Delphi Collected Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe \(Illustrated\) pdfdrive com

JANUARY 20.

I must write to you from this place, my dear Charlotte, from a small room in a

country inn, where I have taken shelter from a severe storm. During my whole

residence in that wretched place D — , where I lived amongst strangers, —

strangers,  indeed,  to  this  heart,    —    I  never  at  any  time  felt  the  smallest

inclination to correspond with you; but in this cottage, in this retirement, in this

solitude, with the snow and hail beating against my lattice-pane, you are my first

thought.  The  instant  I  entered,  your  figure  rose  up  before  me,  and  the

remembrance!  O  my  Charlotte,  the  sacred,  tender  remembrance!  Gracious

Heaven! restore to me the happy moment of our first acquaintance.

Could you but see me, my dear Charlotte, in the whirl of dissipation, — how

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my senses are dried up, but my heart is at no time full. I enjoy no single moment

of happiness: all is vain — nothing touches me. I stand, as it were, before the

raree-show: I see the little puppets move, and I ask whether it is not an optical

illusion.  I  am  amused  with  these  puppets,  or,  rather,  I  am  myself  one  of  them:

but,  when  I  sometimes  grasp  my  neighbour’s  hand,  I  feel  that  it  is  not  natural;

and I withdraw mine with a shudder. In the evening I say I will enjoy the next

morning’s  sunrise,  and  yet  I  remain  in  bed:  in  the  day  I  promise  to  ramble  by

moonlight; and I, nevertheless, remain at home. I know not why I rise, nor why I

go to sleep.

The  leaven  which  animated  my  existence  is  gone:  the  charm  which  cheered

me in the gloom of night, and aroused me from my morning slumbers, is for ever

fled.

I have found but one being here to interest me, a Miss B — . She resembles

you,  my  dear  Charlotte,  if  any  one  can  possibly  resemble  you.  “Ah!”  you  will

say,  “he  has  learned  how  to  pay  fine  compliments.”  And  this  is  partly  true.  I

have  been  very  agreeable  lately,  as  it  was  not  in  my  power  to  be  otherwise.  I

have, moreover, a deal of wit: and the ladies say that no one understands flattery

better,  or  falsehoods  you  will  add;  since  the  one  accomplishment  invariably

accompanies the other. But I must tell you of Miss B — . She has abundance of

soul,  which  flashes  from  her  deep  blue  eyes.  Her  rank  is  a  torment  to  her,  and

satisfies  no  one  desire  of  her  heart.  She  would  gladly  retire  from  this  whirl  of

fashion,  and  we  often  picture  to  ourselves  a  life  of  undisturbed  happiness  in

distant scenes of rural retirement: and then we speak of you, my dear Charlotte;

for  she  knows  you,  and  renders  homage  to  your  merits;  but  her  homage  is  not

exacted, but voluntary, she loves you, and delights to hear you made the subject

of conversation.

Oh, that I were sitting at your feet in your favourite little room, with the dear

children  playing  around  us!  If  they  became  troublesome  to  you,  I  would  tell

them  some  appalling  goblin  story;  and  they  would  crowd  round  me  with  silent

attention. The sun is setting in glory; his last rays are shining on the snow, which

covers  the  face  of  the  country:  the  storm  is  over,  and  I  must  return  to  my

dungeon. Adieu! — Is Albert with you? and what is he to you? God forgive the

question.