少年维特的烦恼 英文版 The Sorrows of Young Werther
歌德 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
DECEMBER 20. Page 1
I am grateful to your love, Wilhelm, for having repeated youradvice so seasonably. Yes, you are right: it is undoubtedlybetter that I should depart. But I do not entirely approve yourscheme of returning at once to your neighbourhood; at least, Ishould like to make a little excursion on the way, particularlyas we may now expect a continued frost, and consequently goodroads. I am much pleased with your intention of coming to fetchme; only delay your journey for a fortnight, and wait for anotherletter from me. One should gather nothing before it is ripe, anda fortnight sooner or later makes a great difference. Entreat mymother to pray for her son, and tell her I beg her pardon for allthe unhappiness I have occasioned her. It has ever been my fateto give pain to those whose happiness I should have promoted.Adieu, my dearest friend. May every blessing of Heaven attendyou! Farewell.
We find it difficult to express the emotions with which Charlotte'ssoul was agitated during the whole of this time, whether in relationto her husband or to her unfortunate friend; although we are enabled,by our knowledge of her character, to understand their nature.
It is certain that she had formed a determination, by every meansin her power to keep Werther at a distance; and, if she hesitatedin her decision, it was from a sincere feeling of friendly pity,knowing how much it would cost him, indeed, that he would find italmost impossible to comply with her wishes. But various causesnow urged her to be firm. Her husband preserved a strict silenceabout the whole matter; and she never made it a subject ofconversation, feeling bound to prove to him by her conduct thather sentiments agreed with his.
The same day, which was the Sunday before Christmas, after Wertherhad written the last-mentioned letter to his friend, he came inthe evening to Charlotte's house, and found her alone. She wasbusy preparing some little gifts for her brothers and sisters,which were to be distributed to them on Christmas Day. He begantalking of the delight of the children, and of that age when thesudden appearance of the Christmas-tree, decorated with fruit andsweetmeats, and lighted up with wax candles, causes such transportsof joy. "You shall have a gift too, if you behave well," saidCharlotte, hiding her embarrassment under sweet smile. "And whatdo you call behaving well? What should I do, what can I do, mydear Charlotte?" said he. "Thursday night," she answered, "isChristmas Eve. The children are all to be here, and my father too:there is a present for each; do you come likewise, but do not comebefore that time." Werther started. "I desire you will not: it mustbe so," she continued. "I ask it of you as a favour, for my ownpeace and tranquillity. We cannot go on in this manner any longer."He turned away his face walked hastily up and down the room, mutteringindistinctly, "We cannot go on in this manner any longer!" Charlotte,seeing the violent agitation into which these words had thrown him,endeavoured to divert his thoughts by different questions, but in vain."No, Charlotte!" he exclaimed; "I will never see you any more!""And why so?" she answered. "We may -- we must see each otheragain; only let it be with more discretion. Oh! why were you bornwith that excessive, that ungovernable passion for everything thatis dear to you?" Then, taking his hand, she said, "I entreat ofyou to be more calm: your talents, your understanding, your genius,will furnish you with a thousand resources. Be a man, and conqueran unhappy attachment toward a creature who can do nothing but pityyou." He bit his lips, and looked at her with a gloomy countenance.She continued to hold his hand. "Grant me but a moment's patience,Werther," she said. "Do you not see that you are deceiving yourself,that you are seeking your own destruction? Why must you love me,me only, who belong to another? I fear, I much fear, that it isonly the impossibility of possessing me which makes your desire forme so strong." He drew back his hand, whilst he surveyed her witha wild and angry look. "'Tis well!" he exclaimed, "'tis very well!Did not Albert furnish you with this reflection? It is profound,a very profound remark." "A reflection that any one might easilymake," she answered; "and is there not a woman in the whole worldwho is at liberty, and has the power to make you happy? Conqueryourself: look for such a being, and believe me when I say that youwill certainly find her. I have long felt for you, and for us all:you have confined yourself too long within the limits of too narrowa circle. Conquer yourself; make an effort: a short journey willbe of service to you. Seek and find an object worthy of your love;then return hither, and let us enjoy together all the happiness ofthe most perfect friendship."
"This speech," replied Werther with a cold smile, "this speechshould be printed, for the benefit of all teachers. My dearCharlotte, allow me but a short time longer, and all will be well.""But however, Werther," she added, "do not come again beforeChristmas." He was about to make some answer, when Albert came in.They saluted each other coldly, and with mutual embarrassment pacedup and down the room. Werther made some common remarks; Albertdid the same, and their conversation soon dropped. Albert askedhis wife about some household matters; and, finding that hiscommissions were not executed, he used some expressions which, toWerther's ear, savoured of extreme harshness. He wished to go,but had not power to move; and in this situation he remained tilleight o'clock, his uneasiness and discontent continually increasing.At length the cloth was laid for supper, and he took up his hatand stick. Albert invited him to remain; but Werther, fancyingthat he was merely paying a formal compliment, thanked him coldly,and left the house.
Werther returned home, took the candle from his servant, and retiredto his room alone. He talked for some time with great earnestnessto himself, wept aloud, walked in a state of great excitementthrough his chamber; till at length, without undressing, he threwhimself on the bed, where he was found by his servant at eleveno'clock, when the latter ventured to enter the room, and take offhis boots. Werther did not prevent him, but forbade him to come inthe morning till he should ring.
On Monday morning, the 21st of December, he wrote to Charlotte thefollowing letter, which was found, sealed, on his bureau after hisdeath, and was given to her. I shall insert it in fragments; asit appears, from several circumstances, to have been written inthat manner.
"It is all over, Charlotte: I am resolved to die! I make thisdeclaration deliberately and coolly, without any romantic passion,on this morning of the day when I am to see you for the last time.At the moment you read these lines, O best of women, the cold gravewill hold the inanimate remains of that restless and unhappy beingwho, in the last moments of his existence, knew no pleasure sogreat as that of conversing with you! I have passed a dreadfulnight or rather, let me say, a propitious one; for it has givenme resolution, it has fixed my purpose. I am resolved to die.When I tore myself from you yesterday, my senses were in tumultand disorder; my heart was oppressed, hope and pleasure had fledfrom me for ever, and a petrifying cold had seized my wretchedbeing. I could scarcely reach my room. I threw myself on my knees;and Heaven, for the last time, granted me the consolation ofshedding tears. A thousand ideas, a thousand schemes, arose withinmy soul; till at length one last, fixed, final thought tookpossession of my heart. It was to die. I lay down to rest; andin the morning, in the quiet hour of awakening, the same determinationwas upon me. To die! It is not despair: it is conviction that Ihave filled up the measure of my sufferings, that I have reachedmy appointed term, and must sacrifice myself for thee. Yes,Charlotte, why should I not avow it? One of us three must die:it shall be Werther. O beloved Charlotte! this heart, excited byrage and fury, has often conceived the horrid idea of murderingyour husband -- you -- myself! The lot is cast at length. Andin the bright, quiet evenings of summer, when you sometimes wandertoward the mountains, let your thoughts then turn to me: recollecthow often you have watched me coming to meet you from the valley;then bend your eyes upon the churchyard which contains my grave,and, by the light of the setting sun, mark how the evening breezewaves the tall grass which grows above my tomb. I was calm whenI began this letter, but the recollection of these scenes makesme weep like a child."
About ten in the morning, Werther called his servant, and, whilsthe was dressing, told him that in a few days he intended to setout upon a journey, and bade him therefore lay his clothes inorder, and prepare them for packing up, call in all his accounts,fetch home the books he had lent, and give two months' pay to thepoor dependants who were accustomed to receive from him a weeklyallowance.
He breakfasted in his room, and then mounted his horse, and wentto visit the steward, who, however, was not at home. He walkedpensively in the garden, and seemed anxious to renew all the ideasthat were most painful to him.
The children did not suffer him to remain alone long. They followedhim, skipping and dancing before him, and told him, that afterto-morrow and tomorrow and one day more, they were to receive theirChristmas gift from Charlotte; and they then recounted all thewonders of which they had formed ideas in their child imaginations."Tomorrow and tomorrow," said he, "and one day more!" And hekissed them tenderly. He was going; but the younger boy stoppedhim, to whisper something in his ear. He told him that his elderbrothers had written splendid New-Year's wishes so large! one forpapa, and another for Albert and Charlotte, and one for Werther;and they were to be presented early in the morning, on New Year'sDay. This quite overcame him. He made each of the children apresent, mounted his horse, left his compliments for papa andmamma, and, with tears in his eyes, rode away from the place.
He returned home about five o'clock, ordered his servant to keepup his fire, desired him to pack his books and linen at the bottomof the trunk, and to place his coats at the top. He then appearsto have made the following addition to the letter addressed toCharlotte:
"You do not expect me. You think I will obey you, and not visityou again till Christmas Eve. O Charlotte, today or never! OnChristmas Eve you will hold this paper in your hand; you willtremble, and moisten it with your tears. I will -- I must! Oh, howhappy I feel to be determined!"
In the meantime, Charlotte was in a pitiable state of mind. Afterher last conversation with Werther, she found how painful to herselfit would be to decline his visits, and knew how severely he wouldsuffer from their separation.
She had, in conversation with Albert, mentioned casually that Wertherwould not return before Christmas Eve; and soon afterward Albertwent on horseback to see a person in the neighbourhood, with whomhe had to transact some business which would detain him all night.
Charlotte was sitting alone. None of her family were near, andshe gave herself up to the reflections that silently took possessionof her mind. She was for ever united to a husband whose love andfidelity she had proved, to whom she was heartily devoted, and whoseemed to be a special gift from Heaven to ensure her happiness.On the other hand, Werther had become dear to her. There was acordial unanimity of sentiment between them from the very firsthour of their acquaintance, and their long association and repeatedinterviews had made an indelible impression upon her heart. Shehad been accustomed to communicate to him every thought and feelingwhich interested her, and his absence threatened to open a voidin her existence which it might be impossible to fill. How heartilyshe wished that she might change him into her brother, -- that shecould induce him to marry one of her own friends, or could reestablishhis intimacy with Albert.
She passed all her intimate friends in review before her mind, butfound something objectionable in each, and could decide upon noneto whom she would consent to give him.
Amid all these considerations she felt deeply but indistinctlythat her own real but unexpressed wish was to retain him for herself,and her pure and amiable heart felt from this thought a sense ofoppression which seemed to forbid a prospect of happiness. Shewas wretched: a dark cloud obscured her mental vision.
It was now half-past six o'clock, and she heard Werther's step onthe stairs. She at once recognised his voice, as he inquired ifshe were at home. Her heart beat audibly -- we could almost sayfor the first time -- at his arrival. It was too late to denyherself; and, as he entered, she exclaimed, with a sort of illconcealed confusion, "You have not kept your word!" "I promisednothing," he answered. "But you should have complied, at leastfor my sake," she continued. "I implore you, for both our sakes."
She scarcely knew what she said or did; and sent for some friends,who, by their presence, might prevent her being left alone withWerther. He put down some books he had brought with him, thenmade inquiries about some others, until she began to hope that herfriends might arrive shortly, entertaining at the same time adesire that they might stay away.
At one moment she felt anxious that the servant should remain inthe adjoining room, then she changed her mind. Werther, meanwhile,walked impatiently up and down. She went to the piano, anddetermined not to retire. She then collected her thoughts, andsat down quietly at Werther's side, who had taken his usual placeon the sofa.
"Have you brought nothing to read?" she inquired. He had nothing."There in my drawer," she continued, "you will find your owntranslation of some of the songs of Ossian. I have not yet readthem, as I have still hoped to hear you recite them; but, for sometime past, I have not been able to accomplish such a wish." Hesmiled, and went for the manuscript, which he took with a shudder.He sat down; and, with eyes full of tears, he began to read.
"Star of descending night! fair is thy light in the west! thouliftest thy unshorn head from thy cloud; thy steps are stately onthy hill. What dost thou behold in the plain? The stormy windsare laid. The murmur of the torrent comes from afar. Roaringwaves climb the distant rock. The flies of evening are on theirfeeble wings: the hum of their course is on the field. What dostthou behold, fair light? But thou dost smile and depart. Thewaves come with joy around thee: they bathe thy lovely hair.Farewell, thou silent beam! Let the light of Ossian's soul arise!
"And it does arise in its strength! I behold my departed friends.Their gathering is on Lora, as in the days of other years. Fingalcomes like a watery column of mist! his heroes are around: andsee the bards of song, gray-haired Ullin! stately Ryno! Alpin withthe tuneful voice: the soft complaint of Minona! How are ye changed,my friends, since the days of Selma's feast! when we contended,like gales of spring as they fly along the hill, and bend by turnsthe feebly whistling grass.
"Minona came forth in her beauty, with downcast look and tearfuleye. Her hair was flying slowly with the blast that rushedunfrequent from the hill. The souls of the heroes were sad whenshe raised the tuneful voice. Oft had they seen the grave ofSalgar, the dark dwelling of white-bosomed Colma. Colma left aloneon the hill with all her voice of song! Salgar promised to come!but the night descended around. Hear the voice of Colma, when shesat alone on the hill!
"Colma. It is night: I am alone, forlorn on the hill of storms.The wind is heard on the mountain. The torrent is howling downthe rock. No hut receives me from the rain: forlorn on the hillof winds!
"Rise moon! from behind thy clouds. Stars of the night, arise!Lead me, some light, to the place where my love rests from thechase alone! His bow near him unstrung, his dogs panting aroundhim! But here I must sit alone by the rock of the mossy stream.The stream and the wind roar aloud. I hear not the voice of mylove! Why delays my Salgar; why the chief of the hill his promise?Here is the rock and here the tree! here is the roaring stream!Thou didst promise with night to be here. Ah! whither is my Salgargone? With thee I would fly from my father, with thee from mybrother of pride. Our race have long been foes: we are not foes,O Salgar!
"Cease a little while, O wind! stream, be thou silent awhile! letmy voice be heard around! let my wanderer hear me! Salgar! it isColma who calls. Here is the tree and the rock. Salgar, my love,I am here! Why delayest thou thy coming? Lo! the calm moon comesforth. The flood is bright in the vale. The rocks are gray onthe steep. I see him not on the brow. His dogs come not beforehim with tidings of his near approach. Here I must sit alone!
"Who lie on the heath beside me? Are they my love and my brother?Speak to me, O my friends! To Colma they give no reply. Speakto me: I am alone! My soul is tormented with fears. Ah, they aredead! Their swords are red from the fight. O my brother! mybrother! why hast thou slain my Salgar! Why, O Salgar, hast thouslain my brother! Dear were ye both to me! what shall I say inyour praise? Thou wert fair on the hill among thousands! he wasterrible in fight! Speak to me! hear my voice! hear me, sons ofmy love! They are silent! silent for ever! Cold, cold, are theirbreasts of clay! Oh, from the rock on the hill, from the top ofthe windy steep, speak, ye ghosts of the dead! Speak, I will notbe afraid! Whither are ye gone to rest? In what cave of the hillshall I find the departed? No feeble voice is on the gale: noanswer half drowned in the storm!
"I sit in my grief: I wait for morning in my tears! Rear the tomb,ye friends of the dead. Close it not till Colma come. My lifeflies away like a dream. Why should I stay behind? Here shall Irest with my friends, by the stream of the sounding rock. Whennight comes on the hill when the loud winds arise my ghost shallstand in the blast, and mourn the death of my friends. The huntershall hear from his booth; he shall fear, but love my voice! Forsweet shall my voice be for my friends: pleasant were her friendsto Colma.
"Such was thy song, Minona, softly blushing daughter of Torman.Our tears descended for Colma, and our souls were sad! Ullin camewith his harp; he gave the song of Alpin. The voice of Alpin waspleasant, the soul of Ryno was a beam of fire! But they had restedin the narrow house: their voice had ceased in Selma! Ullin hadreturned one day from the chase before the heroes fell. He heardtheir strife on the hill: their song was soft, but sad! Theymourned the fall of Morar, first of mortal men! His soul was likethe soul of Fingal: his sword like the sword of Oscar. But hefell, and his father mourned: his sister's eyes were full of tears.Minona's eyes were full of tears, the sister of car-borne Morar.She retired from the song of Ullin, like the moon in the west,when she foresees the shower, and hides her fair head in a cloud.I touched the harp with Ullin: the song of morning rose!