少年维特的烦恼 英文版 The Sorrows of Young Werther
歌德 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
AUGUST 12.
Certainly Albert is the best fellow in the world. I had a strangescene with him yesterday. I went to take leave of him; for I tookit into my head to spend a few days in these mountains, from whereI now write to you. As I was walking up and down his room, my eyefell upon his pistols. "Lend me those pistols," said I, "for myjourney." "By all means," he replied, "if you will take thetrouble to load them; for they only hang there for form." Itook down one of them; and he continued, "Ever since I was nearsuffering for my extreme caution, I will have nothing to do withsuch things." I was curious to hear the story. "I was staying,"said he, "some three months ago, at a friend's house in the country.I had a brace of pistols with me, unloaded; and I slept withoutany anxiety. One rainy afternoon I was sitting by myself, doingnothing, when it occurred to me I do not know how that the housemight be attacked, that we might require the pistols, that we mightin short, you know how we go on fancying, when we have nothingbetter to do. I gave the pistols to the servant, to clean andload. He was playing with the maid, and trying to frighten her,when the pistol went off -- God knows how! -- the ramrod was inthe barrel; and it went straight through her right hand, andshattered the thumb. I had to endure all the lamentation, and topay the surgeon's bill; so, since that time, I have kept all myweapons unloaded. But, my dear friend, what is the use of prudence?We can never be on our guard against all possible dangers. However,"-- now, you must know I can tolerate all men till they come to"however;" -- for it is self-evident that every universal rulemust have its exceptions. But he is so exceedingly accurate, that,if he only fancies he has said a word too precipitate, or toogeneral, or only half true, he never ceases to qualify, to modify,and extenuate, till at last he appears to have said nothing atall. Upon this occasion, Albert was deeply immersed in hissubject: I ceased to listen to him, and became lost in reverie.With a sudden motion, I pointed the mouth of the pistol to myforehead, over the right eye. "What do you mean?" cried Albert,turning back the pistol. "It is not loaded," said I. "And evenif not," he answered with impatience, "what can you mean? Icannot comprehend how a man can be so mad as to shoot himself,and the bare idea of it shocks me."
"But why should any one," said I, "in speaking of an action, ventureto pronounce it mad or wise, or good or bad? What is the meaningof all this? Have you carefully studied the secret motives of ouractions? Do you understand -- can you explain the causes whichoccasion them, and make them inevitable? If you can, you will beless hasty with your decision."
"But you will allow," said Albert; "that some actions are criminal,let them spring from whatever motives they may." I granted it,and shrugged my shoulders.
"But still, my good friend," I continued, "there are some exceptionshere too. Theft is a crime; but the man who commits it from extremepoverty, with no design but to save his family from perishing, ishe an object of pity, or of punishment? Who shall throw the firststone at a husband, who, in the heat of just resentment, sacrificeshis faithless wife and her perfidious seducer? or at the youngmaiden, who, in her weak hour of rapture, forgets herself in theimpetuous joys of love? Even our laws, cold and cruel as theyare, relent in such cases, and withhold their punishment."
"That is quite another thing," said Albert; "because a man underthe influence of violent passion loses all power of reflection,and is regarded as intoxicated or insane."
"Oh! you people of sound understandings," I replied, smiling, "areever ready to exclaim 'Extravagance, and madness, and intoxication!'You moral men are so calm and so subdued! You abhor the drunkenman, and detest the extravagant; you pass by, like the Levite,and thank God, like the Pharisee, that you are not like one ofthem. I have been more than once intoxicated, my passions havealways bordered on extravagance: I am not ashamed to confess it;for I have learned, by my own experience, that all extraordinarymen, who have accomplished great and astonishing actions, haveever been decried by the world as drunken or insane. And inprivate life, too, is it not intolerable that no one can undertakethe execution of a noble or generous deed, without giving rise tothe exclamation that the doer is intoxicated or mad? Shame uponyou, ye sages!"
"This is another of your extravagant humours," said Albert: "youalways exaggerate a case, and in this matter you are undoubtedlywrong; for we were speaking of suicide, which you compare withgreat actions, when it is impossible to regard it as anything buta weakness. It is much easier to die than to bear a life of miserywith fortitude."
I was on the point of breaking off the conversation, for nothingputs me so completely out of patience as the utterance of a wretchedcommonplace when I am talking from my inmost heart. However, Icomposed myself, for I had often heard the same observation withsufficient vexation; and I answered him, therefore, with a littlewarmth, "You call this a weakness -- beware of being led astrayby appearances. When a nation, which has long groaned under theintolerable yoke of a tyrant, rises at last and throws off itschains, do you call that weakness? The man who, to rescue hishouse from the flames, finds his physical strength redoubled, sothat he lifts burdens with ease, which, in the absence of excitement,he could scarcely move; he who, under the rage of an insult, attacksand puts to flight half a score of his enemies, are such personsto be called weak? My good friend, if resistance be strength, howcan the highest degree of resistance be a weakness?"
Albert looked steadfastly at me, and said, "Pray forgive me, butI do not see that the examples you have adduced bear any relationto the question." "Very likely," I answered; "for I have oftenbeen told that my style of illustration borders a little on theabsurd. But let us see if we cannot place the matter in anotherpoint of view, by inquiring what can be a man's state of mind whoresolves to free himself from the burden of life, -- a burden oftenso pleasant to bear, -- for we cannot otherwise reason fairly uponthe subject.
"Human nature," I continued, "has its limits. It is able to endurea certain degree of joy, sorrow, and pain, but becomes annihilatedas soon as this measure is exceeded. The question, therefore, is,not whether a man is strong or weak, but whether he is able toendure the measure of his sufferings. The suffering may be moralor physical; and in my opinion it is just as absurd to call a mana coward who destroys himself, as to call a man a coward who diesof a malignant fever."
"Paradox, all paradox!" exclaimed Albert. "Not so paradoxical asyou imagine," I replied. "You allow that we designate a diseaseas mortal when nature is so severely attacked, and her strengthso far exhausted, that she cannot possibly recover her formercondition under any change that may take place.
"Now, my good friend, apply this to the mind; observe a man in hisnatural, isolated condition; consider how ideas work, and howimpressions fasten on him, till at length a violent passion seizeshim, destroying all his powers of calm reflection, and utterlyruining him.
"It is in vain that a man of sound mind and cool temper understandsthe condition of such a wretched being, in vain he counsels him.He can no more communicate his own wisdom to him than a healthyman can instil his strength into the invalid, by whose bedside heis seated."
Albert thought this too general. I reminded him of a girl who haddrowned herself a short time previously, and I related her history.
She was a good creature, who had grown up in the narrow sphere ofhousehold industry and weekly appointed labour; one who knew nopleasure beyond indulging in a walk on Sundays, arrayed in herbest attire, accompanied by her friends, or perhaps joining in thedance now and then at some festival, and chatting away her sparehours with a neighbour, discussing the scandal or the quarrels ofthe village, trifles sufficient to occupy her heart. At lengththe warmth of her nature is influenced by certain new and unknownwishes. Inflamed by the flatteries of men, her former pleasuresbecome by degrees insipid, till at length she meets with a youthto whom she is attracted by an indescribable feeling; upon him shenow rests all her hopes; she forgets the world around her; shesees, hears, desires nothing but him, and him only. He aloneoccupies all her thoughts. Uncorrupted by the idle indulgence ofan enervating vanity, her affection moving steadily toward itsobject, she hopes to become his, and to realise, in an everlastingunion with him, all that happiness which she sought, all that blissfor which she longed. His repeated promises confirm her hopes:embraces and endearments, which increase the ardour of her desires,overmaster her soul. She floats in a dim, delusive anticipationof her happiness; and her feelings become excited to their utmosttension. She stretches out her arms finally to embrace the objectof all her wishes and her lover forsakes her. Stunned and bewildered,she stands upon a precipice. All is darkness around her. Noprospect, no hope, no consolation -- forsaken by him in whom herexistence was centred! She sees nothing of the wide world beforeher, thinks nothing of the many individuals who might supply thevoid in her heart; she feels herself deserted, forsaken by theworld; and, blinded and impelled by the agony which wrings hersoul, she plunges into the deep, to end her sufferings in the broadembrace of death. See here, Albert, the history of thousands; andtell me, is not this a case of physical infirmity? Nature has noway to escape from the labyrinth: her powers are exhausted: shecan contend no longer, and the poor soul must die.
"Shame upon him who can look on calmly, and exclaim, 'The foolishgirl! she should have waited; she should have allowed time to wearoff the impression; her despair would have been softened, and shewould have found another lover to comfort her.' One might as wellsay, 'The fool, to die of a fever! why did he not wait till hisstrength was restored, till his blood became calm? all would thenhave gone well, and he would have been alive now.'"
Albert, who could not see the justice of the comparison, offeredsome further objections, and, amongst others, urged that I hadtaken the case of a mere ignorant girl. But how any man of sense,of more enlarged views and experience, could be excused, he wasunable to comprehend. "My friend!" I exclaimed, "man is but man;and, whatever be the extent of his reasoning powers, they are oflittle avail when passion rages within, and he feels himselfconfined by the narrow limits of nature. It were better, then --but we will talk of this some other time," I said, and caught upmy hat. Alas! my heart was full; and we parted without convictionon either side. How rarely in this world do men understand eachother!