The Sorrows of Young Werther and Selected Writings

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

  When he had spoken these words, there was a miraculous clamor, for everyone present suddenly spoke for himself and expressed what he felt he should do; only the three maidens were silent. One had fallen asleep beside the harp, the second beside the parasol, the third beside the stool, and no one could blame them, for the hour was late. The flaming youths, after having bestowed a few pleasantries on the maidens, had turned all their attention to the most beautiful one of all—the Lily.

  “Take the mirror,” the old man told the hawk, “light up the sleeping girls with the first rays of morn and awaken them with light reflected from on high.”

  Now the serpent began to move. She dissolved the circle she had formed and wound her way in great rings to the river. The two will-o’-the-wisps followed her ceremoniously. Anyone might have taken them for very serious little flames. The old woman and her husband picked up the basket—its gentle light had been barely noticeable until now—and came forward, holding it one on each side, and it grew larger and larger and more and more luminous. They lifted the body of the youth into it and laid the canary on his breast. The basket rose and hovered over the head of the old woman as she followed closely behind the will-o’-the-wisps. The Beautiful Lily took the pug dog in her arms and followed the old woman, the man with the lamp brought up the rear of the procession, and the whole region was strangely illumined by the many different lights.

  When they came to the river, the little group saw—to their astonishment—a magnificent bridge spanning it. The beneficent serpent had prepared a shimmering path for them. They had already duly admired the translucent gems that formed the bridge in the daylight; now, at night, its brilliance was astounding. At the top, the bright arc stood out sharply against the dark sky, and in the water brilliant rays palpitated toward the center, demonstrating the span’s mobile firmness. Slowly the little procession crossed over, and the ferryman, looking out of his hut far away, saw with amazement the glowing circle and the strange lights moving across it.

  As soon as they had reached the other side, the span began to sway and undulate down to the water, and soon the serpent was moving across land, the basket set itself down on the earth, and the serpent again described a circle around it. The old man leaned forward and spoke: “What have you decided to do?”

  “Sacrifice myself before I am sacrificed,” said the serpent. “Promise me not to leave a gem on the ground.”

  The old man promised; then he said to the Lily, “Touch the serpent with your left hand and your beloved with your right.”

  The Lily knelt down and touched the serpent and the corpse. At once the youth seemed to come to life. He moved in the basket and sat up. The Lily wanted to embrace him, but the old man held her back. He helped the young man to rise and led him out of the basket and the circle.

  The youth was standing, the canary was fluttering on his shoulder, life had been restored to both of them, yet they still lacked spirit. The Lily’s handsome friend had his eyes open, but he did not see, or he saw all things without participation, and not until the general astonishment over this had died down did they notice how strangely the serpent had been transformed. Her beautiful, slender body had fallen apart, forming thousands and thousands of gems. The old woman, who had reached clumsily for the basket, had knocked against the serpent. Now nothing was left of her shape—only a beautiful circle of jewels lay on the ground.

  The old man at once began putting the precious stones into the basket, and his wife helped him. Then the two carried the basket to a projection on the banks of the river, and he spilled the jewels into it, not without protest on the part of the beautiful girls and his wife, who would have liked to pick out a few for themselves. The stones swam on the water like glittering, blinking stars, and there was no way of telling whether they were lost in the distance or sank. Then the old man spoke to the will-o’-the-wisps deferentially. “Gentlemen, I shall now show you the path and lead the way. But you will be doing us a great service if you open the portals to the inner sanctum for us. This time we must enter through them, and there are none beside you who can open them.”

  The will-o’-the-wisps bowed respectfully and remained behind; the old man with the lamp went on ahead into the rock, which opened up before him. The youth followed, still mechanical in his behavior; the Lily kept her distance behind him, silent and uncertain; the old woman, who did not want to be left behind, stretched out her hand so that the light of her husband’s lamp would surely shine upon it; and the will-o’-the-wisps brought up the rear. The points of their flames converged, as if they were conversing with each other.

  They had not proceeded like this for long, when the procession had to halt in front of a great bronze portal that was sealed with a golden lock. The old man immediately summoned the will-o’-the-wisps, who needed little encouragement and at once consumed lock and bolt with their sharp flames.

  The metal resounded loudly as the portal sprang open, and the noble statues of the kings in the temple were illuminated by the lights that now entered. Everyone bowed low before the honorable rulers, especially the will-o’-the-wisps, who couldn’t seem to stop their convolutions.

  After a slight pause, the golden king asked, “Where do you come from?”

  “From the world,” replied the old man.

  “Where are you going?” asked the silver king.

  “Out into the world,” said the old man.

  “What do you want here with us?” asked the bronze king.

  “To accompany you,” said the old man.

  The composite king was about to speak, but the golden king spoke first to the will-o’-the-wisps, who had come too close: “Get away from me. My gold is not for you,” whereupon they turned their attention to the silver king and nuzzled up to him, and his robe glowed with their yellow reflection. “You are welcome,” he said, “but I cannot nourish you. Eat your fill outside, then bring me your light.” They left him and slunk past the bronze king—who did not seem to notice them—to the composite king.

  “Who will rule the world?” the composite king asked, in his stammering voice.

  “He who stands on his feet,” answered the old man.

  “That’s me!” cried the composite king.

  “It will be revealed,” replied the old man, “for the time is at hand!”

  The Beautiful Lily threw her arms around the old man’s neck and kissed him fervently. “Holy Father,” she said, “a thousand thanks, for now I hear the fateful words for a third time.” She had scarcely finished speaking when she had to cling to him even more firmly, for the ground began to rock beneath them. The old woman and the youth clung to each other, too. Only the will-o’-the-wisps noticed nothing.

  That the whole temple was in motion, like a ship gliding gently out of harbor after the anchor has been raised, was very clearly palpable. The deeps of the earth seemed to open up before it as it passed through them. It bumped into nothing; no rock stood in its way.

  For a few moments, what seemed to be a fine rain dripped down through an opening in the dome. The old man held the Lily close and said, “We are under the river. Soon we shall have reached our destination.” Then it was as if they were standing still, but they were deceived—the temple was rising upward.

  Now there was a strange rumbling above their heads. Boards and beams, in shapeless conglomeration, began to crowd with a crash toward the opening in the dome. The Lily and the old woman sprang to one side, but the man with the lamp took fast hold of the youth and both stood firm. The ferryman’s little hut—for that was what the temple had scooped up out of the ground and was swallowing as it rose—sank down slowly, covering the youth and the old man.

  The women screamed, the temple shivered like a ship that has unexpectedly run aground, the women ran around the hut in the confusion of dawn, but the door was closed, and no one answered their knocking. They knocked harder and were greatly astonished when, after a while, the wood began to ring back metallically. The power of the shut-in lamp had turned the wooden hu
t to silver from the inside out. It wasn’t long before it also began to change its shape. The noble metal abandoned the random form of board, post, and beam, and expanded to take on the shape of a magnificent edifice of chased silver, and a beautiful miniature temple stood in the middle of the larger one or, you might say, the temple now included an altar that was worthy of it.

  And then the youth could be seen walking up a stairway that rose from the inside of the silver edifice. The man with the lamp was casting his light on the young man and another man seemed to be supporting him; he wore a white garment and held a silver oar in his hand and could be recognized at once as the ferryman, the former inhabitant of the transformed hut.

  The Beautiful Lily walked up the steps that led from temple to altar, but she still had to keep her distance from her beloved. The old woman, whose hand had grown ever smaller as long as the lamp had been hidden, cried, “Am I to remain miserable? With so many miracles, is there none to save my hand?” Her husband pointed to the open gate and said, “Look, the day is dawning. Hasten and bathe in the river.”

  “What sort of advice is that?” she cried. “I suppose you want me to go black all over and disappear completely. I haven’t paid my debt yet.”

  “Go,” the old man said. “Obey me. For all debts have been paid.”

  The old woman hurried off. Just then the light of the rising sun touched the open circle of the dome; the old man stepped between youth and maiden and cried in a loud voice, “Three things there are that rule the earth—wisdom, show, and power.”

  With the first designation, the gold king stood up; with the second, the silver one; with the third, the bronze king rose slowly to his feet as the composite king suddenly and clumsily sat down.

  In spite of the solemnity of the moment, it was difficult not to laugh, because he wasn’t sitting, he wasn’t reclining, he wasn’t leaning against anything—he simply collapsed shapelessly.

  The will-o’-the-wisps, who had been hovering around him, were at his side. Although paled by the morning light, they seemed well fed again and in full flame. With their pointed tongues, they had very cleverly licked out the golden veins of the colossal composite king. The irregular spaces thus formed had remained open for a while, and the figure had retained its form, but when the last little vein was hollowed out, the statue had crumbled, unfortunately just in those places that keep their shape when a man sits down. The joints, on the other hand, which should have bent, remained stiff. You either had to laugh or avert your eyes. This in-between thing, neither shape nor lump, was repulsive to behold.

  Now the man with the lamp led the handsome youth, who was still staring straight ahead, away from the altar and up to the bronze king. A huge sword in a bronze scabbard lay at the mighty ruler’s feet. The youth put it on. “A sword in your left hand and your right hand free!” cried the powerful king, whereupon the old man and the youth moved on to the silver monarch. He held out his scepter to the young man, who grasped it with his left hand. In a benign voice, the silver king said, “Herd the sheep!” When they came to the golden king, he placed his wreath of oak leaves on the youth’s head with a fatherly gesture of blessing and said, “Recognize what is highest!”

  As they made the round, the old man watched the youth closely. After he put on the sword, his chest expanded, his arms moved, his steps were firmer; when he took the scepter in his hand, a gentleness seemed to enter into his strength, making him more powerful in a rather indescribable way. But when the wreath was placed on his brow, his features came to life, his eyes glowed with incredible spirit, and the first word he spoke was, “Lily!”

  “Beloved Lily!” he cried, as he ran up the silver steps to meet her—for she had watched his movements from the top of the altar. “Beloved Lily, what could a man, who is equipped with all things, wish for that is more precious than innocence and the quiet love that your heart feels for me? Oh, my friend,” he went on, turning toward the old man, his eyes on the three sacred statues, “magnificent and secure is the kingdom of our fathers, but you forget the fourth power that rules the world before all others, more universally and with greater certainty—the power of love.” And with these words, he embraced the beautiful girl. She had cast aside her veil, and her cheeks were delightfully flushed.

  Then the old man said, “‘Love does not rule; it molds, and that is much more.”

  With all these festivities, this joy and rapture, no one had noticed that the day had dawned. Now quite unexpected objects suddenly attracted the attention of the little group. A large square surrounded by a colonnade formed an imposing courtyard at the end of which they could see a long, marvelous bridge with many lanes across the river. It had been lavishly constructed for the traveler’s convenience, with arcades on either side. Thousands of people had already found their way to it and were walking back and forth on it. The broad highway in the middle was alive with herds and mules, riders, and carriages. They moved with the stream of people without getting into one another’s way. Everyone seemed to be amazed by the practicality and splendor of the bridge, and the new king and queen were just as enchanted by the motion and liveliness of the people as by their love for each other.

  “Think of the serpent and honor her,” said the old man with the lamp. “You owe her your life, and your people owe her the bridge through which these neighboring shores are brought to life as countries, and united. Yonder gleaming jewels are the remains of the body she sacrificed; they form the basic pillars of your magnificent bridge. It has erected itself upon them and will support itself on them.”

  They were about to ask for an explanation of this wonderful and mysterious revelation, when four beautiful girls entered the temple through the portal. Harp, parasol, and chair helped to identify three of them as Lily’s companions, but the fourth, who was more beautiful than the others, was unknown to them. She accompanied them gaily and in a sisterly fashion through the temple and up the silver steps.

  “Will you believe in me more in the future, dear wife?” the man with the lamp said to the beauty. “Good fortune to you and to every creature who bathes in the river on this morn.”

  The rejuvenated and beautiful old woman—of whose former shape not a trace was left—embraced the man with the lamp with her revived and youthful arms, and he accepted her affection happily. “If I am too old for you now,” he said, smiling, “you may choose another husband today. From today on, no marriage is valid that has not been renewed.”

  “But don’t you know,” she cried, “that you have grown young, too?”

  “If you see a stalwart youth in me, then I am glad and I take your hand again and hope to live on into the next millennium with you.”

  The queen welcomed her new friend and descended into the altar with her and her three playmates, while the king remained standing between the two men, looking across the bridge and watching the crowd of people on it intently. But his satisfaction was short-lived, for he soon saw something that irritated him. The giant, who apparently had not awakened refreshed from his morning sleep, was staggering across the bridge, creating the wildest disorder. He was drowsy, as usual, and seemed intent on bathing in the cove where he always bathed. But instead of the inlet, he found himself on firm ground and was groping his way along the broad pavement of the bridge. He stumbled in the clumsiest fashion between people and cattle, but although his presence astounded everyone, no one could feel him. However, when the sun shone in his eyes and he lifted his hands to rub them, the shadow of his huge fists rammed with such impact and so clumsily into the crowd that men and animals fell in a heap, were hurt, and in danger of being swept into the river.

  When the king saw this outrage, he reached for his sword with an involuntary gesture, then seemed to think better of it and looked calmly at his scepter, and at the lamp and oar of his companions. “I can guess your thoughts,” said the man with the lamp, “but we are powerless against this powerless creature. Be calm. He does harm for the last time, and fortunately, his shadow is turned away from
us.”

  Meanwhile the giant had drawn closer and let his hands drop in astonishment at what he saw. He did no more damage and entered the open square, his mouth agape. He was approaching the portals of the temple when he was suddenly transfixed, just as he reached the center of the square. There he stood, a mighty colossus made of red, gleaming stone, and his shadow told the time on a circle that was laid out on the ground—not in numbers but in noble, significant symbols.

  The king was delighted to see the monster’s shadow put to some good use, and the queen was astounded when she emerged from the altar with her handmaidens, attired magnificently, and saw the strange sight that almost completely obstructed the view from temple to bridge.

  In the meantime, the populace had crowded behind the giant. When he came to a standstill, they surrounded him and stared in astonishment at his transformation. Then they turned their attention from him to the temple—which they had not seemed aware of until now—and crowded toward the portal. At that moment the hawk soared high above the dome with the mirror and caught the light of the sun in it and poured it down on the group standing on the altar. In the twilit vault of the temple, the king and queen, and their companions, seemed to be illuminated by a heavenly effulgence, and the populace fell on the ground before them. When they had recovered and risen to their feet again, the king had already descended into the altar with his retinue to proceed to the palace through secret passageways, and the people scattered through the temple, anxious to satisfy their curiosity. They stared in awe at the three standing monarchs, but were even more curious to know what could possibly lie hidden under a carpet in the fourth niche, for someone, in well-meaning modesty, had spread a magnificent cover over the collapsed king, which no eye could penetrate and no hand dared to remove.