DRIFTING APART
In returning to the Burkhardts' house, Alide felt herself under the
influence of a powerful excitement. Her interview with Lucinda had
entirely overshadowed her personal trouble, and had revealed to her an
abyss of suffering and sin hitherto inconceivable to her joyous,
innocent temperament. After a glimpse of such desolation and
self-abasement, the recollection of her own happy home, and of the love
which encompassed and cherished her, was refreshing as the clear air and
sunlight to one who issues from a dungeon. She reproached herself with
humility for her recent bitter thoughts; in everything Wolfgang had done
she saw now an additional tenderness and consideration. He had not
written to her until he could tell her he was well, and then it was only
to speak lightly of past suffering; and, instead of understanding and
rejoicing, what unjust suspicions had she harbored against him! She
longed to see him, to confess her wrong, and ask forgiveness, and to
hear him talk once more, in his own wise, generous way, of the duties
and compensations of life, in order to reconcile her to her new
knowledge of evil. Her whole heart was softened and agitated, and needed
to expand in affection and to be quieted by the voice of love.
When she reached the house, Goethe had already arrived. He had come
earlier than usual, and was seated in the drawing-room with Madame
Burkhardt and her daughter. Alide's accustomed delight at his presence
was mingled with disappointment, for she must meet him with forced
composure, and continue to repress the emotions which swelled her heart.
She found him in high spirits, recounting to her aunt and cousin some
droll reminiscences of his student-life at Leipsic, recalled, no doubt,
by the visit he had received the previous evening. The old lady and Anna
had apparently been enjoying the heartiest laughter, and he himself was
beyond measure gay and animated.
"Good-morning, dear friend," he cried, as he rose to greet Alide, taking
one of her hands between his own and kissing it lightly. "You ran away
from us early; but you have come in time to join us in the pleasantest
conversation."
His merry tone jarred harshly upon Alide's mood, but, forcing herself to
respond, she answered, with her natural cheerfulness, "I am glad I am
not too late. I have stayed longer than I intended at the Cathedral. But
tell me first, Wolfgang, are you well to-day?"
"Do I look like an invalid?" said he, turning towards her his laughing
face flushed with brilliant color. "I think it must have been a
disagreeable dream that I was ill for a half-dozen hours or so," he
added, hurriedly; "I cannot believe it to-day. I have been telling
Madame Burkhardt and Fraulein Anna of my visitor last evening,--an old
fellow-student, Alide,--and it has led me back into I know not what
foolish recollections of boyhood."
"Hear the lad! how he talks of his boyhood, as if he were a
grandfather!" cried Madame Burkhardt; "and I do not believe it is five
years back."
"You are not far wrong," he replied, with a laugh: "my Leipsic days were
just six years ago. But I do not parcel out my life in years; I know
that I have lived fast and developed quickly, and I know, too, how young
I am by the great world-clock, and how much I have to do. No, Madame
Burkhardt," he continued, with his former lightness, "indulgent as you
are, you would not have tolerated the volatile, overbearing, untamed
boor that I was then." And he began again to narrate an incident of that
period. He was in his liveliest vein to-day, affording so much
entertainment to his listeners that Alide saw little chance of a quiet
interview with him. And indeed she almost ceased to desire it as the
hour passed by: she could not have uttered to him in his present mood
the grave words that had been upon her lips. At last, however, Madame
Burkhardt withdrew, after making him promise to dine with them, that she
might see him again; and shortly after, Anna discreetly followed her.
"You little runaway!" cried he, as soon as he found himself alone with
Alide. "You were cruel enough to punish me for my misfortune
yesterday,--was I not punished enough?"
She looked at him in mute reproach. How was it possible to imagine an
act of coquetry between herself and him? He saw that he had wounded her,
and tried to repair his mistake.
"If I had but known in time that you cared to go so early to the
Cathedral, I should have loved to ramble over it again with you. I
believe, Alide, if you were to dwell any length of time in Strasburg,
the constant presence of that noble monument would gradually bring you
into sympathy with the infinite world that opens to the artist's mind.
Do you know that some of the grandest of those colossal statues set in
the walls are the work of a woman,--Sabina von Steinbach, the daughter
of Erwin?"
What was the matter with him to-day? He spoke with evident constraint,
and every word he said seemed to force Alide and himself further apart.
"Yes?" answered she, absently. "I did not go there this morning to
admire the architecture. And I am not going to dwell any length of time
in Strasburg, either," she continued, with a quiet smile. "Do you know
that we are going home to-morrow?"
"To-morrow!" cried Goethe, springing from his seat. "But you have only
just arrived. And our walks, our river-excursions, our drives, all the
pleasure that we promised ourselves together! What is the meaning of
this sudden determination?"
She explained to him in a few words the discomfort and humiliation of
her sister's position.
"Was that all?" he thought, with a sigh of relief, and he looked quickly
and searchingly into Alide's ingenuous face. "I cannot dispute it,"
answered he: "poor Rahel has been miserably restless and unhappy here;
the situation was a novel one for her, and its exactions have chafed
terribly her wild spirit. But it is the more admirable how you, Alide,
have fitted yourself to each new condition; everywhere you seem free as
a bird in the branches."
"Wherever you are, Wolfgang, I am content," she replied, simply.
For a moment he did not speak; then, abruptly looking her full in the
face, he pressed her hand warmly.
"You are a good girl, Alide," he said, and began to pace the room, with
his eyes cast to the ground.
Alide felt emboldened by his evident agitation to put forward the
subject nearest her heart.
"And why, Wolfgang," she began, timidly, "should I remain longer in the
city? If mamma and Rahel are happier at home, why should my pleasure
detain them? Whither is our present life leading,--and for what are we
waiting?" She paused, with her heart in her throat.
"For what are we waiting, indeed?" repeated he, as if to himself,
passing his hand over his brow and never stopping in his walk. "My youth
is slipping away from me,--the precious years of activity that I had
resolved to dedicate to high and serious thought and indefatigable
labor. What wild yet glorious visions, what earnest purposes, did not
Breitkopf recall to me last night! And is life to charm me also from my
convictions, like so many other useless, indolent creatures who loiter
by the way and are swept into annihilation by the storm and stress of
time? How much longer am I to remain a novice and a pupil?--to squander
the priceless gifts of manhood in prattling, and trifling, and dilatory
self-indulgence? Everything recalls me to myself: last night it was
Breitkopf who startled me by asking what I had done, and what I was
doing. I remained dumb and ashamed. A stroke on a canvas, the jingle of
a sonnet, a fantastic fairy-tale, are those the work of a man? And at
such a moment, too,--when old faiths are passing away, old superstitions
are discarded, old prejudices are abandoned, and all Germany in an
attitude of expectation awaits the voice that will animate and inspire
the souls of her youth."
He paused, and stood before Alide. How completely they failed to
understand each other! Was that the response he should have given to her
affectionate appeal? and what words had she to offer the need of his
spirit? How was she fitted to enter with sympathy and intelligence into
the world of his imagination? Her heart was like a stone within her; she
saw him gradually passing beyond her narrow sphere into a realm where
she could neither meet nor follow him.
He forced himself back from his wild reverie, and quieted himself by
talking of her, questioning her again about her departure, and
interesting himself in all that concerned her. He wished to accompany
her the following day to Drusenheim, where the pastor was to meet his
family, but Alide said she would prefer to bid him farewell here, rather
than take the chance of parting before strangers at the inn; and as the
driver of the diligence had been an old servant of her father's, and all
the country-folk knew the Durocs, she had not the slightest fear of
returning as she had come. Throughout the remainder of the day they were
together, but, whether in the midst of the family group or apart from
all, their conversation kept a uniform tone: they did not speak from
heart to heart again.
Who has not seen a summer cloud that hangs apparently motionless become,
through imperceptible changes, even while the eye is fastened upon it,
something other than it was, and slowly dissolve and vanish in the
bright ether?