The Sorrows of Young Werther | Page 3

burning fever of my blood; and you have never
witnessed anything so unsteady, so uncertain, as my heart. But need I confess this to you,
my dear friend, who have so often endured the anguish of witnessing my sudden
transitions from sorrow to immoderate joy, and from sweet melancholy to violent
passions? I treat my poor heart like a sick child, and gratify its every fancy. Do not
mention this again: there are people who would censure me for it.
MAY 15.
The common people of the place know me already, and love me, particularly the children.
When at first I associated with them, and inquired in a friendly tone about their various
trifles, some fancied that I wished to ridicule them, and turned from me in exceeding
ill-humour. I did not allow that circumstance to grieve me: I only felt most keenly what I
have often before observed. Persons who can claim a certain rank keep themselves coldly
aloof from the common people, as though they feared to lose their importance by the
contact; whilst wanton idlers, and such as are prone to bad joking, affect to descend to
their level, only to make the poor people feel their impertinence all the more keenly.
I know very well that we are not all equal, nor can be so; but it is my opinion that he who
avoids the common people, in order not to lose their respect, is as much to blame as a
coward who hides himself from his enemy because he fears defeat.
The other day I went to the fountain, and found a young servant-girl, who had set her
pitcher on the lowest step, and looked around to see if one of her companions was
approaching to place it on her head. I ran down, and looked at her. "Shall I help you,

pretty lass?" said I. She blushed deeply. "Oh, sir!" she exclaimed. "No ceremony!" I
replied. She adjusted her head-gear, and I helped her. She thanked me, and ascended the
steps.
MAY 17.
I have made all sorts of acquaintances, but have as yet found no society. I know not what
attraction I possess for the people, so many of them like me, and attach themselves to me;
and then I feel sorry when the road we pursue together goes only a short distance. If you
inquire what the people are like here, I must answer, "The same as everywhere." The
human race is but a monotonous affair. Most of them labour the greater part of their time
for mere subsistence; and the scanty portion of freedom which remains to them so
troubles them that they use every exertion to get rid of it. Oh, the destiny of man!
But they are a right good sort of people. If I occasionally forget myself, and take part in
the innocent pleasures which are not yet forbidden to the peasantry, and enjoy myself, for
instance, with genuine freedom and sincerity, round a well-covered table, or arrange an
excursion or a dance opportunely, and so forth, all this produces a good effect upon my
disposition; only I must forget that there lie dormant within me so many other qualities
which moulder uselessly, and which I am obliged to keep carefully concealed. Ah! this
thought affects my spirits fearfully. And yet to be misunderstood is the fate of the like of
us.
Alas, that the friend of my youth is gone! Alas, that I ever knew her! I might say to
myself, "You are a dreamer to seek what is not to be found here below." But she has been
mine. I have possessed that heart, that noble soul, in whose presence I seemed to be more
than I really was, because I was all that I could be. Good heavens! did then a single
power of my soul remain unexercised? In her presence could I not display, to its full
extent, that mysterious feeling with which my heart embraces nature? Was not our
intercourse a perpetual web of the finest emotions, of the keenest wit, the varieties of
which, even in their very eccentricity, bore the stamp of genius? Alas! the few years by
which she was my senior brought her to the grave before me. Never can I forget her firm
mind or her heavenly patience.
A few days ago I met a certain young V--, a frank, open fellow, with a most pleasing
countenance. He has just left the university, does not deem himself overwise, but believes
he knows more than other people. He has worked hard, as I can perceive from many
circumstances, and, in short, possesses a large stock of information. When he heard that I
am drawing a good deal, and that I know Greek (two wonderful things for this part of the