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Updated: May 16, 2025
Every now and then he would make brief remarks upon the personages or the incidents of his book, by which I could judge that he was a man of the very keenest sensibilities "Ah, brigand!" "O malheureuse!" "O Charlotte, Charlotte!" The work which this gentleman was perusing is called "The Sorrows of Werter;" it was all the rage, in those days, and my friend was only following the fashion.
"A celebrated German writer," lisped the modest Miss Macdonald. "I never heard his name," persevered the indefatigable Boreall; "how do you spell it?" "GOETHE," re-lisped modesty. "Oh! Goty!" exclaimed the querist. "I know him well: he wrote the Sorrows of Werter." "Did he indeed, sir?" asked Vivian, with the most innocent and inquiring face.
She stared, and said she had never heard of the person I mentioned, but that she had read Tears of Sensibility, and Rosa Matilda, and Sympathy of Souls, and Too Civil by Half, and the Sorrows of Werter, and the Stranger, and the Orphans of Snowdon.
Fourteen people are cooling their heels yonder, waiting until you have finished your beer and your sentiment!" My friend slunk muttering out of the room. "That fellow," said Schneider, turning to me, "is our public executioner: a capital hand too if he would but keep decent time; but the brute is always drunk, and blubbering over 'The Sorrows of Werter!"
"I have been introduced," he wrote, in July, 1792, "to M. de Goethe, the celebrated author of Werter, so you must not be surprised if I should shoot myself one of these fine mornings." In the spring of 1793 the youth returned to England, very full of German romantic tale and song, and with more paper covered with wild fancies of his own. After the next Christmas he returned to Oxford.
But don't you think she behaved cruelly to Werter? Perhaps you knew him?" "No, madam; this lamentable story happened before I was born." "How unhappy for him! I am sure you would have made the most charming friends in the world! Have you a friend, Mr. Constantine." The count looked at her with surprise. She laughed at the expression of his countenance.
Glowry was involved in a lawsuit, which compelled his attendance in London, and Scythrop was left alone, to wander about, with the "Sorrows of Werter" in his hand. He now became troubled with the passion for reforming the world, and meditated on the practicability of reviving a confederacy of regenerators.
I allow, that the subjects formerly pourtrayed by the needle were not pictoresque, yet, the tendency considered, young ladies might as well employ their silk or pencils in exhibiting Daniel in the lions' den, or Joseph and his brethren, as Sterne's Maria, or Charlotte and Werter.
"I never," continued she, in the same lively strain, "I never read anything half so laughable in all my life. What a capital farce it is, sir!" The poet, astounded, could scarcely believe the evidence of his ears. "'The Sorrows of Werter' a farce!" he murmured faintly. "Oh yes, never was anything so exquisitely ridiculous," rejoined Catalani, with a ringing burst of laughter.
"Sir, it was by Edward's free consent and my niece's; but the guillotine was in the court-yard! Question Schneider's famulus, the man Gregoire, him who reads 'The Sorrows of Werter."
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