Chapter VIII: Happiness

The wind had subsided in the night, and one of those rare soft days that belong to the golden weather called St. Martin's summer, shone from the cloudless skies. A pale, blue-green haze overhung the earth; the breath of the air had something indescribably caressing. If one had looked only at the fresh verdure of the pasture-slopes, the dusky foliage of the vineyards, or the brilliant bloom of the garden, it would not have been difficult to fancy that the glory of the year was just developing; but along the woodland paths, and in the despoiled orchard, the bare branches and the crumpled brown leaves underfoot told a different tale, and lent the pathetic grace of evanescence to the exquisite scene. Clear and musical through the still atmosphere pealed the village church bells; but after the noise of Strasburg every sound made music to Goethe, as he walked by the side of Alide along the sweet fading fields, with the Sabbath quiet in the air. They had much to tell each other, for they now lived over together the days they had passed apart; now did Alide confess that her heart had prophesied his coming, and now she imparted to him her own serenity. The more familiar he became with this white maiden-soul, the more was he astonished at the circumspect cheerfulness, the naïveté combined with self-consciousness, the good and lovable qualities which at every word revealed themselves. He could discern, from the friendly greetings of the peasants whom they met, that she was benevolent and promoted their comfort. How many hours of such unalloyed happiness dare one promise one's self from life? And yet these two filled this perfect moment by looking forward and backward. They arranged their plans for the day, and decided how, among all the guests and the various amusements, they would keep together in the dance and the game.

Though they walked slowly, with many loiterings by the road, they reached the church all too soon for Goethe. The open joyousness of Alide's face gave way to a decorous expression of seriousness as she passed from the sunshine into the twilight of the sacred building. Goethe, young as he was, had long since dissociated the sentiment of religion from outward ceremony, and his thoughts and feelings underwent no change when he found himself in the place of worship. They sat alone, for Rahel and the mother were busied at home with preparations for their other guests. The young man dreamed away in a strange trance the hours of service; he was vaguely conscious of occasional bursts of music and of the monotonous voice of the pastor, and after all was over he knew that he had sat through a long sermon, of which he did not recollect a single word. Now and then he gave a sudden furtive glance at his companion. She did not seem to remember that he was beside her; her long golden lashes rested upon her fresh cheek as she bent her eyes constantly upon her prayer-book; her face was irradiated by a pure, spiritual calm. Once only did she turn and look upon him, before the sermon began, with an ineffable expression of tranquil joy beaming from her eyes, and then again she was rapt in her own world of simple devotion, with a dim fancy that he was following her, and that the pious platitudes of her father were inspiring Goethe with the same celestial satisfaction with which they nourished her. The pastor spoke of death and suffering, but to her nothing was sad in this exalted hour: death itself did not mean separation, but only closer and eternal union; and what was suffering on earth with such a one to comfort and to be comforted?

But he was far from her world at this moment: his piercing intellect, that had so early discerned the paradoxes of men's beliefs and broken loose from the shackles of creed and dogma, was haunted by, a childish superstition. He was overcome by the painful memory of the last time a woman's lips had pressed his own, and had cursed him while they kissed. He was no longer in the village church, where the pastor's voice went droning on, and the country sounds of bird and insect came sleepily through the open window that let in the blue sunbeams and the warm, summer-like air. He was in the close, small room of his dancing-master, where a few months ago the passionate, sibyl-like French girl had wound her arms about his neck, thrust her long white fingers in his hair, pressed her own black locks against his cheek, and, kissing him repeatedly on the mouth, in a mad paroxysm of jealousy, cried out, "Woe upon woe for ever and ever to her who kisses these lips for the first time after me!"

It all came back to him now; indeed, he had not forgotten it heretofore, but he had without difficulty held himself aloof from women, for he was pleased to imagine that such a consecration sanctified no less than cursed his lips. It had even flattered his vanity to think that he had some subtle power to injure, in an unheard-of spiritual manner, any woman from whom he courted this favor, that may mean so much or so little. But now he paused to free himself from the spell; he knew that in the rural games that would be indulged in during the day he should in all probability be required to claim the forfeit of a kiss from his beloved, and he shuddered at the consequences of the harmless pastime, and taxed his utmost ingenuity to devise some means of evasion.

When the service was over, Alide rose with a visible benediction upon her face; but Goethe remained anxious and subdued. An unutterable pity and tenderness overcame him when he looked at her and thought that over and above his own will, nay, in opposition to the most sacred instincts of his heart, Fate working through him might injure, crush, or ruin this exquisite creature. However, when they were once more in the fragrant air of the open meadows, all morbid fears and presentiments passed from his mind. With an impatient toss of his head he shook them from him, as one might disperse a swarm of troublesome insects, and gave himself up wholly to the enjoyment of the present.

As they neared the parsonage, they saw the various guests enlivening with their bright-colored costumes the garden and porch. "Ah, there is dear Rosa Stockmar!" cried Alide. "I was so afraid she would not be with us,--I am sure you will like her, Herr Goethe. That is she in blue, standing under the apple-tree, with Rahel and Cousin Wilhelm. And there are Joachim Heller and his sister Margaret, and in the porch stands Dr. Braun. How pleasant that they should already have arrived!"

With the charming self-possession of a simple nature, she entered the gate with the stranger by her side, and welcomed them all heartily with such frank interchanges of affection between cousins and old acquaintances, as would have aroused her new friend's jealousy had they not been given and taken with such innocent freedom. Then with equal ease and grace she presented Herr Wolfgang Goethe, and in a few moments the conversation was as lively and unrestrained as though they were a bevy of life-long friends.

"Let us go to my arbor," said Alide. "We shall be sheltered from the sun, which is quite too warm for November; and, besides, I have ordered my fairies to prepare a surprise for you there."

They set out in high spirits for the arbor, Alide foremost with her cousin Wilhelm, and Goethe with the merry Rosa Stockmar by his side. Now he could contrast his sweetheart's refinement of beauty, breeding, and nature with the provincial tone of her circle. Rosa was a gay, bright-eyed little creature, of thoroughly plebeian type, and, though there was nothing indecorous or even imprudent in her remarks and jests, still, their unabashed freedom and familiarity wellnigh amounted to coarseness. Almost immediately she began to rally her companion on his interest in their young hostess.

"I suppose you do not come from our parts," said she, scrutinizing him openly; "for I have never seen you nor heard your name before. But there is one thing I can answer for. You have never seen on either side of the Rhine a sweeter girl than Alide Duroc. She is a perfect darling. Mamma often tells me I am wrong to praise her so much, for I shall never please where she is a favorite,--she is too stately and reserved. But, pshaw! what do I care? What is in me, that will come out, and I have my eyes well open. I know whom she has already pleased. Do you know what I will do? We are to have plenty of games this afternoon; I suppose you can play them, though you do look like His Highness's lord-in-waiting. Well, I will warrant you, when we play jack's-a-light, to win a forfeit from Alide, and you may ask for whatever you please. You don't look like a lad who would let his chances slip through his fingers."

Before Goethe could remonstrate, they had reached the crest of the little hill, and found themselves in Alide's "Rest." Her "surprise" was a luncheon spread in the middle of the grove; and the exclamations of delight and admiration which broke from the guests rewarded her for the pains she had bestowed on the tasteful decoration of her arbor. The meal was enjoyed with the buoyant merriment of youth, and here, as elsewhere, Goethe led the gayety. With song, jest, and anecdote he amused those within hearing, and exhilarated all by the contagious example of his own almost reckless spirits. Whatever he did, he did in earnest. It is this faculty of great men which makes their simplest action fresh and original; they are generous of their soul, they meet with abundant vitality the demands of every hour, and thus shed a peculiar glory upon whatever claims their regard. To have seen Goethe at such a moment as this, one would have supposed him ambitious of no higher enjoyment than that of a frolic or a festival; he was the veriest boy of the party in liveliness and fun. And yet it needed no keen observer to perceive that "nothing he did but smacked of something greater than himself," for the magnetism of his personality bore as emphatically the impress of his genius as anything durable that he has left behind.

During the day and evening he succeeded skillfully in evading the forfeit of a kiss from Alide, though his escape was rendered the more difficult by the roguish interference of Rosa Stockmar and her companions, who tried to force them together in order to be amused with their confusion. The greater part of the day was spent in the open air, and the soft sunshine, the transparent haze, the delicate purity of the remote pale sky imperceptibly did their share towards filling with joyful serenity these two youthful hearts just expanding into the perfect blossom of love. The knowledge that each heart beat only for the other sufficed to make the presence of all this merry company unreal as any dream. The swift eyebeams interchanged, the pressure of a hand in the game, the close embrace in the rapid waltz, made a mute, delicious communication that satisfied them both for the time.

After dinner, Goethe had been talking with the pastor about the old gentleman's favorite theme, the rebuilding of the parsonage, and had offered to prepare a ground-plan. Dr. Duroc, highly pleased, hurried off at once to confer with the schoolmaster, so that the yard and foot measure might be ready early on the morrow. At that moment Alide hastened to Goethe's side. "How kind, how good you are," she said, "to humor my dear father on his weak side!--not, like others, to get weary of this subject, to avoid him, or to break it off. I must indeed confess to you that the rest of us do not desire this building: it would be too expensive for the congregation, and for us also. A new house, new furniture! Our guests would not feel comfortable with us, now that they are accustomed to the old building. Here we can treat them liberally; there we should find ourselves straitened in a wider sphere. But do not you fail to be agreeable. I thank you for it from my heart."

On the following day the measurement of the house took place. It was a slow proceeding, for Goethe was as little of an adept in the art as the schoolmaster himself. At last he decided to return to Strasburg immediately, to prepare more conveniently and deliberately the plan which had occurred to him. The good father was delighted at the young man's interest in the scheme, and granted permission to leave at once. Alide herself dismissed him with joy; now that each felt certain of the other's love, the six leagues seemed no longer any distance, and a constant communication could be kept up through the diligence, messengers, and letters. He therefore once more bade farewell, with the promise of a speedy return, and, supported by a buoyant feeling of hope, set forth on his journey to town.

It was already dark when he reached his lodging, but the first thing he did was to seat himself at his desk and draw as neatly as possible the plan which he had conceived. When he had succeeded in sketching out a tolerably good idea of the whole, he laid it aside with a sigh of pleasure and satisfaction, and began a letter to Alide. It was late at night before he could tear himself away from this charming occupation. While he wrote, she seemed to be before him, brightening his dingy, lamp-lit room with her own open-air atmosphere. He could not weary of conjuring up in imagination the endowments of her beautiful nature and nourishing the hope of seeing her soon again. Early the next morning this letter was dispatched, with a little package of books, and his own messenger brought back to him her answer of thanks and affection. Thus for a few days the delicious nothings of love were transported between these bewitched ones, annihilating space and time, and uniting them in the closest communion of thoughts and feelings. There was no longer any need of an address from his worthy medical instructor. Those words spoken at the right time had so completely cured him of his morbid desires that he had no particular inclination to see the professor or the patients again. At the end of the week he received a letter from Alide inviting him to a festival, for which some friends from the other side of the Rhine were also coming, and begging him to make arrangements for a long stay. This he did by packing at once a stout portmanteau on the diligence, and in a few hours he was in her presence.

She was standing in the centre of a noisy group of young people, holding her arm upraised, while they tried to guess what she concealed in her closed hand. He had not been announced, but she felt his presence as he stood in the doorway. Her arm dropped by her side; "Wolfgang!" she murmured under her breath, as she sprang forward to welcome him. But her delight was saved from seeming conspicuous by the apparently equal pleasure manifested on the part of all her family. "Papa, mamma, here is our good friend Goethe!" cried Rahel, as she warmly pressed his hand, while the pastor and his wife greeted him with the familiarity of an old friend.

"Who can he be?" "One would say they were all in love with him!" "Where can he have come from?" were the whispered comments of the guests as they saw their sport interrupted by this intruder.

But soon the rich, resonant voice of Goethe was heard above them all. "Do not let me interfere, my dear, kind friends, with your pleasure. It is like coming home to find myself again in your happy circle; but, if Madame Mamma and the young ladies will excuse me, I will retire at once with you, Dr. Duroc, to show you the sketches I have brought, and with your permission I will return soon and enter into the game."

"What! already you have made these sketches? Impossible!" exclaimed the delighted pastor. "You are a capital fellow! Come with me at once, and we will look them over on the porch." And, resting his hand in a fatherly manner on the young man's shoulder, he went with him from the room.

When he saw the beauty of the spotless parchment, with the bold yet delicate lines traced upon it in accordance with his own dearest views, he was quite beside himself with joy.

"I see! I see!" he cried; "this is just such a plan as I would have designed myself. Here indeed is the most beautiful result attained with the greatest economy of means and combined with the highest utility. Ah, my dear boy, what genius inspired you in sketching this plan? You will one day be a great architect. But I stand and prate, instead of exhibiting this exquisite piece of workmanship to our friends within. Come back with me, and let me show it to them at once."

Goethe had stood by, smiling with pleasure at his own success and at the pastor's gratification, but he became serious at this, and interposed hurriedly,--

"Nay, my good sir, I am afraid yonder merry folks are not just now in the mood to examine my sketches carefully, and they might not concur in your flattering estimate."

"Tut, tut, child!" replied Dr. Duroc; "no false modesty! I think I know a good thing when I see it. Come along with me."

And with the sheets in one hand, and with the other gently drawing Goethe by the wrist, he returned in high good humor to the room. The game was just over, and the company were scattered about in little groups, evidently expecting, like so many children, some new diversion to be offered them.

"My good people," said the host, as he led Goethe among them, "I am proud to present to you my talented young friend Herr Wolfgang Goethe. Only see what a specimen of his handiwork I have here to show you!"

His visitors took little notice of Goethe's profound bow, but hastened towards the library-table, curious to see what novel entertainment was going forward. The young man, however, was no whit disconcerted, for a reassuring smile from Alide, together with a deprecatory shrug of her shoulders as she indicated by a cunning side-glance the other guests, dispelled immediately any embarrassment which so brusque an introduction and so ungracious a reception might have occasioned.

"Look!" cried the simple pastor; "is not this just such a manse as you would wish your vicar to dwell in?" And he unfolded sheet after sheet and pointed out the various beauties and conveniences. But he met with no sympathy on the part of his friends: knowing the work to be that of so exceedingly young a man, whose name was, moreover, quite unfamiliar, each one was anxious to cavil at every particular and thus display his own superior knowledge.

"These chimneys are quite out of date," said one: "they have been superseded by a much better style."

"The porch is entirely out of harmony with the rest of the building," sneered another: "one might as well vault a Gothic arch over an Ionic capital."

"It is not possible to throw the stairs so far back," suggested the wisest head of all. "It looks well on paper, but a very little practical experience would have told him that it could not be carried into effect."

Goethe stood by in calm superiority, with a feeling of intense amusement. It was as if he had no interest in the success of these sketches which he had wrought out so diligently and with such admirable skill. He was too happy in Alide's presence to entertain a moment's anger, and he heard their rude and ignorant remarks with the unconcerned critical pleasure with which he might have sat a spectator of one of Molière's comedies. But Alide was flushed with shame and indignation at the unmannerly behavior of her guests, no less than at their injustice to this gifted, courteous, incomparable young man. She could not have conceived that their opinions were not of the slightest account to him, for this was all her world, and she longed to go forward to Goethe and efface the painful impression with kind, encouraging words.

As for the pastor, he assumed an odd expression of wonder and bewilderment on hearing such unsparing censure of that which had to him appeared so excellent. But all other feelings were absorbed in rage when a pompous, officious, elderly man behind him, coolly taking a pencil from his pocket, drew with a bold, free hand such coarse lines and marks upon the clear white paper as irretrievably to destroy the symmetry of the original design.

"How dare you, sir?" cried the pastor, suffocated with anger and disappointment. "How have you the insolence----"

"Papa! papa!" interposed Rahel, trying to calm him.

"Do not be so vexed, dear sir," said Goethe, quietly stepping forward. "It is nothing, I assure you, that cannot be easily remedied. I am more than indebted to this experienced gentleman for his generous suggestions. In reality, sir, no harm is done. You know I told you these were but the sketches from which the perfect drawings were afterwards to be constructed; and I doubt not that I shall be able to devise something far better on a second trial."

"Yes, you are kind, you are generous," said the pastor; "but this is too outrageous. Perhaps in a little while I may be able to forget it." And, endeavoring to conceal his excited temper, he hastened from the room.

Alide now advanced to Goethe, and, taking him frankly by the hand, she thanked him aloud for his attention to her father and for his patience under so great an annoyance. Just then the discomfited author of all this mischief, who had erred only through ignorance, mustered sufficient courage to step up to them both, and earnestly begged Goethe's pardon for the vexation he had caused him. Goethe was only too glad to accept his excuses, and thus in a few moments perfect harmony was restored.

"Do you not recognize Raymond and Melusina?" whispered Alide, as the repentant mar-feast retired. "It is Herr Bernard, and that dainty little creature in the corner is his wife. We call her Melusina ever since you read to us in the summer-house."

Thus he was flattered by seeing the impression his ideas had already made on this circle, of which he had yet seen so little. His words were treasured, his thoughts were adopted, his least action was rendered significant by the importance it assumed in these indulgent eyes.

The remainder of the day was spent with still more gayety and pleasure than the last Sunday he had passed by the side of Alide. Without effort, he succeeded in imparting additional zest and vivacity to every pastime and heightening every frolic by many a comical choice. His unbounded happiness made him even more than usually talkative, merry, ingenious, forward; and yet he was kept in moderation by esteem and attachment. She on her part was open, sympathizing, cheerful, and communicative. They both appeared to live for the company, and yet lived only for each other. After dinner they went outside, for the season was particularly mild and genial, and sought the shade, where social games were begun. On redeeming the forfeits, everything was carried to excess. The gestures which were commanded, the acts which were to be done, the problems which were to be solved, all showed a mad joy that knew no limits. Alide shone by many a droll thought; she appeared to Goethe more charming than ever. All superstitious, hypochondriacal fears vanished, and when the opportunity offered of heartily kissing one whom he loved so tenderly, he did not miss it, nor deny himself a repetition of the pleasure.

After the games, one of the party succeeded in hunting up a couple of village musicians, and a waltz was enjoyed in the meadow. The national dance known as the "Allemande" had superseded all others, and in this their young limbs and light hearts did not tire. It was Alide's favorite amusement, and she was delighted to find in Wolfgang a graceful, expert partner. Again and again they waltzed together, losing sight of all prudent considerations in the exhilaration caused by the lively movement, the close embrace, the whispered words that thrilled through either's soul, the intoxicating freedom of the fresh mountain-air, the elastic earth beneath, and the boundless horizon around.

There was an interlude in the music, and he led her some distance from the company to a rustic seat that had been built in a circle around the colossal trunk of an oak-tree. She was not red and breathless like the others; the fluttering of her heart was more evident in the increased brilliancy of her eyes than in the scarcely-perceptible flush that heightened the natural rose of her cheeks. Under the almost transparent ruffles of her white stomacher, he could see the purer warm white of her soft neck rise and fall with somewhat quickened palpitations, but outwardly she was as calm as though she had not taken part in the waltz. For this delicate, supple creature, motion was as easy and natural as rest.

Just as she took her seat, Rahel, who had followed them with her eyes, advanced hurriedly and whispered in her sister's ear, loud enough to be heard by Goethe, "Everybody is remarking you; mamma is greatly displeased, and we all advise you to go no further in this wild manner." So saying, she ran away to rejoin her companions. Alide looked up at Goethe with the troubled, frightened expression of a child who appeals for a caress no less than for protection. Her eyes were brimming with tears, her cheeks glowing with pain and shame. He took the dear little flower-face between both his hands, and, bending over her, kissed tenderly the pouting lips. "My darling, I love you: is not that enough?" The wistful mouth broke into a radiant smile, though the dim moisture of the eyes gathered into two lustrous, happy tears that quivered upon the lashes. Gently she disengaged herself from the clasp of his hands, and, with a little sigh of peaceful joy, rested her head in silence upon his breast.

For a moment neither spoke or moved, save that the caressing fingers of Goethe stroked softly the warm, wavy gold above her brow. He was the first to break the stillness.

"I know that I am foolish, sweetheart; your loving kindness, your tender confidence, these are much, far more than I deserve, and yet my heart hungers in this silence to hear you utter such words as I have spoken."

She broke from his embrace, clasped her hands together, and, upturning to him a countenance so transfigured and exalted by love that he would scarcely have known it for that of the child who had reposed on his breast, whispered, passionately, "I love you--I love you--I love you!" And, almost falling from her seat, she hid her burning face in her hands.

"That is my own Alide; how can I thank you?" he said, soothingly, as with indescribable tenderness he withdrew her hands and kissed them gratefully. Then, slipping one quietly through his arm, he went on: "Rise, my betrothed; we will take a walk through the meadows; the fresh air will cool your flushed cheeks, and we shall be able to meet once more with composure our friends."

She obeyed, though her slight frame trembled as she leaned upon his arm. But it was only the excitement of the first few moments that wrought such a powerful effect upon her sensitive temperament She was soon quieted into her ordinary calmness, and even her lively flow of spirits was restored, as she walked with him across the sunset fields. Long and slender before them their shadows fell upon the bronzed grass that basked in the last rich glow of the autumn sunset. A narrow bar of purple cloud rested motionless in the green clearness of the western sky; it was the only vapor in that sweep of ethereal brilliancy from east to west. So these two sauntered amid the gorgeous panorama of earth and cloud and sky, carrying within their own hearts the very fire of heaven.

The daylight had faded, and moon and stars were rising, as they rejoined their companions at the parsonage.