少年维特的烦恼-第11章

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a　pang，　and　the　very　children　have　but　one　wish；　that　is，　that　I　should
visit　them　again　to…morrow。　I　went　this　afternoon　to　tune　Charlotte's
piano。　But　I　could　not　do　it，　for　the　little　ones　insisted　on　my　telling
them　a　story；　and　Charlotte　herself　urged　me　to　satisfy　them。　I　waited
upon　them　at　tea，　and　they　are　now　as　fully　contented　with　me　as　with
Charlotte　；　and　I　told　them　my　very　best　tale　of　the　princess　who　was
waited　upon　by　dwarfs。　I　improve　myself　by　this　exercise，　and　am　quite
surprised　at　the　impression　my　stories　create。　If　I　sometimes　invent　an
incident　which　I　forget　upon　the　next　narration　，　they　remind　one　directly
that　the　story　was　different　before　；　so　that　I　now　endeavour　to　relate
with　exactness　the　same　anecdote　in　the　same　monotonous　tone，　which　never
changes。　I　find　by　this　，　how　much　an　author　injures　his　works　by　altering
them，　even　though　they　be　improved　in　a　poetical　point　of　view。　The　first
impression　is　readily　received。　We　are　so　constituted　that　we　believe
the　most　incredible　things；　and，　once　they　are　engraved　upon　the　memory，
woe　to　him　who　would　endeavour　to　efface　them。

　　AUGUST　18。　Must　it　ever　be　thus　，——　that　the　source　of　our　happiness
must　also　be　the　fountain　of　our　misery　？　The　full　and　ardent　sentiment
which　animated　my　heart　with　the　love　of　nature　，　overwhelming　me　with
a　torrent　of　delight，　and　which　brought　all　paradise　before　me　，　has
now　bee　an　insupportable　torment　，　a　demon　which　perpetually　pursues
and　harasses　me。　When　in　bygone　days　I　gazed　from　these　rocks　upon　yonder
mountains　across　the　river，　and　upon　the　green　，　flowery　valley　before
me，　and　saw　alI　nature　budding　and　bursting　around　；　the　hills　clothed
from　foot　to　peak　with　tall　，　thick　forest　trees　；　the　valleys　in　all
their　varied　windings　，　shaded　with　the　loveliest　woods；　and　the　soft
river　gliding　along　amongst　the　lisping　reeds　，　mirroring　the　beautiful
clouds　which　the　soft　evening　breeze　wafted　across　the　sky，——　when
I　heard　the　groves　about　me　melodious　with　the　music　of　birds　，　and　saw
the　million　swarms　of　insects　dancing　in　the　last　golden　beams　of　the
sun　，　whose　setting　rays　awoke　the　humming　beetles　from　their　grassy
beds，　whilst　the　subdued　tumult　around　directed　my　attention　to　the　ground，
and　I　there　observed　the　arid　rock　pelled　to　yield　nutriment　to　the
dry　moss，　whilst　the　heath　flourished　upon　the　barren　sands　below　me　，
all　this　displayed　to　me　the　inner　warmth　which　animates　all　nature　，
and　filled　and　glowed　within　my　heart。　I　felt　myself　exalted　by　this　overflowing
fulness　to　the　perception　of　the　Godhead，　and　the　glorious　forms　of　an
infinite　universe　became　visible　to　my　soul　！　Stupendous　mountains　enpassed
me，　abysses　yawned　at　my　feet，　and　cataracts　fell　headlong　down　before
me；　impetuous　rivers　rolled　through　the　plain，　and　rocks　and　mountains
resounded　from　afar。　In　the　depths　of　the　earth　I　saw　innumerable　powers
in　motion　，　and　multiplying　to　infinity；　whilst　upon　its　surface，　and
beneath　the　heavens　，　there　teemed　ten　thousand　varieties　of　living　creatures。
Everything　around　is　alive　with　an　infinite　number　of　forms　；　while　mankind
fly　for　security　to　their　petty　houses，　from　the　shelter　of　which　they
rule　in　their　imaginations　over　the　wide…extended　universe。　Poor　fool　！
in　whose　petty　estimation　all　things　are　little。　From　the　inaccessible
mountains　，　across　the　desert　which　no　mortal　foot　has　trod，　far　as
the　confines　of　the　unknown　ocean　，　breathes　the　spirit　of　the　eternal
Creator　；　and　every　atom　to　which　he　has　given　existence　finds　favour
in　his　sight。　Ah，　how　often　at　that　time　has　the　flight　of　a　bird，　soaring
above　my　head　，　inspired　me　with　the　desire　of　being　transported　to　the
shores　of　the　immeasurable　waters　，　there　to　quaff　the　pleasures　of　life
from　the　foaming　goblet　of　the　Infinite　，　and　to　partake　，　if　but　for
a　moment　even　，　with　the　confined　powers　of　my　soul，　the　beatitude　of
that　Creator　who　acplishes　all　things　in　himself　，　and　through　himself！

　　My　dear　friend，　the　bare　recollection　of　those　hours　still　consoles
me。　Even　this　effort　to　recall　those　ineffable　sensations　，　and　give
them　utterance，　exalts　my　soul　above　itself，　and　makes　me　doubly　feel
the　intensity　of　my　present　anguish。

　　It　is　as　if　a　curtain　had　been　drawn　from　before　my　eyes，　and，　instead
of　prospects　of　eternal　life，　the　abyss　of　an　ever　open　grave　yawned
before　me。　Can　we　say　of　anything　that　it　exists　when　all　passes　away　，
when　time　，　with　the　speed　of　a　storm，　carries　all　things　onward，—
—　and　our　transitory　existence　，　hurried　along　by　the　torrent　，　is
either　swallowed　up　by　the　waves　or　dashed　against　the　rocks？　There　is
not　a　moment　but　preys　upon　you　，——　and　upon　all　around　you，　not　a
moment　in　which　you　do　not　yourself　bee　a　destroyer。　The　most　innocent
walk　deprives　of　life　thousands　of　poor　insects　：　one　step　destroys　the
fabric　of　the　industrious　ant　，　and　converts　a　little　world　into　chaos。
No：　it　is　not　the　great　and　rare　calamities　of　the　world　，　the　floods
which　sweep　away　whole　villages　，　the　earthquakes　which　swallow　up　our
towns　，　that　affect　me。　My　heart　is　wasted　by　the　thought　of　that　destructive
power　which　lies　concealed　in　every　part　of　universal　nature。　Nature　has
formed　nothing　that　does　not　consume　itself　，　and　every　object　near　it
：　so　that，　surrounded　by　earth　and　air，　and　all　the　active　powers，
I　wander　on　my　way　with　aching　heart；　and　the　universe　is　to　me　a　fearful
monster　，　for　ever　devouring　its　own　offspring。

　　AUGUST　21。　In　vain　do　I　stretch　out　my　arms　toward　her　when　I　awaken
in　the　morning　from　my　weary　slumbers。　In　vain　do　I　seek　for　her　at　night
in　my　bed　，　when　some　innocent　dream　has　happily　deceived　me　，　and　placed
her　near　me　in　the　fields　，　when　I　have　seized　her　hand　and　covered　it
with　countless　kisses。　And　when　I　feel　for　her　in　the　half　confusion　of
sleep　，　with　the　happy　sense　that　she　is　near，　tears　flow　from　my　oppressed
heart　；　and，　bereft　of　all　fort，　I　weep　over　my　future　woes。

　　AUGUST　22。　What　a　misfortune，　Wilhelm！　My　active　spirits　have　degenerated
into　contented　indolence。　I　cannot　be　idle，　and　yet　I　am　unable　to　set
to　work。　I　cannot　think　：　I　have　no　longer　any　feeling　for　the　beauties
of　nature　，　and　books　are　distasteful　to　me。　Once　we　give　ourselves　up，
we　are　totally　lost。　Many　a　time　and　oft　I　wish　I　were　a　mon　labourer
；　that　，　awakening　in　the　morning　，　I　might　have　but　one　prospect，
one　pursuit　，　one　hope　，　for　the　day　which　has　dawned。　I　often　envy
Albert　when　I　see　him　buried　in　a　heap　of　papers　and　parchments　，　and
I　fancy　I　should　be　happy　were　I　in　his　place。　Often　impressed　with　this
feeling　I　have　been　on　the　point　of　writing　to　you　and　to　the　minister，
for　the　appointment　at　the　embassy，　which　you　think　I　might　obtain。　I
believe　I　might　procure　it。　The　minister　has　long　shown　a　regard　for　me，
and　has　frequently　urged　me　to　seek　employment。　It　is　the　business　of
an　hour　only。　Now　and　then　the　fable　of　the　horse　recurs　to　me。　Weary
of　liberty，　he　suffered　himself　to　be　saddled　and　bridled，　and　was　ridden
to　death　for　his　pains。　I　know　not　what　to　determine　upon。　For　is　not
this　anxiety　for　change　the　consequence　of　that　restless　spirit　which
would　pursue　me　equally　in　every　situation　of　life？

　　AUGUST　28。　If　my　ills　would　admit　of　any　cure　，　they　would　certainly
be　cured　here。　This　is　my　birthday，　and　early　in　the　morning　I　received
a　packet　from　Albert。　Upon　opening　it　，　I　found　one　of　the　pink　ribbons
which　Charlotte　wore　in　her　dress　the　first　time　I　saw　her，　and　which
I　had　several　times　asked　her　to　give　me。　With　it　were　two　volumes　in
duodecimo　of　Wetstein's　〃Homer，〃　a　book　I　had　often　wished　for　，　to
save　me　the　inconvenience　of　carrying　the　large　Ernestine　edition　with
me　upon　my　walks。　You　see　how　they　anticipate　my　wishes　，　how　well　they
understand　all　those　little　attentions　of　friendship，　so　superior　to
the　costly　presents　of　the　great，　which　are　humiliating。　I　kissed　the
ribbon　a　thousand　times　，　and　in　every　breath　inhaled　the　remembrance
of　those　happy　and　irrevocable　days　which　filled　me　with　the　keenest　joy。
Such，　Wilhelm，　is　our　fate。　I　do　not　murmur　at　it　：　the　flowers　of
life　are　but　visionary。　How　many　pass　away，　and　leave　no　trace　behind
——　how　few　yield　any　fruit——　and　the　fruit　itself　，　how　rarely　does
it　ripen！　And　yet　there　are　flowers　enough　！　and　is　it　not　strange，
my　friend　，　that　we　should　suffer　the　little　that　does　really　ripen，
to　rot，　decay，　and　perish　unenjoyed　？　Farewell　！　This　is　a　glorious
summer。　I　often　climb　into　the　trees　in　Charlotte's　orchard　，　and　shake
down　the　pears　that　hang　on　the　highest　branches。　She　stands　below，　and
catches　them　as　they　fall。

　　AUGUST　3O。　Unhappy　being　that　I　am！　Why　do　I　thus　deceive　myself　？
What　is　to　e　of　all　this　wild，　aimless，　endless　passion？　I　cannot
pray　except　to　her。　My　imagination　sees　nothing　but　her　：　all　surrounding
objects　are　of　no　account　，　except　as　they　relate　to　her。　In　this　dreamy
state　I　enjoy　many　happy　hou