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Updated: May 7, 2025
If they were travelling with us, how they would jar! Ossian would tear the scenery in tatters with his apostrophes, Werther would make love to Mrs. Jack, and Charlotte couldn't cut an English household loaf with a hatchet. Keep to Egeria, though if one cannot stop at liking her, she is a dangerous subject."
"Five hundred dollars on one card!" cried Werther, and he waved a fluttering handful of greenbacks. "Five hundred dollars to any man of your lot or to any man in this house that can ride a real wild horse." "Where's your horse?" "Around the corner in a Twenty-sixth Street stable. I'll have him here in five minutes." "Lead him on," cried the ringmaster, but his voice was not quite so loud.
Scarcely had Goethe, in his Werther, published as it were a declaration of the rights of feeling in opposition to the tyranny of social relations, when, by the example which he set in Gotz von Berlichingen, he protested against the arbitrary rules which had hitherto fettered dramatic poetry.
So Goethe, in his memoirs, speaking of Werther, remarks, that "the composition of that extravagant work cured his character of extravagance." Godolphin thought often of Lucilla; but perhaps, if the truth of his heart were known even to himself, a certain sentiment of pain and humiliation was associated with the tenderness of his remembrance.
In his young manhood he made his bow reverentially to Goethe of Weimar; which did not check his hand from setting its mark on the sickliness of Werther. He was built of an extremely impressionable nature and a commanding good sense.
Nevertheless, "Werther" formed the real basis of Goethe's fame. The story is frankly sentimental, but as such it is easily the best of the sentimental novels of the eighteenth century. When, many years later, Goethe was invited to an audience with Napoleon, the emperor volunteered the information that he had read "Werther" through six times. Goethe died in March, 1832, in his eighty-fourth year.
"On considering more closely the much-talked-of Werther period, we discover that it does not belong to the course of universal culture, but to the career of life in every individual, who, with an innate free natural instinct, must accommodate himself to the narrow limits of an antiquated world.
We cannot do better than quote the judgment pronounced by Madame Sand herself, thirty years later, on this work of pure sentimentalism generated by an epoch thrown into commotion by the passionate views of romanticism the epoch of René, Lara, Childe Harold, Werther, types of desperate men; life weary, but by no means weary of talking.
My unconstrained genius throbbed in my arteries, ran through my blood, and bubbled over as if it wished to burst forth. My hand could not keep even with the course of my imagination; I was obliged to write in hieroglyphics. "Adieu to the empty reveries brought about by spleen, and to the meditations 'a la Werther'! The sky was blue, the air pure, life delightful my talent was not dead.
Werther muttered to Drew: "Here's where I hand him the lemon that'll curdle his cream," and ran out of the box and straight around the edge of the arena. New York, murmuring and chuckling through the vast galleries of the Garden, applauded the little man's flying coat-tails.
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