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CHAPTER XII.
After a short time, which he passed sitting looking out before him, disquieted
by many thoughts, Philina came singing and skipping along through the front
door. She sat down by him, nay, we might almost say, on him, so close did she
press herself towards him: she leaned upon his shoulders, began playing with his
hair, patted him, and gave him the best words in the world. She begged of him to
stay with them, and not leave her alone in that company, or she must die of
tedium: she could not live any longer in the same house with Melina, and had
come over to lodge in the other inn for that reason.
He tried in vain to satisfy her with denials, — to make her understand that he
neither could nor would remain any longer. She did not cease with her entreaties;
nay, suddenly she threw her arm round his neck, and kissed him with the
liveliest expression of fondness.
“Are you mad, Philina?” cried Wilhelm, endeavoring to disengage himself;
“to make the open street the scene of such caresses, which I nowise merit! Let
me go! I can not and I will not stay.”
“And I will hold thee fast,” said she, “and kiss thee here on the open street,
and kiss thee till thou promise what I want. I shall die of laughing,” she
continued: “by this familiarity the good people here must take me for thy wife of
four weeks’ standing; and husbands, who witness this touching scene, will
commend me to their wives as a pattern of childlike, simple tenderness.”
Some persons were just then going by: she caressed him in the most graceful
way; and he, to avoid giving scandal, was constrained to play the part of the
patient husband. Then she made faces at the people, when their backs were
turned, and, in the wildest humor, continued to commit all sorts of improprieties,
till at last he was obliged to promise that he would not go that day, or the
morrow, or the next day.
“You are a true clod!” said she, quitting him; “and I am but a fool to spend so
much kindness on you.” She arose with some vexation, and walked a few steps,
then turned round laughing, and cried, “I believe it is just that, after all, that
makes me so crazy about thee. I will but go and seek my knitting-needles and
my stocking, that I may have something to do. Stay there, and let me find the
stone man still upon the stone bench when I come back.”
She cast a sparkling glance on him, and went into the house. He had no call to
follow her; on the contrary, her conduct had excited fresh aversion in him; yet he
rose from the bench to go after her, not well knowing why.
He was just entering the door, when Melina passed by, and spoke to him in a
respectful tone, asking his pardon for the somewhat too harsh expressions he had
used in their late discussion. “You will not take it ill of me,” continued he, “if I
appear perhaps too fretful in my present circumstances. The charge of providing
for a wife, perhaps soon for a child, forbids me from day to day to live at peace,
or spend my time as you may do, in the enjoyment of pleasant feelings.
Consider, I pray you, and, if possible, do put me in possession of that stage
machinery that is lying here. I shall not be your debtor long, and I shall be
obliged to you while I live.”
Our friend, unwilling to be kept upon the threshold, over which an irresistible
impulse was drawing him at that moment to Philina, answered, with an absent
mind, eager to be gone, and surprised into a transient feeling of good will, “If I
can make you happy and contented by doing this, I will hesitate no longer. Go
you and put every thing to rights. I shall be prepared this evening, or to-morrow
morning, to pay the money.” He then gave his hand to Melina in confirmation of
his promise, and was very glad to see him hastily proceed along the street; but,
alas! his entrance, which he now thought sure, was a second time prohibited, and
more disagreeably than at first.
A young man, with a bundle on his back, came walking fast along the street,
and advanced to Wilhelm, who at once recognized him for Friedrich.
“Here am I again!” cried he, looking with his large blue eyes joyfully up and
down, over all the windows of the house. “Where is Mamsell? Devil take me, if I
can stroll about the world any longer without seeing her!”
The landlord, joining them at this instant, replied that she was above;
Friedrich, with a few bounds, was up stairs; and Wilhelm continued standing, as
if rooted to the threshold. At the first instant he was tempted to pluck the
younker back, and drag him down by the hair; then all at once the spasm of a
sharp jealousy stopped the current of his spirits and ideas; and, as he gradually
recovered from this stupefaction, there came over him a splenetic fit of
restlessness, a general discomfort, such as he had never felt in his life before.
He went up to his room, and found Mignon busy writing. For some time the
creature had been laboring with great diligence in writing every thing she knew
by heart, giving always to her master and friend the papers to correct. She was
indefatigable, and of good comprehension; but still, her letters were irregular,
and her lines crooked. Here, too, the body seemed to contradict the mind. In his
usual moods, Wilhelm took no small pleasure in the child’s attention; but, at the
present moment, he regarded little what she showed him, — a piece of neglect
which she felt the more acutely, as on this occasion she conceived her work had
been accomplished with peculiar success.
Wilhelm’s unrest drove him up and down the passages of the house, and
finally again to the street-door. A rider was just prancing towards it, — a man
of good appearance, of middle age, and a brisk, contented look. The landlord ran
to meet him, holding out his hand as to an old acquaintance. “Ay, Herr
Stallmeister,” cried he, “have we the pleasure to see you again?”
“I am only just going to bait with you,” replied the stranger, “and then along
to the estate, to get matters put in order as soon as possible. The count is coming
over to-morrow with his lady; they mean to stay a while to entertain the Prince
von — — in their best style: he intends to fix his headquarters in this
neighborhood for some time.”
“It is pity,” said the landlord, “that you cannot stop with us: we have good
company in the house.” The hostler came running out, and took the horse from
the Stallmeister, who continued talking in the door with the landlord, and now
and then giving a look at Wilhelm.
Our friend, observing that he formed the topic of their conversation, went
away, and walked up and down the streets.
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