QUIET PLEASURES
As the winter approached, Goethe was obliged to pass the greater part of
his time in the city, though, to say the truth, he was there as much
absorbed by the image of Alide as while he remained in her presence.
Thus he availed himself of every conceivable pretext to ride over to the
parsonage, to pass the long, pleasant evenings in that happily-united
circle, and return through the frosty red dawn to his occupations in
Strasburg. The joyous Christmas festival, celebrated with so much quaint
and picturesque ceremony in Germany, afforded him the opportunity for an
unusually prolonged visit. They enjoyed together all the healthy winter
pastimes, no less varied than the sports of milder seasons; the long,
rapid drives and rides over the frozen ground, or in sledges through the
snowy fields, the merry skating adventures upon the ponds in the
vicinity, and the cheerful evenings in the snug inclosure of the
library, where all the family gathered around the blazing logs of the
great open hearth and listened to him unweariedly while he read aloud or
recounted to them many a winter's tale.
The affair was allowed to take its course without the question being
directly asked as to what was to be the result. The parents thought
themselves compelled to let the young folks continue for awhile in a
wavering condition, with the hope that accidentally something might be
confirmed for life, better perhaps than could be produced by a
long-arranged plan. It was believed that perfect confidence could be
placed both in Alide's sentiments and in Goethe's rectitude, of which,
on account of his forbearance even from innocent caresses, a favorable
opinion had been entertained. The little birds in his heart began to
sing once more; he was able to give rhythmical expression to his
happiness, and with his letters he would frequently send such verses as
were the natural outpouring of his ethereal fancies and ardent longings.
Painted ribbons had just then come into fashion: he amused himself with
designing the most fantastic and poetical devices on a few silken strips
of blue and lilac and white. These he accompanied with the following
stanzas:
Tiny leaflets, tiny flowers,
Lightly from thy fingers fling,
Waving on the airy ribbon,
Young and kindly god of Spring.
Waft it on thy wings, O Zephyr,
Twine it round my sweetheart's gown.
Let her step before the mirror,
Laughing as she looketh down,
Sees herself with roses girdled,
Fresh as any rose, the maid.
Grant me but one glance, my darling,
And I am enough repaid.
Trust the love my heart that filleth,
Frankly give thy hand to me.
May the bond between us, dearest,
No slight band of roses be!
As soon as the spring had fairly set in, he made preparations for a
prolonged stay at the parsonage. They now passed quietly and pleasantly
several weeks in each other's society. The habit of being together
became more and more confirmed, and nothing was known save that Goethe
belonged to this circle. They were left unobserved, as was generally the
custom there and then, and it depended only on themselves to go over the
country with a larger or smaller party and visit the friends in the
neighborhood. On both sides of the Rhine, in Hagenau, Fort Louis,
Philippsburg, and the Ortenau, Goethe found dispersed such persons as he
had seen united at Sesenheim, every one by himself a friendly,
hospitable host, throwing open kitchen and cellar just as willingly as
garden and vineyard.
The islands of the Rhine were often a goal to their water-expeditions.
There, without pity, they put the cool inhabitants of the clear river
into the kettle, or the spit, or into the boiling fat, and would
perhaps, more than was reasonable, have settled themselves in the snug
fishermen's huts, if the abominable Rhine-gnats had not, after some
time, driven them away. At this intolerable interruption of one of their
most charming parties of pleasure, when everything else was prosperous,
when the affection of the lovers seemed to increase with the good
success of the enterprise, and they had nevertheless come home too soon,
unsuitably and inopportunely, Goethe, actually in the presence of the
good pastor, broke out into blasphemous expressions, and assured him
that the gnats alone were sufficient to remove the thought that a good
and wise Deity had created the world. The pious old gentleman, by way of
reply, solemnly called him to order, and explained that these gnats and
other vermin had not arisen until after the fall of our first parents;
or that if there were any of them in Paradise, they had only pleasantly
hummed and had not stung. The impetuous youth was calmed at once, for an
angry man is easily appeased when he is forced to smile; but he
nevertheless asserted that there was no need, in such case, of an angel
with a burning sword to drive the guilty pair out of the garden, for
this must have been effected by means of great gnats on the Tigris and
the Euphrates. The simple old man laughed in his turn, for he could
understand a joke, or, at any rate, let one pass.
However, the enjoyment of the daytime and season in this noble country
was always serious and elevating to the heart. Goethe had only to resign
himself to the present, to enjoy the clearness of the pure sky, the
brilliancy of the rich earth, the mild evenings, the warm nights, by the
side of his beloved, or in her vicinity. For weeks together they were
favored with pure, ethereal mornings, when the sky displayed itself in
all its magnificence, having watered the earth with superfluous dew;
and, that this spectacle might not become too simple, clouds after
clouds piled themselves over the distant mountains, now in this spot,
now in that. They stood for days, nay, for weeks, without obscuring the
clear sky; and even the transient storms refreshed the country and gave
lustre to the green, which again glistened in the sunshine before it
could become dry. The double rainbow, the two-colored borders of a dark
gray and nearly black streak in the sky, were nobler, more highly
colored, more decided, but also more transient, than the artist had ever
before observed.
In the midst of these objects, Goethe's desire for poetizing again came
forward, and he composed for Alide several songs to well-known melodies,
which might have made a pretty little book. Many an hour did he pass by
her side at the harpsichord, hearing his own words caroled forth
melodiously from her beloved lips, while she, for her part, strove to
dedicate all the fire and poetry of her nature to the proper
interpretation of his inspired productions.
The resources of his wit, liveliness, and spirits were never at an end.
At the same time that he proved in countless ways his sincere and ardent
attachment to Alide, he succeeded in making himself the object of the
enthusiastic admiration and the warmest friendship of all her family and
circle. Even the wary mother consented to throw aside, as a weak
selfishness more akin to the pride of appropriation than to
disinterested affection, the misgivings and suspicions which she had at
first entertained. It was impossible to resist the frank generosity and
gentleness of his heart, combined as they were with so winning an
exterior, so profound an intelligence, and so brilliant and versatile a
genius.
That he might fulfil and even go beyond his promise to the pastor, of a
new and elaborate plan for the manse, he persuaded a young adept in
architecture to work instead of himself. Thus the ground-plan sketch and
section of the house were soon completed; court-yard and garden were not
forgotten; and a detailed but very moderate estimate was added. These
testimonials of his friendly endeavors obtained the kindest reception;
and now the good father, seeing that Goethe had the best will to serve
him, came forward with one wish more,--this was to see his pretty blue
garden-chair adorned with flowers and other ornaments. Goethe showed
himself accommodating, and prevailed upon Alide and Rahel, who were both
clever with the brush, to lend a hand in the pleasing task. Colors,
pencils, and other requisites were fetched from the tradesmen and
apothecaries of the nearest town. They worked upon it always in the open
air, and succeeded in decorating it with the most delicate devices. They
were standing one morning in the sunshine, admiring the last strokes of
their handiwork, when the gate was opened and a visitor advanced towards
the house. It was Max Waldstein, who was rarely able to leave his
studies, though the bond between himself and Rahel was now a solemnly
acknowledged betrothal. After the exchange of merry greetings, he was
called upon to admire the painted chair.
"It is quite a masterpiece, I declare," he cried; "and you must have
been pretty diligent, for I see that before any of it has had time to
dry the whole is finished. Did you begin this morning?"
"You unappreciative man!" exclaimed Rahel, indignantly. "It represents
the labor of a fortnight."
Goethe and Alide stood contemplating their work with an odd puzzled
expression.
"Why, then, look here," said practical Max, with a hearty laugh, as he
gently pressed the tip of his finger against the bright leaves and
withdrew it stained with the fresh green paint. "My intellectual young
friend Wolfgang has forgotten that he must varnish his colors to make
them fast. Or stay, I see what it is; you have bought the wrong sort of
varnish, and your chair will never dry! If the dear old pastor takes his
ease in this, he will exhibit a quaintly embroidered coat in his pulpit
on Sunday."
The artists looked at one another for a moment with crest-fallen
countenances, but finally Goethe broke into the jolliest laugh. "Why,
this is a veritable Wakefield mistake!" he cried. "Let us make the best
of it, dear friends: since the varnish cannot be changed now, let us
first try to dry our exquisite designs with fire, sun, rain,
wind,--every element under heaven. Then, if the worst comes, who knows
but we may have as merry a time rubbing off our colors as we have
already had in laying them on?"
But neither sunshine nor draught, neither fair nor wet weather, was of
any avail. Meantime, they were obliged to make use of an old
lumber-room, and nothing was left but to efface the ornaments with more
assiduity than they had painted them; and the unpleasantness was
increased by finding that, after the operation, even the original
ground-color could not be restored to its former brilliancy. Goethe did
not fail to take the lesson to heart, seeing that the artist may become
so absorbed in the ideal portion of his work as totally to ignore the
practical and useful foundations on which alone any substantial fabric
of beauty can be reared. The young philosopher was willing to bear
good-humoredly the twits and jests of the whole family, in consideration
of impressing upon his memory so important a maxim.
By such trifling disagreeable contingencies, however, which happened at
intervals, they were as little interrupted in their cheerful life as Dr.
Primrose and his amiable family, for many an unexpected pleasure befell
both themselves and their friends and neighbors. Weddings and
christenings, the erection of a building, an inheritance, a prize in the
lottery, were reciprocally announced and enjoyed. They shared all joy
together like a common property, and wished to heighten it by mind and
love. It was not the first nor the last time that Goethe found himself
in families and social circles at the very moment of their highest
bloom, and he contributed not a little to the lustre of such epochs.
It was the middle of May when he decided to return to Strasburg. He had
originally been sent there to gain a doctor's degree. On his departure
from Frankfort he had promised his father, and resolved within himself,
to write a dissertation; and he was now determined to set about this
task in earnest. He had indeed begun it before his first visit to the
parsonage; but his sudden passion and the poetical visions which it
inspired had driven from his head all practical matters. He himself
reckoned it as one of the irregularities of his life that he treated
this material business as a mere collateral affair. It is the fault of
those who can do many things, he said, that they trust everything to
themselves. He had pretty well acquired a survey of the science of
jurisprudence and all its frame-work; but he felt well enough that he
lacked an infinite deal to fill up the legal commonplaces which he had
proposed. The proper knowledge was wanting, and no inner tendency urged
him to such subjects. Indeed, quite another science, medicine, had
completely carried him away.
Before Goethe left the parsonage, he wrung from Alide and Rahel their
consent to make their long-talked-of visit to Strasburg. The Durocs were
related to some families in the city of good note and respectability and
comfortably off as to circumstances. Their cousins the Burkhardts were
often at Sesenheim. The older persons, the parents and aunts, being less
movable, heard so much of the life there, of the increasing charms of
the daughters, and even of Goethe's influence, that they first wished to
become acquainted with him; and after he had visited them they desired
to see all the family together, especially as they thought they owed the
Sesenheim folks a friendly reception in return. There was much
discussion on all sides: the mother could scarcely leave her household
duties; Rahel had a horror of the town, for which she was not fitted;
and Alide had no inclination for it. Thus the affair was put off until
it was brought to a decision by Goethe's enforced departure, and his
assertion that it would be impossible for him to come again into the
country; for all agreed that it would be better to see each other in the
city, and under some restraint, than not to see each other at all.
No formal betrothal in the presence of witnesses had taken place, and
yet the pastor gave Goethe his blessing, the mother kissed his brow at
parting, as though he were already their son; and it was considered
quite natural that he bade Alide farewell affectionately as a lover
should. He set off in high spirits, with a heart at rest in his bosom
and a mind already alert for the active duties that he must accomplish
before he could again indulge in holiday pleasures.
For Alide, as she turned back into her home, it was as if the light had
been blotted from the day, the spirit of life had departed from the
household. There was a heavier sadness in her heart than the brief term
of separation warranted, and she saw a dismal omen wherever her eyes
fell. But her sanguine temperament rebounded soon into its accustomed
cheerfulness and gayety. She succeeded in dispelling the cloud of
oppression that had overhung her, as a wrong to herself, a wrong to him.
She resolved in his absence to realize the lofty ideal of life which he
had inculcated; though, to say the truth, he had but put it into words
for her, for she had always animated the v hole family circle with the
natural liveliness of her admirably-tempered disposition. One could not
behold the glad serenity of her countenance, which seemed like a finer,
more ethereal grace superadded to her physical beauty, without fancying
her a creature born and nurtured for happiness. The rare capacity for
enjoyment was here in the highest degree developed. The subtle feminine
faculty was hers of resting content in the conscious possession of a
great joy. One could sooner imagine her gently withdrawn from existence
in the flush of youthful love and beauty, than estranged from the
brightness and hilarity which formed so essential a part of herself.
What harm could befall one so delicately constituted that the first
rough shock of distress or calamity would, in all probability, snap the
frail link between body and spirit and set free the immortal soul of
joy?