“You cannot be saved, unfortunate man!  I see clearly that we cannot be saved!”

Werther was highly incensed at the observations which Albert had made to the judge in this matter of the prisoner.  He thought he could detect therein a little bitterness toward himself personally; and although, upon reflection, it could not escape his sound judgment that their view of the matter was correct, he felt the greatest possible reluctance to make such an admission.

A memorandum of Werther’s upon this point, expressive of his general feelings toward Albert, has been found amongst his papers.

“What is the use of my continually repeating that he is a good and estimable man?  He is an inward torment to me, and I am incapable of being just toward him.”

One fine evening in winter, when the weather seemed inclined to thaw, Charlotte and Albert were returning home together.  The former looked from time to time about her, as if she missed Werther’s company.  Albert began to speak of him, and censured him for his prejudices.  He alluded to his unfortunate attachment, and wished it were possible to discontinue his acquaintance.  “I desire it on our own account,” he added; “and I request you will compel him to alter his deportment toward you, and to visit you less frequently.  The world is censorious, and I know that here and there we are spoken of.”  Charlotte made no reply, and Albert seemed to feel her silence.  At least, from that time he never again spoke of Werther; and, when she introduced the subject, he allowed the conversation to die away, or else he directed the discourse into another channel.

The vain attempt Werther had made to save the unhappy murderer was the last feeble glimmering of a flame about to be extinguished.  He sank almost immediately afterward into a state of gloom and inactivity, until he was at length brought to perfect distraction by learning that he was to be summoned as a witness against the prisoner, who asserted his complete innocence.

His mind now became oppressed by the recollection of every misfortune of his past life.  The mortification he had suffered at the ambassador’s, and his subsequent troubles, were revived in his memory.  He became utterly inactive.  Destitute of energy, he was cut off from every pursuit and occupation which compose the business of common life; and he became a victim to his own susceptibility, and to his restless passion for the most amiable and beloved of women, whose peace he destroyed.  In this unvarying monotony of existence his days were consumed; and his powers became exhausted without aim or design, until they brought him to a sorrowful end.

A few letters which he left behind, and which we here subjoin, afford the best proofs of his anxiety of mind and of the depth of his passion, as well as of his doubts and struggles, and of his weariness of life.

December 12.

Dear Wilhelm, I am reduced to the condition of those unfortunate wretches who believe they are pursued by an evil spirit.  Sometimes I am oppressed, not by apprehension or fear, but by an inexpressible internal sensation, which weighs upon my heart, and impedes my breath!  Then I wander forth at night, even in this tempestuous season, and feel pleasure in surveying the dreadful scenes around me.