Having thus satisfied his conscience with regard to his unsuspecting
young wife, he became more at ease. Yet it was with ever-decreasing
haste that he ascended the steep street above the market-place, till he
reached the tower of the Burgthor. As he turned into the narrow alley
leading to his house, he saw in the distance a dark figure standing
beneath the round arch of the garden wall; and he scarcely had time to
recognize his little wife before a pair of soft firm arms were thrown
around his neck and a warm mouth sought his in the darkness.
As he was carrying a satchel and portfolio, he could neither return the
embrace nor prevent it, as he was inclined to do; for he noticed that
some of the neighboring windows were open, and feared that the tender
welcome might be observed.
She saw his embarrassment, however, and calmed him by saying that they
were only some old people, who knew long ago that she was still
sentimental after seven years of marriage. Then, chatting softly and
pleasantly of many small occurrences, she led him into the house, where
every one was already asleep. It was an ancient ark, whose walls had
outlasted many severe storms and severer wars. Its age was even more
evident within, where all the woodwork was black and cracked, the
stairs were steep and crooked, and the walls were parted at the seams,
in spite of numerous props. But in order to remedy all these evils, it
would have been necessary to demolish the old structure and build it
afresh, and this the former owner could as little persuade himself to
do as his daughter and her young husband, in whose veins the blood of
the "great burgomaster" still flowed.
As Hans Doppler ascended the narrow, crooked stairs of this historic
house, he for the first time found fault with it, although he was
discreetly silent. As he entered the sitting-room, the low, raftered
ceiling, the extremely old-fashioned furniture, and the family
portraits on the walls struck him as shabby and ordinary; though the
little brass lamp with its green ornaments looked very cheerful on the
covered table, and lighted up the bright plates and dishes set out for
his modest evening meal. At such home-comings he was usually bubbling
over with merry speeches; tonight he was perfectly quiet, and, to
conceal it, forced a continual smile, and stroked his pretty wife's
cheeks in a fatherly manner which caused her much secret wonder.
But in the chamber where the children were sleeping the seal seemed to
break from his heart and lips; especially when the younger boy, the
favorite because of his close resemblance to his mother, awoke and
threw his arms about his father's neck with a cry of joy.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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