Short stories, German -- Translations into English
I resolved upon remaining in this town for some time, partly because I
liked it so well, partly also because I wished to recruit myself from
the exertions of my travels. I hired a vaulted shop, in that part of
the town called Sta. Croce, and not far from this a couple of nice
rooms at an inn, leading out upon a balcony. I immediately had my bills
circulated, which announced me to be both physician and merchant.
Scarcely had I opened my shop when I was besieged by buyers, and in
spite of my high prices I sold more than any one else, because I was
obliging and friendly towards my customers. Thus I had already lived
four days happily in Florence, when one evening, as I was about to
close my vaulted room, and on examining once more the contents of my
ointment boxes, as I was in the habit of doing, I found in one of the
small boxes a piece of paper, which I did not remember to have put into
it.
I unfolded the paper, and found in it an invitation to be on the bridge
which is called Ponto Vecchio that night exactly at midnight. I was
thinking for a long time as to who it might be who had invited me
there; and not knowing a single soul in Florence, I thought perhaps I
should be secretly conducted to a patient, a thing which had already
often occurred. I therefore determined to proceed thither, but took
care to gird on the sword which my father had once presented to me.
When it was close upon midnight I set out on my journey, and soon
reached the Ponte Vecchio. I found the bridge deserted, and determined
to await the appearance of him who called me. It was a cold night; the
moon shone brightly, and I looked down upon the waves of the Arno,
which sparkled far away in the moonlight. It was now striking twelve
o’clock from all the churches of the city, when I looked up and saw a
tall man standing before me completely covered in a scarlet cloak, one
end of which hid his face.
At first I was somewhat frightened, because he had made his appearance
so suddenly; but was however myself again shortly afterwards, and said:
“If it is you who have ordered me here, say what you want?” The man
dressed in scarlet turned round and said in an undertone: “Follow!” At
this, however, I felt a little timid to go alone with this stranger. I
stood still and said: “Not so, sir, kindly first tell me where; you
might also let me see your countenance a little, in order to convince
me that you wish me no harm.” The red one, however, did not seem to pay
any attention to this. “If thou art unwilling, Zaleukos, remain,” he
replied, and continued his way. I grew angry. “Do you think,” I
exclaimed, “a man like myself allows himself to be made a fool of, and
to have waited on this cold night for nothing?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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