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.