WERTHER: And who is their father?
MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN: (Haughtily) I am the daughter of the schoolmaster. My husband has gone to Switzerland to receive an inheritance of money. They wanted to cheat him and would not answer his letters; so he has gone there himself. I hope he hasn’t met with an accident though, as I have heard nothing of him since his departure.
WERTHER: Buy some bread for your broth, little ones.
(WERTHER, tossing each of the children a coin, moves to the side and sits. The woman exits with her children. WERTHER prepares to begin sketching)
WERTHER: (Voice over) May 26. About a mile from the town is a place called Walheim. A good old woman lives there and she keeps a small inn. She sells wine, beer, and coffee, and is cheerful and pleasant despite her advanced age. The main charm of this place is its two giant Linden trees, spreading their enormous branches over the little green in front of the church, which is entirely surrounded by peasants’ cottages, barns, and homesteads. I have rarely before seen a place so peaceful; and I often have my table and chair brought out from the little inn, and I drink my coffee there while I read my Homer. I chanced upon it by accident one fine afternoon, and I found it perfectly deserted and still. Everybody was in the fields except for a little boy about four years of age, who was sitting on the ground by a plough, and holding between his knees another child of about six months old: he pressed it to his chest with both arms, which thus formed a sort of arm-chair; and, notwithstanding the liveliness which sparkled in its black eyes, the child remained perfectly still. The sight captivated me. I sat down opposite the plough, and joyfully sketched this little tableau of brotherly tenderness. I added the neighbouring hedge, the barn-door, and some broken cart-wheels, just as they were; and I found in about an hour that I had made a very precise and interesting drawing, without putting in the slightest invention of my own. This has strengthened in me the resolve to only copy nature in the future. Only nature is inexhaustible, and capable of forming masterpieces. Much may be said for rules and an artist raised upon them will never create anything completely bad or disgusting; just as a man who observes the law can never be an absolutely intolerable neighbour, nor a deplorable villain: but yet, say what you will of rules, they destroy the genuine appreciation of nature, as well as its true expression. Compare artistic talent to the love of a young man devoted to a girl. He dedicates to her every hour of the day, wears out his health, and spends his fortune on her, to prove that he is wholly hers. Then along comes a respectable man of title who says to him “My dear young friend, love is a natural passion; but you must love within reason. Ration your time: devote a portion to business, and allocate the hours of leisure to your beloved. Calculate your fortune; and out of the surplus you may make her a present, but not too often, - perhaps on her birthday, and other special occasions.” Following this advice, he may become a useful member of society, and be of service to his country; but it is all finished with his love, and with his genius too if he dreams to be an artist. Ah, why is it that the torrent of genius so rarely bursts forth, so seldom cascades in full-flowing stream, to overwhelm one’s amazed soul? Because, on either side of that stream live the respectable and passionless people, and, because their genteel summer-houses and flower-beds would suffer from the deluge of such unchecked genius; they dig trenches and construct dams in order to avert the impending peril of rule-less passion.
(WERTHER continues sketching the plough with children scene. A farmhand enters and sets to work arranging some part of the same plough which WERTHER is sketching. WERTHER smiles and inquires about his circumstances)
WERTHER: (Speaking no longer as a voice over) Hello, there. How are you, young man?
FARMHAND: I am fine, thank you, Sir.
WERTHER: Who are you working for?
FARMHAND: The widow M. She is the most wonderful creature, but she is no longer young and she was treated so badly by her former husband that she does not mean to marry again.
(Sighing as he thinks of her. Lights fade to black)
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* * *
Scene 3. On the road to the residence of LOTTE.
(The lights come up on WERTHER and ladies in a carriage on the way to a ball. The video on the cyclorama shows the appropriate scenery)
MISS A.: Werther, at the hunting-lodge you shall make the acquaintance of a very charming young lady.
LOTTE’S AUNT: (Teasing) Take care that you do not lose your heart.
WERTHER: And why shouldn’t I?
LOTTE’S AUNT: Because she is already engaged to a very worthy man, who has gone to settle his affairs after the death of his father, and who will indeed inherit a rather impressive fortune.
(WERTHER alights and walks across the stage to an imposing house, and, ascending the flight of steps in front, opens the door, and sees six children, as depicted by the video on the cyclorama. A young lady, dressed in a long dress of simple white, trimmed with pink ribbons is feeding them bread. She is bathed in a saintly glow of light and the soft strains of religious organ music can be heard faintly)
LOTTE: Please forgive me, Sir, for obliging you to fetch me, and for keeping the ladies waiting as well: but what with dressing, and arranging the last of the household chores before I leave, I had quite forgotten my children’s supper; and they will not take it from anyone but me.
(WERTHER is stunned and mutters something incoherently. LOTTE fetches her gloves and fan. The video shows the young ones throwing inquiring glances at him from a distance and he extends a hand towards their image)
LOTTE: Louis, shake hands with your cousin.
(They appear to shake warmly)
WERTHER: Cousin? Do you think I deserve the pleasure of being related to you?
LOTTE: (Smiling) Oh! I have so many cousins I would be sorry if you were the least deserving of them. Sophie, I want you to take good care of the children for me while I am gone and to say Goodbye to Papa for me when he returns from his ride. Children, you must obey Sophie as you would obey me. Now, now, no crying. Of course Sophie is not me but you must love her just as you love me.
(WERTHER and LOTTE join the ladies on the carriage. The video on the cyclorama shows the appropriate scenery)
LOTTE’S AUNT: Charlotte, have you finished that last book I sent you?
LOTTE: No, I did not like it: you can have it back. And the one before was not much better.
WERTHER: What is the book’s title?
LOTTE: Well, it was not the wonderfully epic poetry of Klopstock!
(WERTHER is visibly impressed. CHARLOTTE continues wistfully, with a little melancholy)
When I was younger I loved nothing more than the romantics. It was my greatest delight when, on some holiday, I would sit down alone in a corner, and lose myself in the joys or sorrows of some fictitious heroine. I confess I still can still find them captivating. But I read so rarely now that I believe the books I do read should befit my taste precisely. And I like those authors best whose stories describe my own situation in life - and that of my friends around me - which, whilst it is not absolute paradise, is, nevertheless, a source of indescribable happiness.
(With sudden energy, she dances as frivolously as the restrains of the carriage permit)
But dancing and music are now my greatest pleasures! If it is a fault to love dancing then I am guilty, guilty, guilty! If anything ever disturbs me, I simply find a piano, play an air to which I have danced, and all is once again pleasant.
(The lights go down)
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* * *
Scene 4. At the ball.
(The lights come up on a ballroom. The video shows the elegant party dancing a waltz)
LOTTE: It is the custom here for the previous partners to waltz together; but my partner is an indifferent dancer, and will feel delighted if I save him the trouble. Your partner is equally incapable: but I observed during the country dance that you waltz well; so, if you will waltz with me, I beg you to propose it to my partner, and I will pr
opose it to yours.
(They consult their partners whom agree and then WERTHER and LOTTE dance blissfully until the women in the video start raising disapproving fingers, whispering “Albert . . . Albert” Eventually they stop dancing and the video image freezes)
WERTHER: Who is this Albert, if it is not impolite to ask?
LOTTE: Why need I conceal it from you? Albert is a worthy man, to whom I am engaged.
(The video resumes action as the waltz continues. WERTHER appears confused and gets out of step in the dance. LOTTE gently pulls him into his proper place, before lightning and a thunder storm come over. The video on the cyclorama shows the appropriate scenery. There is the sound of frightened ladies shrieking)
LOTTE: Let us go into the shuttered room and play at counting. Pull your chairs into a circle. (They do so) Now, pay attention: I shall go round the circle from right to left; and each person is to count, one after the other, the number that comes to him, and must count fast; whoever stops or makes a mistake gets a box on the ear, and so on, till we have counted to a thousand.
(She goes round the circle - consisting of WERTHER, MISS A., LOTTE’s AUNT and other cast as available - with upraised arm. “One”, says the first; “Two”, the second; “Three”, the third; and so on, with LOTTE going faster and faster. One makes a mistake, instantly a box on the ear; and, amid the laughter that ensues, comes another box; and so on, faster and faster. WERTHER receives two. His pleasure is obvious. General laughter and confusion puts an end to the game long before they had counted as far as a thousand. The party breaks up as the storm ceases, and WERTHER follows LOTTE back to the ballroom)
LOTTE: The game banished their fears of the storm. I was, myself, as much frightened as any of them; but by affecting courage to keep up their spirits, I forgot my own apprehensions.
(They go to the window. It is still thundering at a distance: a soft rain is pouring down. The video on the cyclorama shows the appropriate scenery. LOTTE leans forward on her arms; her eyes wandering over the scene; she raises them to the sky, and then looks at WERTHER, whose eyes are moistened with tears; she places her hand on his.)
LOTTE: Klopstock!
WERTHER: Divine Klopstock!
(WERTHER bends over her hand, kisses it tenderly, and again looks up to her eyes. The lights go down)
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* * *
Scene 5. On the road to the residence of LOTTE.
(The lights come up. WERTHER and LOTTE are in the carriage riding home after the ball. The video on the cyclorama shows the appropriate passing scenery. Their companions are asleep.)
LOTTE: Werther, do you want to sleep too?
WERTHER: As long as I see your eyes open, there is no chance of my falling asleep.
(They both continue awake till they reach her door. The video on the cyclorama shows the appropriate scenery.)
WERTHER: (As she alights from the carriage)
May I visit you during the day?
LOTTE: (A little reluctantly)
Yes.
(The lights go down)
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* * *
Scene 6. A mountain village.
(The lights come up. WERTHER and LOTTE are visiting the VICAR at a small village in the mountains in the shade of two huge old Walnut trees. The video on the cyclorama shows the appropriate scenery)
VICAR: As to the oldest tree we do not know who planted it - some say one clergyman, and some say another: but the younger one, that one there behind us, is exactly the same age as my wife, fifty years old next October; her father planted it in the morning, and in the evening she came into the world. My wife’s father was my predecessor here, and I cannot tell you how fond he was of that tree; and it is just as dear to me. Under the shade of that very tree, upon a log of wood, my wife was seated knitting, when I, a poor student, ventured into this place for the first time, just twenty seven years ago. Her father took a liking to me and became my curate. Eventually I became his successor.
WERTHER: People are apt to complain - but with very little cause - that our happy days are few, and our evil days many. If our hearts are always disposed to receive the benefits Heaven sends us, we should likewise have strength to oppose any evil when it comes.
VICAR’S WIFE: But we cannot always command our tempers, so much depends upon the health: when the body suffers, the mind is ill at ease.
WERTHER: I acknowledge that, but we must consider such a disposition in the light of a disease, and ask whether there is no remedy for it.
LOTTE: That is more to the purpose and I think a lot can be done in this respect. When anything annoys me or blackens my moods, I find my way to the garden, hum a couple of country jigs, and soon everything is all right with me again.
WERTHER: That is what I meant, ill-humour resembles sloth: it is, of course, natural to us; but if we find the courage to exert ourselves, we can find joy in our work and pleasure in being active. The question is about the disagreeable feeling from which everyone would willingly escape, but none know their own ability without trial. The sick are glad to consult doctors, and subject themselves to the most Spartan regimen and the most nauseous medicines, in order to recover their good health. We preach against a great many crimes, but I cannot recall a sermon ever delivered against ill-humour.
VICAR: That may do very well for your town clergymen, but country people are never ill-humoured; though, indeed, it might be useful, now and then, to preach against ill-humour to my wife for instance, and, indeed, to the local judge.
(They all laugh, as does the VICAR, till he falls into a fit of coughing, which interrupts their conversation for a while.)
WERTHER: Some might describe ‘crime’ as too harsh a word to describe ill-humour. But no ill-humoured person can hide it without interrupting the well-being of those around him. Ill-humour arises from an inward acknowledgement of our own shortcomings, from an unease which always accompanies that envy which our ego engenders. If we see people happy, whom we ourselves have not made happy, we cannot bear the sight. Rather, we should ask ourselves every day, what good can I do to my friends? One’s only goal must be to increase their joy by sharing it with them.
(WERTHER’s eyes cloud with tears as he remembers a past tragedy)
And when you do not offer them such comforting happiness, when the last fatal illness seizes that friend whose untimely grave you have yourself prepared through neglect, when she lies pale and exhausted before you, with the kiss of death upon her languid face, then you will be standing at her bedside like a condemned criminal, with the bitter knowledge that now there is nothing you can do to save her; and the agonising knowledge plagues you, that despite all your efforts you are powerless and unable to ease her transition with a moment of consolation.
(WERTHER buries his face in his handkerchief and rushes to the side. LOTTE follows him)
LOTTE: Werther, you should go home. You get too carried away with things. If you’re not careful it will destroy you!
WERTHER: Yes, of course, you are right . . . my angel . . . I will live for your sake.
(Lights fade to black. A video projection of a montage of LOTTE is projected culminating in video of WERTHER sketching LOTTE’s profile. WERTHER continues as voice over)
Oh, Wilhelm! How foolish I must look whenever her name is mentioned, especially when I am innocently asked how I like her. How I like her! Oh, I hate that phrase. What sort of subhuman is he who merely likes Lotte, whose whole heart and being is not entirely absorbed by her. How I like her! It is like asking how I like reading Ossian. No, I am not deceived. In her eyes I see a genuine interest in me. Yes, I feel it; and I my heart tells me - dare I say it? - dare I utter those divine words? Yes, that she loves me! She loves me! How the idea strengthens me! And how honourable I must therefore be because she loves me! Is this mere presumption, or is it reality? I do not know any man able to better me in the heart of Charlotte; and yet when she speaks of her fiancé Albert with so much warmth and affection, I feel like the
court-martialled soldier who has been stripped of his rank, and deprived of his sword. How my heart skips when if by chance I touch her finger, or my feet meet hers under the table! I pull back as if from a hot stove; but some inexplicable force compels me to lean forward again. Sometimes when we are talking she folds her hand over mine, draws closer to me, and her sweet breath mingles with mine, and I feel as if struck by lightning. How her simple singing enchants me! There are times, when I feel ready to commit suicide, but she sings again; and instantly the gloom which was hanging over me is gone, and I breathe freely again . . . I have started Lotte’s portrait three times but cannot finish . . . it is most annoying – my skills in portraiture have never before failed me. So I have sketched her profile, and I must be happy with that . . .
(Pause)
Now Albert has arrived. Even if he were the noblest of the noble and I the most wretched of all the Earth’s wretches, I could not bear to see him possess her. Possession! - enough, her betrothed is returned, - he is a fine, worthy man, one whom I cannot help but like. Fortunately I was elsewhere at their re-union. I believe it would have broken my heart! Yet he is so considerate: he has not given Charlotte even a single kiss in my presence. God save him for it!