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CHAPTER III.
At last the time arrived when the company had to prepare for travelling, and to
expect the coaches and other vehicles that were to carry them to the count’s
mansion. Much altercation now took place about the mode of travelling, and
who should sit with whom. The ordering and distribution of the whole was at
length settled and concluded, with great labor, and, alas! without effect. At the
appointed hour, fewer coaches came than were expected: they had to
accommodate themselves as the case would admit. The baron, who followed
shortly afterwards on horseback, assigned, as the reason, that all was in motion
at the castle, not only because the prince was to arrive a few days earlier than
had been looked for, but also because an unexpected party of visitors were
already come: the place, he said, was in great confusion; on this account perhaps
they would not lodge so comfortably as had been intended, — a change which
grieved him very much.
Our travellers packed themselves into the carriages the best way they could;
and the weather being tolerable, and the castle but a few leagues distant, the
heartiest of the troop preferred setting out on foot to waiting the return of the
coaches. The caravan got under way with great jubilee, for the first time without
caring how the landlord’s bill was to be paid. The count’s mansion rose on their
souls like a palace of the fairies: they were the happiest and merriest mortals in
the world. Each throughout the journey, in his own peculiar mode, kept fastening
a continued chain of fortune, honor, and prosperity to that auspicious day.
A heavy rain, which fell unexpectedly, did not banish these delightful
contemplations; though, as it incessantly continued with more and more
violence, many of the party began to show traces of uneasiness. The night came
on; and no sight could be more welcome than the palace of the count, which
shone upon them from a hill at some distance, glancing with light in all its
stories, so that they could reckon every window.
On approaching nearer, they found all the windows in the wings illuminated
also. Each of the party thought within himself what chamber would be his; and
most of them prudently determined to be satisfied with a room in the attic, or
some of the side buildings.
They were now proceeding through the village, past the inn. Wilhelm stopped
the coach, in the mind to alight there; but the landlord protested that it was not in
his power to afford the least accommodation: his lordship the count, he said,
being visited by some unexpected guests, had immediately engaged the whole
inn; every chamber in the house had been marked with chalk last night,
specifying who was to lodge there. Our friend was accordingly obliged, against
his will, to travel forward to the castle with the rest of the company.
In one of the side buildings, round the kitchen fire, they noticed several cooks
running busily about, — a sight which refreshed them not a little. Servants
came jumping hastily with lights to the staircase of the main door, and the hearts
of the worthy pilgrims overflowed at the aspect of such honors. But how great
was their surprise, when this cordial reception changed into a storm of curses.
The servants scouted the coachman for driving in hither; they must wheel out
again, it was bawled, and take their loading round to the old castle; there was no
room here for such guests! To this unfriendly and unexpected dismissal, they
joined all manner of jeering, and laughed aloud at each other for leaping out in
the rain on so false an errand. It was still pouring; no star was visible in the sky;
while our company were dragged along a rough, jolting road, between two walls,
into the old mansion, which stood behind, inhabited by none since the present
count’s father had built the new residence in front of it. The carriages drew up,
partly in the court-yard, partly in a long, arched gateway; and the postilions,
people hired from the village, unyoked their horses, and rode off.
As nobody came forward to receive the travellers, they alighted from their
places, they shouted, and searched. In vain! All continued dark and still. The
wind swept through the lofty gate: the court and the old towers were lying gray
and dreary, and so dim that their forms could scarcely be distinguished in the
gloom. The people were all shuddering and freezing; the women were becoming
frightened; the children began to cry; the general impatience was increasing
every minute; so quick a revolution of fortune, for which no one of them had
been at all prepared, entirely destroyed their equanimity.
Expecting every minute that some person would appear and unbolt the doors,
mistaking at one time the pattering of rain, at another the rocking of the wind,
for the much-desired footstep of the castle bailiff, they continued downcast and
inactive: it occurred to none of them to go into the new mansion, and there
solicit help from charitable souls. They could not understand where their friend
the baron was lingering: they were in the most disconsolate condition.
At last some people actually arrived: by their voices, they were recognized as
the pedestrians who had fallen behind the others on the journey. They intimated
that the baron had tumbled with his horse, and hurt his leg severely: and that, on
calling at the castle, they, too, had been roughly directed hither.
The whole company were in extreme perplexity: they guessed and speculated
as to what should now be done, but they could fix on nothing. At length they
noticed from afar a lantern advancing, and took fresh breath at sight of it; but
their hopes of quick deliverance again evaporated, when the object approached,
and came to be distinctly seen. A groom was lighting the well-known
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