disregards her. The silly being affects to be learned ， pretends to examinethe canonical books ， lends her aid toward the new-fashioned reformationof Christendom， moral and critical ， and shrugs up her shoulders atthe mention of Lavater's enthusiasm. Her health is destroyed， on accountof which she is prevented from having any enjoyment here below. Only sucha creature could have cut down my walnut trees！ I can never pardon it.Hear her reasons. The falling leaves made the court wet and dirty ； thebranches obstructed the light ； boys threw stones at the nuts when theywere ripe ， and the noise affected her nerves； and disturbed her profoundmeditations ， when she was weighing the diffculties of Kennicot， Semler，and Michaelis. Finding that all the parish， particularly the old people，were displeased ， I asked "why they allowed it ？" "Ah ， sir！" theyreplied ， "when the steward orders ， what can we poor peasants do ？" But one thing has happened well. The steward and the vicar（who ， foronce， thought to reap some advantage from the caprices of his wife ）intended to divide the trees between them. The revenue-office ， beinginformed of it， revived an old claim to the ground where the trees hadstood ， and sold them to the best bidder. There they still lie on theground. If I were the sovereign ， I should know how to deal with themall ， vicar， steward， and revenue-office. Sovereign， did I say？ Ishould， in that case ， care little about the trees that grew in thecountry. OCTOBER 10. Only to gaze upon her dark eyes is to me a source of happiness！And what grieves me ， is ， that Albert does not seem so happy as he—— hoped to be—— as I should have been—— if —— I am no friendto these pauses ， but here I cannot express it otherwise ； and probablyI am explicit enough. OCTOBER 12. Ossian has superseded Homer in my heart. To what a worlddoes the illustrious bard carry me！ To wander over pathless wilds， surroundedby impetuous whirlwinds ， where， by the feeble light of the moon， wesee the spirits of our ancestors； to hear from the mountain-tops ， midthe roar of torrents， their plaintive sounds issuing from deep caverns，and the sorrowful lamentations of a maiden who sighs and expires on themossy tomb of the warrior by whom she was adored. I meet this bard withsilver hair ； he wanders in the valley ； he seeks the footsteps of hisfathers ， and， alas ！ he finds only their tombs. Then， contemplatingthe pale moon ， as she sinks beneath the waves of the rolling sea， thememory of bygone days strikes the mind of the hero， days when approachingdanger invigorated the brave， and the moon shone upon his bark ladenwith spoils ， and returning in triumph. When I read in his countenancedeep sorrow ， when I see his dying glory sink exhausted into the grave，as he inhales new and heart-thrilling delight from his approaching unionwith his beloved， and he casts a look on the cold earth and the tallgrass which is so soon to cover him ， and then exclaims， "The travellerwill come ，—— he will come who has seen my beauty， and he will ask，'Where is the bard， where is the illustrious son of Fingal ？' He willwalk over my tomb ， and will seek me in vain ！" Then， O my friend，I could instantly ， like a true and noble knight ， draw my sword， anddeliver my prince from the long and painful languor of a living death ，and dismiss my own soul to follow the demigod whom my hand had set free！ OCTOBER 19. Alas！ the void the fearful void， which I feel in mybosom ！ Sometimes I think， if I could only once but once， press herto my heart ， this dreadful void would be filled. OCTOBER 26. Yes ， I feel certain ， Wilhelm， and every day I becomemore certain， that the existence of any being whatever is of very littleconsequence. A friend of Charlotte's called to see her just now. I withdrewinto a neighbouring apartment ， and took up a book ； but， finding Icould not read， I sat down to write. I heard them converse in an undertone： they spoke upon indifferent topics ， and retailed the news of thetown. One was going to be married ； another was ill， very ill ， shehad a dry cough ， her face was growing thinner daily ， and she had occasionalfits. "N—— is very unwell too ，" said Charlotte. "His limbs begin toswell already ，" answered the other； and my lively imagination carriedme at once to the beds of the infirm. There I see them struggling againstdeath ， with all the agonies of pain and horror； and these women， Wilhelm，talk of all this with as much indifference as one would mention the deathof a stranger. And when I look around the apartment where I now am——when I see Charlotte's apparel lying before me， and Albert's writings，and all those articles of furniture which are so familiar to me ， evento the very inkstand which I am using ，—— when I think what I am tothis family —— everything. My friends esteem me ； I often contributeto their happiness， and my heart seems as if it could not beat withoutthem； and yet—— if I were to die ， if I were to be summoned from themidst of this circle， would they feel—— or how long would they feelthe void which my loss would make in their existence？ How long ！ Yes，such is the frailty of man， that even there， where he has the greatestconsciousness of his own being， where he makes the strongest and mostforcible impression ， even in the memory ， in the heart ， of his beloved，there also he must perish ，—— vanish ，—— and that quickly. OCTOBER 27. I could tear open my bosom with vexation to think howlittle we are capable of influencing the feelings of each other. No onecan communicate to me those sensations of love， joy， rapture， and delightwhich I do not naturally possess； and， though my heart may glow withthe most lively affection ， I cannot make the happiness of one in whomthe same warmth is not inherent. OCTOBER 27： Evening. I possess so much ， but my love for her absorbsit all. I possess so much ， but without her I have nothing. OCTOBER 30. One hundred times have I been on the point of embracingher. Heavens！ what a torment it is to see so much loveliness passingand repassing before us ， and yet not dare to lay hold of it ！ And layinghold is the most natural of human instincts. Do not children touch everythingthey see？ And I！ NOVEMBER 3. Witness ， Heaven ， how often I lie down in my bed witha wish， and even a hope， that I may never awaken again. And in the morning，when I open my eyes ， I behold the sun once more ， and am wretched.If I were whimsical ， I might blame the weather， or an acquaintance ，or some personal disappointment ， for my discontented mind ； and thenthis insupportable load of trouble would not rest entirely upon myself.But ， alas ！ I feel it too sadly. I am alone the cause of my own woe，am I not？ Truly， my own bosom contains the source of all my sorrow，as it previously contained the source of all my pleasure. Am I not thesame being who once enjoyed an excess of happiness， who， at every step，saw paradise open before him， and whose heart was ever expanded towardthe whole world ？ And this heart is now dead ， no sentiment can reviveit； my eyes are dry； and my senses， no more refreshed by the influenceof soft tears ， wither and consume my brain. I suffer much ， for I havelost the only charm of life ： that active， sacred power which createdworlds around me，—— it is no more. When I look from my window at thedistant hills ， and behold the morning sun breaking through the mists，and illuminating the country around ， which is still wrapped in silence，whilst the soft stream winds gently through the willows ， which haveshed their leaves ； when glorious nature displays all her beauties beforeme， and her wondrous prospects are ineffectual to extract one tear ofjoy from my withered heart， I feel that in such a moment I stand likea reprobate before heaven ， hardened ， insensible ， and unmoved. Oftentimesdo I then bend my knee to the earth ， and implore God for the blessingof tears， as the desponding labourer in some scorching climate praysfor the dews of heaven to moisten his parched corn. But I feel that Goddoes not grant sunshine or rain to our importunate entreaties. And oh ，those bygone days ， whose memory now torments me ！ why were they sofortunate ？ Because I then waited with patience for the blessings ofthe Eternal ， and received his gifts with the grateful feelings of athankful heart. NOVEMBER 8. Charlotte has reproved me for my excesses ， with so muchtenderness and goodness ！ I have lately been in the habit of drinkingmore wine than heretofore. "Don't do it ，" she said. "Think of Charlotte！" "Think of you ！" I answered； "need you bid me do so ？ Think of you—— I do not think of you： you are ever before my soul！ This very morningI sat on the spot where ， a few days ago ， you descended from the carriage，and ——" She immediately changed the subject to prevent me from pursuingit farther. My dear friend， my energies are all prostrated ： she cando with me what she pleases. NOVEMBER 15. I thank you， Wilhelm， for your cordial sympathy， foryour excellent advice ； and I implore you to be quiet. Leave me to mysufferings. In spite of my wretchedness ， I have still strength enoughfor endurance. I revere religion—— you know I do. I feel that it canimpart strength to the feeble and comfort to the afflicted， but doesit affect all men equally ？ Consider this vast universe： you will seethousands for whom it has never existed ， thousands for whom it willnever exist ， whether it be preached to them ， or not ； and must it，then， necessarily exist for me ？ Does not the Son of God himself saythat they are his whom the Father has given to him？ Have I been givento him？ What if the Father will retain me for himself， as my heart sometimessuggests？ I pray you ， do not misinterpret this. Do not extract derisionfrom my harmless words. I pour out my whole soul before you. Silence wereotherwise preferable to me， but I need not shrink from a subject of whichfew know more than I do myself. What is the destiny of man， but to fillup the measure of his sufferings， and to drink his allotted cup of bitterness？And if that same cup proved bitter to the God of heaven ， under a humanform， why should I affect a foolish pride， and call it sweet？ Why shouldI be ashamed of shrinking at that fearful moment， when my whole beingwill tremble between existence and annihilation ， when a remembranceof the past ， like a flash of lightning， will illuminate the dark gulfof futurity ， when everything shall dissolve around me ， and the wholeworld vanish away ？ Is not this the voice of a creature oppressed beyondall resource， self-deficient ， about to plunge into inevitable destruction，and groaning deeply at its inadequate strength， "My God！ my God ！ whyhast thou forsaken me ？" And should I feel ashamed to utter the sameexpression？ Should I not shudder at a prospect which had its fears ，even for him who folds up the heavens like a garment？ NOVEMBER 21. She does not feel， she does not know， that she is preparinga poison which will destroy us both ； and I drink deeply of the draughtwhich is to prove my destruction. What mean those looks of kindness withwhich she often —— often？ no ， not often， but sometimes， regardsme， that complacency with which she hears the involuntary sentimentswhich frequently escape me， and the tender pity for my sufferings whichappears in her countenance？ Yesterday ， when I took leave she seized me by the hand， and said，"Adieu， dear Werther." Dear Werther！ It was the first time she evercalled me dear： the sound sunk deep into my heart. I have repeated ita hundred times ； and last night ， on going to bed， and talking tomyself of various things， I suddenly said， "Good night， dear Werther！" and then could not but laugh at myself. NOVEMBER 22. I cannot pray， "Leave her to me ！" and yet she oftenseems to belong to me. I cannot pray， "Give her to me！" for she is another's.In this way I affect mirth over my troubles ； and， if I had time， Icould compose a whole litany of antitheses. NOVEMBER 24. She is sensible of my sufferings. This morning her lookpierced my very soul. I found her alone ， and she was silent ： she steadfastlysurveyed me. I no longer saw in her face the charms of beauty or the fireof genius ： these had disappeared. But I was affected by an expressionmuch more touching， a look of the deepest sympathy and of the softestpity. Why was I afraid to throw myself at her feet？ Why did I not dareto take her in my arms， and answer her by a thousand kisses？ She hadrecourse to her piano for relief， and in a low and sweet voice accompaniedthe music with delicious sounds. Her lips never appeared so lovely： theyseemed but just to open ， that they might imbibe the sweet tones whichissued from the instrument， and return the heavenly vibration from herlovely mouth. Oh！ who can express my sensations？ I was quite overcome，and ， bending down ， pronounced this vow： "Beautiful lips， which theangels guard， never will I seek to profane your purity with a kiss."And yet ， my friend， oh ， I wish —— but my heart is darkened by doubtand indecision—— could I but taste felicity ， and then die to expiatethe sin ！ What sin ？ NOVEMBER 26. Oftentimes I say to myself ， "Thou alone art wretched： all other mortals are happy， none are distressed like thee！" ThenI read a passage in an ancient poet ， and I seem to understand my ownheart. I have so much to endure ！ Have men before me ever been so wretched？ NOVEMBER 30. I shall never be myself again！ Wherever I go， somefatality occurs to distract me. Even to-day alas—— for our destiny！alas for human nature ！ About dinner-time I went to walk by the river-side， for I had noappetite. Everything around seemed gloomy ： a cold and damp easterlywind blew from the mountains， and black， heavy clouds spread over theplain. I observed at a distance a man in a tattered coat： he was wanderingamong the rocks ， and seemed to be looking for plants. When I approached，he turned round at the noise； and I saw that he had an interesting countenancein which a settled melancholy ， strongly marked by benevolence ， formedthe principal feature. His long black hair was divided， and flowed overhis shoulders. As his garb betokened a person of the lower order， I thoughthe would not take it ill if I inquired about his business ； and I thereforeasked what he was seeking. He replied ， with a deep sigh ， that he waslooking for flowers ， and could find none. "But it is not the season ，" I observed， with a smile. "Oh， there are so many flowers！" he answered，as he came nearer to me. "In my garden there are roses and honeysucklesof two sorts： one sort was given to me by my father！ they grow as plentifullyas weeds； I have been looking for them these two days， and cannot findthem. There are flowers out there ， yellow ， blue ， and red； and thatcentaury has a very pretty blossom： but I can find none of them." I observedhis peculiarity ， and therefore asked him， with an air of indifference，what he intended to do with his flowers. A strange smile overspread hiscountenance. Holding his finger to his mouth， he expressed a hope thatI would not betray him； and he then informed me that he had promisedto gather a nosegay for his mistress. "That is right，" said I. "Oh ！" he replied， "she possesses many other things as well ： she is veryrich." "And yet ，" I continued ， "she likes your nosegays." "Oh ， shehas jewels and crowns ！" he exclaimed. I asked who she was. "If the states-generalwould but pay me，" he added， "I should be quite another man. Alas ！there was a time when I was so happy； but that is past ， and I am now——" He raised his swimming eyes to heaven. "And you were happy once ？" I observed. "Ah ， would I were so still！" was his reply. "I was thenas gay and contented as a man can be." An old woman ， who was comingtoward us ， now called out ， "Henry ， Henry！ where are you？ We havebeen looking for you everywhere ： come to dinner." "Is he your son ？" I inquired， as I went toward her. "Yes ，" she said： "he is my poor，unfortunate son. The Lord has sent me a heavy affliction." I asked whetherhe had been long in this state. She answered， "He has been as calm ashe is at present for about six months. I thank Heaven that he has so farrecovered ： he was for one whole year quite raving ， and chained downin a madhouse. Now he injures no one， but talks of nothing else thankings and queens. He used to be a very good ， quiet youth， and helpedto maintain me； he wrote a very fine hand； but all at once he becamemelancholy， was seized with a violent fever， grew distracted， and isnow as you see. If I were only to tell you， sir——" I interrupted herby asking what period it was in which he boasted of having been so happy."Poor boy ！" she exclaimed ， with a smile of cormpassion， "he meansthe time when he was completely deranged， a time he never ceases to regret，when he was in the madhouse ， and unconscious of everything." I was thunderstruck： I placed a piece of money in her hand， and hastened away. "You were happy ！" I exclaimed ， as I returned quickly to the town，"'as gay and contented as a man can be！'" God of heaven！ and is thisthe destiny of man？ Is he only happy before he has acquired his reason，or after he has lost it ？ Unfortunate being！ And yet I envy your fate： I envy the delusion to which you are a victim. You go forth with joyto gather flowers for your princess ，—— in winter，—— and grievewhen you can find none， and cannot understand why they do not grow. ButI wander forth without joy， without hope ， without design ； and I returnas I came. You fancy what a man you would be if the states general paidyou. Happy mortal ， who can ascribe your wretchedness to an earthly cause！You do not know ， you do not feel， that in your own distracted heartand disordered brain dwells the source of that unhappiness which all thepotentates on earth cannot relieve. Let that man die unconsoled who can deride the invalid for undertakinga journey to distant， healthful springs， where he often finds only aheavier disease and a more painful death， or who can exult over the despairingmind of a sinner， who， to obtain peace of conscience and an alleviationof misery ， makes a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre. Each laboriousstep which galls his wounded feet in rough and untrodden paths pours adrop of balm into his troubled soul ， and the journey of many a wearyday brings a nightly relief to his anguished heart. Will you dare callthis enthusiasm ， ye crowd of pompous declaimers ？ Enthusiasm ！ 0 God！thou seest my tears. Thou hast allotted us our portion of misery： mustwe also have brethren to persecute us ， to deprive us of our consolation，of our trust in thee， and in thy love and mercy？ For our trust in thevirtue of the healing root， or in the strength of the vine ， what isit else than a belief in thee from whom all that surrounds us derivesits healing and restoring powers？ Father ， whom I know not，—— whowert once wont to fill my soul， but who now hidest thy face from me，—— call me back to thee ； be silent no longer； thy silence shall notdelay a soul which thirsts after thee. What man ， what father， couldbe angry with a son for returning to him suddenly ， for falling on hisneck， and exclaiming ， "I am here again ， my father！ forgive me ifI have anticipated my journey ， and returned before the appointed time！The world is everywhere the same，—— a scene of labour and pain ， ofpleasure and reward ； but what does it all avail ？ I am happy only wherethou art， and in thy presence am I content to suffer or enjoy." And wouldstthou， heavenly Father， banish such a child from thy presence？ DECEMBER 1. Wilhelm ， the man about whom I wrote to you—— thatman so enviable in his misfortunes—— was secretary to Charlotte's father； and an unhappy passion for her which he cherished， concealed， andat length discovered， caused him to be dismissed from his situation.This made him mad. Think， whilst you peruse this plain narration ， whatan impression the circumstance has made upon me ！ But it was relatedto me by Albert with as much calmness as you will probably peruse it. DECEMBER 4. I implore your attention. It is all over with me. I cansupport this state no longer. To-day I was sitting by Charlotte. She wasplaying upon her piano a succession of delightful melodies， with suchintense expression！ Her little sister was dressing her doll upon my lap.The tears came into my eyes. I leaned down， and looked intently at herwedding-ring： my tears fell—— immediately she began to play that favourite，that divine ， air which has so often enchanted me. I felt comfort froma recollection of the past， of those bygone days when that air was familiarto me ； and then I recalled all the sorrows and the disappointments whichI had since endured. I paced with hasty strides through the room， myheart became convulsed with painful emotions. At length I went up to her，and exclaimed With eagerness， "For Heaven's sake ， play that air nolonger！" She stopped ， and looked steadfastly at me. She then said，with a smile which sunk deep into my heart， "Werther ， you are ill：your dearest food is distasteful to you. But go ， I entreat you， andendeavour to compose yourself." I tore myself away. God ， thou seestmy torments ， and wilt end them！ DECEMBER 6. How her image haunts me ！ Waking or asleep ， she fillsmy entire soul！ Soon as I close my eyes， here ， in my brain， whereall the nerves of vision are concentrated ， her dark eyes are imprinted.Here—— I do not know how to describe it ； but， if I shut my eyes，hers are immediately before me： dark as an abyss they open upon me ，and absorb my senses. And what is man —— that boasted demigod ？ Do not his powers failwhen he most requires their use ？ And whether he soar in joy ， or sinkin sorrow ， is not his career in both inevitably arrested？ And， whilsthe fondly dreams that he is grasping at infinity， does he not feel compelledto return to a consciousness of his cold， monotonous existence ？ THE EDITOR TO THE READER. It is a matter of extreme regret that we want original evidence ofthe last remarkable days of our friend； and we are ， therefore， obligedto interrupt the progress of his correspondence ， and to supply the deficiencyby a connected narration. I have felt it my duty to collect accurate information from the mouthsof persons well acquainted with his history. The story is simple； andall the accounts agree， except in some unimportant particulars. It istrue， that ， with respect to the characters of the persons spoken of，opinions and judgments vary. We have only， then ， to relate conscientiously the facts which ourdiligent labour has enabled us to collect ， to give the letters of thedeceased， and to pay particular attention to the slightest fragment fromhis pen ， more especially as it is so difficult to discover the realand correct motives of men who are not of the common order. Sorrow and discontent had taken deep root in Werther's soul ， andgradually imparted their character to his whole being. The harmony ofhis mind became completely disturbed； a perpetual excitement and mentalirritation， which weakened his natural powers， produced the saddestetfects upon him， and rendered him at length the victim of an exhaustionagainst which he struggled with still more painful efforts than he haddisplayed ， even in contending with his other misfortunes. His mentalanxiety weakened his various good qualities ； and he was soon convertedinto a gloomy companion ， always unhappy and unjust in his ideas ， themore wretched he became. This was ， at least ， the opinion of Albert'sfriends. They assert， moreover ， that the character of Albert himselfhad undergone no change in the meantime ： he was still the same beingwhom Werther had loved， honoured ， and respected from the commencement.His love for Charlotte was unbounded： he was proud of her， and desiredthat she should be recognised by every one as the noblest of created beings.Was he， however， to blame for wishing to avert from her every appearanceof suspicion？ or for his unwillingness to share his rich prize with another，even for a moment ， and in the most innocent manner？ It is assertedthat Albert frequently retired from his wife's apartment during Werther'svisits； but this did not arise from hatred or aversion to his friend ，but only from a feeling that his presence was oppressive to Werther. Charlotte's father， who was confined to the house by indisposition，was accustomed to send his carriage for her ， that she might make excursionsin the neighbourhood. One day the weather had been unusually severe ，and the whole country was covered with snow. Werther went for Charlotte the following morning， in order that，if Albert were absent ， he might conduct her home. The beautiful weather produced but little impression on his troubledspirit. A heavy weight lay upon his soul， deep melancholy had taken possessionof him， and his mind knew no change save from one painful thought toanother.
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