The following Letters may possibly
be found to contain the finest examples
of the language of sentiment and
passion ever presented to the world.
They bear a striking resemblance to
the celebrated romance of Werter,
though the incidents to which they relate
are of a very different cast. Probably
the readers to whom Werter
is incapable of affording pleasure, will
receive no delight from the present
publication. The editor apprehends
that, in the judgment of those best
qualified to decide upon the comparison,
these Letters will be admitted to
have the superiority over the fiction of
Goethe. They are the offspring of a
glowing imagination, and a heart penetrated
with the passion it essays to describe.
To the series of lette... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Two o'Clock.
My dear love, after making my
arrangements for our snug dinner to-day,
I have been taken by storm,
and obliged to promise to dine, at
an early hour, with the Miss ——s,
the only day they intend to pass here.
I shall however leave the key in the
door, and hope to find you at my
fire-side when I return, about eight
o'clock. Will you not wait for poor
Joan?—whom you will find better, and
till then think very affectionately of
her.
Yours, truly,
* * * *
I am sitting down to dinner; so do
not send an answer. (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Past Twelve o'Clock, Monday night.
[August.]
I obey an emotion of my heart,
which made me think of wishing thee,
my love, good-night! before I go to
rest, with more tenderness than I can
to-morrow, when writing a hasty line
or two under Colonel ——'s eye. You
can scarcely imagine with what pleasure
I anticipate the day, when we are
to begin almost to live together; and
you would smile to hear how many
plans of employment I have in my head,
now that I am confident my heart has
found peace in your bosom.—Cherish
me with that dignified tenderness,
which I have only found in you; and
your own dear girl will try to keep under
a quickness of feeling, that has
sometimes given you p... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Wednesday Morning.
You have often called me, dear girl,
but you would now say good, did you
know how very attentive I have been
to the —— ever since I came to Paris.
I am not however going to trouble
you with the account, because I like to
see your eyes praise me; and, Milton
insinuates, that, during such recitals,
there are interruptions, not ungrateful
to the heart, when the honey that drops
from the lips is not merely words.
Yet, I shall not (let me tell you before
these people enter, to force me to
huddle away my letter) be content with
only a kiss of duty—you must be glad to
see me—because you are glad—or I will
make love to the shade of Mirabeau, to
whom my heart continually turned,
... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Friday Morning [September.][7-A]
A man, whom a letter from Mr. ——
previously announced, called here yesterday
for the payment of a draft; and,
as he seemed disappointed at not finding
you at home, I sent him to Mr. ——.
I have since seen him, and he tells me
that he has settled the business.
So much for business!—May I venture
to talk a little longer about less
weighty affairs?—How are you?—I
have been following you all along the
road this comfortless weather; for,
when I am absent from those I love, my
imagination is as lively, as if my senses
had never been gratified by their presence—I
was going to say caresses—and
why should I not? I have found out
that I have mo... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Sunday Night.
I have just received your letter, and
feel as if I could not go to bed tranquilly
without saying a few words in reply—merely
to tell you, that my mind is serene,
and my heart affectionate.
Ever since you last saw me inclined
to faint, I have felt some gentle twitches,
which make me begin to think, that I
am nourishing a creature who will soon
be sensible of my care.—This thought
has not only produced an overflowing of
tenderness to you, but made me very
attentive to calm my mind and take
exercise, lest I should destroy an object,
in whom we are to have a mutual interest,
you know. Yesterday—do not
smile!—finding that I had hurt myself
by lifting precipitately a large log of
wood, ... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Friday Morning.
I am glad to find that other people
can be unreasonable, as well as myself—for
be it known to thee, that I answered
thy first letter, the very night it
reached me (Sunday), though thou
couldst not receive it before Wednesday,
because it was not sent off till the
next day.—There is a full, true, and
particular account.—
Yet I am not angry with thee, my
love, for I think that it is a proof of
stupidity, and likewise of a milk-and-water
affection, which comes to the
same thing, when the temper is governed
by a square and compass.—There is
nothing picturesque in this straight-lined
equality, and the passions always
give grace to the actions.
Recollection now makes my heart
bound ... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Sunday Morning [December 29.]
You seem to have taken up your
abode at H——. Pray sir! when do
you think of coming home? or, to
write very considerately, when will
business permit you? I shall expect
(as the country people say in England)
that you will make a power of money to
indemnify me for your absence.
— — — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — &mdash... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Monday Night [December 30.]
My best love, your letter to-night
was particularly grateful to my heart,
depressed by the letters I received by
——, for he brought me several, and
the parcel of books directed to Mr.
——— was for me. Mr. ———'s
letter was long and very affectionate;
but the account he gives me of his own
affairs, though he obviously makes the
best of them, has vexed me.
A melancholy letter from my sister
——— has also harrassed my mind—that
from my brother would have given
me sincere pleasure; but for — —
— — — — — — — — — —... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Tuesday Morning [December 31.]
Though I have just sent a letter off,
yet, as captain —— offers to take one,
I am not willing to let him go without
a kind greeting, because trifles of this
sort, without having any effect on my
mind, damp my spirits:—and you, with
all your struggles to be manly, have
some of this same sensibility.—Do not
bid it begone, for I love to see it
striving to master your features; besides,
these kind of sympathies are the life of
affection: and why, in cultivating our
understandings, should we try to dry up
these springs of pleasure, which gush
out to give a freshness to days browned
by care!
The books sent to me are such as
we may read together; so I shall not
look into... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Wednesday Night [January 1.]
As I have been, you tell me, three
days without writing, I ought not to
complain of two: yet, as I expected to
receive a letter this afternoon, I am
hurt; and why should I, by concealing
it, affect the heroism I do not feel?
I hate commerce. How differently
must ———'s head and heart be organized
from mine! You will tell me,
that exertions are necessary: I am
weary of them! The face of things,
public and private, vexes me. The
"peace" and clemency which seemed
to be dawning a few days ago, disappear
again. "I am fallen," as Milton said,
"on evil days;" for I really believe
that Europe will be in a state of convulsion,
during half a century at least.
Life is but a labor of ... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Monday Night.
I have just received your kind and
rational letter, and would fain hide my
face, glowing with shame for my folly.—I
would hide it in your bosom, if you
would again open it to me, and nestle
closely till you bade my fluttering
heart be still, by saying that you forgave
me. With eyes overflowing with
tears, and in the humblest attitude, I
intreat you.—Do not turn from me, for
indeed I love you fondly, and have been
very wretched, since the night I was so
cruelly hurt by thinking that you had
no confidence in me——
It is time for me to grow more reasonable,
a few more of these caprices
of sensibility would destroy me. I have,
in fact, been very much indisposed for
a few days past, and... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Wednesday Morning.
I will never, if I am not entirely
cured of quarreling, begin to encourage
"quick-coming fancies," when
we are separated. Yesterday, my love,
I could not open your letter for some
time; and, though it was not half as
severe as I merited, it threw me into
such a fit of trembling, as seriously
alarmed me. I did not, as you may
suppose, care for a little pain on my
own account; but all the fears which
I have had for a few days past, returned
with fresh force. This morning I am
better; will you not be glad to hear it?
You perceive that sorrow has almost
made a child of me, and that I want to
be soothed to peace.
One thing you mistake in my character,
and imagine that to be coldness
which is just the co... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Thursday Night.
I have been wishing the time away,
my kind love, unable to rest till I knew
that my penitential letter had reached
your hand—and this afternoon, when
your tender epistle of Tuesday gave
such exquisite pleasure to your poor
sick girl, her heart smote her to think
that you were still to receive another
cold one.—Burn it also, my ——; yet
do not forget that even those letters
were full of love; and I shall ever recollect,
that you did not wait to be
mollified by my penitence, before you
took me again to your heart.
I have been unwell, and would not,
now I am recovering, take a journey,
because I have been seriously alarmed
and angry with myself, dreading continually
the fatal cons... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Saturday Morning.
The two or three letters, which I
have written to you lately, my love, will
serve as an answer to your explanatory
one. I cannot but respect your motives
and conduct. I always respected
them; and was only hurt, by what
seemed to me a want of confidence, and
consequently affection.—I thought also,
that if you were obliged to stay three
months at H—, I might as well have
been with you.—Well! well, what signifies
what I brooded over—Let us now
be friends!
I shall probably receive a letter from
you to-day, sealing my pardon—and I
will be careful not to torment you with
my querulous humors, at least, till I
see you again. Act as circumstances
direct, and I will not inquire wh... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Sunday Morning.
I wrote to you yesterday, my ——;
but, finding that the colonel is still detained
(for his passport was forgotten at
the office yesterday) I am not willing to
let so many days elapse without your
hearing from me, after having talked
of illness and apprehensions.
I cannot boast of being quite recovered,
yet I am (I must use my Yorkshire
phrase; for, when my heart is
warm, pop come the expressions of
childhood into my head) so lightsome,
that I think it will not go badly with
me.—And nothing shall be wanting on
my part, I assure you; for I am urged
on, not only by an enlivened affection
for you, but by a new-born tenderness
that plays cheerly round my dilating
heart.
I was therefore, ... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Tuesday Morning.
I seize this opportunity to inform
you, that I am to set out on Thursday
with Mr. ———, and hope to tell you
soon (on your lips) how glad I shall be
to see you. I have just got my passport,
so I do not foresee any impediment to
my reaching H——, to bid you good-night
next Friday in my new apartment—where
I am to meet you and love, in
spite of care, to smile me to sleep—for
I have not caught much rest since
we parted.
You have, by your tenderness and
worth, twisted yourself more artfully
round my heart, than I supposed possible.—Let
me indulge the thought,
that I have thrown out some tendrils to
cling to the elm by which I wish to be
supported.—This... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Wednesday Morning.
I only send this as an avant-coureur,
without jack-boots, to tell you, that I am
again on the wing, and hope to be with
you a few hours after you receive it. I
shall find you well, and composed, I
am sure; or, more properly speaking,
cheerful.—What is the reason that my
spirits are not as manageable as yours?
Yet, now I think of it, I will not allow
that your temper is even, though
I have promised myself, in order to
obtain my own forgiveness, that I will
not ruffle it for a long, long time—I am
afraid to say never.
Farewell for a moment!—Do not
forget that I am driving towards you
in person! My mind, unfettered, has
flown to you long since, or rather has
never left you.
I am we... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
H—, Thursday Morning, March 12.
We are such creatures of habit, my
love, that, though I cannot say I was
sorry, childishly so, for your going,
when I knew that you were to stay such
a short time, and I had a plan of employment;
yet I could not sleep.—I
turned to your side of the bed, and
tried to make the most of the comfort
of the pillow, which you used to tell
me I was churlish about; but all would
not do.—I took nevertheless my walk
before breakfast, though the weather
was not very inviting—and here I am,
wishing you a finer day, and seeing you
peep over my shoulder, as I write, with
one of your kindest looks—when your
eyes glisten, and a suffusion creeps over
your relaxing features.
B... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
DO not call me stupid, for leaving
on the table the little bit of paper I was
to enclose.—This comes of being in
love at the fag-end of a letter of business.—You
know, you say, they will
not chime together.—I had got you by
the fire-side, with the gigot smoking on
the board, to lard your poor bare ribs—and
behold, I closed my letter without
taking the paper up, that was directly
under my eyes!—What had I got
in them to render me so blind?—I give
you leave to answer the question, if you
will not scold; for I am
Yours most affectionately
* * * * (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Sunday, August 17.
— — — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
I have promised ——— to go with
him to his country-house, where he is
now permitted to dine—I, and the little
darling, to be sure[47-A]—whom I cannot
help kissing with more fondness, since
you left us. I think I shall enjoy the
fine prospect, and that it will rather
enliven, than satiate my imagination.
I have called on Mrs. ———. She
has the manners of a gentlewoman,
with a dash of the easy Fren... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
H—, August 19, Tuesday.
I received both your letters to-day—I
had reckoned on hearing from you
yesterday, therefore was disappointed,
though I imputed your silence to the
right cause. I intended answering
your kind letter immediately, that you
might have felt the pleasure it gave
me; but ——— came in, and some
other things interrupted me; so that
the fine vapor has evaporated—yet,
leaving a sweet scent behind, I have
only to tell you, what is sufficiently
obvious, that the earnest desire I have
shown to keep my place, or gain more
ground in your heart, is a sure proof
how necessary your affection is to my
happiness.—Still I do not think it false
delicacy, or foolish pride, to wish... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
H—, August 20.
I want to know what steps you
have taken respecting ——. Knavery
always rouses my indignation—I should
be gratified to hear that the law had
chastised ——— severely; but I do not
wish you to see him, because the business
does not now admit of peaceful
discussion, and I do not exactly know
how you would express your contempt.
Pray ask some questions about Tallien—I
am still pleased with the dignity
of his conduct.—The other day, in the
cause of humanity, he made use of a
degree of address, which I admire—and
mean to point out to you, as one
of the few instances of address which
do credit to the abilities of the man,
without taking away from that co... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
September 22.[58-A]
I have just written two letters, that
are going by other conveyances, and
which I reckon on your receiving long
before this. I therefore merely write,
because I know I should be disappointed
at seeing any one who had left you,
if you did not send a letter, were it ever
so short, to tell me why you did not
write a longer—and you will want to
be told, over and over again, that our
little Hercules is quite recovered.
Besides looking at me, there are
three other things, which delight her—to
ride in a coach, to look at a scarlet
waistcoat, and hear loud music—yesterday,
at the fête, she enjoyed the two
latter; but, to honor J. J. Rousseau,
I intend to give her a sash, the first sh... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Evening, Sept. 23.
I have been playing and laughing
with the little girl so long, that I cannot
take up my pen to address you
without emotion. Pressing her to my
bosom, she looked so like you (entre
nous, your best looks, for I do not admire
your commercial face) every nerve
seemed to vibrate to the touch, and I
began to think that there was something
in the assertion of man and wife
being one—for you seemed to pervade
my whole frame, quickening the beat
of my heart, and lending me the sympathetic
tears you excited.
Have I any thing more to say to you?
No; not for the present—the rest is all
flown away; and, indulging tenderness
for you, I cannot now complain of
some people here, who have ruffled my
tempe... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Paris, Sept. 28.
I have written to you three or four
letters; but different causes have prevented
my sending them by the persons
who promised to take or forward them.
The enclosed is one I wrote to go by
B——; yet, finding that he will not
arrive, before I hope, and believe, you
will have set out on your return, I
enclose it to you, and shall give it in
charge to ——, as Mr. —— is detained,
to whom I also gave a letter.
I cannot help being anxious to hear
from you; but I shall not harrass you
with accounts of inquietudes, or of
cares that arise from peculiar circumstances.—I
have had so many little
plagues here, that I have almost lamented
that I left H——. —&mda... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
October 1.
It is a heartless task to write letters,
without knowing whether they will
ever reach you.—I have given two to
——, who has been a-going, a-going,
every day, for a week past; and three
others, which were written in a low-spirited
strain, a little querulous or so,
I have not been able to forward by the
opportunities that were mentioned to
me. Tant mieux! you will say, and I
will not say nay; for I should be sorry
that the contents of a letter, when you
are so far away, should damp the pleasure
that the sight of it would afford—judging
of your feelings by my own.
I just now stumbled on one of the kind
letters, which you wrote during your
last absence. You are then a dear
affectionate crea... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
October 26.
My dear love, I began to wish so earnestly
to hear from you, that the sight
of your letters occasioned such pleasurable
emotions, I was obliged to throw
them aside till the little girl and I were
alone together; and this said little girl,
our darling, is become a most intelligent
little creature, and as gay as a lark,
and that in the morning too, which I
do not find quite so convenient. I
once told you, that the sensations before
she was born, and when she is
sucking, were pleasant; but they do
not deserve to be compared to the emotions
I feel, when she stops to smile
upon me, or laughs outright on meeting
me unexpectedly in the street, or
after a short absence. She has now the
advantage of having two good n... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
Dec. 26.
I have been, my love, for some days
tormented by fears, that I would not
allow to assume a form—I had been
expecting you daily—and I heard that
many vessels had been driven on shore
during the late gale.—Well, I now see
your letter—and find that you are safe;
I will not regret then that your exertions
have hitherto been so unavailing.
— — — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
Be that as it may, return to me when
you have arranged the other matters,
which —— ... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
December 28.
— — — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
I do, my love, indeed sincerely
sympathize with you in all your disappointments.—Yet,
knowing that you
are well, and think of me with affection,
I only lament other disappointments,
because I am sorry that you
should thus exert yourself in vain, and
that you are kept from me.
———, I know, urges you to stay,
and is continually branching out into
new projects, because he has the idle
desire to amass a large fortune, rather
... (From: Gutenberg.org.)
