The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 23 February 1911, Page 315

The Storyteller

BUND ROSA (Continued from last week.) 1 You terrify me. For God’s sake tell me what misfortune has befallen her!’ She is blind!’ ‘Blind! Rosa blind! Without eyes to look on me again? Alas! alas!’ Overcome by grief, he tottered to a seat and sank down upon it. The grave-digger came up to him. and said : 1 She has been blind for the last ten years, and goes about begging her daily bread. I give her two stivers weekly, and whenever we bake she receives a piece of bread.’ The traveller jumped up, shook earnestly the gravedigger’s hand, and said : ‘ A thousand thanks! God bless you for your love to Rosa! In her name I take upon me to reward you, for lam rich. To-day we shall see each other again. But do tell me, in few words, where Rosa lives. Every moment must be for her a century of misery.’ With these words he drew the grave-digger by the hand and went in the direction of the gate leading out of the churchyard*. Having reached the wall, the grave-digger pointed with his finger and said: ‘ Do you see that small chimney smoking at the corner of the wood ? That is the cottage of the broom-maker, Nelis Ooms; Rosa lives there.’ Without waiting for further explanations, the traveller proceeded through the village in the direction indicated. He soon arrived at the lonely dwelling. It was an humble hut, built of clay and rushes, and whitewashed on the outside. A few steps from the door were four little children, who, basidng in the sun, were pleasantly occupied in binding up wreaths of wild-flowers, consisting of cornflowers and poppy-heads. They were barefoot and half naked. The eldest, a boy about six years old, had nothing on him but a linen shirt. While his three little sisters looked at the stranger shyly and bashfully, the boy gazed at him uninterruptedly with his great eyes, that showed surprise and curiosity. The traveller smiled to the children, but went into the hut without stopping, and saw m a corner a man occupied in binding up brooms, while a woman sat by the fire at her spinning-wheel. They seemed to be about thirty years of age, and it could easily be seen that they were a happy and contented couple. Besides, everything they wore, and all about them, was as clean and tidy as could be expected from country people in their condition of life. His entrance did not occasion them much surprise, although they politely came forward to offer their services. hey thought that he wished to inquire his way, and the man was advancing toward the door in order to point out the right road to him. But when, instead of asking that, he inquired if Rosa Meulinckz lived there, the husband and wile looked at each other with astonishment, and could scarcely find words to reply. i l es ’ dear sir,’ said the man at length; ‘Rosa lives here, but she is at present gone out begging. Do you wish to speak with her?’ ‘ Where is she ?’ exclaimed the stranger in an excited manner; cannot you find her immediately?’ .. ‘That would be difficult, sir she has gone out with an attendant to make her weekly round; but she will certainly return in an hour; she never fails,’ ‘Can. I. wait here, my v good folks, until she comes home?’ Scarcely had he uttered these words, when the man went hastily into an adjoining apartment, and brought out a better kind of chair than the rough one which stood in the outer room. Not content with this, the woman went to a drawer and took out a snow-white cloth, which she spread out on the chair, which was then presented for the stranger to rest upon, who was surprised at such slight but well-meant marks of politeness, and returned the cloth to the woman with many thanks. He then quietly sat down and began to look around the room in order to see if he could discover anything in it that would tell him about Rosa. Turning his head, he felt a little hand glide into ins and playing with his fingers. Looking with some curiosity to see who was the perpetrator of this friendly greeting, his look met that of a blue-eyed little boy, who gazed upon him with a kind of heavenly innocence, as if he had been his father or his brother. ‘Come here, Peterkin,’ said the mother; you must not, make so bold with the gentleman.’ f , Peterkin, however, seemed not to hear this piece of advice, but continued to look at and fondle the unknown person, so that our traveller was quite at a loss to understand the friendly ways of the child. ‘Dear child,’ the stranger said, ‘your blue eyes pierce deeply into my soul, and because you are so pretty I will make you a present.’ • ’ He then put his hand in his pocket, and drew out a little purse with a silver clasp and adorned with variegated ornaments, which he gave to the little boy after putting- ; some money m it, V “ »

The child looked at the present with much delight, but still kept hold of the traveller’s hand. The mother drew near and made a motion to the child, and said, ‘Peterkin, you must not be rude; thank the gentleman and kiss his hand.’ The child , kissed his hand, made a bow to him, and said, with a clear voice, ‘Best thanks, Long Jan 1’ A stroke of lightning could not have confounded the traveller more than to hear his name thus pronounced from the mouth of the innocent child. Tears involuntarily rolled down his cheeks he took the child on his knee, and looked him steadfastly in the face. f So you know me, do you, you little cherub ? And yet you never saw me before! How is this P Who taught you my name ‘ Blind Rosa,’ was the reply. But how is it possible that you could know me? God Himself must have taught your childish mind.’ ‘Oh, I knew you immediately,’ cried Peterkin; for, when I led Rosa out begging, she was always speaking about you, and said you were so tall, and had black sparkling eyes, and that you would be sure to come back and bring us all many pretty things. I was not, therefore, afraid of you, for Rosa had taught me to love you, and had said that you would give me a large bow and arrows.’ These simple stories and disclosures on the part of the child transported the traveller with delight. He suddenly lifted the boy from the ground, kissed him affectionately, and said to his parents, with great emotion: ‘ This child, my good friends, will be taken care of. I will take charge of his up-bringing and education, and I trust it will prove a blessing for him to have recognised me.’ The parents were quite stupefied with delight and astonishment. The husband replied in a confused manner: ‘ You are by far too good. We also thought we recognised you, but were not so sure of it, because Rosa had not told us that you were so rich.’ My good friends,’ replied the stranger, and so you know me! Hitherto, as the reward of all my inquiries here, I have met only with death and forgetfulness; but here, among you, I have found friends, relations, and a family.’ The woman pointed to an image of the Blessed Virgin that stood on the mantelpiece, and said, ‘Every Saturday evening a candle was lit here for, the safe return or for the repose of the soul of Jan Slaets.’ The traveller devoutly lifted up his eyes to heaven, and said: ‘ Almighty God, I thank Thee that Thou hast given greater might to love than to hatred! My enemy has concealed his name within his bosom, associated with the gloomy remembrance of his ill-will; my loving friend has lived in my remembrance, and, with all around her animated by her love, she has kept me, as it were, ever present in this family, and made me even a favorite of the children, while yet between us there was a distance of more than a thousand miles! My God! I am sufficiently rewarded.’ Chapter IV. A NARRATIVE OF MEETING OF JAN AND ROSA. A long silence ensued on this before Jan could overcome his emotion, at seeing which the people of the house were filled with deep reverence for him. The husband had betaken himself again to his work, but was always ready, , at the slightest signal, to render any service to his guest, who had taken Peterkin again on his knee, and now asked the good woman quite composedly if Rosa had lived long with her. The woman, as if preparing to enter on a long explanation, came nearer with her spinning-wheel, and, sitting down, said: ‘ I will tell you, dear sir, how that happened. You must know that when Rosa’s parents died the children separated. Rosa, whom all the gold in the world would not have induced to marry —the reason why I need not tell —Rosa ceded her whole share to her brother, only stipulating to reside in his house during her lifetime. She then took to millinery, and made a good deal of money by it, and, having no occasion to give the money to her brother, she spent all her earnings in good works, Visited the sick, and paid for the doctor when it was necessary. ‘She was always ready to comfort the sorrowful, and had ever something nice at hand in case of illness. When my husband and I had been married only six months, he came home one day with a very bad cold, of which you hear the remains in the cough that he still has about him. We have to thank God and the good Rosa that he is not now lying in the churchyard. Oh, could you only have seen, dear sir, what she did for us out of pure love and kindness! She brought us coverletsfor it was cold —and we were in the most extreme poverty; she brought two doctors from other parishes, who consulted with our own doctor about the case of the sick man; she sat up with him, alleviated his sufferings and my grief by her affectionate conversation, and gave us all the money that was needed to pay for food and doctors’ stuff — Rosa was a favorite with everybody; and when she went to the lady at the mansion, or the farmer, to beg something for the poor, she was never refused a small contribution, For six weeks

my husband kept his bed, and Rosa never ceased protecting and assisting us until 'he by degrees was able to return to his work.’ ‘How glad I should be to see poor blind Rosa said the traveller. The husband raised his head from his work. Tears stood in his eyes, and he exclaimed, with enthusiasm ‘ If I could give my heart’s blood to restore her sight, I would willingly do it, to the last drop.’ This burst of feeling affected Jan exceedingly. The good woman remarked it, and made a sign to her husband to be more moderate in his remarks. She then continued : ‘ Three months afterward God gave us a childthe same that sits on your knee. Rosa wished to stand godmother to it, and Peter —my husband’s brother to be godfather. On the day of the baptism inquiry was made as to the child’s name. Rosa wished that it should be called John; but the godfather, a worthy man, but rather obstinate and self-willed, insisted that its name should be 1 eter. After long discussion the child was baptised John 1 oter. We call him Peterkin, because his godfather has a right to decide about that, and he will have it so, and we should be sorry if it . were otherwise. Rosa, however, will not hear a word about Peter, and always calls the child Johnny, The child is accustomed to it, and knows that it is so called because, dear sir, it is your name.’ The traveller pressed the boy fondly to his breast and kissed him warmly. With silent wonder he looked in the child s friendly eyes, and his heart was deeply affected. The woman went on to say: ‘ Rosa s brother had engaged with people in Antwerp to buy all kinds of provisions and to take them over to England. It as said that by such a trade he would become rich, for every week he took ten cartsful of provisions to Antwerp. At first all went on quite well; but the bankruptcy of a man in Antwerp for whom he was security deprived him of all his gains, and he could scarcely pay half his debts. From grief occasioned by this he soon after died, and we trust that God Almighty took him to a better world. Rosa then went to live with Flinch, the grocer, in a little room in his house. In the same year Charles, the grocer’s son, who had been a soldier, came home with bad eyes, and in two weeks afterwards the young man became quite blind. Rosa, who felt for him and listened only to the feelings of her heart, tended him during his illness, and took him out on her arm in order to amuse him. Unfortunately, she caught the same disease in her eyes, and since then she has never seen the light of the sun. Flinck, the grocer, 'is dead, and his children are scattered about in the world. Poor blind Charles lives at a farmhouse in Lierre. We then begged Rosa, poor girl! to come and live with us, and told her how glad we should be to have her in our house and to work for her as long as we lived. She complied with our request. Since then six years have passed, and she has never heard from us but friendly words, thank God! for she is herself all love and goodness and if there is any service to render to Rosa, the children fight about it who shall do it first.’ ‘ And yet she begs,’ replied the traveller. ‘Yes, dear sir,’ said the woman, with somewhat of pride in her manner, ‘ but that is not our fault. Do not think that we have forgotten what Rosa did for us. Even if we had • been suffering from hunger and were in the greatest straits, we never would have imposed it on her to beg. When our family increased so quickly, Rosa thought good creature —that she would prove a burden to us, and wanted to assist us. She could not be persuaded to the contrary, and actually fell ill in consequence; and we were obliged to yield. , ‘ It is, however, no disgrace for a poor blind creature to beg. But we don't need it, although we are poor. Of what she obtains by begging she presses a little upon us, for we cannot always be disputing with her; but we give her back double as much for it. Without knowing it she is better clad than we are, and the food we give her is also much better. The remainder of the money got by her, I think I have understood from her own words that she puts it by in a savings-bank until the children are grown up. Her affection deserves thanks, and we cannot act contrary to her wishes.’ The traveller listened to. all this account in silence; but a happy smile about his mouth, and his eyes suffused with tears, showed how deeply his feelings were affected by all that the woman told him. The woman ceased speaking and applied herself to her task of spinning. The traveller remained sunk in thought for a while. All at once, he set down the child on the ground, went up to the husband, and said in an authoritative tone, ‘ Leave off working!’ The broom-maker did not comprehend rightly what was said to, him, and was startled by the peculiar tone in which it was littered. ‘Give over work, and give me your hand, Farmer Nelis!’ ‘Farmer!’ muttered the besom-maker, astonished ‘Yes,’ said the traveller, throwing the besoms out of the door; ‘ I will give you a farm-yard, four milk-cows a calf, two horses, and everything necessary for husbandry Yon do not believe mej he continued, showing the broommaker a handful of money, ‘ but I tell you the truth I might give you iponey— l esteem and love yon too much to

offer you money; I will rather make you the proprietor of a small farm, and be the protector of your children even after my death.’ The worthy folks looked at him with tearful eyes, and seemed scarcely to know rightly what was going on. While the traveller was about to make them fresh assurances of his good intentions, Peterkin took him by the , hand, as if he' had something to communicate to him, ‘ Well, dear child, what have you got to tell me ?’ ‘Mr. John,’ replied the boy, ‘ look, the laborers are coming home from the field. lam sure to meet Rosa. Shall I run and tell her that you are come The traveller seized Peterkin by the hand and drew him hastily toward the door, and said; ‘Come, come, rather take me to her!’ So saying, and bidding a hasty good-bye to the people of the house,,he followed the child, who was proceeding with hasty steps in the direction of the centre of the village. As soon as they came to the first houses, the peasants rushed out in surprise from barns and stables, and looked after the traveller and the boy as if they were a wonder to behold. In truth, they presented a singular spectacle the child in his shirt and barefooted, dancing along and laughing and frolicking, with a hold of the unknown person’s hand. The astonished people could not perceive what the rich gentleman, who seemed to them to be at least a lord, had to do with Peter the broom-maker. Their astonishment increased when they saw the stranger bend down and kiss the child. The only thought that, entered their minds was that the rich man had taken the child from his parents in order to bring it up as one of his own. People from the city, who have no children of their own, are often accustomed to do this; and little Peterkin was the prettiest child in the village, with his large blue eyes and bright curly locks. Still, it did seem amusing that the rich gentleman should take the child along with him in nothing but. his shirt! The traveller walked rapidly on. The whole village seemed lit up, as it were, with a magical glow. The verdure of the trees seemed of a brighter green; the lowly huts of the inhabitants wore a holiday smile; the birds sang with enchanting melody; the air was impregnated with balsamic odors and, life-giving energy. The traveller’s attention had been diverted from the child to enjoy all this new blessedness. In this state his gaze was directed to a distance, and lie endeavored to pierce through the foliage that seemed to close up the path at the other end of the village. Suddenly the child seized his hand with all its might, and said: ‘Look! look! There comes Rojja with our Trinny!’ And, in fact, an old blind woman now made her appearance, led by a little girl, and coming along through the village. The traveller, instead of following the hasty invitation of the child, stood still to contemplate, with grief and sorrow, the poor blind female who was approaching with unsteady steps. Was this his Rosa? Could this be the beautiful and amiable maiden whose image still lived so brightly and youthfully in his heart? This reflection lasted only for a moment. He led the child along with him, and ran to meet her; but when he was now only a few paces from her, he could no longer contain himself, and exclaimed: Rosa ! Rosa!’ As soon as this sound reached the ears of the blind Rosa, she withdrew her hand from that of her leader, and her whole frame began to tremble; but; recovering herself, she stretched out her arms, and ran forward, crying, ‘John ! John!’ She then felt in hsr bosom for a golden cross that hung about her neck by a string, which she broke in two, and, holding up the cross to him, fell upon his breast. Disengaging herself, however, from his arms, she gently took him by the hand and said ; ‘ Oh, my dear friend, do not think it is because I am not overjoyed at finding yon again; hut there is a. vow which I made to God, and which I must first perform. Come with me to the churchyard.’ He scarcely understood what she meant; but there was something so solemn and sacred in tho tone of her voice, that he yielded without hesitation. Without noticing the bvstanders, who had run from all quarters and stood about them, he led Rosa to the churchyard. Here she went to the seat beneath the cross and beckoned to him to kneel down beside her, saying, ‘ I made a promise to heaven that we should make our thanksgiving together on this spot.’ She raised her clasped hands, uttered softly a prayer, and then threw her arms about her friend’s neck and embraced him. In the meantime Peterkin danced about the people from the village, clapping bis hands, and crying out, ‘ It is Long John! It is Long John!’

Chapter V. THE PLEDGED VOW BECOMES A REALITY On a fine autumn day in 1846, the diligence from Antwerp to Turnhout drove along the road at the accustomed hour. Suddenly the driver drew up at a short distance from a lonely inn and opened the coach-door. Two young travellers leaped out, laughing and exultingly, and spreading out their arms like birds escaping from' captivity and which are again essaying their wings in perfect liberty. They looked at the trees and the beautiful blue sky with the rapture which we experience when we have left the city and are enjoying the unbounded scene of nature with

every breath we draw. Looking toward the field, the younger traveller exclaimed enthusiastically: ‘ Listen ! Listen !’ In fact, at this- moment an indistinct sound of music was heard through the trees. The air was of a quick and merry character, so that in hearing it one could scarcely , refrain from dancing. While the younger of the two stood pointing with his finger in silent delight, the other said, as if in mockery; ‘ There, under the lime-trees, to trumpet and horn, Around in the dance a gay crowd is borne; And none of them all, who there laugh and sing, Think on sorrow or death,' or any sad thing.’ ‘Come, come, friend John, do not be so soon inspired; probably it is nothing but the celebration of the appointment of a new mayor.’ No, no,’ said the other; ‘this is no mere official rejoicing. Let us go and see the village girls dancing; it is so pretty!’ ‘ Eirst of all, let ns go into the village and get a glass of ale at Baes Joosten’s, and inquire what is going on, . and enjoy the pleasure of an unexpected surprise.’ The two travellers stepped into the inn, and thought they should have split their sides with laughing as soon as they put their heads within the room. There stood Baes Joostens, _ stiff and upright as a poker, against the chimney. His long bine holiday coat, full of folds, hung clown nearly to his feet. He saluted his well known guests with a forced smile, in which a degree of shame was apparent; and he scarcely dared to budge, on account of his stiff shirtcollar, which at every movement pricked his ears. When tlie travellers entered, he called out impatiently, but without turning his bead: ‘ Zanna, Zanna, be quick! I hear music. I told you that you would be too late!’ . Zanna came running in with a nosegay, and looking so beautiful, with her nicely-plaited high-peaked cap, her woollen gown, rose-colored bodice, and large golden ornament on her breast in the form of a heart, and her carrings! Her face wore the blush of joyous expectancy, and resembled a huge flower unfolding its dark leaves. ‘A lovely peony, that opens its blossoms on a fine May-day! exclaimed the younger of the two companions. Zanna had now drawn the two glasses of beer, and ran, singing and laughing, with her flowers, to the door. . Baes now called out, at the top of his voice, very impatiently: ‘ Lisbeth! if you don’t come down directly I will go without you, as sure as I am standing here.’ ° An old clock that hung on the wall pointed at this moment to the hour of nine, and called out, in a sombre tone, ‘Cuckoo! Cuckoo ’ ‘ What bad taste is this?’ inquired one of the travellers. ‘Have you sold the beautiful clock that used to stand here, in order to torment yourselves all the year round with tins death-song?’ es, jes, said the landlord, laughing, ‘be as merry as you please over this bird; he brings -me in yearly many golden ducats. A good field that needs no manure.’ r our cannon shots were now heard in the distance. ' Oh, dear! oh, dear!’ shouted the landlord, ‘the feast lias begun; that woman will sicken me with her delay!’ But,’ asked the elder traveller, ‘what is going on here to-day Is it fair-time? Or has the king come to the village? r O^ 1 ) there are wonderful things going on here to-day,’ leplied the lanalord; ‘ if you knew all, you might fill a book with it, and tell no stories. The old cuckoo alio has his place in the history of Blind Rosa.’ Blind Rosa!” What a fine title!’ interrupted the tlT‘^ck r youth ’’ ’’ tmt " Ukl lnake a fine companion to • ‘No that won’t do!’ replied the other; ‘as we are going out to collect matter for tales, we must share fairly in the invention of them.’ J ci ‘ oil, then,’ said the younger, half mournfully, ‘we can afterward draw lots about it.’ ‘Be it so,’ replied the other. ‘And now, landlord, s V-Sr it SC l wf shirt - C ?j lar fr ; oni y°« r oars and tell i Jnr f the book is printed, you shall get a copy for your trouble. ‘I cannot undertake to explain it all to you now’ out with me for I hear my wife coming downstairs to set T will . ;^ C ° n, ° along with ns to the village, and music Is playing) ° "“' V whjr *1" Ca ' ,,,on are firi "S «>■> (To ho concluded.)