill-treated by her first husband and had no wish to marry again, and his way of speaking revealed so clearly how beautiful, how alluring he found her and how fervently he wished she might choose him to wipe out the memory of her first husband’s failings, that I would have to repeat his speech word for word to make you feel the pure affection, the love and devotion of this man. Yes, I would need the gifts of the greatest poet to reproduce vividly the expressiveness of his gestures, the melodiousness of his voice, the hidden fire in his glance, all at the same time. No, words cannot express the tenderness that imbued his whole being and expression; anything more I could add would only be clumsy. I was especially moved by his fear that I might form the wrong opinion about his relation to her and doubt the propriety of her conduct. How charming it was to hear him speak of her figure, her body, which had such a powerful attraction for him and captivated him even though it lacked the charms of youth—this I can reproduce only in my innermost soul. Never in my life have I seen urgent desire and hot, ardent craving in such purity: indeed I can say, a purity such as I have never conceived or dreamed of. Do not scold me if I tell you that when I remember this innocence and truth, my innermost soul glows and that the image of his loyalty and tenderness pursues me everywhere and that, as if I myself had caught its fire, I yearn and languish.

  Now I must try to see her for myself as soon as possible or rather—now that I think about it—I want to avoid doing so. It is better for me to see her through the eyes of her lover; it may be that in my own eyes she would not appear as she stands before me now, and why should I spoil this beautiful image?

  JUNE 16

  Why haven’t I written to you?—You ask, and yet you consider yourself a man of some learning? You ought to guess that I’m well, and indeed—in a word, I have made an acquaintance who has won my heart. I have—I don’t know.

  To tell you in an orderly fashion how I came to know one of the loveliest creatures will be a hard task. I’m full of joy and hence not a good chronicler.

  An angel—bah! Everyone says that about his beloved, right? And yet I am quite unable to tell you how perfect she is and why she is perfect; it’s enough to say that she has captivated all my senses.

  So much simplicity together with so much understanding, so much goodness together with such steadfastness, and calmness of soul in the midst of real life and activity.—

  All I’ve told you about her is disgusting twaddle, tiresome abstractions that express not one single trait of her true self. Some other time—No, not some other time, I want to tell you right now. If I don’t, I never will. For, just between us, since I started to write, I have three times been on the point of putting down my pen, saddling my horse, and riding out to see her. And yet I swore this morning not to ride out, and yet every minute I go to the window to see how high the sun still is.—

  I could not resist, I had to go and see her. Here I am again, Wilhelm, I’ll have my evening bread and butter and write to you. How my soul delights to see her amid those dear, lively children, her eight brothers and sisters!—

  If I continue in this vein, you won’t be any wiser at the end than you were at the beginning. So listen, I’ll force myself to go into detail.

  I recently wrote to you about meeting District Officer S. and how he invited me to visit him soon at his hermitage, or rather, his little kingdom. I neglected to do so, and perhaps I would never have gone had chance not disclosed the treasure that lies hidden in that quiet place.

  Our young people had organized a ball in the country, which I agreed to attend. I offered to escort a local girl who is pleasant, pretty, but otherwise of little account, and it was decided that I should hire a carriage, drive out to the place where the party was to be held, along with my dance partner and her cousin, and on the way pick up Charlotte S.—You are going to meet a very pretty girl, said my companion as we drove to the hunting lodge through the wide, cleared woods.—Be careful, her cousin added, that you don’t fall in love!—Why is that? I said.—She is already engaged, she replied, to a very good man, who is away on a trip. He has gone to put his affairs in order, because his father has died, and he means to apply for a good position.—The information left me quite indifferent.

  The sun was still a quarter of an hour from setting behind the hills when we arrived at the courtyard gate. The air was sultry, and the women expressed their concern about a thunderstorm that seemed to be gathering at the horizon in grayish-white, sullen little clouds. I duped their fears with a pretense at meteorological expertise, although I too was beginning to suspect that our party would suffer a blow.

  I got down from the carriage, and a maid who came to the gate asked us to wait a moment, Miss Lotte would be with us shortly. I walked across the yard to the handsome house, and when I had gone up the front steps and entered the doorway, I caught sight of the most charming spectacle that I have ever witnessed. In the vestibule six children from eleven to two years old crowded around a girl with a lovely figure, of medium height, wearing a simple white dress with pink ribbons on her sleeves and at her breast. She was holding a loaf of black bread and cutting off a slice for each of the little ones surrounding her, in proportion to their age and appetite, giving it to each one with such kindness, each shouting out so unaffectedly their: Thank you! after having reached up for so long with their little hands even before the slice had been cut, and now, delighted with supper, either dashing off or, if they were of a quieter nature, walking calmly toward the courtyard gate to see the strange persons and the carriage in which their Lotte was to drive off.—I beg your pardon, she said, that I made you come in and kept the ladies waiting. What with getting dressed and all sorts of instructions for the household during my absence, I forgot to give my children their supper, and they will have their bread sliced by no one else but me.—I paid her a trifling compliment, my entire soul rested on her figure, the sound of her voice, her demeanor. I just had time to recover from my surprise when she ran into the parlor to fetch her gloves and fan. Off at a distance the little ones threw me sidelong glances, and I went up to the youngest, a child with the most attractive features. He drew back just as Lotte came to the door, saying, Louis, shake hands with your cousin.—The lad did so very freely, and I could not resist
giving him a heartfelt kiss despite his little runny nose.—Cousin? I said, while giving her my hand, Do you think I deserve the good fortune of being your relative?—Oh, she said, with an easy smile, our network of cousins is very extensive, and I should be sorry if you were the worst of them.—As she prepared to leave, she instructed Sophie, the next-older sister, a girl of about eleven, to keep a watchful eye on the children and to greet Papa when he returned from his ride. She told the little ones to obey their sister Sophie as if she were Lotte herself, which several of them expressly promised to do. A pert little blonde, however, about six years old, said: But you aren’t her, Lotte, we like you better.—The two oldest boys had climbed up on the coach, and at my request she allowed them to ride with us to the edge of the woods as long as they promised not to tease one another and to hold on tight.

  We had hardly settled in, the women greeting one another, commenting by turns on the other’s outfits, especially their hats, and giving the expected guests a thorough going-over, when Lotte had the coachman stop and her brothers dismount; once again, they were eager to kiss her hand, the eldest doing just that with all the tenderness a fifteen-year-old can command, the other with much vigor and exuberance. She had them send her love to the little ones once more, and we drove on.

  My partner’s cousin asked whether she had finished the book she had recently sent her.—No, Lotte said, I don’t care for it; you can have it back. And the one before that was no better.—I was astonished when, on asking what books they were, she replied:†——I found so strong a personality expressed in everything she said, with every word I saw new charms, new gleams of intelligence flashing from her features, which gradually appeared to blossom with delight because she sensed that I understood her.

  When I was younger, she said, there was nothing I loved so much as novels. God knows how happy I was when on Sunday I could curl up in a corner and share wholeheartedly in the joys and sorrows of a Miss Jenny. Now, I won’t deny that this kind of writing still holds a certain charm for me. But since I have so little time to read, it has to be something completely to my taste. And I do love best of all that author in whom I rediscover my own world, in whose books things happen the way they do all around me, and whose story is as interesting and heartfelt as my own domestic life, which, of course, is no paradise and yet all in all is a source of inexpressible happiness.

  I made an effort to conceal my emotions at these words. Of course I did not get very far; for when I heard her speak in passing with such perceptiveness about The Vicar of Wakefield and about‡ —— ,I was beside myself and said everything I had to say, and it was only after some time, when Lotte directed the conversation to the others, that I noticed that all the while they had sat there staring with wide-open eyes, as if they were not sitting there at all. My partner’s cousin looked down her nose at me more than once, but that was of no concern to me.

  The conversation turned to the joy of dancing.—If this passion is a fault, said Lotte, I gladly confess to you that I know nothing better than dancing. And when something is troubling me and I drum out a country dance on my out-of-tune piano, all is well again.

  How I feasted on her black eyes during this conversation! How my entire soul was drawn to her animated lips and her fresh, glowing cheeks! How completely immersed I was in the splendid sense of her conversation, so that at times I did not even hear the words with which she expressed herself!—You have some idea of this because you know me. In a word, when we came to a halt at the ballroom house, I got out of the carriage as if in a dream, and I was so lost in my dreams in the midst of the twilit world that I hardly registered the music pealing down to us from the brightly lit hall.

  The two gentlemen, Audran and a certain party—who can remember all their names!—who were the cousin’s and Lotte’s escorts, met us at the carriage, they took charge of their ladies, and I led mine up the stairs.

  We weaved around one another in minuets; I asked one lady after the other to dance, and it was precisely the most unattractive ones who could not manage to give me their hand and bring the dance to an end. Lotte and her partner began an English country dance, and you can imagine my delight when it was her turn to begin the figure with us. You should see her dance! You see, she is so absorbed in it with her heart and soul, her whole body one harmony, so carefree, so natural, as if this were the only thing in the world, as if she thought or felt nothing else; and in such moments everything else surely does vanish from her mind.

  I asked her for the second country dance; she promised me the third, and with the most charming frankness in the world assured me that she adored dancing this German variation.—It’s the custom here, she continued, that every couple that belongs together remain together for the German dance, but my partner waltzes badly and is grateful to me if I relieve him of this chore. Your lady doesn’t know how to and doesn’t like to, and I saw when you danced the country dance that you waltz well; if you’re willing to be my partner for the waltz, go and ask my partner for leave, and I will speak to your lady.—I gave her my hand upon it, and it was arranged that while we danced, our partners would entertain one another.

  So it began! and for a while we were delighted with the various ways our arms intertwined. How charming she was, how nimbly she moved! And now, as we began the waltz and, like the heavenly spheres, circled around one another, there was, of course, a good deal of confusion at first, because few were adept. We were clever and let them exhaust themselves, and once the clumsiest ones had left the floor, we moved in and, together with one other couple, Audran and his partner, carried on valiantly. Never have I danced so effortlessly. I was no longer a mere mortal. To hold the loveliest creature in my arms and to fly with her like the wind, so that everything else around me vanished, and—Wilhelm, to be honest, I vowed to myself that a girl whom I loved, to whom I was attached, should never waltz with anyone but me, even if it were to cost me my life. You understand what I mean!

  We took a few turns around the ballroom to catch our breath. Then she sat down, and the oranges I had set aside and that were now the only ones left had a good effect, though with each little segment she politely offered to a greedy neighbor, a pang went through my heart.

  At the third country dance, we were the second pair. As we danced through the line and I, God knows with how much bliss, hung on her arm and eyes, which were full of the most genuine expression of the frankest, purest pleasure, we encountered a woman whom I had noticed earlier for the gentle expression on her aging face. Smiling, she looks at Lotte, lifts a minatory finger and, as we fly past, twice utters the name Albert very meaningfully.

  Who is Albert? I said to Lotte, if I may ask.—She was about to answer when we had to separate in order to move into the great figure eight, and it seemed to me that I saw signs of pensiveness on her forehead as we crossed in front of one another.—Why should I hide it from you, she said as she gave me her hand for the promenade, Albert is a fine man to whom I am as good as engaged.—Now that was not news to me (for the girls had told me on the way), and yet it was entirely new because I had not yet thought of it in connection with the woman who in so short a time had become so precious to me. Enough, I became confused, lost count, and came in between the wrong couple, so that everything went awry, and it took all of Lotte’s presence of mind and tugging and pulling quickly to restore order.

  The dance was not yet over when the lightning that we had long seen flashing on the horizon and that I had always pretended was only summer lightning began to grow far more pronounced and thunder drowned out the music. Three ladies broke out of the line, followed by their partners; the confusion became general, and the music stopped. It is natural, when a misfortune or something terrible takes us by surprise while we are enjoying ourselves, that the impression it makes on us is stronger than usual, partly because of the contrast, which we feel so vividly, partly, and even more, because our senses are open to perception and therefore take in an impression all the more readily. I must attribute to these causes th
e amazing grimaces that I saw on some of the ladies’ faces. The smartest one sat in a corner, her back to the window, and covered her ears. Another knelt in front of her and hid her face in this lady’s lap. A third pressed herself between them and embraced her sisters amid a thousand tears. Some wanted to go home; others, who knew even less what they were doing, lacked the presence of mind to control the impertinences of our young gourmands who seemed to be very busy snatching from the lips of those harassed beauties all the anxious prayers intended for heaven. Some of our gentlemen had gone downstairs to smoke their pipes in peace, and the rest of the company did not refuse when the landlady had the clever idea of showing us to a room with shutters and curtains. No sooner had we arrived there than Lotte busied herself arranging a circle of chairs, requesting the company to take seats, and proposing the rules of a game.

  I saw several young men pursing their lips and stretching their limbs in the hope of a juicy forfeit.—We’re going to play at counting, she said. Now pay attention! I am going to go around the circle from right to left, and you must count, also going around, each with the number of your turn, and that has to go like wildfire, and whoever hesitates or makes a mistake gets a slap in the face, and so on up to one thousand.—It was fun to watch. She went around the circle with an outstretched arm. One, the first began; his neighbor, two; the next one, three; and so on. Then she began to move more and more quickly. Then someone made a mistake: smack! A slap, and amid the laughter the next one too: smack! And faster and faster. I myself was hit twice, and it was with intense pleasure that I believed I noticed that these slaps were harder than the ones she handed out to the others. General laughter and commotion broke up the game before the company had counted to one thousand. Those who were most intimate drew each other aside, the thunderstorm had passed, and I followed Lotte back to the dance floor. On the way she said: The slaps made them forget the storm and everything else!—There was nothing I could say.—I was, she continued, one of those most afraid, and by pretending to be brave, so as to encourage the others, I grew brave.—We walked over to the window. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a splendid rain was falling on the land, and the most refreshing scent rose up to us in the fullness of a rush of warm air. She stood leaning on her elbows, her gaze penetrating the scene; she looked up at the sky and at me, I could see tears in her eyes, she put her hand on mine and said, Klopstock!—I immediately recalled the splendid ode that was in her thoughts, and I sank into the flood of feelings that she poured over me with this byword. I could not bear it, I bowed over her hand and kissed it as I wept the most blissful tears. And looked again into her eyes—Noble poet! If you had but seen yourself idolized in this glance—and now I never want to hear your name, so often blasphemed, ever mentioned again!