The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 18 September 1913, Page 5

The Storyteller

FANNY ROTAPFEL'S TRIP TO VENICE When I was studying music in a German city I lived in , a great high building, the home of many families in moderate circumstances, and various students in circumstances more straitened. Not being possessed of a large income, I lodged on the top floor, opposite a little dressmaker, hunchbacked and lame, but in her own way a remarkable personage. She was so skilful that she never lacked employment, so resourceful that she could make the ordinary dollar do the work of two, so tasteful that she had converted a sordid room into a most comfortable spot, with its flowers and chintz curtains and pretty home-made ornaments; so cheery and kind that there was no dweller beneath the self-same roof who was -not better for having known her. She was called by the singular and uneuphonious name of Fanny Rotapfel (Red Apple), which did not suit her in the least, as she was neither plump nor rosy. The owner and proprietor of the building, Herr Armleder, had a bookshop on the ground floor, with his living apartments just above, where he resided with his only daughter, Gertrude, a girl of twelve, and an old servant, Barbara, who had taken charge of his house and daughter since the death of his wife, eleven years before. * Herr Armleder was a very' good man, who looked after his daughter as well as he could, but was perhaps a little too indulgent with her. She was not fond of study and seldom brought home good reports from school, but the father did not attach much importance to that. Though a bookseller, he was not a booklover; the daily paper comprised nearly all his reading. The little seamstress on the top floor was, on the contrary, a great reader, especially of books of travel; and, while Gertrude seldom opened a book herself, she

took great delight in listening to the stories of foreign lands which Fanny Rotapfel took equal delight in telling. Gertrude spent many a leisure hour in Fanny's attic, and from my open door I saw and heard a great deal that went on in that pleasant, neighborly little room. One sunny afternoon Fanny was seated in her little sewing-chair, with its soft, bright chintz cushion, feather-stitching a baby's gown. On. the corner win-dow-seat beside her sprawled Gertrude,' her head resting on her hands, her long blonde curls falling over them, making a very pretty picture, as, with sparkling eyes, she announced some interesting news. • ■' What do you think, Fanny? The Grand Duke and Duchess, on their way to Venice, are going to stop here half a day, or maybe a whole day. All the schools will be dismissed, and every girl will. be dressed in white and strew flowers from the station to the Town Hall. And there is to be a reception, and I have been chosen to read an address of welcome.'

‘You!’ exclaimed Fanny Rotapfel in surprise. ‘I wonder they did not select one of the best scholars.’ ‘Yes, that would have seemed right,’ rejoined Gertrude, indifferently. ‘ But the principal said that, because my grandpapa had once saved the life of the Grand Duke’s father on the battlefield, I ought to read it. That’s the way it happened.’ ‘Are you glad?’ asked Fanny. "‘Yes, I’m glad, because I shall stand in the very front row, and papa will get me the handsomest bouquet he can find in town. Aunt Sophie bought me a pretty white dress this morning, and I am to have blue, ribbons on my hair and a blue sash.’

Fanny Rotapiel~lald down her sewing and, reaching for a book on the shelf behind her, began to turn over the pages. ‘ How I should love to go to Venice again !’ she said with a soft little sigh. Again exclaimed Gertrude. Why, Fanny Rotapfel, you know very well you have never been out of this town in your whole life.’ But *ae little seamstress continued to turn the pages as she replied smilingly:

‘ I have often been there, Gertrude. I like it better than any place I* have ever visited. My father and I used to enjoy those trips above all we ever took together. For some time past I have been thinking of Venice a good deal, and now that you have put it into my head I shall start this very moment, and take you with me, if you would like to come. lam tired sewing, anyhow, and there is no hurry about this little frock.’ She drew another and larger book from the shelf as she spoke, while Gertrude abandoned her recumbent position and cried in astonishment: Why, Fanny Rotapfel,.! believe you’re going crazy! You must have been working too hard. 'Papa says hard work often makes people lose their minds.’ The seamstress leaned back in her chair and laughed merrily, Gertrude regarding her with astonishment.

‘ When and how do you go to Venice?’ asked Gertrude after a while.

‘ln books,’ was the reply.- ‘My father had several large volumes on Italy. We travelled through the whole, beautiful land that way, and, as I said before, I’ll be glad to take you along this time if you want to go.’ Gertrude approached nearer, and knelt beside her friend. ,s *

‘ What lovely pictures!’ she said. ‘ The houses are all built on the water, aren’t they?’ ‘Yes, they face the water, but there are gardens at the back. It is a city of old palaces, with canals between them, and about four hundred bridges. Are you not familiar with it, Gertrude ? Haven’t you studied it in your geography?’

‘ Oh, yes, some, but I never paid much attention. What queer looking boats, Fanny !’

‘ They are gondolas. People go about in them instead of in carriages. They are rowed by men in picturesque costumes who, as they row, sing most beautiful “barcarolles.”’.

! : /What is a "barcarolle," Fanny ?'.- ; -, 'A boat or water song. Some of them are lovely. My father used to play them on his flute. Fancy how delightful it would be to go about in the moonlight, gliding over the dark water, listening to those enchanting songs!' •' ' -" -. Gertrude was deeply impressed Fanny told her about the Piazza and the Tower of St. Mark, of the thousands of doves fed daily on the Square, of the Bridge of Sighs, and many other places, pointing them out in the pictures as she explained. Twilight was falling before Gertrude tore herself away from the scenes depicted in 'Venetian Days.' The following afternoon as soon as school was dismissed she reappeared, and the occupation of the preceding afternoon was renewed. The next day she presented herself with paper and pencil. ' Oh, Fanny !' she cried. ' I have not .only to read but to write the address of welcome. I can't do it, and papa says he can't, though the teacher said I might get help at home. It has to be about five hundred words in length. What shall I say? You will have to help me, Fanny.' ' Gladly will I do it,' said the little seamstress. ' Have you any idea what you have to write?' First we are to welcome the Grand Duke and Duchess; then we must wish them a safe and happy journey.' ' That ought not to be a hard thing to do,' said Fanny. But I don't see how you can get in five hundred words, unless you fill the paper full of flattery, which I cannot bear. Suppose we say something about the beautiful city they are to visit?' ' That will be a splendid idea,' rejoined Gertrude. ' And you know how to do it so well, Fanny.' After that there was "silence in the attic room, while Fanny Rotapfel bent over the table, writing, and Gertrude played with the kitten. * * . * . * * The Town Hall having been declared too small for the crowds, it was decided to receive their Highnesses in the public square, which was opposite Fanny's window. From the broad, open seat, her back propped up with cushions, she could see all that went on below, for she had very good eyesight, this poor little seamstress. First, the children, girls and boys, dressed in their best, with huge wreaths of flowers, as they asembled on the platform, in the centre of which stood two red plush armchairs. Then the carriages, as they arrived with their august burdens, while cheer after cheer rent. the air, and the children broke forth into song. Finally, she saw Gertrude with two companions emerge from the midst of the group and make a graceful little curtsey before the Grand Duke and Duchess. The child did not seem at all embarrassed, though of course Fanny could not hear a word that was said. Gertrude had been very well coached by her teacher, and the great personages evidently enjoyed the little speech very much, for, when it was finished, and the magnificent bouquet had been presented, the Grand Duchess stooped and kissed her. The townspeople must have been very proud of their representative; instead . of being the daughter of a bookseller she might have been a little princess standing there in her pretty white dress, her beautiful curls falling over her shoulders. Prolonged applause followed, the conclusion of the address and the kiss, after which the Duke rose and said a few words. Presently the crowd began to disperse, the visitors re-entered their carriage, and Fanny, leaving the window-seat, quietly resumed her neglected sewing. * * * * * It was late in the afternoon when, from my room opposite, I saw Gertrude mounting the stairs, calling as she came: 'Fanny, Fanny! Such good 'news! Such fine news!'. -' I saw it all from the window,' said Fanny. ' You did splendidly, Gertrude, I'm sure.' 'So splendidly,' continued Gertrude, •' that the Grand Duchess kissed me, and this afternoon sent

papa two hundred crowns so that he and I may take a trip to that beautiful Venice which, wrote his Highness, his daughter soiwell described. That is what the* note said, Fanny. And so, instead of going to Berhthal, next week, to visit Uncle Franz and Aunt Selina as we had planned, we shall travel to Venice and see the palaces, "and glide about in the beautiful black and gold gondolas and hear the "barcarolles," and maybe feed the doves on the Piazza of St. Mark. Oh, won't it be grand, Fanny Rotapfel?' ' ,: » hands together in an ecstasy of delight. 'lt is almost too good to be true. You will have so very many things to tell me when you return And perhaps—some little souvenir; anything—even a stone from La Venetia!' \-, ; *■ 'l'must go now,' cried Gertrude. 'Aunt Sophie is down-stairs and they are talking about the journey, and it may even be that the Grand Duchess will still be there and we shall see her again.' In a flash she was gone, and the next moment I heard Fanny softly close the door. ***** Two, three days passed and I had seen nothing of Gertrude, though it was possible she might have visited her friend during my frequent absences. But on the fourth morning my neighbor accosted me in the narrow corridor, as I was about to descend the five flights of stairs which. led to the street. Dear Miss,' she said, 'would it be too much to ask you to inquire for Gertrude as you go out? I fear she is ill she has not been to see me. I do not remember that she has been so long away since her little feet began to patter up and down, the stairway. At that time I was not so lame and could go down myself at least once a day. I remember very well how she first put her tiny fingers in mine and came up all the way. Now, it is different; my legs grow very stiff, and I seldom go farther than this corridor. I am really anxious about Gertrude.' I promised to inquire, though I knew that Gertrude was not ill; I had seen her flitting in and out of the shop every day. Fate ordained that I should meet her on the sidewalk. ' Fanny Rotapfel has been asking for you, Gertrude,' I said. 'She feared you were ill.' 'Why did she think that?' asked the child, tossing her curls back from her forehead. ,» ' '. ' You have not been to see her for some time.' ' But we are all so busy; Aunt Sophie and Barbara are getting me ready. We are going sooner than we thoughtthis very afternoon.' ' I hope you will not leave without paying at least a flying visit to the kind friend but for whom you would never have made this journey.' She looked at me inquiringly.. ' But for her you ' would have known nothing of Venice,' I continued. ' But for her you would never have prepared that address. Can't you see that it is so?' > • . -f Yes, you are right never thought of it,' Gertrude replied. ' I hope, also, that you will let her know you appreciate what her kindness has obtained for you.' ' Fanny would never bother about that; she wouldn't care. She loves to read and talk of foreign places. It is her life. It pleases her above all things to have me listen to her.' . _ Do not forget, at least, to say good-bye to her. She will appreciate it, I am sure.' Oh —yes —l shall say good-bye, of course. I believe I will go up as soon as Aunt Sophie finishes packing my trunk. I might forget, you know. Everything is so exciting.' With a whirl of her short skirts Gertrude disappeared into the shop. Two hours later I met her on the stairs. ' We are off,' she said. ' In twenty minutes the cab will be here. Fanny asked me to tell the man to stop on the opposite crossing so that she might see me get in. Good-bye.' I went up to my room, set my simple luncheon on the table and for the first time thought I would invite my neighbor to share it with me. I found her on the

window-seat, her head resting against the jamb, her eyes closed, her hands lightly folded. 'Are you asleep?' I inquired. 'I came to ask you to take luncheon with me.' She opened her gentle, tired eyes, smiling sweetly as she looked up into my face. " . - 'Thank, you,' she replied, 'but excuse me, please. Another time, if you will be so kind. I have a slight headache, and will not eat anything until evening. I think it must be the excitement.' 'What excitement?' - - 'Of Gertrude's going. The joy of it —the strangeness of it. To think that the child will see Venice, the idol of my heart; that all her life long she will have it to remember. The dear thing is full of it.' And to think, above all, if it had not been for you it would never have happened!' 'How?' inquired the seamstress. Ah, neighbor Fanny, through my open door I learn many things,' said I. She blushed and turned her eyes away. 'Dear Miss, you are mistaken,' she said. The child is so pretty, so attractive, it was that.' Think so, if you like. But I wish you were in Gertrude's place.' I 'I? Such a poor, lame creature could never get about, even in gondolas. They would have to lift me. I would only be a burden and a spoil-pleasure. I have my Venice always here beside me. I can visit it whenever I choose.' ' 'Have you never longed for it?' * Never. That would be too foolish, to presumptuous. Thank God I have never wished for what He has not granted me.' Not even for health No.' 'I hope she will —that harum-scarum' Gertrude.' ' I did not ask her to write; it might take something from her supreme enjoyment, and the time is very short. She may, but what can one expect of a child? When she returns—ah, Miss, that will be the climax of joy! We can talk of it forever.' I saw two tears chase each other down either pale and withered cheek. 'Why are you crying?' I asked, trying to smile, as she put up her hand to wipe them away. ' From pure joy and happiness,' said Fanny Rotapfel. Rosary Magazine.