"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?