Chapter VI: First Love

Far different had it been from the sunny stroll which they had enjoyed the previous day. The seemingly harmless clouds that had overhung the mountains since morning had now accumulated in threatening masses, and rolled in huge gray vapors over all the heavens. A wet, penetrating mist overspread the earth, and a chill wind that smelt already of the rain blew drearily, now and then shaking down showers of condensed moisture from the faded trees. As the two friends advanced, night came on so suddenly that more than once they strayed from the path and were obliged to retrace their footsteps. Goethe felt a grapple at his heart which led his thoughts incessantly backward. At the last moment, when he was taking leave in the porch, Alide had been sent by her father to fetch the plans for the rebuilding of the manse, which Goethe had offered to take with him to Strasburg.

"I am glad you are not going as far as the city to-night," said Rahel, looking up at the clouds: "what a gloomy ending for such a bright day!"

"And yet," replied Goethe, "I shall always think of the parsonage as an enchanted castle associated with perpetual sunshine."

"Well, if the storm should overtake you," answered Rahel, laughing, "my sister and myself will be the powerful princesses to protect you till you get beyond our dominions. Will we not, Alide?" And she turned to her sister, who reappeared with the scroll.

"That we will," said Alide, with spirit; "and here is my talisman to shield you from the dangers of the road."

When he looked back at her, he saw her smiling still upon him, until her fresh rose-face and white-clad form were lost in the folds of mist, and she vanished as weirdly and gradually as a spirit maiden.

"Well, I am not sorry to get under shelter after the infernal cold darkness of this night," cried Max, as they entered their room at the inn.

"We are fortunate to have escaped a storm," replied Goethe, and relapsed into silence.

"It is strange," resumed Waldstein, "that you should have hit upon that story to read to the girls. Did you not notice what a peculiar impression it made?"

"How do you mean? I could not help observing that the elder laughed more than was appropriate at certain passages, that Fräulein Alide shook her head, that you all looked significantly at each other, and you yourself were nearly put out of countenance. I do not deny that I almost felt embarrassed myself, for it struck me that it was perhaps improper to tell the dear girls a parcel of stuff of which they had better been ignorant, and to give them such a bad opinion of the male sex as they must have formed from the principal character."

"You have not hit it at all," said Max. "The 'dear girls' are not so unacquainted with such matters as you imagine, for the society around them gives occasion for many reflections; and there happens to be on the other side of the Rhine exactly such a couple as you describe, allowing a little for fancy and exaggeration; the husband just So tall and sturdy and heavy, the wife so pretty and dainty that he could easily hold her in his hand. Their mutual position in other respects, their history altogether, so exactly accords with your tale, that the girls seriously asked me whether you knew the persons and described them in jest. I assured them you did not; and if you follow my advice you will let the story remain uncopied. With the assistance of delays and pretexts you may easily find an excuse."

It was only this night that Alide experienced the vague trouble of a new passion. The ominous threats of a storm, so unexpected after the resplendent brightness of the day, the wild, melancholy howling of the rising wind, added to the turmoil of her own breast, held her eyes from sleep during the long, slow hours; and, though she could assign no cause, at intervals great tears would slowly gather under her lids and trickle down her cheeks. When she recalled her own avowal to Goethe, she felt her whole frame tremble and the blood mount to her face in the darkness. Just as she was about to soothe herself to sleep with the sweet thought that she loved and was beloved by one who was worthy, the storm broke without. The rain streamed in floods on roof and pane and gable, and startled her into hopeless wakefulness. She rose and looked out into the blurred blackness of the night, while a thousand fantastic terrors possessed her brain. The simple girl clasped her hands together, and, kneeling by her bedside, implored the blessing and protection of Heaven upon this stranger so suddenly endeared to her. This solemn communion finally succeeded in quieting her, and she was able to gain a few hours of profound and dreamless repose.

When she awoke, the clear sunlight was slanting through the lattice; she could catch glimpses without of the brightness of the rain-washed blue and green. Her heart was uplifted within her by the inspiriting sight. How shadowy, how childish, seemed all the distorted fears of the night before this dazzling reality! Goethe's words came back to her: "how little do we repose in the inexhaustible beneficence of the gods!" and from that moment a sense of perfect peace took entire possession of her. All day it was as though she walked upon the clouds; the earth seemed elastic beneath her footsteps; the air was a palpable tissue of color and radiance; the heavens were filled with saints and angels, who watched over him with the same universal eyes with which they shed all blessed influences upon her. Her own thoughts sufficed her for perpetual delight: every moment she recalled another expression, another gesture, another word that she had remarked the previous day. She lived over and over those magical hours. The toss of his head, the music of his laughter, the characteristic movement of his hand over his brow, the trick of his voice, the glimpse which she had caught of tears in his eyes as she looked at him after her song in the porch, and reminiscences more sacred than these which she scarcely dared put in words even in her mind, set the poor child's head in a whirl of happiness from morning till night.

The next day brought her a letter; there was no need to tell her who had traced the bold and graceful characters of the superscription. It was Fritz who carried it to her from the inn, and she had much ado to conceal from him the extravagant delight which it occasioned her. She succeeded, however, in receiving it with composure, even lingering a moment to question him about his sister and her new baby. Then she walked quietly away with her treasure in her hand. When she felt herself out of his sight, she paused with a fluttering heart to decide where she could enjoy it with the least danger of disturbance, and finally ran off in the direction of the little grove where she had found Goethe the morning after his arrival. She took her seat under the elm-tree, and fora few moments contented herself with gazing at her own name in these shapely Roman letters: "Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle Alide Duroc. The Parsonage, Sesenheim." She was in no haste to possess and secure her happiness; she liked to dally with it, that she might taste the sweetness of its every phase. At last she broke the seal, and read so slowly and deliberately that after a single reading she could have repeated it from beginning to end, for every word had burned itself upon her heart.

"STRASBURG, OCTOBER 15, 1770.

"MY DEAR NEW FRIEND,--I dare to call you so, for if I can trust the language of eyes, then did mine in the first glance read the hope of this new friendship in yours,--and for our hearts I will answer. You, good and gentle as I know you, will you not show some favor to one who loves you so? Dear, dear friend, that I have something to say to you there can be no question, but it is quite another matter whether I exactly know wherefore I now write and what I may write. Thus much I am conscious of by a certain inward unrest, that I would gladly be by your side, and that a scrap of paper is as true a consolation and as winged a steed for me here in noisy Strasburg as it can be to you in your quiet, if you truly feel the separation from your friend. The circumstances of our journey home you can easily imagine, if you marked my pain at parting, and how I longed to remain behind. Waldstein's thoughts went forward, mine backward; so you can understand how our conversation was neither interesting nor copious. At the end of the Wanzenau we thought to shorten our route, and found ourselves in the midst of a morass. Night came on, and we only needed the storm, which threatened to overtake us, to have had every reason for being fully convinced of the love and constancy of our princesses. Meanwhile, the scroll which I held constantly in my hand--fearful of losing it--was a talisman which charmed away all the perils of the journey. And now--oh, I dare not utter it!--either you can guess it, or you will not believe it! At last we arrived, and our first thought, which had been our joy on the road, was the project soon to see you again. How delicious a sensation is the hope of seeing again those we love! And we, when our coddled heart is a little sorrowful, at once bring it medicine, and say: Dear little heart, be quiet, you will not long be away from her you love; be quiet, dear little heart! Meanwhile we give it a chimera to play with, and then is it good and still as a child to whom the mother gives a doll, instead of the apple which it must not eat.

"You would not believe that the noisy gayety of Strasburg is disagreeable to me after the sweet country pleasures enjoyed with you. Never, mademoiselle, did Strasburg seem so empty to me as now. I hope, indeed, it will be better when the remembrance of those charming hours is a little dimmed,--when I no longer feel so vividly how good, how amiable, my friend is. Yet ought I to forget that, or to wash it? No, I will rather retain a little sorrow, and write to you frequently. And now many, many thanks and many sincere remembrances to your dear parents. To your dear sister, many hundred--what I would so willingly give you again.

J. W. G."

When she closed it, with a simple gesture she raised it to her lips and kissed it tenderly; her face wore an expression of celestial calm, and for a moment she sat with dreamy eyes, motionless, like one in a trance. Then, rousing herself abruptly, and breaking forth into a song half music and half laughter, she ran down the hill and home to the parsonage, for a walk with Rahel or a romp with Goetz.

Every day this joy was repeated, and nearly every day with the letter came such unostentatious gifts as he dared send her. The girl grew singularly meek and gentle under the softening influence of her happiness. She was continually asking herself what she had done to merit such a beautiful destiny, and her sole aim in his absence was to render herself in some degree worthy of his love.

Her parents could not find it in their hearts to endeavor to make her look with more circumspection at the total transformation of her life. Indeed, it was far from the honest pastor's wish to see her otherwise. The mother could not repress many a gloomy foreboding in reflecting upon the suddenness of the affection on either side, the youthfulness of both, the inexperience and simplicity of her daughter, and the premature worldly knowledge of the brilliant young man. But her husband had an answer for every objection.

"We must not forget, Kitty, in our zeal for our children's happiness, the feelings of our own youth. How much longer had I known you before we stole a march upon our elders? And, indeed, I cannot wonder at her fancy; I never saw myself a likelier lad. He has a better idea to-day of all that our house needs than Klug and Guédin together. Besides, though he did change his character the second day he was with us, I have not a doubt that he could fulfil his promise, and deliver a fair enough sermon for me on week-days."

"But it is not the assistance of a curate, Moritz, that you must put into the scale with our darling's happiness."

"Nay, wife; it is only as it influences my opinion of his abilities that I speak. And where could you find a more creditable match for her? His family is among the most respectable in Frankfort, and Waldstein bears testimony enough to the soundness of his heart. No, Kitty, let things run their own course. It has ever been my opinion that we elders interfere something too much in these matters. We cannot make our bleared old vision serve for these young people,--we see much that they may be happily blind to all their lives, and I warrant they have a world of wonderful sights around them that is closed to us. It is a miracle that two young hearts should know each other at sight, and make each other's sunshine for a lifetime, and yet it is a miracle that often comes to pass; there is a wiser One than we who watches over all. And do you know, Käthchen, when I look at our baby Alide's face now, I feel as young myself as though I were once again wooing thee." And he smiled with tears in his eyes, and kissed his wife's forehead.

Many a time Alide tried to express to Goethe her joy and gratitude, but nothing that she wrote could satisfy her, and it was with many misgivings that she finally dispatched to him a letter. Even this, as soon as it was fairly off, she would have recalled had it been possible. She had not read it over, and had written it so rapidly that she had no recollection of a single word it contained. The next morning, however, all her fears were lost in the glad thought with which she awoke. "He receives it to-day! How near we are together! It is almost as if I could stretch out my hand and press his own there in Strasburg. Perhaps he will come to me when he has read it!" And all day this idea gained in strength upon her, until she had firmly convinced herself that she would see him before night. She even told her sister that Goethe would be with them that evening.

"Oh, I am so glad!" cried Rahel. "And the Stockmars and the Hellers coming to-morrow! But how do you know? Will Max be with him?"

"One question at a time," said Alide, gently, who was a little startled out of her visionary faith by her sister's eagerness. "I cannot answer for Max, and Herr Goethe has not told me he would come; but I think he will be here."

"Oh, pshaw!" said Rahel. "It is one of your ridiculous fancies, Alide. I do not believe a word of it."