JANUARY 20.

I must write to you from this place, my dear Lotte, from a small room in a country inn, where I have taken shelter from a severe storm. During my whole residence in that wretched place D—, where I lived amongst strangers,—strangers, indeed, to this heart,—I never at any time felt the smallest inclination to correspond with you; but in this cottage, in this retirement, in this solitude, with the snow and hail beating against my lattice-pane, you are my first thought. The instant I entered, your figure rose up before me, and the remembrance! O my Lotte, the sacred, tender remembrance! Gracious Heaven! restore to me the happy moment of our first acquaintance.

Could you but see me, my dear Lotte, in the whirl of dissipation,— how my senses are dried up, but my heart is at no time full. I enjoy no single moment of happiness: all is vain—nothing touches me. I stand, as it were, before the raree-show: I see the little puppets move, and I ask whether it is not an optical illusion. I am amused with these puppets, or, rather, I am myself one of them: but, when I sometimes grasp my neighbour’s hand, I feel that it is not natural; and I withdraw mine with a shudder. In the evening I say I will enjoy the next morning’s sunrise, and yet I remain in bed: in the day I promise to ramble by moonlight; and I, nevertheless, remain at home. I know not why I rise, nor why I go to sleep.

The leaven which animated my existence is gone: the charm which cheered me in the gloom of night, and aroused me from my morning slumbers, is for ever fled.

I have found but one being here to interest me, a Miss B—. She resembles you, my dear Lotte, if any one can possibly resemble you. “Ah!” you will say, “he has learned how to pay fine compliments.” And this is partly true. I have been very agreeable lately, as it was not in my power to be otherwise. I have, moreover, a deal of wit: and the ladies say that no one understands flattery better, or falsehoods you will add; since the one accomplishment invariably accompanies the other. But I must tell you of Miss B—. She has abundance of soul, which flashes from her deep blue eyes. Her rank is a torment to her, and satisfies no one desire of her heart. She would gladly retire from this whirl of fashion, and we often picture to ourselves a life of undisturbed happiness in distant scenes of rural retirement: and then we speak of you, my dear Lotte; for she knows you, and renders homage to your merits; but her homage is not exacted, but voluntary, she loves you, and delights to hear you made the subject of conversation.

Oh, that I were sitting at your feet in your favourite little room, with the dear children playing around us! If they became troublesome to you, I would tell them some appalling goblin story; and they would crowd round me with silent attention. The sun is setting in glory; his last rays are shining on the snow, which covers the face of the country: the storm is over, and I must return to my dungeon. Adieu!—Is Albert with you? and what is he to you? God forgive the question.

一月二十日

亲爱的绿蒂，我刚才为避一场暴风雪逃进了一家乡村小客栈；只有到了这儿，我才能给你写信。多久我还困在D城那可悲的窠巢里，忙碌在那班对于我的心来说完全是陌生的人们中间，多久我的心就不会叫我写信给你。可眼下，在这所茅屋中是如此寂寞，如此湫隘，雪和冰雹正扑打着我的小窗，在这儿我的第一个思念却是你。我一踏进门，你的倩影便出现在我的眼前，唤起了我对你的回忆，绿蒂呵，那么神圣，那么温馨的回忆！仁慈的上帝，这是许久以来你赐予我的第一个幸福时刻啊！

亲爱的，你哪知道我已变得多么心神不定，知觉麻木！我的心没有一刻充实，没有一刻幸福！空虚呀！空虚呀！我好像站在一架西洋镜前，看见人儿马儿在我眼前转来转去，不禁经常问自己，这是不是光学把戏呢？其实，我自己也参加了玩这把戏，或者更正确地说，也像个木偶似的被人玩，偶尔触到旁边一个人的木手，便吓得战栗着缩了回来。晚上，我下决心要享受日出，到了早晨却起不来床；白天，我希望能欣赏月色，天黑了又待在房中出不去。我闹不明白，我干吗起身，干吗就寝。

我的生活缺少了酵母；使我深夜仍精神饱满，一大早就跳下床来的兴奋剂已不知抛到了何处。

在此地我只结识了一个女子，一位名叫封·B的小姐；她就像你啊，亲爱的绿蒂，如果说谁还能像你的话。“哎，”你会说，“瞧这人才会献殷勤哩！”——此话倒也并非完全不对；一些时候以来，我的确变得有礼貌多了，机灵多了——不如此不行呵——。所以女士们讲：谁也不如我会说奉承话。“还有骗人的话。”你会补充说。可是，不如此不行呵，你懂吗？——让我还是讲封·B小姐吧。她是一个重感情的姑娘，这从她那一双明亮的蓝眼睛里可以看出来。她的贵族身份只是她的负担，满足不了她的任何一个愿望。她渴望离开扰攘的人群，我不止一次陪着她幻想过田园生活的纯净的幸福，啊，还幻想过你！她是多么经常地不得不崇拜你呵。不，不是不得不，而是自愿；她非常愿意听我讲你的情况，并且爱你。

呵，我真愿能再坐在你脚边，坐在那间舒适可爱的小房间里，看着我们亲爱的孩子们在我的周围打闹嬉戏！要是你嫌他们吵得太厉害，我就可以让他们聚到我身边来，安安静静听我讲一个可怕的故事。

美丽的夕阳慢慢沉落在闪着雪光的原野上，暴风雪过去了，而我呢，又必须把自己关进我那笼子里去……

再见！阿尔伯特和你在一起吗？你究竟过得……上帝饶恕我提这个问题！