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The Sorrows of Young Werther · Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

October 2O.

We arrived here yesterday. The ambassador is indisposed, and will

not go out for some days. If he were less peevish and morose, all

would be well. I see but too plainly that Heaven has destined me

to severe trials; but courage! a light heart may bear anything.

A light heart! I smile to find such a word proceeding from my pen.

A little more lightheartedness would render me the happiest being

under the sun. But must I despair of my talents and faculties,

whilst others of far inferior abilities parade before me with the

utmost self-satisfaction? Gracious Providence, to whom I owe all

my powers, why didst thou not withhold some of those blessings I

possess, and substitute in their place a feeling of self-confidence

and contentment?

But patience! all will yet be well; for I assure you, my dear

friend, you were right: since I have been obliged to associate

continually with other people, and observe what they do, and how

they employ themselves, I have become far better satisfied with

myself. For we are so constituted by nature, that we are ever

prone to compare ourselves with others; and our happiness or misery

depends very much on the objects and persons around us. On this

account, nothing is more dangerous than solitude: there our

imagination, always disposed to rise, taking a new flight on the

wings of fancy, pictures to us a chain of beings of whom we seem

the most inferior. All things appear greater than they really

are, and all seem superior to us. This operation of the mind is

quite natural: we so continually feel our own imperfections, and

fancy we perceive in others the qualities we do not possess,

attributing to them also all that we enjoy ourselves, that by this

process we form the idea of a perfect, happy man, -- a man, however,

who only exists in our own imagination.

But when, in spite of weakness and disappointments, we set to work

in earnest, and persevere steadily, we often find, that, though

obliged continually to tack, we make more way than others who have

the assistance of wind and tide; and, in truth, there can be no

greater satisfaction than to keep pace with others or outstrip

them in the race.

November 26.

I begin to find my situation here more tolerable, considering all

circumstances. I find a great advantage in being much occupied;

and the number of persons I meet, and their different pursuits,

create a varied entertainment for me. I have formed the acquaintance

of the Count C-- and I esteem him more and more every day. He is

a man of strong understanding and great discernment; but, though

he sees farther than other people, he is not on that account cold

in his manner, but capable of inspiring and returning the warmest

affection. He appeared interested in me on one occasion, when I

had to transact some business with him. He perceived, at the first

word, that we understood each other, and that he could converse

with me in a different tone from what he used with others. I

cannot sufficiently esteem his frank and open kindness to me. It

is the greatest and most genuine of pleasures to observe a great

mind in sympathy with our own.

DECEMBER 24.

As I anticipated, the ambassador occasions me infinite annoyance.

He is the most punctilious blockhead under heaven. He does

everything step by step, with the trifling minuteness of an old

woman; and he is a man whom it is impossible to please, because

he is never pleased with himself. I like to do business regularly

and cheerfully, and, when it is finished, to leave it. But he

constantly returns my papers to me, saying, "They will do," but

recommending me to look over them again, as "one may always improve

by using a better word or a more appropriate particle." I then

lose all patience, and wish myself at the devil's. Not a conjunction,

not an adverb, must be omitted: he has a deadly antipathy to all

those transpositions of which I am so fond; and, if the music of

our periods is not tuned to the established, official key, he

cannot comprehend our meaning. It is deplorable to be connected

with such a fellow.

My acquaintance with the Count C-- is the only compensation for

such an evil. He told me frankly, the other day, that he was much

displeased with the difficulties and delays of the ambassador;

that people like him are obstacles, both to themselves and to

others. "But," added he, "one must submit, like a traveller who

has to ascend a mountain: if the mountain was not there, the road

would be both shorter and pleasanter; but there it is, and he must

get over it."

The old man perceives the count's partiality for me: this annoys

him, and, he seizes every opportunity to depreciate the count in

my hearing. I naturally defend him, and that only makes matters

worse. Yesterday he made me indignant, for he also alluded to me.

"The count," he said, "is a man of the world, and a good man of

business: his style is good, and he writes with facility; but,

like other geniuses, he has no solid learning." He looked at me

with an expression that seemed to ask if I felt the blow. But it

did not produce the desired effect: I despise a man who can think

and act in such a manner. However, I made a stand, and answered

with not a little warmth. The count, I said, was a man entitled

to respect, alike for his character and his acquirements. I had

never met a person whose mind was stored with more useful and

extensive knowledge, -- who had, in fact, mastered such an infinite

variety of subjects, and who yet retained all his activity for the

details of ordinary business. This was altogether beyond his

comprehension; and I took my leave, lest my anger should be too

highly excited by some new absurdity of his.

And you are to blame for all this, you who persuaded me to bend

my neck to this yoke by preaching a life of activity to me. If

the man who plants vegetables, and carries his corn to town on

market-days, is not more usefully employed than I am, then let me

work ten years longer at the galleys to which I am now chained.

Oh, the brilliant wretchedness, the weariness, that one is doomed

to witness among the silly people whom we meet in society here!

The ambition of rank! How they watch, how they toil, to gain

precedence! What poor and contemptible passions are displayed in

their utter nakedness! We have a woman here, for example, who

never ceases to entertain the company with accounts of her family

and her estates. Any stranger would consider her a silly being,

whose head was turned by her pretensions to rank and property; but

she is in reality even more ridiculous, the daughter of a mere

magistrate's clerk from this neighbourhood. I cannot understand

how human beings can so debase themselves.

Every day I observe more and more the folly of judging of others

by ourselves; and I have so much trouble with myseif, and my own

heart is in such constant agitation, that I am well content to let

others pursue their own course, if they only allow me the same

privilege.

What provokes me most is the unhappy extent to which distinctions

of rank are carried. I know perfectly well how necessary are

inequalities of condition, and I am sensible of the advantages I

myself derive therefrom; but I would not have these institutions

prove a barrier to the small chance of happiness which I may enjoy

on this earth.

I have lately become acquainted with a Miss B--, a very agreeable

girl, who has retained her natural manners in the midst of artificial

life. Our first conversation pleased us both equally; and, at

taking leave, I requested permission to visit her. She consented

in so obliging a manner, that I waited with impatience for the

arrival of the happy moment. She is not a native of this place,

but resides here with her aunt. The countenance of the old lady

is not prepossessing. I paid her much attention, addressing the

greater part of my conversation to her; and, in less than half an

hour, I discovered what her niece subsequently acknowledged to me,

that her aged aunt, having but a small fortune, and a still smaller

share of understanding, enjoys no satisfaction except in the

pedigree of her ancestors, no protection save in her noble birth,

and no enjoyment but in looking from her castle over the heads of

the humble citizens. She was, no doubt, handsome in her youth,

and in her early years probably trifled away her time in rendering

many a poor youth the sport of her caprice: in her riper years she

has submitted to the yoke of a veteran officer, who, in return for

her person and her small independence, has spent with her what we

may designate her age of brass. He is dead; and she is now a

widow, and deserted. She spends her iron age alone, and would not

be approached, except for the loveliness of her niece.

JANUARY 8, 1772.

What beings are men, whose whole thoughts are occupied with form

and ceremony, who for years together devote their mental and

physical exertions to the task of advancing themselves but one

step, and endeavouring to occupy a higher place at the table. Not

that such persons would otherwise want employment: on the contrary,

they give themselves much trouble by neglecting important business

for such petty trifles. Last week a question of precedence arose

at a sledging-party, and all our amusement was spoiled.

The silly creatures cannot see that it is not place which constitutes

real greatness, since the man who occupies the first place but

seldom plays the principal part. How many kings are governed by

their ministers -- how many ministers by their secretaries? Who, in

such cases, is really the chief? He, as it seems to me, who can

see through the others, and possesses strength or skill enough to

make their power or passions subservient to the execution of his

own designs.

JANUARY 20.

I must write to you from this place, my dear Charlotte, from a

small room in a country inn, where I have taken shelter from a

severe storm. During my whole residence in that wretched place

D--, where I lived amongst strangers, -- strangers, indeed, to

this heart, -- I never at any time felt the smallest inclination

to correspond with you; but in this cottage, in this retirement,

in this solitude, with the snow and hail beating against my

lattice-pane, you are my first thought. The instant I entered,

your figure rose up before me, and the remembrance! O my Charlotte,

the sacred, tender remembrance! Gracious Heaven! restore to me

the happy moment of our first acquaintance.

Could you but see me, my dear Charlotte, in the whirl of

dissipation, -- how my senses are dried up, but my heart is at no

time full. I enjoy no single moment of happiness: all is vain --

nothing touches me. I stand, as it were, before the raree-show:

I see the little puppets move, and I ask whether it is not an

optical illusion. I am amused with these puppets, or, rather, I

am myself one of them: but, when I sometimes grasp my neighbour's

hand, I feel that it is not natural; and I withdraw mine with a

shudder. In the evening I say I will enjoy the next morning's

sunrise, and yet I remain in bed: in the day I promise to ramble

by moonlight; and I, nevertheless, remain at home. I know not why

I rise, nor why I go to sleep.

The leaven which animated my existence is gone: the charm which

cheered me in the gloom of night, and aroused me from my morning

slumbers, is for ever fled.

I have found but one being here to interest me, a Miss B--. She

resembles you, my dear Charlotte, if any one can possibly resemble

you. "Ah!" you will say, "he has learned how to pay fine compliments."

And this is partly true. I have been very agreeable lately, as

it was not in my power to be otherwise. I have, moreover, a deal

of wit: and the ladies say that no one understands flattery better,

or falsehoods you will add; since the one accomplishment invariably

accompanies the other. But I must tell you of Miss B--. She has

abundance of soul, which flashes from her deep blue eyes. Her

rank is a torment to her, and satisfies no one desire of her heart.

She would gladly retire from this whirl of fashion, and we often

picture to ourselves a life of undisturbed happiness in distant

scenes of rural retirement: and then we speak of you, my dear

Charlotte; for she knows you, and renders homage to your merits;

but her homage is not exacted, but voluntary, she loves you, and

delights to hear you made the subject of conversation.

Oh, that I were sitting at your feet in your favourite little room,

with the dear children playing around us! If they became troublesome

to you, I would tell them some appalling goblin story; and they

would crowd round me with silent attention. The sun is setting

in glory; his last rays are shining on the snow, which covers the

face of the country: the storm is over, and I must return to my

dungeon. Adieu!-- Is Albert with you? and what is he to you? God

forgive the question.