少年维特的烦恼 英文版 The Sorrows of Young Werther
歌德 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
DECEMBER 20. Page 2
"Ryno. The wind and the rain are past, calm is the noon of day.The clouds are divided in heaven. Over the green hills flies theinconstant sun. Red through the stony vale comes down the streamof the hill. Sweet are thy murmurs, O stream! but more sweet isthe voice I hear. It is the voice of Alpin, the son of song,mourning for the dead! Bent is his head of age: red his tearfuleye. Alpin, thou son of song, why alone on the silent hill? whycomplainest thou, as a blast in the wood as a wave on the lonelyshore?
"Alpin. My tears, O Ryno! are for the dead my voice for thosethat have passed away. Tall thou art on the hill; fair among thesons of the vale. But thou shalt fall like Morar: the mournershall sit on thy tomb. The hills shall know thee no more: thy bowshall lie in thy hall unstrung!
"Thou wert swift, O Morar! as a roe on the desert: terrible as ameteor of fire. Thy wrath was as the storm. Thy sword in battleas lightning in the field. Thy voice was as a stream after rain,like thunder on distant hills. Many fell by thy arm: they wereconsumed in the flames of thy wrath. But when thou didst returnfrom war, how peaceful was thy brow. Thy face was like the sunafter rain: like the moon in the silence of night: calm as thebreast of the lake when the loud wind is laid.
"Narrow is thy dwelling now! dark the place of thine abode! Withthree steps I compass thy grave, O thou who wast so great before!Four stones, with their heads of moss, are the only memorial ofthee. A tree with scarce a leaf, long grass which whistles in thewind, mark to the hunter's eye the grave of the mighty Morar.Morar! thou art low indeed. Thou hast no mother to mourn thee,no maid with her tears of love. Dead is she that brought theeforth. Fallen is the daughter of Morglan.
"Who on his staff is this? Who is this whose head is white withage, whose eyes are red with tears, who quakes at every step? Itis thy father, O Morar! the father of no son but thee. He heardof thy fame in war, he heard of foes dispersed. He heard of Morar'srenown, why did he not hear of his wound? Weep, thou father ofMorar! Weep, but thy son heareth thee not. Deep is the sleep ofthe dead, low their pillow of dust. No more shall he hear thyvoice, no more awake at thy call. When shall it be morn in thegrave, to bid the slumberer awake? Farewell, thou bravest of men!thou conqueror in the field! but the field shall see thee no more,nor the dark wood be lightened with the splendour of thy steel.Thou has left no son. The song shall preserve thy name. Futuretimes shall hear of thee they shall hear of the fallen Morar!
"The grief of all arose, but most the bursting sigh of Armin. Heremembers the death of his son, who fell in the days of his youth.Carmor was near the hero, the chief of the echoing Galmal. Whyburst the sigh of Armin? he said. Is there a cause to mourn? Thesong comes with its music to melt and please the soul. It is likesoft mist that, rising from a lake, pours on the silent vale;the green flowers are filled with dew, but the sun returns in hisstrength, and the mist is gone. Why art thou sad, O Armin, chiefof sea-surrounded Gorma?
"Sad I am! nor small is my cause of woe! Carmor, thou hast lostno son; thou hast lost no daughter of beauty. Colgar the valiantlives, and Annira, fairest maid. The boughs of thy house ascend,O Carmor! but Armin is the last of his race. Dark is thy bed, ODaura! deep thy sleep in the tomb! When shalt thou wake with thysongs? with all thy voice of music?
"Arise, winds of autumn, arise: blow along the heath. Streams ofthe mountains, roar; roar, tempests in the groves of my oaks! Walkthrough broken clouds, O moon! show thy pale face at intervals;bring to my mind the night when all my children fell, when Arindalthe mighty fell -- when Daura the lovely failed. Daura, my daughter,thou wert fair, fair as the moon on Fura, white as the driven snow,sweet as the breathing gale. Arindal, thy bow was strong, thy spearwas swift on the field, thy look was like mist on the wave, thyshield a red cloud in a storm! Armar, renowned in war, came andsought Daura's love. He was not long refused: fair was the hopeof their friends.
"Erath, son of Odgal, repined: his brother had been slain by Armar.He came disguised like a son of the sea: fair was his cliff on thewave, white his locks of age, calm his serious brow. Fairest ofwomen, he said, lovely daughter of Armin! a rock not distant inthe sea bears a tree on its side; red shines the fruit afar. ThereArmar waits for Daura. I come to carry his love! she went shecalled on Armar. Nought answered, but the son of the rock. Armar,my love, my love! why tormentest thou me with fear? Hear, son ofArnart, hear! it is Daura who calleth thee. Erath, the traitor,fled laughing to the land. She lifted up her voice-- she calledfor her brother and her father. Arindal! Armin! none to relieveyou, Daura.
"Alone, on the sea-beat rock, my daughter was heard to complain;frequent and loud were her cries. What could her father do? Allnight I stood on the shore: I saw her by the faint beam of the moon.All night I heard her cries. Loud was the wind; the rain beat hardon the hill. Before morning appeared, her voice was weak; it diedaway like the evening breeze among the grass of the rocks. Spentwith grief, she expired, and left thee, Armin, alone. Gone is mystrength in war, fallen my pride among women. When the stormsaloft arise, when the north lifts the wave on high, I sit by thesounding shore, and look on the fatal rock.
"Often by the setting moon I see the ghosts of my children; halfviewless they walk in mournful conference together."
A torrent of tears which streamed from Charlotte's eyes and gaverelief to her bursting heart, stopped Werther's recitation. Hethrew down the book, seized her hand, and wept bitterly. Charlotteleaned upon her hand, and buried her face in her handkerchief:the agitation of both was excessive. They felt that their ownfate was pictured in the misfortunes of Ossian's heroes, theyfelt this together, and their tears redoubled. Werther supportedhis forehead on Charlotte's arm: she trembled, she wished to begone; but sorrow and sympathy lay like a leaden weight upon hersoul. She recovered herself shortly, and begged Werther, withbroken sobs, to leave her, implored him with the utmost earnestnessto comply with her request. He trembled; his heart was ready toburst: then, taking up the book again, he recommenced reading, ina voice broken by sobs.
"Why dost thou waken me, O spring? Thy voice woos me, exclaiming,I refresh thee with heavenly dews; but the time of my decay isapproaching, the storm is nigh that shall whither my leaves.Tomorrow the traveller shall come, he shall come, who beheld mein beauty: his eye shall seek me in the field around, but he shallnot find me."
The whole force of these words fell upon the unfortunate Werther.Full of despair, he threw himself at Charlotte's feet, seized herhands, and pressed them to his eyes and to his forehead. Anapprehension of his fatal project now struck her for the firsttime. Her senses were bewildered: she held his hands, pressedthem to her bosom; and, leaning toward him with emotions of thetenderest pity, her warm cheek touched his. They lost sight ofeverything. The world disappeared from their eyes. He claspedher in his arms, strained her to his bosom, and covered her tremblinglips with passionate kisses. "Werther!" she cried with a faintvoice, turning herself away; "Werther!" and, with a feeble hand,she pushed him from her. At length, with the firm voice of virtue,she exclaimed, "Werther!" He resisted not, but, tearing himselffrom her arms, fell on his knees before her. Charlotte rose, and,with disordered grief, in mingled tones of love and resentment,she exclaimed, "It is the last time, Werther! You shall never seeme any more!" Then, casting one last, tender look upon herunfortunate lover, she rushed into the adjoining room, and lockedthe door. Werther held out his arms, but did not dare to detainher. He continued on the ground, with his head resting on thesofa, for half an hour, till he heard a noise which brought himto his senses. The servant entered. He then walked up and downthe room; and, when he was again left alone, he went to Charlotte'sdoor, and, in a low voice, said, "Charlotte, Charlotte! but oneword more, one last adieu!" She returned no answer. He stopped,and listened and entreated; but all was silent. At length he torehimself from the place, crying, "Adieu, Charlotte, adieu for ever!"
Werther ran to the gate of the town. The guards, who knew him,let him pass in silence. The night was dark and stormy, -- itrained and snowed. He reached his own door about eleven. Hisservant, although seeing him enter the house without his hat, didnot venture to say anything; and; as he undressed his master, hefound that his clothes were wet. His hat was afterward found onthe point of a rock overhanging the valley; and it is inconceivablehow he could have climbed to the summit on such a dark, tempestuousnight without losing his life.
He retired to bed, and slept to a late hour. The next morning hisservant, upon being called to bring his coffee, found him writing.He was adding, to Charlotte, what we here annex.
"For the last, last time I open these eyes. Alas! they will beholdthe sun no more. It is covered by a thick, impenetrable cloud.Yes, Nature! put on mourning: your child, your friend, your lover,draws near his end! This thought, Charlotte, is without parallel;and yet it seems like a mysterious dream when I repeat -- this ismy last day! The last! Charlotte, no word can adequately expressthis thought. The last! To-day I stand erect in all my strengthto-morrow, cold and stark, I shall lie extended upon the ground.To die! what is death? We do but dream in our discourse upon it.I have seen many human beings die; but, so straitened is our feeblenature, we have no clear conception of the beginning or the endof our existence. At this moment I am my own -- or rather I amthine, thine, my adored! and the next we are parted, severed --perhaps for ever! No, Charlotte, no! How can I, how can you,be annihilated? We exist. What is annihilation? A mere word,an unmeaning sound that fixes no impression on the mind. Dead,Charlotte! laid in the cold earth, in the dark and narrow grave!I had a friend once who was everything to me in early youth.She died. I followed her hearse; I stood by her grave when thecoffin was lowered; and when I heard the creaking of the cordsas they were loosened and drawn up, when the first shovelfulof earth was thrown in, and the coffin returned a hollow sound,which grew fainter and fainter till all was completely coveredover, I threw myself on the ground; my heart was smitten, grieved,shattered, rent -- but I neither knew what had happened, nor whatwas to happen to me. Death! the grave! I understand not the words.-- Forgive, oh, forgive me! Yesterday -- ah, that day should havebeen the last of my life! Thou angel! for the first time in myexistence, I felt rapture glow within my inmost soul. She loves,she loves me! Still burns upon my lips the sacred fire theyreceived from thine. New torrents of delight overwhelm my soul.Forgive me, oh, forgive!
"I knew that I was dear to you; I saw it in your first entrancinglook, knew it by the first pressure of your hand; but when I wasabsent from you, when I saw Albert at your side, my doubts andfears returned.
"Do you remember the flowers you sent me, when, at that crowdedassembly, you could neither speak nor extend your hand to me?Half the night I was on my knees before those flowers, and Iregarded them as the pledges of your love; but those impressionsgrew fainter, and were at length effaced.
"Everything passes away; but a whole eternity could not extinguishthe living flame which was yesterday kindled by your lips, andwhich now burns within me. She loves me! These arms have encircledher waist, these lips have trembled upon hers. She is mine! Yes,Charlotte, you are mine for ever!
"And what do they mean by saying Albert is your husband? He maybe so for this world; and in this world it is a sin to love you,to wish to tear you from his embrace. Yes, it is a crime; and Isuffer the punishment, but I have enjoyed the full delight ofmy sin. I have inhaled a balm that has revived my soul. Fromthis hour you are mine; yes, Charlotte, you are mine! I gobefore you. I go to my Father and to your Father. I will pourout my sorrows before him, and he will give me comfort till youarrive. Then will I fly to meet you. I will claim you, andremain your eternal embrace, in the presence of the Almighty.
"I do not dream, I do not rave. Drawing nearer to the grave myperceptions become clearer. We shall exist; we shall see eachother again; we shall behold your mother; I shall behold her, andexpose to her my inmost heart. Your mother -- your image!"
About eleven o'clock Werther asked his servant if Albert hadreturned. He answered, "Yes;" for he had seen him pass on horseback:upon which Werther sent him the following note, unsealed:
"Be so good as to lend me your pistols for a journey. Adieu."
Charlotte had slept little during the past night. All herapprehensions were realised in a way that she could neitherforesee nor avoid. Her blood was boiling in her veins, and athousand painful sensations rent her pure heart. Was it theardour of Werther's passionate embraces that she felt within herbosom? Was it anger at his daring? Was it the sad comparisonof her present condition with former days of innocence, tranquillity,and self-confidence? How could she approach her husband, andconfess a scene which she had no reason to conceal, and which sheyet felt, nevertheless, unwilling to avow? They had preserved solong a silence toward each other and should she be the first tobreak it by so unexpected a discovery? She feared that the merestatement of Werther's visit would trouble him, and his distresswould be heightened by her perfect candour. She wished that hecould see her in her true light, and judge her without prejudice;but was she anxious that he should read her inmost soul? On theother hand, could she deceive a being to whom all her thoughtshad ever been exposed as clearly as crystal, and from whom nosentiment had ever been concealed? These reflections made heranxious and thoughtful. Her mind still dwelt on Werther, who wasnow lost to her, but whom she could not bring herself to resign,and for whom she knew nothing was left but despair if she shouldbe lost to him for ever.
A recollection of that mysterious estrangement which had latelysubsisted between herself and Albert, and which she could neverthoroughly understand, was now beyond measure painful to her.Even the prudent and the good have before now hesitated to explaintheir mutual differences, and have dwelt in silence upon theirimaginary grievances, until circumstances have become so entangled,that in that critical juncture, when a calm explanation wouldhave saved all parties, an understanding was impossible. Andthus if domestic confidence had been earlier established betweenthem, if love and kind forbearance had mutually animated andexpanded their hearts, it might not, perhaps, even yet have beentoo late to save our friend.
But we must not forget one remarkable circumstance. We mayobserve from the character of Werther's correspondence, thathe had never affected to conceal his anxious desire to quitthis world. He had often discussed the subject with Albert;and, between the latter and Charlotte, it had not unfrequentlyformed a topic of conversation. Albert was so opposed to the veryidea of such an action, that, with a degree of irritation unusualin him, he had more than once given Werther to understand that hedoubted the seriousness of his threats, and not only turned theminto ridicule, but caused Charlotte to share his feelings ofincredulity. Her heart was thus tranquillised when she feltdisposed to view the melancholy subject in a serious point ofview, though she never communicated to her husband theapprehensions she sometimes experienced.
Albert, upon his return, was received by Charlotte withill-concealed embarrassment. He was himself out of humour; hisbusiness was unfinished; and he had just discovered that theneighbouring official with whom he had to deal, was an obstinateand narrow-minded personage. Many things had occurred to irritatehim.
He inquired whether anything had happened during his absence, andCharlotte hastily answered that Werther had been there on theevening previously. He then inquired for his letters, and wasanswered that several packages had been left in his study. Hethereon retired, leaving Charlotte alone.
The presence of the being she loved and honoured produced a newimpression on her heart. The recollection of his generosity,kindness, and affection had calmed her agitation: a secret impulseprompted her to follow him; she took her work and went to hisstudy, as was often her custom. He was busily employed openingand reading his letters. It seemed as if the contents of somewere disagreeable. She asked some questions: he gave short answers,and sat down to write.
Several hours passed in this manner, and Charlotte's feelingsbecame more and more melancholy. She felt the extreme difficultyof explaining to her husband, under any circumstances, the weightthat lay upon her heart; and her depression became every momentgreater, in proportion as she endeavoured to hide her grief, andto conceal her tears.
ofthe dead, low their pillow of dust. No more shall he hear thyvoice, no more awake at thy call. When shall it be morn in thegrave, to bid the slumberer awake? Farewell,
The arrival of Werther's servant occasioned her the greatestembarrassment. He gave Albert a note, which the latter coldlyhanded to his wife, saying, at the same time, "Give him the pistols.I wish him a pleasant journey," he added, turning to the servant.These words fell upon Charlotte like a thunderstroke: she rosefrom her seat half-fainting, and unconscious of what she did. Shewalked mechanically toward the wall, took down the pistols with atrembling hand, slowly wiped the dust from them, and would havedelayed longer, had not Albert hastened her movements by an impatientlook. She then delivered the fatal weapons to the servant, withoutbeing able to utter a word. As soon as he had departed, she foldedup her work, and retired at once to her room, her heart overcomewith the most fearful forebodings. She anticipated some dreadfulcalamity. She was at one moment on the point of going to herhusband, throwing herself at his feet, and acquainting him withall that had happened on the previous evening, that she mightacknowledge her fault, and explain her apprehensions; then she sawthat such a step would be useless, as she would certainly be unableto induce Albert to visit Werther. Dinner was served; and a kindfriend whom she had persuaded to remain assisted to sustain theconversation, which was carried on by a sort of compulsion, tillthe events of the morning were forgotten.