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The Sorrows of Werter

By Johann Wolfgang Goethe



December 4.

IT is all over, my dear friend; I can support this state no longer. To-day I was sitting by Charlotte; she was playing on her harpsichord, with an expression it is impossible for me to describe to you. Her little sister was dressing her doll upon my lap; the tears came into my eyes; I leaned down and looked intently at her wedding-ring; my tears fell -- immediately she began to play the favourite, the divine air which has always enchanted me. -- I felt comforted by it; but soon it recalled to my mind the times that are past -- Grief! disappointed hopes! -- I began to walk with hasty strides about the room -- I was choaked -- At length I went up to her, and with eagerness said, "For heaven's sake, play that no longer." She stopped, looked stedfastly at me, and said, with a smile that sunk {174} deep into my heart, "Werter, you are indeed very ill: your most favourite food disgusts you. Pray go, and try to compose yourself." -- I tore myself from her. -- Great God! thou seest my torments, and thou wilt put an end to them!