Chapter 5
The work began right away, starting with Aida taking stock of Goethe’s Italian Journey. “As you go through the book, please record a reading of the passages that refer to joy, happiness, and pleasure,” Trista
explained. “Note if anything makes you particularly joyful. If you delight in his phrasing or his description. This will be
an important part of your work in general.”
It was a strange instruction, but it matched the idea of cataloging what makes people happy about an object or place. But
now, as Aida thumbed through the volume, she realized she would be reading about a third of the book aloud. She loved a good
book, and Goethe’s memoir was full of gorgeous scenes. It was no wonder—Italy wasn’t called il bel paese, the beautiful country, for nothing. Aida pressed the record button and began reading aloud:
“‘As evening draws near, and in the still air a few clouds rest on the mountains . . . I feel at home in the world, neither
a stranger nor an exile. I enjoy everything as if I had been born and bred here and had just returned from a whaling expedition
to Greenland . . . The bell-like tinkling noise the crickets make is delightful—penetrating but not harsh . . . Every evening
is as calm as the day has been . . . I have the pleasure of feeling this happiness which by rights we ought to be able to
enjoy as a rule of our nature . . .’”
Aida hit Stop and set the microphone aside.
It was strange to record her notes verbally, her voice echoing through the library she now called her office.
Yet, having spent so much time in Italy during her three-plus decades, she felt a kinship with Goethe.
His joy at the simple beauty of an Italian evening was something she knew well.
It was the kind of happiness that crept up on you—the quiet joy of being perfectly at home in the world.
It was a happiness that readers could relate to, those fleeting moments when the world seemed just right, even if only for a moment.
Dante appeared in the doorway. “Your friend Felix Goodman is here to see you.”
“Wonderful! Please send him in.” Aida was grateful for the interruption. As much as she enjoyed getting to know Goethe, it
wasn’t how she preferred to do her research.
Felix took a moment to pause at the doorway to the library, his breath sucking in with the wonder of the scene. “Oh, my giddy
aunt,” he exclaimed in a faux British voice, sending Aida into a fit of giggles.
“I feel the same way every time I enter this room.”
“And I really can’t take a photo?” he said, his face hopeful.
“I can’t even do that.”
His eyes widened. But instead of saying something else, he kissed her on both cheeks and hugged her.
“It’s so good to see you again,” she told him.
“You too. Let me whisk you off to a little wine bar I know nearby that has the most eccellente charcuterie.”
Aida led her friend out of the palazzo, her mind buzzing with everything she wanted to tell him, but after Trista’s stern
warning, she wasn’t sure she should.
Rome was warmer than Boston, so winter wasn’t nearly as frigid.
Aida was delighted that she only needed a jacket, not the heavy winter coat she’d been sporting for the last two months.
The sun made the buildings glow with the golden, almost otherworldly light for which the city was well-known.
Walking through the streets of the Eternal City, the breeze barely kissing her cheeks, filled Aida with unbridled joy and contentment.
“What a perfect day.” Aida slid into a seat at a slightly weather-worn table under the awning of the wine bar’s patio. They
ordered a bottle of Cesanese wine and a selection of local cheeses and salumi, including a wild boar paté with a smear of
chocolate.
“So, tell me,” Felix said, “how are you liking the new job?”
Aida reflected on Dante and Trista’s insistence on confidentiality and decided to power down her MODA-issued phone. She had
long thought her own iPhone was listening to all her conversations to serve up ads. What could the MODA phone do?
“It feels like a dream. But there’s this undercurrent of surveillance that’s . . . unsettling.”
“Yeah, a Big Brother element to it all.” He gave a nod toward her purse on the chair next to her where she had put her phone.
“You had to sign an NDA too, so you know how weird they are.” Aida didn’t feel like she should say the name MODA aloud in
public, although logic told her the locals would think she was talking about some new fashion.
“Very weird. When I worked with Johannes, he would record most of my tour and have it transcribed afterward. I definitely
cut down on my lively banter knowing every word I said might be read again at a later date.”
“It was probably to help him manage the research. I’ve been told to do the same. He would have picked through the text afterward
to get at the essence of what he was looking for. You probably don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Still. I never really understood the reason for all the secrecy. The NDAs, the restriction on photos, you know. It’s just history.
I’m glad I’m just a guide they use occasionally, and not fully employed like you are.
I would never submit to all their rules and regulations in my personal life.
They certainly don’t need to hear all my racy phone calls!
” He laughed. “So, what are you researching?”
“Goethe and his time in Italy.”
“Ahh, you’ll be going to the museum then.”
Aida took a sip of her wine. “Sì. Next week.”
“But he’s already been well studied. That is why there’s a museum dedicated to him here.”
“It’s the angle I’m taking that’s unique.”
“Oh, do spill the tea.” Felix leaned in, ready for details.
“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” Aida said, torn between adhering to the rules of her contract and confiding in her dear
friend.
“I signed the same NDA, remember? Plus, you turned off your phone.”
Aida looked at the other diners around her. No one was paying them any attention. “I’m studying happiness . . . what made
Goethe happy, how he made others happy, and everything related to that in his life and works.”
Felix wrinkled his brow. “Happiness?” he said, a little too loudly. Aida gave him a stern look and he lowered his voice. “That’s
it?”
Aida nodded. “Strange, huh? I don’t know why I can’t talk about it.”
Her friend chuckled. “Well, does it make you happy?”
Aida raised her glass. “So far, it’s like a fairy tale. I’m learning endlessly, living in splendor, dining like royalty, and
I have Rome’s treasures at my doorstep. The work, the place, the luxury—it’s more than I could have ever imagined. So yes,
you could say I’m quite happy. Immeasurably so. But I really miss Graham. It’s hard to be away from him.”
As she sipped the wine, her gaze drifted past the table, lost in thought.
She was in Rome on a day that seemed to have sprung from a painting, accompanied by a dear friend.
Soon, she would be married to the love of her life.
But for the next three months, she was living in a palazzo, her whims catered to at the press of a button, and her job was so financially rewarding that it seemed ludicrous to think she would soon resign.
“I have you to thank for it. And I already have a new idea for a research project,” Aida said, her eyes alight with excitement.
Felix grinned. “Now that is music to my ears. Okay, tell me about it.”
Aida took a sip of wine and a deep breath. “I’ve been so inspired by Goethe’s Italian Journey. I want to explore the overlooked connections between early botanical studies and cultural life in Italy during the eighteenth
century. Goethe was fascinated by the natural world and often wrote about the flora he encountered and even wrote a book about
botany. I’m thinking of investigating how the study of native plants influenced the art and literature of the period. There’s
an intriguing intersection between science and the arts that hasn’t been fully explored.”
Felix leaned in. “That does sound like a fresh angle. How scientific discovery and cultural expression influenced each other . . .”
“Exactly,” Aida replied. “For instance, I could examine how certain Italian artists incorporated botanical elements into their
works, possibly inspired by the botanical explorations of their time, or how literary depictions of nature reflected contemporary
scientific understanding. There’s a wealth of untapped primary sources, like letters and personal diaries, that could offer
new insights. Goethe is a great start because he corresponded with so many people.”
“Damn! You’ve already thought it through that much? In barely a week?”
“Your fault for getting me to come here. I needed something new to pursue. Thanks for inspiring me.”
He put a hand to his heart, beaming. “That makes me immeasurably happy.”
She lifted her glass to toast. “To happiness.”
Felix grinned. “To happiness!”
Aida spent that afternoon in the depths of Goethe’s writings, her voice giving life to his reflections as she recorded passages
for her research. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of pages and her measured tones.
Just as the light started to fade and Aida’s throat became a bit hoarse, Trista appeared in the doorway to the library. Aida
shut the recording off.
“How is the research going?” Trista asked as she sat down and smoothed out her skirt.
“Good. Although there is a lot to record. Italy made Goethe quite ecstatic.”
She gave the slightest nod. “Yes, I suppose that is so.”
Aida waited for Trista to tell her why she was there.
The woman pulled herself upward out of her slouch. “Well, Miss Reale . . .”
“Please, call me Aida.”
Trista’s expression was a blank mask. “I’ve arranged for your first visit to the Casa di Goethe. They will receive you next
Monday for the entire week. The whole staff will be at your disposal, and the museum will be closed, so you have no interruptions.”
Aida’s jaw dropped. “They’re closing the museum for me?”