Tales of the Caravan, Inn, and Palace — John Shaqi
Tales of the Caravan, Inn, and PalaceHauff, Wilhelm
General
Tales of the Caravan, Inn, and Palace
Hauff, Wilhelm
Short stories, German -- Translations into English
It seemed as though fortune smiled on me again the moment we left the
Dardanelles behind. Our voyage was short and fortunate. I wandered
through the cities and towns of the Franks, and every-where found ready
purchasers for my wares. My friend in Stamboul kept forwarding me
consignments of fresh goods, and day by day my financial condition
improved. When I thought I had made money enough to venture on some
larger undertaking, I went to Italy with my goods. I have omitted
speaking on one thing that brought me in quite a little sum of money;
this was my knowledge of medicine. When I entered a town, I scattered
notices announcing the arrival of a Greek physician, whose skill had
restored many to health; and my balsams and medicines brought me in
many a sequin.
At last I reached the city of Florence. It was my intention to remain
some time in this place, partly because the city pleased me, and partly
for the reason that I wished to recover from the fatigue of my
wanderings. I rented a shop in the Santa Croce quarter, and not far
from it, in an inn, I found a suite of beautiful rooms that overlooked
a terrace. I then distributed notices that advertised me as a merchant
and physician. I had no sooner opened my shop than a stream of
customers poured in, and although my prices were rather high, I sold
more than others, because I was polite and affable with my customers.
I had passed four days pleasantly in Florence, when one evening, after
closing my shop, as I was counting over the profits of the day, I came
across a note, in a little box, that I could not remember having put
there. I opened the note, and found that it contained a request that I
would come to the Ponte Vecchio that night punctually at twelve
o'clock. I studied for a long time over the matter; but, as I did not
know a soul in Florence, I concluded that somebody wished to lead me
secretly to a sick person, as had happened more than once before. I
therefore resolved to go; but, by way of precaution, I took along the
sword that my father had given me.
Shortly before midnight I started, and soon came to the Ponte Vecchio.
I found the bridge deserted, and determined to wait until the person
who had invited me there should appear. The night was cold; the moon
shone bright, and I looked down at the waves of the Arno gleaming in
the moonlight. The church clocks struck twelve. I raised my head, and
before me stood a tall man, covered with a red mantle, a corner of
which he held before his face. I was somewhat startled at first by his
sudden appearance, but collecting myself immediately, said to him:
"If you are the person who ordered me here, tell me what it is you
desire?"
The man in the red mantle turned about and said slowly: "Follow me!"
I felt somewhat uneasy about accompanying this stranger, and replied:
"Not so, dear sir, until you first tell me where I am to follow you;
and you might also show me your face, so that I may assure myself that
you mean me no harm."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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