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Stallmeister of the castle towards them: this gentleman, on coming nearer, very
anxiously inquired for Mademoiselle Philina. No sooner had she stepped forth
from the crowd, than he very pressingly offered to conduct her to the new
mansion, where a little place had been provided for her with the countess’s
maids. She did not hesitate long about accepting his proposal; she caught his
arm, and, recommending her trunk to the care of the rest, was going to hasten off
with him directly: but the others intercepted them, asking, entreating, conjuring
the Stallmeister; till at last, to get away with his fair one, he promised every
thing, assuring them, that, in a little while, the castle should be opened, and they
lodged in the most comfortable manner. In a few moments they saw the glimmer
of his lantern vanish: they long looked in vain for another gleam of light. At last,
after much watching, scolding, and reviling, it actually appeared, and revived
them with a touch of hope and consolation.
An ancient footman opened the door of the old edifice, into which they rushed
with violence. Each of them now strove to have his trunk unfastened, and
brought in beside him. Most of this luggage, like the persons of its owners, was
thoroughly wetted. Having but a single light, the process of unpacking went on
very slowly. In the dark passages they pushed against each other, they stumbled,
they fell. They begged to have more lights, they begged to have some fuel. The
monosyllabic footman, with much ado, consented to put down his own lantern;
then went his way, and came not again.
They now began to investigate the edifice. The doors of all the rooms were
open: large stoves, tapestry hangings, inlaid floors, yet bore witness to its former
pomp; but of other house-gear there was none to be seen, — no table, chair, or
mirror, nothing but a few monstrous, empty bedsteads, stripped of every
ornament and every necessary. The wet trunks and knapsacks were adopted as
seats: a part of the tired wanderers placed themselves upon the floor. Wilhelm
had sat down upon some steps: Mignon lay upon his knees. The child was
restless; and, when he asked what ailed her, she answered, “I am hungry.” He
himself had nothing that could still the craving of the child: the rest of the party
had consumed their whole provision, so he was obliged to leave the little
traveller without refreshment. Through the whole adventure he had been
inactive, silently immersed in thought. He was very sullen, and full of indignant
regret that he had not kept by his first determination, and remained at the inn,
though he should have slept in the garret.
The rest demeaned themselves in various ways. Some of them had got a heap
of old wood collected within a vast, gaping chimney in the hall: they set fire to
the pile with great huzzaing. Unhappily, however, their hopes of warming and
drying themselves by means of it were mocked in the most frightful manner. The
chimney, it appeared, was there for ornament alone, and was walled up above; so
the smoke rushed quickly back, and at once filled the whole chamber. The dry
wood rose crackling into flames; the flame was also driven back; the draught
sweeping through the broken windows gave it a wavering direction. Terrified
lest the castle should catch fire, the unhappy guests had to tear the burning sticks
asunder, to smother and trample them under their feet; the smoke increased; their
case was rendered more intolerable than before; they were driven to the brink of
desperation.
Wilhelm had retreated from the smoke into a distant chamber, to which
Mignon soon followed him, leading in a well-dressed servant, with a high, clear,
double-lighted lantern in his hand. He turned to Wilhelm, and, holding out to
him some fruits and confectionery on a beautiful porcelain plate, “The young
lady up-stairs,” said he, “sends you this, with the request that you would join her
party: she bids me tell you,” added the lackey, with a sort of grin, “that she is
very well off yonder, and wishes to divide her enjoyments with her friends.”
Wilhelm had not at all expected such a message; for, ever since the adventure
on the stone bench, he had treated Philina with the most decided contempt. He
was still so resolute to have no more concern with her that he thought of sending
back her dainty gifts untasted, when a supplicating look of Mignon’s induced
him to accept them. He returned his thanks in the name of the child. The
invitation he entirely rejected. He desired the servant to exert himself a little for
the stranger company, and made inquiry for the baron. The latter, he was told,
had gone to bed, but had already, as the lackey understood, given orders to some
other person to take charge of these unfortunate and ill-lodged gentlemen.
The servant went away, leaving one of his lights, which Wilhelm, in the
absence of a candlestick, contrived to fix upon the window-casement; and now,
at least in his meditations, he could see the four walls of his chamber. Nor was it
long till preparations were commenced for conducting our travellers to rest.
Candles arrived by degrees, though without snuffers; then a few chairs; an hour
afterwards came bed-clothes; then pillows, all well steeped in rain. It was far
past midnight when straw beds and mattresses were produced, which, if sent at
first, would have been extremely welcome.
In the interim, also, somewhat to eat and drink had been brought in: it was
enjoyed without much criticism; though it looked like a most disorderly
collection of remains, and offered no very singular proof of the esteem in which
our guests were held.
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