He who had lately
spent his peaceful evenings in the solitude of his own chamber
dreaming of her image had through her been irresistibly drawn into an
alien and uncongenial world. Is he the same being who now sits at the
card-table amid the glaring lights of a fashionable drawing-room in
the presence of hateful faces? For her, however, he will gladly endure
what he loathes with his whole soul.
Reizender ist mir des Fruehlings Bluete
Nun nicht auf der Flur;
Wo du, Engel, bist, ist Lieb' and Guete,
Wo du bist, Natur.
Now the blooms of springtide on the meadow
Touch no more my heart;
Where thou, angel, art, is truth and goodness;
Nature, where thou art.
So he sang in tones befitting the true lover, but, as it happens, we
have a prose commentary from his own hand which gives perhaps a truer
picture of his real state of mind. Towards the end of January, when he
was already deep in his passion for Lili, he received a letter which
opened a new channel for his emotions. The letter came from an
anonymous lady who, as she explained, had been so profoundly moved by
the tale of Werther that she could not resist the impulse to express
her gratitude to its author.
Pages:
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313