少年维特的烦恼 英文版 The Sorrows of Young Werther
歌德 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
JULY 1.
The consolation Charlotte can bring to an invalid I experiencefrom my own heart, which suffers more from her absence than manya poor creature lingering on a bed of sickness. She is gone tospend a few days in the town with a very worthy woman, who is givenover by the physicians, and wishes to have Charlotte near her inher last moments. I accompanied her last week on a visit to theVicar of S--, a small village in the mountains, about a leaguehence. We arrived about four o'clock: Charlotte had taken herlittle sister with her. When we entered the vicarage court, wefound the good old man sitting on a bench before the door, underthe shade of two large walnut-trees. At the sight of Charlottehe seemed to gain new life, rose, forgot his stick, and venturedto walk toward her. She ran to him, and made him sit down again;then, placing herself by his side, she gave him a number of messagesfrom her father, and then caught up his youngest child, a dirty,ugly little thing, the joy of his old age, and kissed it. I wishyou could have witnessed her attention to this old man, --how sheraised her voice on account of his deafness; how she told him ofhealthy young people, who had been carried off when it was leastexpected; praised the virtues of Carlsbad, and commended hisdetermination to spend the ensuing summer there; and assured himthat he looked better and stronger than he did when she saw himlast. I, in the meantime, paid attention to his good lady. Theold man seemed quite in spirits; and as I could not help admiringthe beauty of the walnut-trees, which formed such an agreeableshade over our heads, he began, though with some little difficulty,to tell us their history. "As to the oldest," said he, "we do notknow who planted it, -- some say one clergyman, and some another:but the younger one, there behind us, is exactly the age of my wife,fifty years old next October; her father planted it in the morning,and in the evening she came into the world. My wife's father wasmy predecessor here, and I cannot tell you how fond he was of thattree; and it is fully as dear to me. Under the shade of that verytree, upon a log of wood, my wife was seated knitting, when I, apoor student, came into this court for the first time, just sevenand twenty years ago." Charlotte inquired for his daughter. Hesaid she was gone with Herr Schmidt to the meadows, and was withthe haymakers. The old man then resumed his story, and told ushow his predecessor had taken a fancy to him, as had his daughterlikewise; and how he had become first his curate, and subsequentlyhis successor. He had scarcely finished his story when his daughterreturned through the garden, accompanied by the above-mentionedHerr Schmidt. She welcomed Charlotte affectionately, and I confessI was much taken with her appearance. She was a lively-looking,good-humoured brunette, quite competent to amuse one for a shorttime in the country. Her lover (for such Herr Schmidt evidentlyappeared to be) was a polite, reserved personage, and would notjoin our conversation, notwithstanding all Charlotte's endeavoursto draw him out. I was much annoyed at observing, by his countenance,that his silence did not arise from want of talent, but from capriceand ill-humour. This subsequently became very evident, when weset out to take a walk, and Frederica joining Charlotte, with whomI was talking, the worthy gentleman's face, which was naturallyrather sombre, became so dark and angry that Charlotte was obligedto touch my arm, and remind me that I was talking too much toFrederica. Nothing distresses me more than to see men tormenteach other; particularly when in the flower of their age, in thevery season of pleasure, they waste their few short days of sunshinein quarrels and disputes, and only perceive their error when itis too late to repair it. This thought dwelt upon my mind; andin the evening, when we returned to the vicar's, and were sittinground the table with our bread end milk, the conversation turnedon the joys and sorrows of the world, I could not resist thetemptation to inveigh bitterly against ill-humour. "We are apt,"said I, "to complain, but - with very little cause, that our happydays are few, and our evil days many. If our hearts were alwaysdisposed to receive the benefits Heaven sends us, we should acquirestrength to support evil when it comes." "But," observed the vicar'swife, "we cannot always command our tempers, so much depends uponthe constitution: when the body suffers, the mind is ill at ease.""I acknowledge that," I continued; "but we must consider such adisposition in the light of a disease, and inquire whether thereis no remedy for it."
"I should be glad to hear one," said Charlotte: "at least, I thinkvery much depends upon ourselves; I know it is so with me. Whenanything annoys me, and disturbs my temper, I hasten into thegarden, hum a couple of country dances, and it is all right withme directly." "That is what I meant," I replied; "ill-humourresembles indolence: it is natural to us; but if once we havecourage to exert ourselves, we find our work run fresh from ourhands, and we experience in the activity from which we shrank areal enjoyment." Frederica listened very attentively: and theyoung man objected, that we were not masters of ourselves, andstill less so of our feelings. "The question is about a disagreeablefeeling," I added, "from which every one would willingly escape,but none know their own power without trial. Invalids are gladto consult physicians, and submit to the most scrupulous regimen,the most nauseous medicines, in order to recover their health."I observed that the good old man inclined his head, and exertedhimself to hear our discourse; so I raised my voice, and addressedmyself directly to him. "We preach against a great many crimes,"I observed, "but I never remember a sermon delivered againstill-humour." "That may do very well for your town clergymen,"said he: "country people are never ill-humoured; though, indeed,it might be useful, occasionally, to my wife for instance, and thejudge." We all laughed, as did he likewise very cordially, tillhe fell into a fit of coughing, which interrupted our conversationfor a time. Herr Schmidt resumed the subject. "You call illhumour a crime," he remarked, "but I think you use too strong aterm." "Not at all," I replied, "if that deserves the name whichis so pernicious to ourselves and our neighbours. Is it not enoughthat we want the power to make one another happy, must we depriveeach other of the pleasure which we can all make for ourselves?Show me the man who has the courage to hide his ill-humour, whobears the whole burden himself, without disturbing the peace ofthose around him. No: ill-humour arises from an inward consciousnessof our own want of merit, from a discontent which ever accompaniesthat envy which foolish vanity engenders. We see people happy,whom we have not made so, and cannot endure the sight." Charlottelooked at me with a smile; she observed the emotion with which Ispoke: and a tear in the eyes of Frederica stimulated me to proceed."Woe unto those," I said, "who use their power over a human heartto destroy the simple pleasures it would naturally enjoy! All thefavours, all the attentions, in the world cannot compensate forthe loss of that happiness which a cruel tyranny has destroyed."My heart was full as I spoke. A recollection of many things whichhad happened pressed upon my mind, and filled my eyes with tears."We should daily repeat to ourselves," I exclaimed, "that we shouldnot interfere with our friends, unless to leave them in possessionof their own joys, and increase their happiness by sharing it withthem! But when their souls are tormented by a violent passion,or their hearts rent with grief, is it in your power to affordthem the slightest consolation?
"And when the last fatal malady seizes the being whose untimelygrave you have prepared, when she lies languid and exhausted beforeyou, her dim eyes raised to heaven, and the damp of death upon herpallid brow, there you stand at her bedside like a condemnedcriminal, with the bitter feeling that your whole fortune couldnot save her; and the agonising thought wrings you, that all yourefforts are powerless to impart even a moment's strength to thedeparting soul, or quicken her with a transitory consolation."
At these words the remembrance of a similar scene at which I hadbeen once present fell with full force upon my heart. I buried myface in my handkerchief, and hastened from the room, and was onlyrecalled to my recollection by Charlotte's voice, who reminded methat it was time to return home. With what tenderness she chidme on the way for the too eager interest I took in everything!She declared it would do me injury, and that I ought to sparemyself. Yes, my angel! I will do so for your sake.