At the Ghost Hour. The House of the Unbelieving Thomas

by Paul Heyse

When he found himself in the open air, such a feeling of relief came over him at his escape from the stifling atmosphere of this respectable Philistine house, that, forgetting his new professional dignity, he waved his hat, made a leap into the air, and hummed a student song to himself. A couple of the neighbors who knew him, and his status with the fair daughter of the Stadtraths, smiled, as he passed by them unheeding, and whispered to each other that it had probably just been settled between the young pair,

and the gentleman was a trifle exhilarated by the betrothal wine. But Philip was eager to get out of the dark streets into open space, and drew a deep breath when he reached the shaded park which lay along the river, and was peopled in the daytime by the children of the town and their nurses. At this late hour, however, only solitary pairs of lovers walked here, and their shadows, as they glided past, moved the lonely wanderer to melancholy reflections. He seated himself on a bench and for a long time gazed upward through the gently swaying branches at the stars, from which a soft coolness flowed down upon him. With a hushed sound, the river rolled along at his feet. Philip could not but think how delightful it would be to let himself be carried away by the current, in a boat, with a certain being at his side, all through the night, only to land at the first flush of morning near some secluded little house, and there to set up his own hearthstone. The image of little Gundula came before him so lifelike,

she appeared with all her gifts and graces in so bright a light, that he could not conquer his longing to take the fair form in his arms; and springing up, he set out in a straight line for the town again, resolved to make his way that very evening into the haunted house, cost what it might, and have a serious talk with Frau Cordula concerning the present and the future.

But when he had passed the outlying districts of the town, and was nearing his goal, he noticed an unwonted commotion in the streets--a running and shouting of men who at the hour of ten are usually sitting at home, or over their beer. He made inquiry and heard with alarm that a fire had broken out in Ghost Lane. And now he rushed on ahead of all the others, and as he reached the street and saw the glow of the fire lighting up the black houses, he made a way for himself by elbowing and pushing through the dense crowd that blocked the entrance. But the people stood idly by gaping at the spot whence the red blaze shot upwards, so that Philip had no difficulty in fighting his way through them to the seat of the mischief. His fearful surmise had not led him astray--the house of "The Unbelieving Thomas" was really on fire, and the flames, which until now had issued only from the porter's room, were just beginning to encircle the old entrance gate. The men who stood in front of it, in a half circle, pointed to the fiery spectacle with stupid indifference, or even with malicious grins. A few even gave vent to jeers:

it was time that Satan at last laid hold of the old witchmonger by the collar; perhaps he had been trying to make gold, and a flame from hell had shot up out of the crucible and singed his head. It could not be expected that any good Christian would put out such a fire, and thus arrest the judgment of Heaven.

As soon as Philip reached the house, and took in the situation, he shouted to the bystanders to get axes and break in the door and rescue those who lived back in the court. Not a foot stirred; only a pair of saucy tongues gave it as their opinion that it would be no harm if the whole pack of witches were burned, too,--they had deserved a funeral pile this long time;--a sentiment which was greeted with general laughter. The young man heard this with a throb of rage; and casting about him for some implement with which he could burst open the door, he seized a beam which the pavers had left lying at the edge of the sidewalk, and with superhuman exertion dragged the burden to the entrance that with it he might batter in the woodwork of the door, which was already ignited; when the rotten lock, as of a miracle, yielded of itself in the sockets, and the door swung slowly inward on its hinges. In the dark opening appeared a strange pair of human figures. Gundelchen was carrying her mother pick-a-pack through the smoke and showering sparks out into the open air.

The child had gone to bed earlier than usual that night, weary with her day's work, and was awakened by a cry of terror from her mother, who had not yet fallen asleep. When she perceived the light from the fire, she put on a skirt, threw a shawl around her shoulders, and without stopping for shoes or stockings, with swift decision she lifted her mother, who could move but slowly, to her back and bore her down the little stairs and across the court, there to stand a few agonizing moments in the dark hallway until her guardian angel opened the house door.