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CHAPTER V.
Next morning, the rope-dancers, not without much parade and bustle, having
gone away, Mignon immediately appeared, and came into the parlor as Wilhelm
and Laertes were busy fencing. “Where hast thou been hid?” said Wilhelm, in a
friendly tone. “Thou hast given us a great deal of anxiety.” The child looked at
him, and answered nothing. “Thou art ours now,” cried Laertes: “we have
bought thee.” — “For how much?” inquired the child quite coolly. “For a
hundred ducats,” said the other: “pay them again, and thou art free.” — “Is that
very much?” she asked. “Oh, yes! thou must now be a good child.” — “I will
try,” she said.
From that moment she observed strictly what services the waiter had to do for
both her friends; and, after next day, she would not any more let him enter the
room. She persisted in doing every thing herself, and accordingly went through
her duties, slowly, indeed, and sometimes awkwardly, yet completely, and with
the greatest care.
She was frequently observed going to a basin of water, and washing her face
with such diligence and violence, that she almost wore the skin from her cheeks;
till Laertes, by dint of questions and reproofs, learned that she was striving by all
means to get the paint from her skin, and that, in her zealous endeavors towards
this object, she had mistaken the redness produced by rubbing for the most
obdurate dye. They set her right on this point, and she ceased her efforts; after
which, having come again to her natural state, she exhibited a fine brown
complexion, beautiful, though sparingly intermingled with red.
The siren charms of Philina, the mysterious presence of the child, produced
more impression on our friend than he liked to confess: he passed several days in
that strange society, endeavoring to elude self-reproaches by a diligent practice
of fencing and dancing, — accomplishments which he believed might not again
be put within his reach so conveniently.
It was with great surprise, and not without a certain satisfaction, that he one
day observed Herr Melina and his wife alight at the inn. After the first glad
salutation, they inquired about “the lady-manager and the other actors,” and
learned, with astonishment and terror, that the lady-manager had long since gone
away, and her actors, to a very few, dispersed themselves about the country.
This couple, subsequently to their marriage, in which, as we know, our friend
did his best to serve them, had been travelling about in various quarters, seeking
an engagement, without finding any, and had at last been directed to this little
town by some persons who met them on their journey, and said there was a good
theatre in the place.
Melina by no means pleased the lively Laertes, when introduced to him, any
more than his wife did Philina. Both heartily wished to be rid of these new-
comers; and Wilhelm could inspire them with no favorable feelings on the
subject, though he more than once assured them that the Melinas were very
worthy people.
Indeed, the previous merry life of our three adventurers was interfered with by
this extension of their society, in more ways than one. Melina had taken up his
quarters in the inn where Philina staid, and he very soon began a system of
cheapening and higgling. He would have better lodging, more sumptuous diet,
and readier attendance, for a smaller charge. In a short while, the landlord and
waiter showed very rueful looks; for whereas the others, to get pleasantly along,
had expressed no discontent with any thing, and paid instantly, that they might
avoid thinking longer of payment, Melina now insisted on regulating every meal,
and investigating its contents beforehand, — a species of service for which
Philina named him, without scruple, a ruminating animal.
Yet more did the merry girl hate Melina’s wife. Frau Melina was a young
woman not without culture, but wofully defective in soul and spirit. She could
declaim not badly, and kept declaiming constantly; but it was easy to observe
that her performances were little more than recitations of words. She labored a
few detached passages, but never could express the feeling of the whole. Withal,
however, she was seldom disagreeable to any one, especially to men. On the
contrary, people who enjoyed her acquaintance commonly ascribed to her a fine
understanding; for she was what might be called a kind of spiritual chameleon,
or taker-on. Any friend whose favor she had need of she could flatter with
peculiar adroitness, could give in to his ideas so long as she could understand
them, and, when they went beyond her own horizon, could hail with ecstasy such
new and brilliant visions. She understood well when to speak and when to keep
silence; and, though her disposition was not spiteful, she could spy out with
great expertness where another’s weak side lay.
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