The Sorrows of Young Werther | Page 6

gone on a journey
into Switzerland for some money a relation had left him. "They wanted to cheat him," she
said, "and would not answer his letters; so he is gone there himself. I hope he has met
with no accident, as I have heard nothing of him since his departure." I left the woman,
with regret, giving each of the children a kreutzer, with an additional one for the youngest,
to buy some wheaten bread for his broth when she went to town next; and so we parted. I
assure you, my dear friend, when my thoughts are all in tumult, the sight of such a
creature as this tranquillises my disturbed mind. She moves in a happy thoughtlessness
within the confined circle of her existence; she supplies her wants from day to day; and,
when she sees the leaves fall, they raise no other idea in her mind than that winter is
approaching. Since that time I have gone out there frequently. The children have become
quite familiar with me; and each gets a lump of sugar when I drink my coffee, and they
share my milk and bread and butter in the evening. They always receive their kreutzer on
Sundays, for the good woman has orders to give it to them when I do not go there after
evening service. They are quite at home with me, tell me everything; and I am
particularly amused with observing their tempers, and the simplicity of their behaviour,
when some of the other village children are assembled with them.
It has given me a deal of trouble to satisfy the anxiety of the mother, lest (as she says)
"they should inconvenience the gentleman."
MAY 30.
What I have lately said of painting is equally true with respect to poetry. It is only
necessary for us to know what is really excellent, and venture to give it expression; and
that is saying much in few words. To-day I have had a scene, which, if literally related,
would, make the most beautiful idyl in the world. But why should I talk of poetry and
scenes and idyls? Can we never take pleasure in nature without having recourse to art?

If you expect anything grand or magnificent from this introduction, you will be sadly
mistaken. It relates merely to a peasant-lad, who has excited in me the warmest interest.
As usual, I shall tell my story badly; and you, as usual, will think me extravagant. It is
Walheim once more -- always Walheim -- which produces these wonderful phenomena.
A party had assembled outside the house under the linden-trees, to drink coffee. The
company did not exactly please me; and, under one pretext or another, I lingered behind.
A peasant came from an adjoining house, and set to work arranging some part of the
same plough which I had lately sketched. His appearance pleased me; and I spoke to him,
inquired about his circumstances, made his acquaintance, and, as is my wont with persons
of that class, was soon admitted into his confidence. He said he was in the service of a
young widow, who set great store by him. He spoke so much of his mistress, and praised
her so extravagantly, that I could soon see he was desperately in love with her. "She is no
longer young," he said: "and she was treated so badly by her former husband that she
does not mean to marry again." From his account it was so evident what incomparable
charms she possessed for him, and how ardently he wished she would select him to
extinguish the recollection of her first husband's misconduct, that I should have to repeat
his own words in order to describe the depth of the poor fellow's attachment, truth, and
devotion. It would, in fact, require the gifts of a great poet to convey the expression of his
features, the harmony of his voice, and the heavenly fire of his eye. No words can portray
the tenderness of his every movement and of every feature: no effort of mine could do
justice to the scene. His alarm lest I should misconceive his position with regard to his
mistress, or question the propriety of her conduct, touched me particularly. The charming
manner with which he described her form and person, which, without possessing the
graces of youth, won and attached him to her, is inexpressible, and must be left to the
imagination. I have never in my life witnessed or fancied or conceived the possibility of
such intense devotion, such ardent affections, united with so much purity. Do not blame
me if I say that the recollection of this innocence and truth is deeply impressed upon my
very soul; that this picture of fidelity and tenderness haunts me everywhere; and that my