At the Ghost Hour. The House of the Unbelieving ThomasHeyse, Paul
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At the Ghost Hour. The House of the Unbelieving Thomas
Heyse, Paul
German fiction -- Translations into English; Ghost stories
"To be sure; I myself, and no other," returned the illustrious
wine-seller. "You must know, Johann, that after I had played that base
fellow, the Doctor, a trick, and had separated him and the well-bred
daughter of, the Stadtrath, I flew towards home. There I saw the other
one, who is like poison to me, the Bohemian, bending as usual over his
book of magic; I slipped in, and then it occurred to me that I would
spoil his broth for him. I overturned his lamp, the oil ran out over
the table, there was an explosion, and as the old fool did not know how
to save himself at once, the whole affair went up in smoke. So I have
wreaked my vengeance on the wretched cobbler, and now I shall sail back
to our upper world straightway. Of hell upon earth, I've had my fill.
It may be confoundedly tedious, up there; but what of that? Doomsday
cannot be far distant, if one may judge by the mad goings-on down
here."
He raised himself a little, as though about to take flight.
"Do take me with you, Herr Heinrich!" said the poor soul of Johann
Gruber. "I, too, am out of conceit with everything down here. I'm ready
to give up the seance. For yesterday, when I went to look after my
Rieka, I found her in--well, I will not say what company. It's
accursedly mean business--playing this sort of a spirit--and I thought
it would be such capital fun! Some one else can take his turn at it
now, when stupid people are bent upon having communications. Look, Herr
Heinrich, the sun is just flashing up from behind the mountain yonder.
We must make haste and begone before it grows hot. When I was in the
service of my former master I was always in the harness before
daybreak. Hoop-la!" and he was off without waiting for his companion,
who rose slowly after him, casting one more look of malicious
satisfaction upon the smoking ruins, beneath which lay buried the poor
victim of his revenge.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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