October 19.  Alas the void—­the fearful void which I feel in my bosom!  Sometimes I think, if I could only once press her to my heart, this dreadful void would be filled.

October 30.  A hundred times I have been on the point of embracing her.  Heavens! what a torment it is to see so much loveliness passing and repassing before us, and yet not dare to touch it.  And to touch is the most natural of human instincts.  Do not children touch everything that they see?

November 8.  Charlotte reproves me for my excesses with so much tenderness and goodness.  I have lately drunk more wine than usual.  “Don’t do it,” she said; “think of Charlotte.”  “Think of you,” I answered; “can such advice be necessary?  Do I not ever think of you?” She immediately changed the subject to prevent me pursuing it further.  My dear friend, my energies are all prostrated; she can do with me what she pleases.  Yesterday, when I took leave, she seized me by the hand, and said, “Adieu, dear Werther!” It was the first time she had ever called me “dear.”  I have repeated it a hundred times.

IV.—­“I am Resolved to Die"

November 24.  She is sensible of my sufferings.  This morning her look pierced my soul.  I found her alone; she was silent, and only gazed steadfastly at me.  Oh, who can express my emotions?  I was quite overcome, and bending down, pronounced this vow to myself, “Beautiful lips, which angels guard, never will I seek to profane your purity with a kiss.”  And yet, oh, I wish—­But, alas, my heart is darkened by doubt and indecision.  Could I but taste felicity, and then die to expiate the sin.  What sin?

December 21.  I am lost.  My senses are bewildered, my recollection is confused, my eyes are bathed in tears.  I am ill, and yet am well.  I wish for nothing; I have no desires; it were better I were gone.  I saw Charlotte to-day; she was busy preparing some little gifts for her brothers and sisters, to be given to them on Christmas Day.  “You shall have a gift too,” she said, “if you behave well.”  “And what do you call behaving well?” I asked.  “What should I do; what can I do?” “Thursday night,” she answered, “is Christmas Eve; the children are all to be here, and my father too; there is a present for each of them.  Do you come likewise, but do not come before that time!”

I started.  She must have seen my emotion, for she continued, hastily “I desire that you will not.  It must be so; I ask it of you as a favour, for my own peace and tranquillity.  We cannot go on in this manner any longer!” It were idle to attempt to describe my emotions I was as if paralysed; it was as if the sun had suddenly gone out.  When I recollected myself, Charlotte was trying to speak on some indifferent topic.  “No, Charlotte,” I explained, “I understand you perfectly.  I will never see you again!”

December 22.  It is all over, Charlotte; I am resolved to die.  I make this declaration deliberately and coolly, without any romantic passion, on the morning of the day when I am to see you for the last time.  At the moment that you read these lines the cold grave will hold the remains of that restless and unhappy being who, in his last moments of existence, knew no pleasure so great as that of conversing with you.