Sorrows of Young Werther

You only find true love once. When Werther dances with the beautiful Lotte, it seems as though he is in paradise. It is a joy, however, that can only ever be short-lived. Engaged to another man, she tolerates Werther's adoration and encourages his friendship. She can never return his love. Broken-hearted, he leaves her home in the country, trying to escape his own desire. But when he receives a letter telling him that she is finally married, his passion soon turns to destructive obsession. And as his life falls apart, Werther is haunted by one certainty: He has lost his reason for living. This book is a Penguin Red Classic. To see other Penguin Reds, visit the minisite by clicking here. 4th May 1771

How happy I am to be away! My dear friend, what a thing is the heart of Man! To leave you, whom I love so, from whom I was inseparable, and to be happy! I know that you will forgive me. Were not my other attachments hand-picked by Fate to beset a heart such as mine with fears? Poor Leonore! And yet I was innocent. Was it my fault that, while I was taking pleasure and amusement in the wilful charms of her sister, a passion was growing in that poor heart? And yet—am I wholly innocent? Did I not nurture her feelings? Did I not take delight in those utterly true expressions of her nature which so often made us laugh, though they were far from ridiculous? Did I not—Oh, what a creature is Man, that he may bewail himself ! I promise, dear friend, I promise I shall improve, and will not keep on chewing over some morsel of misfortune doled out by Fate, as I always have done; I mean to enjoy the present moment, and what is past will be over and done with. Of course you are right, my friend, that the pains people endure would be less if only—God knows why they are made that way!—if only they did not put so much imaginative energy into recalling the memory of past misfortune, rather than bear an indifferent present with equanimity. Will you be so good as to tell my mother I shall deal with her business as well as I can and will give her news of it very soon. I have spoken to my aunt, and found her far from being the wicked female she is made out to be at home. She is a buxom, vigorous woman with the kindest of hearts. I explained my mother’s complaints concerning the portion of the inheritance that was withheld from her; she told me her reasons and motives, and the conditions on which she would be prepared to hand over everything, more indeed than we have demanded—In short, I do not wish to write about it now, but tell my mother it will all turn out well. And once again, dear friend, I have found while seeing to this little matter that misunderstandings and lethargy perhaps lead to more complications in the affairs of the world than trickery and wickedness. At least, the two latter are surely less common. For the rest, I feel most contented here. Solitude is precious balm to my heart in these paradisic parts; and the abundance of this youthful season gives warmth to a heart that is oft atremble with horror. Every tree, every hedgerow is a posy of blossoms, and one could wish to be a cockchafer, floating in a sea of wonderful scents and finding all one’s nourishment there.