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The Sorrows of Young Werther · Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

September 1O.

Oh, what a night, Wilhelm! I can henceforth bear anything. I

shall never see her again. Oh, why cannot I fall on your neck,

and, with floods of tears and raptures, give utterance to all the

passions which distract my heart! Here I sit gasping for breath,

and struggling to compose myself. I wait for day, and at sunrise

the horses are to be at the door.

And she is sleeping calmly, little suspecting that she has seen me

for the last time. I am free. I have had the courage, in an

interview of two hours' duration, not to betray my intention. And

O Wilhelm, what a conversation it was!

Albert had promised to come to Charlotte in the garden immediately

after supper. I was upon the terrace under the tall chestnut trees,

and watched the setting sun. I saw him sink for the last time

beneath this delightful valley and silent stream. I had often

visited the same spot with Charlotte, and witnessed that glorious

sight; and now -- I was walking up and down the very avenue which

was so dear to me. A secret sympathy had frequently drawn me

thither before I knew Charlotte; and we were delighted when, in

our early acquaintance, we discovered that we each loved the same

spot, which is indeed as romantic as any that ever captivated the

fancy of an artist.

>From beneath the chestnut trees, there is an extensive view. But

I remember that I have mentioned all this in a former letter, and

have described the tall mass of beech trees at the end, and how

the avenue grows darker and darker as it winds its way among them,

till it ends in a gloomy recess, which has all the charm of a

mysterious solitude. I still remember the strange feeling of

melancholy which came over me the first time I entered that dark

retreat, at bright midday. I felt some secret foreboding that it

would, one day, be to me the scene of some happiness or misery.

I had spent half an hour struggling between the contending thoughts

of going and returning, when I heard them coming up the terrace.

I ran to meet them. I trembled as I took her hand, and kissed it.

As we reached the top of the terrace, the moon rose from behind

the wooded hill. We conversed on many subjects, and, without

perceiving it, approached the gloomy recess. Charlotte entered,

and sat down. Albert seated himself beside her. I did the same,

but my agitation did not suffer me to remain long seated. I got

up, and stood before her, then walked backward and forward, and

sat down again. I was restless and miserable. Charlotte drew our

attention to the beautiful effect of the moonlight, which threw a

silver hue over the terrace in front of us, beyond the beech trees.

It was a glorious sight, and was rendered more striking by the

darkness which surrounded the spot where we were. We remained for

some time silent, when Charlotte observed, "Whenever I walk by

moonlight, it brings to my remembrance all my beloved and departed

friends, and I am filled with thoughts of death and futurity. We

shall live again, Werther!" she continued, with a firm but feeling

voice; "but shall we know one another again what do you think?

what do you say?"

"Charlotte," I said, as I took her hand in mine, and my eyes filled

with tears, "we shall see each other again -- here and hereafter

we shall meet again." I could say no more. Why, Wilhelm, should

she put this question to me, just at the monent when the fear of

our cruel separation filled my heart?

"And oh! do those departed ones know how we are employed here? do

they know when we are well and happy? do they know when we recall

their memories with the fondest love? In the silent hour of

evening the shade of my mother hovers around me; when seated

in the midst of my children, I see them assembled near me, as

they used to assemble near her; and then I raise my anxious eyes

to heaven, and wish she could look down upon us, and witness how

I fulfil the promise I made to her in her last moments, to be a

mother to her children. With what emotion do I then exclaim,

'Pardon, dearest of mothers, pardon me, if I do not adequately

supply your place! Alas! I do my utmost. They are clothed and

fed; and, still better, they are loved and educated. Could you

but see, sweet saint! the peace and harmony that dwells amongst

us, you would glorify God with the warmest feelings of gratitude,

to whom, in your last hour, you addressed such fervent prayers for

our happiness.'" Thus did she express herself; but O Wilhelm! who

can do justice to her language? how can cold and passionless words

convey the heavenly expressions of the spirit? Albert interrupted

her gently. "This affects you too deeply, my dear Charlotte. I

know your soul dwells on such recollections wlth intense delight;

but I implore -- " "O Albert!" she continued, "I am sure you do

not forget the evenings when we three used to sit at the little

round table, when papa was absent, and the little ones had retired.

You often had a good book with you, but seldom read it; the

conversation of that noble being was preferable to everything, --

that beautiful, bright, gentle, and yet ever-toiling woman. God

alone knows how I have supplicated with tears on my nightly couch,

that I might be like her."

I threw myself at her feet, and, seizing her hand, bedewed it with

a thousand tears. "Charlotte!" I exclaimed, "God's blessing and

your mother's spirit are upon you." "Oh! that you had known her,"

she said, with a warm pressure of the hand. "She was worthy of

being known to you." I thought I should have fainted: never had

I received praise so flattering. She continued, "And yet she was

doomed to die in the flower of her youth, when her youngest child

was scarcely six months old. Her illness was but short, but she

was calm and resigned; and it was only for her children, especially

the youngest, that she felt unhappy. When her end drew nigh, she

bade me bring them to her. I obeyed. The younger ones knew nothing

of their approaching loss, while the elder ones were quite overcome

with grief. They stood around the bed; and she raised her feeble

hands to heaven, and prayed over them; then, kissing them in turn,

she dismissed them, and said to me, 'Be you a mother to them.' I

gave her my hand. 'You are promising much, my child,' she said:

'a mother's fondness and a mother's care! I have often witnessed,

by your tears of gratitude, that you know what is a mother's

tenderness: show it to your brothers and sisters, and be dutiful

and faithful to your father as a wife; you will be his comfort.'

She inquired for him. He had retired to conceal his intolerable

anguish, -- he was heartbroken, "Albert, you were in the room.

She heard some one moving: she inquired who it was, and desired

you to approach. She surveyed us both with a look of composure

and satisfaction, expressive of her conviction that we should be

happy, -- happy with one another." Albert fell upon her neck, and

kissed her, and exclaimed, "We are so, and we shall be so!" Even

Albert, generally so tranquil, had quite lost his composure; and

I was excited beyond expression.

"And such a being," She continued, "was to leave us, Werther!

Great God, must we thus part with everything we hold dear in this

world? Nobody felt this more acutely than the children: they cried

and lamented for a long time afterward, complaining that men had

carried away their dear mamma."

Charlotte rose. It aroused me; but I continued sitting, and held

her hand. "Let us go," she said: "it grows late." She attempted

to withdraw her hand: I held it still. "We shall see each other

again," I exclaimed: "we shall recognise each other under every

possible change! I am going," I continued, "going willingly; but,

should I say for ever, perhaps I may not keep my word. Adieu,

Charlotte; adieu, Albert. We shall meet again." "Yes: tomorrow,

I think," she answered with a smile. Tomorrow! how I felt the word!

Ah! she little thought, when she drew her hand away from mine.

They walked down the avenue. I stood gazing after them in the

moonlight. I threw myself upon the ground, and wept: I then sprang

up, and ran out upon the terrace, and saw, under the shade of the

linden-trees, her white dress disappearing near the garden-gate.

I stretched out my arms, and she vanished.