Part 6

Albert returned, and Lotte went to meet him with an embarrassed haste; he was not cheerful, his errand was not accomplished, he had found at the neighboring magistrate's an inflexible, petty-minded man. The bad road too had put him out of humor.

He asked whether anything had happened, and she answered with undue precipitancy: Werther had been here last evening. He asked whether any letters had come, and received for answer that a letter and parcels were lying in his room. He went over, and Lotte remained alone. The presence of the man whom she loved and honored had made a new impression on her heart. The remembrance of his nobleness, his love and kindness had calmed her mind more; she felt a secret impulse to follow him, she took up her work and went into his room, as she was wont to do more often. She found him busy opening the parcels and reading. Some seemed to contain nothing very agreeable. She put a few questions to him, which he answered briefly, and then stood at the desk to write.

They had in this way been beside each other for an hour, and it grew ever darker in Lotte's mind. She felt how hard it would be for her to disclose to her husband, even were he in the best of humors, what lay upon her heart; she fell into a melancholy which became the more anxious as she sought to conceal it and to swallow her tears.

The appearance of Werther's boy put her into the greatest embarrassment; he handed Albert the note, who turned calmly to his wife and said, 'give him the pistols.'—'I bid him a happy journey,' he said to the boy.—This fell upon her like a thunderclap; she wavered as she rose, she knew not what ailed her. Slowly she went to the wall, trembling she took down the weapon, wiped off the dust and hesitated, and would have hesitated long had not Albert urged her with a questioning glance. She gave the unhappy instrument to the boy, without being able to utter a word, and when he was out of the house, she gathered up her work, went into her room, in a state of the most unspeakable uncertainty. Her heart foreboded all terrors to her. Soon she was on the point of throwing herself at her husband's feet, of disclosing everything to him, the story of the previous evening, her guilt and her forebodings. Then again she saw no issue from the undertaking, least of all could she hope to persuade her husband to a walk to Werther. The table was laid, and a good friend, who had only come to ask something, meant to go at once—and stayed, made the conversation at table tolerable; they constrained themselves, they spoke, they told stories, they forgot themselves.

The boy came with the pistols to Werther, who took them from him with rapture when he heard Lotte had given them. He had bread and wine brought, bade the boy sit at table and sat down to write.

'They have passed through your hands, you have wiped the dust from them, I kiss them a thousand times, you have touched them! And you, spirit of heaven, favor my resolve, and you, Lotte, reach me the instrument, you, from whose hands I wished to receive death, and ah! now receive it. O I have questioned my boy. You trembled as you handed them to him, you said no farewell!—Woe! woe! no farewell!—should you have closed your heart against me, for the sake of the moment that bound me to you eternally? Lotte, no thousand years can efface the impression! And I feel it, you cannot hate him who glows thus for you.'

After dinner he bade the boy pack everything up completely, tore many papers, went out and settled small debts. He came home again, went out again beyond the gate, despite the rain, into the Count's garden, roamed further about the region and came back at nightfall and wrote.

'Wilhelm, I have for the last time seen field and wood and sky. Farewell also to you! Dear mother, forgive me! Comfort her, Wilhelm! God bless you! My affairs are all in order. Farewell! We shall see each other again, and more joyfully.'

'I have ill requited you, Albert, and you forgive me. I have disturbed the peace of your house, I have brought mistrust between you. Farewell! I will make an end. O that you were happy through my death! Albert! Albert! Make the angel happy! And so may God's blessing rest upon you!'

He still spent the evening much among his papers, tore many things and threw them into the stove, sealed some packets with the addresses to Wilhelm. They contained little essays, broken thoughts, of which I have seen several; and after he had had the fire replenished at ten o'clock and a bottle of wine brought, he sent the servant, whose chamber as also the sleeping rooms of the household were far out at the back, to bed, who then lay down in his clothes, to be at hand early; for his master had said the post-horses would come before six to the house.

After Eleven

All is so still around me, and so calm my soul. I thank you, God, who grant this warmth, this strength to these last moments.

I step to the window, my dearest, and look, and still see through the storming, flying clouds single stars of the eternal heaven! No, you shall not fall! The Eternal bears you on his heart, and me too. I see the wain's pole-star, dearest of all constellations. When I went from you at night, as I stepped out of your gate, it stood opposite me. With what intoxication have I often gazed at it, often with uplifted hands made it the sign, the sacred landmark of my present bliss! And still—O Lotte, what does not remind me of you! Do you not surround me! And have I not, like a child, insatiably snatched all manner of trifles to me, that you, saint, had touched!

Dear shadow-image! I bequeath it back to you, Lotte, and beg you to honor it. A thousand, thousand kisses have I pressed upon it, a thousand greetings waved to it, when I went out or came home. I have begged your father in a little note to protect my corpse. In the churchyard are two linden trees, back in the corner toward the field; there I wish to rest. He can, he will do that for his friend. Pray him too. I would not ask pious Christians to lay their bodies beside a poor unfortunate. Ah, I would that you buried me by the wayside, or in the lonely vale, that priest and Levite might pass by with blessing before the marked stone and the Samaritan weep a tear.

Here, Lotte! I shudder not to grasp the cold, terrible cup, from which I shall drink the intoxication of death! You reached it to me, and falter not. All! All! Thus are all the wishes and hopes of my life fulfilled! Thus to knock, cold, stiff, at the brazen gate of death.

That I might have been worthy to die for you, Lotte, to give myself for you! I would have died boldly, I would have died joyfully, could I have recreated for you the calm, the rapture of your life. But ah! that was granted only to few noble ones, to shed their blood for their own and by their death to kindle a new, hundredfold life for their friends.

In these clothes, Lotte, I wish to be buried, you have touched them, hallowed them; I have also begged your father for that. My soul hovers above the coffin. They shall not search my pockets. This pale-red ribbon, which you wore on your bosom when I first found you among your children—O kiss it a thousand times and tell them the fate of their unhappy friend. The dear ones! They swarm about me. Ah how I clung to you! Since the first moment could not leave you!—This ribbon shall be buried with me. On my birthday you gave it me! How I devoured all that! Ah, I thought not that the way would lead me here!—Be calm! I beg you, be calm!

—They are loaded—it strikes twelve! So be it then!—Lotte! Lotte, farewell! Farewell!

A neighbor saw the flash from the powder and heard the shot fall; but as all remained still, he gave it no further heed.

At six in the morning the servant steps in with the light. He finds his master on the ground, the pistol and blood. He calls, he seizes him; no answer, he only rattles still. He runs for the physicians, for Albert. Lotte hears the bell pull, a trembling seizes all her limbs. She wakes her husband, they rise, the servant brings, weeping and stammering, the news; Lotte sinks fainting before Albert.

When the physician came to the unfortunate, he found him on the ground beyond help, the pulse beat, the limbs were all paralyzed. Above the right eye he had shot through his head, the brain was driven out. They let him, to be sure, blood from a vein in the arm, the blood ran, he still drew breath.

From the blood on the back of the armchair one could conclude that he had done the deed sitting before the writing desk, then sank down, had convulsively rolled about the chair. He lay against the window, exhausted, on his back, in full dress, booted, in the blue coat with yellow waistcoat.

The house, the neighborhood, the town came into commotion. Albert stepped in. They had laid Werther on the bed, the brow bound, his face already like that of a dead man, he stirred no limb. The lungs still rattled fearfully, now weak, now stronger; they expected his end.

Of the wine he had drunk only one glass. Emilia Galotti lay open on the desk.

Of Albert's consternation, of Lotte's lament let me say nothing.

The old magistrate came riding in at the news, he kissed the dying man amid the hottest tears. His eldest sons came soon after on foot, they fell down by the bed in expression of the wildest sorrow, kissed his hands and mouth, and the eldest, whom he had always loved most, hung on his lips until he had expired and they forcibly tore the boy away. At noon he died. The presence of the magistrate and his arrangements prevented an uproar. At night toward eleven he had him buried at the spot he had chosen. The old man followed the corpse and the sons; Albert could not. They feared for Lotte's life. Artisans carried him. No clergyman accompanied him.

End of this Project Gutenberg Etext 'The Sorrows of Young Werther—Book 2' by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

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