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CHAPTER IX.
The huntsman now came back with several people, and made preparations for
carrying away the wounded youth. He had persuaded the parson of the place to
receive the “young couple” into his house; Philina’s trunk was taken out; she
followed with a natural air of dignity. Mignon ran before; and, when the patient
reached the parsonage, a wide couch, which had long been standing ready as
guest’s bed and bed of honor, was assigned him. Here it was first discovered that
his wound had opened, and bled profusely. A new bandage was required for it.
He fell into a feverish state: Philina waited on him faithfully; and, when fatigue
overpowered her, she was relieved by the harper. Mignon, with the firmest
purpose to watch, had fallen asleep in a corner.
Next morning Wilhelm, who felt himself in some degree refreshed, learned,
by inquiring of the huntsman, that the honorable persons who last night assisted
him so nobly, had shortly before left their estates, in order to avoid the
movements of the contending armies, and remain, till the time of peace, in some
more quiet district. He named the elderly nobleman, as well as his niece,
mentioned the place they were first going to, and told how the young lady had
charged him to take care of Wilhelm.
The entrance of the surgeon interrupted the warm expressions of gratitude our
friend was giving vent to. He made a circumstantial description of the wounds,
and certified that they would soon heal, if the patient took care of them, and kept
himself at peace.
When the huntsman was gone, Philina signified that he had left with her a
purse of twenty louis-d’or; that he had given the parson a remuneration for their
lodging, and left with him money to defray the surgeon’s bill when the cure
should be completed. She added, that she herself passed everywhere for
Wilhelm’s wife; that she now begged leave to introduce herself once for all to
him in this capacity, and would not allow him to look out for any other sick-
nurse.
“Philina,” said Wilhelm, “in this disaster that has overtaken us, I am already
deeply in your debt, for kindness shown me; and I should not wish to see my
obligations increased. I am uneasy so long as you are about me, for I know of
nothing by which I can repay your labor. Give me what things of mine you have
saved in your trunk; join the rest of the company; seek another lodging; take my
thanks, and the gold watch as a small acknowledgment: only leave me; your
presence disturbs me more than you can fancy.”
She laughed in his face when he had ended. “Thou art a fool,” she said: “thou
wilt not gather wisdom. I know better what is good for thee: I will stay, I will not
budge from the spot. I have never counted on the gratitude of men, and therefore
not on thine; and, if I have a touch of kindness for thee, what hast thou to do
with it?”
She staid accordingly, and soon wormed herself into favor with the parson and
his household; being always cheerful, having the knack of giving little presents,
and of talking to each in his own vein; at the same time always contriving to do
exactly what she pleased. Wilhelm’s state was not uncomfortable: the surgeon,
an ignorant but not unskilful man, let nature have sway; and the patient was soon
on the road to recovery. For such a consummation he vehemently longed, being
eager to pursue his plans and wishes.
Incessantly he kept recalling that event, which had made an ineffaceable
impression on his heart. He saw the beautiful Amazon again come riding out of
the thickets: she approached him, dismounted, went to and fro, and strove to
serve him. He saw the garment she was wrapped in fall down from her
shoulders: he saw her countenance, her figure, vanish in their radiance. All the
dreams of his youth now fastened on this image. Here he conceived he had at
length beheld the noble, the heroic, Clorinda with his own eyes; and again he
bethought him of that royal youth, to whose sick-bed the lovely, sympathizing
princess came in her modest meekness.
“May it not be,” said he often to himself in secret, “that, in youth as in sleep,
the images of coming things hover round us, and mysteriously become visible to
our unobstructed eyes? May not the seeds of what is to betide us be already
scattered by the hand of Fate? may not a foretaste of the fruits we yet hope to
gather possibly be given us?”
His sick-bed gave him leisure to repeat those scenes in every mood. A
thousand times he called back the tone of that sweet voice: a thousand times he
envied Philina, who had kissed that helpful hand. Often the whole incident
appeared before him as a dream; and he would have reckoned it a fiction, if the
white surtout had not been left behind to convince him that the vision had a real
existence.
With the greatest care for this piece of apparel, he combined the most ardent
wish to wear it. The first time he arose, he put it on, and was kept in fear all day
lest it might be hurt by some stain or other injury.
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