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Title: Christmas in Austria
or Fritzl's friends
Author: Frances Bartlett
Illustrator: Bertha D. Hoxie
Release Date: October 6, 2022 [eBook #69097]
Language: English
Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Krista Zaleski, Thiers Halliwell and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTMAS IN AUSTRIA ***
[Illustration]
Christmas
in Austria
or
Fritzl’s Friends
[Illustration]
BY
FRANCES BARTLETT
ILLUSTRATED BY
BERTHA D. HOXIE
[Illustration]
BOSTON
DANA ESTES & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1910_
BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
CHRISTMAS IN AUSTRIA
_Electrotyped and Printed by
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A._
CHRISTMAS IN AUSTRIA
OR
FRITZL’S FRIENDS
CHAPTER I
On the snow covered stones of the Stephansplatz of Vienna, Fritzl and
Tzandi danced joyously. The boy Fritzl because it was Christmas Eve.
Because also in the rapid motion his little body forgot how poorly
it was clad. While Tzandi, the terrier of “Schottisch” or Scottish
ancestry, danced because anything his small master did was pleasing
in his sight, and to be copied, if possible. Under Fritzl’s chin was
tucked a violin; and as the boy danced he played snatches of melody:
bits of Hungarian folk songs, and bars of the waltzes the Viennese
love, which set the feet of the passers-by moving more swiftly. But
not one kreutzer had been slipped into the boy’s hand, although it was
Christmas Eve.
Now Fritzl and Tzandi had no home. For only that Christmas Eve, the
cross old woman, of whose cellar they had made a pitiful refuge, had
warned them of what they might expect, if they came within her house
again. Indeed, neither Fritzl nor Tzandi could remember any home save
the cellar, and before that, the attic where they had lived with the
blind musician, who, dying, had left his cherished violin to the little
boy, whose heart and fingers were overflowing with music. “I tell you
what, Tzandi,” cried Fritzl, as toward midnight boy and dog sought
shelter in one doorway after another of the Stephansplatz, only to be
driven forth: “There’s a lovely corner by the Riesenthor! I forgot all
about it till now. Let’s go there, it’s the very place! ’Course Santa
Claus will go through that very door into the cathedral, and can hear
us when we tell him we’re waiting for him. Why, just as easy, Tzandi!”
So they crept into one of the sculptured niches of the “Giant’s Gate,”
where the great wings of the angels announcing the birth of the Christ
Child made an insufficient shelter. Suddenly the carved portals opened,
and one of the sacristans of the cathedral came forth, and looked about
the now almost deserted square.
Then like two little spirits, Fritzl and Tzandi slipped into the porch,
and from there into the solemn church.
Once Tzandi looked up anxiously into his master’s face, as if he
feared that Santa Claus might not find them there. “Of course he
will,” laughed Fritzl, answering the dog’s silent question; “Why, I’m
surprised you didn’t know he’ll be sure to come in here to say ‘Merry
Christmas’ to the Blessed Mother, first thing in the morning!”
Tzandi wagged his tail in relief, as if his last fear were quieted.
Like shadows, through the shadows of the vast nave passed boy and dog,
straight to the statue of the Blessed Mother. And upon the pavement at
her feet, safely hidden in the shelter made by the sculptures of her
shrine, they nestled closely against each other.
“Now isn’t this the very beautifullest place in all the world to be in
Christmas Eve?” asked Fritzl drowsily, dropping his head upon Tzandi’s
shaggy hide.
And Tzandi, already half asleep, wagged his tail blissfully.
CHAPTER II
“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! It’s time to get up, little master,”
barked Tzandi, as the first pale gleams of the Christmas sunrise crept
through the painted window above the high altar of St. Stephans.
“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! So it is,” answered Fritzl sleepily;
“but does your head too feel awful funny, Tzandi? All light and hot?
And your feet all cold and heavy?” By a languid wag of his tail, Tzandi
assured his master that all was indeed as he had said. “I tell you what
it is,” said the boy; “we’re just hungry. And Santa Claus hasn’t come.
I s’pose there are so many children in Vienna, he couldn’t help being
late getting around to us. Oh, but don’t you wish he’d come!”
A frantic wagging of Tzandi’s tail, and the thrusting of his cold nose
into his master’s hand, answered as plainly as words could have done.
“Let’s go out to the Stephansplatz,” went on Fritzl, rising weakly to
his feet; “and I’ll play, and you shall dance, and surely, Christmas
morning, someone will give us some kreutzers. And--and--” The words
trailed off drowsily.
The boy shook himself impatiently. “I never felt so sleepy as this
before,” he thought; “and Christmas too!” Then after an awkward
little “reverence” before the Blessed Mother, and a “Merry Christmas”
whispered softly to her, Fritzl went down the broad nave to the
Riesenthor, pushed open one of its portals slowly, and with his violin
held closely to him, and followed by Tzandi, went without, and stood, a
forlorn little figure, upon the broad stone step.
The hour for early mass had not yet come, but the Stephansplatz was
already filled with people, singing Christmas carols. The booths were
fringed with evergreen; every window was a blaze of color; and the
people, as they walked or danced along, waved boughs of hemlock, so
that the square looked almost as if the long vanished pine forests were
once more growing in Old Vienna.
“Now what did I tell you, Tzandi,” Fritzl cried triumphantly, if
somewhat shakily. “Just look at all those boys and girls! ’Course Santa
Claus hasn’t forgotten us, but he couldn’t help being a bit late,
Tzandi dear. Any minute now, he may come!”
Suddenly, from the direction of the Graben, came the sound of cheering.
The crowd opened, like great waves parted by some mighty wind, and into
the Stephansplatz came a closed carriage drawn by two black horses.
Slowly it passed along, the white-haired man within bowing kindly to
right and left, straight to where Fritzl and Tzandi waited, at the
Riesenthor. At the foot of the steps, the carriage stopped. A groom in
quiet livery opened the door. And wrapped in furs from head to feet,
the white-haired man stepped out. Beneath his bushy eyebrows, eyes as
clear and blue as those of a child looked forth. And the lips under the
heavy white moustache were smiling, as he mounted the steps.
Fritzl gave a little gasp of pure delight. Deaf to the words the crowd
were crying, of the identity of the white-haired, fur-wrapped figure,
he had no doubt.
It must be Santa Claus.
The relaxed little figure straightened; the thin little hands were
outstretched; and lifting his happy eyes to the friendly ones looking
straight into them, Fritzl cried:
“Tzandi, Tzandi, he’s come!”
And fell, a limp little heap, at the feet of “Unser Franz.”
[Illustration]
CHAPTER III
Just about the time when Fritzl and Tzandi waked, that Christmas
morning, two little children within the palace at Schönbrunn were
welcoming the Christ Child’s Day.
One, a boy of eleven, known throughout Austria-Hungary as “the little
lame Prince,” was the Archduke Maximilian. The other, a girl of nine,
was the Archduchess Elizabeth. But to each other, and the imperial
family at Vienna, they were known as “Max” and “Betty.”
[Illustration]
Max had been the first to waken; but for a time he laid very still,
cuddled within the soft blankets of his bed, his young heart beating
happily, at the thought of what the day was to bring to him. Ever
since he was born, the little Prince had been crippled. But for nearly
two years, the famous surgeon of the Kinderspitzel of Vienna had been
treating him; and this Christmas Day he was to walk, for the first time
in his life. And all the great empire of Austria-Hungary was waiting
for the test, almost as eagerly as he. For when the good Emperor, his
grandfather, should cease to reign, Max would be “Unser Kaiser” to
millions of people.
Suddenly there came a knock at the door.
“Merry Christmas, and come in, Betty!” called Max excitedly.
And a small girl, crying as excitedly, “Merry Christmas, Maxchen, and
I knew perfectly well you’d say it first!” pushed open the door, and
running across the room, threw herself down by Maxchen’s bed, flinging
her soft arms around her brother’s neck.
“Oh, Betty, Betty,” he cried, as he nestled against her, “it seems
almost too good to be true! Only it must come true, mustn’t it,
Christmas Day?”
“’Course it must,” agreed Betty stoutly; “why, didn’t the Herr Doctor
tell you it would come true, this very day?”
“Yes,” breathed Max softly.
“And there’s nothing in the world, the Herr Doctor doesn’t know,”
declared Betty; “and I love him.”
“So do I,” cried Max; “almost as much as Grandpapa Franzchen!” For by
that name, born of affection, was the august Emperor of Austria-Hungary
known to his grandchildren.
“Betty,” the boy cried abruptly, “the very first race we’ll run will be
from there,” pointing to the “Gloriette,” shining like a jewel in the
sunrise light,--“straight to the edge of the lily pond. And--and--I’ll
beat you, you little girl!”
“Can’t!” answered Betty, stretching out her slim straight legs, and
looking at them with confidence.
“Can!” Max cried delightedly. And then they both laughed, and cuddled
together more closely.
“Do you remember,” Max went on, “that boy we watched, in the rose
garden, running races with his dog, one day last summer? The boy with a
violin under his arm?”
Yes, Betty remembered.
“My, how he ran!” sighed Max, “and we called and called to him, and
finally made ‘Goggles’” (this the most dignified of the tutors of the
Prince) “go after him. But of course he couldn’t run fast enough, and
the boy got quite away. I wish I could find that boy. Betty,” rising on
one elbow, “when I walk, I will! I do so want that boy and that dog!”
“Why,” laughed matter-of-fact Betty, “you’ve heaps of boys to play
with, and heaps of dogs!”
“But not one boy who can play the violin. And not one dog that can
dance.”
“Well, that dog was a dear,” Betty agreed cordially; “and--why,
Maxchen,” she went on, “we’ll ask Grandpapa Franzchen to get the boy
and the dog for us, this very Christmas Day. We’ll--” But the little
maid’s blithe voice was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the
corridor. The door opened softly, “His Majesty the Emperor and the Herr
Doctor,” was solemnly announced. And into the sunlit room, two stately
men came.
We know quite well how “Unser Franz” looked. We saw him, that very
morning, speaking kindly to Fritzl and Tzandi, at the Riesenthor.
“Merry Christmas--Merry Christmas, dear Grandpapa Franzchen and dear
Herr Doctor!” cried the children. And Betty slipped quickly to the
floor, and curtsied demurely to the Emperor.
“Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas!” returned the Emperor and Doctor
gaily, who had wisely given the children the longed-for chance to say
it first.
Then the old Kaiser caught Betty up in his arms, and kissed her
forehead. “Now God bless thee, Liebchen,” he said, seating himself in
the great chair beside the bed, and bending over and kissing Max on
both his cheeks. Then, with an arm around each grandchild, he looked up
at the Herr Doctor, standing straight and tall beside him.
A very king of men was the Herr Doctor, with stalwart shoulders, and
kindly grave eyes, the color of the sea, when the sky is clouded.
“Well, your Highness,” he said, in a voice as tender as his eyes, “all
ready to walk to-night?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Max bravely, but nestling closer against his
grandfather.
Then the Herr Doctor looked down into the anxious face of the old
Emperor.
“Your Majesty need have no fear of the result of to-night’s test,” he
said softly, “the little lad will walk.”
“And Grandpapachen,” cried Betty, breaking into the solemn pause which
followed, “he’s going to run races with the boy and the dog! The boy
with the fiddle, and the dog that can dance, you know,” she explained
rapidly. “Why, Grandpapa Franzchen,” stroking his white hair with her
dimpled hand, “Max wants that boy and that dog, _so!_ Please get them
for him, dear Grandpapa Emperor!”
When Betty commenced her story of the races to be run with a boy who
carried a violin, and a little dog that could dance, a strange look had
flashed into the Emperor’s eyes. This deepened to one of amazement, and
then his whole face glowed with the thought within his heart.
It seemed that he was going to be able to give even more pleasure than
he had hoped.
“Well, Maxchen,” he laughed, “thou hast set thy grandfather a hard
task! To find, in his great city of Vienna, a boy who plays the fiddle
and who has a dog that dances! But he will try, Liebchen,” patting
his grandson’s head softly. “Would you know them, should you see them
again, little ones?” he cried, quite as excited now as the children.
“Why, of course we would,” laughed Betty, for herself and Max too:
“there are only--_they_--you know, Grandpapa dear!”
“I will commence to search for them this moment,” announced the Emperor
gaily, lifting Betty to the floor and rising from his chair, “and the
Herr Doctor shall help me! But what wilt thou do with them, beside run
races, should I find them for thee?” he asked Max.
“I will make them happy,” said the little lame Prince.
As the two men were leaving the room, the Herr Doctor turned. “Your
Highness,” he said, “where will you go first, when you walk to-night?”
“To my Emperor,” answered the boy proudly, raising one little hand in
salute.
CHAPTER IV
Fritzl lifted his heavy eyelids, and looked about him, first languidly,
then wonderingly. Gone were the Riesenthor and the Stephansplatz, and
in place of them was a quiet room, lined with books and hung with
tapestries.
But the friendly eyes into which his gazed were still those of “Santa
Claus,” and the friendly hand which had touched his bare head on the
steps of the Giant’s Gate, held one of his own. His violin lay on the
couch beside him, while a warm little tongue licking his hand, and
the subdued but joyous thumping of a stubby tail against the polished
floor, told that Tzandi was near.
So, all his fears relieved, Fritzl looked up happily to the man who sat
beside him, and asked: “Is this your house, dear Santa Claus?”
“I shall have to tell him,” said “Unser Franz” to himself. Then aloud:
“Yes, little lad, it is my house. But it is the palace of Schönbrunn,
and I am only the Kaiser.”
“Well, I s’pose you can’t help it,” sighed Fritzl, “but I truly thought
you were Santa Claus. You look exactly like him!”
“Thank you,” replied the Emperor meekly, “and I will try to be like
him. Indeed, he sent me to thee, little lad, so do not be disappointed.
Another year thou shalt surely see him. I--your Emperor--promise thee.
And now, what wilt thou choose first as a gift from him?”
“Something to eat for Tzandi and me,” leapt the swift reply.
“Bless my heart,” laughed “Unser Franz,” ringing a silver bell on the
table beside him. Then, as a servant appeared, he said, “Bring broth
and bread and milk for the little lad.”
“Oh, yes,” he went on, answering the question in Fritzl’s eyes, “Tzandi
has already eaten all that he possibly could.”
Then while Fritzl, propped with pillows on the broad lounge, ate
hungrily, they talked together.
“What is thy name, little lad?”
[Illustration]
“Fritzl, sir--I mean, Your Majesty,” remembering the words he had heard
the servant use.
“Fritzl--and what else?”
“Nothing else,” firmly, “just Fritzl.”
“But who were thy father and mother?”
“I never had any,” the boy answered gravely. “Once there was Josef, the
blind fiddler, but since he went to heaven, there’s only been just the
violin and Tzandi and me.”
“And what art thou going to be, when thou art a man?”
“A great violinist!” flashed the prompt answer.
“And so thou shalt be, little Fritzl, if I can help thee to it.”
When the boy had eaten the broth and bread, “Unser Franz” rose.
“Now stay thou here, child, and rest,” he said; “after I have wished my
own dear little ones ‘Merry Christmas,’ I will come back to thee.”
But the Emperor returned sooner than Fritzl had expected.
“For what dost thou think our Prince wishes most, this Christmas
morning?” he said excitedly, “why, a little boy who can play the
fiddle, and a little dog that can dance. Come thou with me straight to
him, Fritzchen!”
[Illustration]
Tucking his violin carefully under his arm, the boy slipped one small
hand into the hand of the Emperor, and followed by Tzandi, they went
from the room.
At the end of a long corridor, the Emperor stopped before a closed door.
“Go thou in alone, Fritzl,” he said softly, opening the door: “there
are two little friends within who will welcome thee.”
Very quietly, as if nothing more could surprise him, that day of
miracles, Fritzl crossed the threshold, and stood within the room.
At one of the bay windows overlooking the terraced garden, sat the
little lame Prince and his sister, their curly heads bent over a book.
“The dog looks something like the one that boy had,” Fritzl heard the
Prince say wistfully.
“Only he hasn’t such a dear funny tail as--”
But Betty never finished her sentence.
Tzandi, having been quiet as long as seemed to him desirable, gave a
soft little whine.
The brother and sister turned swiftly.
“It’s the boy with the violin!” cried Max.
“It’s the dog!” cried Betty.
CHAPTER V
“I told you so, Maxchen!” Betty announced triumphantly, as a half hour
later, explanations having been finished, the three children and Tzandi
clustered on the tiger skin, before the fire of pine logs. “I told you
Grandpapa Franzchen would bring them to you. There isn’t anything in
this world he can’t do. And now, Fritzl, commence at the very first
beginning, and tell it all over again!”
“Oh, poor Fritzl,” she cried, slipping a warm hand into his, as he came
to that part of his story, where Tzandi and he were driven out of the
doorways, in which they had sought shelter, the night before.
“Poor little Fritzl,” echoed the Prince, “all cold and lonely!”
“I wasn’t exactly lonely,” said Fritzl loyally, looking down at Tzandi
at his feet, sleeping the sleep of a well-fed dog, “but I was awful
hungry!”
“Well,” cried the small Archduchess stoutly, “it was the very last
time, Fritzl. You sha’n’t be hungry or cold any more, ever again!”
“Sit thou closer to me, Fritzchen,” commanded the Prince: “now I will
tell thee my story.”
Then he told Fritzl how he had never been able to run or walk like
other boys. How, for nearly two years, the famous surgeon had been
treating him. How, that very Christmas night, he was to walk for the
first time.
“But if he fail?” faltered Fritzl, tears of anxiety in his eyes and
voice.
“He will not fail,” the Prince said proudly: “he never fails
anyone--my Herr Doctor! And now, Fritzl,” all a boy’s love of fun
flashing into his eyes, “make Tzandi dance!”
And _how_ Tzandi danced!
Back and forth, up and down the room, while Fritzl fiddled merrily, and
Max and Betty clapped their hands in delight.
For Tzandi realized that the time had come for him to do honor to
his little master’s training, and never did a dog dance as he, that
Christmas Day!
He was still waltzing blithely, his fore paws waving ecstatically in
the air, when the Emperor came into the room. “I have come to hear
thee fiddle, Fritzl,” he said, taking Betty into his arms, and seating
himself in the great arm-chair beside the Prince. “Play me one of the
dances my children of Hungary love.”
So Fritzl played, standing proudly yet very modestly before his Kaiser.
And the old Emperor, closing his eyes, saw once more that village on
the Danube, where, a boy about the age of the three children, he had
been taught to dance the czardas; heard once more the chant of the
pines, and the laughter of the Hungarian peasants, who had danced with
him.
“Little lad,” he said, as the song died plaintively away, “God has
given thee the greatest of his gifts. And now,” he went on, “play that
which shall make these children think of the brave deeds of their
ancestors.”
And Fritzl played: deep chords and crashing measures, underneath which
was the tramp of feet, and the clash of sword blades.
“Grandpapa, Grandpapa,” cried Max excitedly, “canst thou not hear them?
The tramp of the men and the tramp of the horses of Rudolph, going
forth to victory over Ottokar of Bohemia?”
[Illustration]
“Oh, and the sound of swords drawn swiftly,” Betty cried, nestling
closer into her grandfather’s arms.
“And now,” said “Unser Franz” softly, “play thou that song which
neither thou nor these other little orphaned ones ever heard. The song
that mothers sing.”
Again Fritzl played: and the sound was like the ripple of quiet waters,
like the rustle of rain-drenched poplar leaves, like the cadence of a
woman’s voice, hushing her little child to sleep upon her breast.
Again the Emperor closed his eyes, and saw his mother’s face, and heard
the song his beautiful wife used to sing to their only son, long dead.
Then, brushing the tears from his eyes, he cried cheerily to Fritzl:
“Play thou the ‘Kaiser Hymn!’ And then,” kissing the forehead of the
boy beside him, “the Prince must rest.”
Fritzl drew himself to his tallest, tucked his violin more firmly under
his chin, and to its measures sang in his clear young voice, the other
children joining eagerly,--
“Gott erhalte, Gott beschütze, unsern Kaiser, unser Land!”
CHAPTER VI
In the “Blue Salon” of Schönbrunn, the imperial family awaited the
coming of the Emperor and the Prince, talking together softly, not only
of “Maxchen,” as they called him lovingly, but of Fritzl, whose story
had spread throughout the palace.
At last, the Hofmeister threw open impressively the east door of the
salon, and across its threshold, and down the pathway made for him by
his family, the Emperor passed slowly. Lightly holding his right hand,
trying to walk demurely, but fluttering along like a white rosebud
softly blown, was the little Archduchess Betty. Tightly clinging to his
left hand, walked a boy, holding a violin. Behind, went the Archduke
Max, in his wheeled chair, and beside him was the great surgeon.
At the dais, on one side of the salon, the three children and the Herr
Doctor halted, while the Emperor mounted its steps, and bowing to those
assembled, who curtsied and bowed deeply in return, took his seat upon
the golden throne.
It was all very solemn and stately. And Fritzl felt rather lonely. He
missed Tzandi, among all these strange and awe-inspiring people.
“I wonder,” he thought to himself, “if they’re both dreams--last night,
in the Stephansplatz, and here, to-night!”
Now just at that moment there came the sound of subdued but excited
voices at the east door of the salon. The dignified Hofmeister was
seen to plunge wildly forward, in a vain attempt to bar the way. And
then--and then--(as long as he lives, Fritzl says he can never forget
the mingling of surprise and joy and shame which flooded his heart)
a little terrier dog, ears and tail erect in the pride of victory,
trotted through the door, and across the room to the three children,
grouped at the foot of the throne. Looking up into Fritzl’s scarlet
face, he wagged his stumpy tail joyously, and giving three sharp
little barks of salutation, sat up on his hind legs, his fore paws
waving politely. One ear erect, the other drooping in that deprecating
fashion, which means that a little dog knows he is doing what he should
not, but really can not help it.
How he reached his master remains a mystery unto this day. But there he
was.
Laughing heartily with the rest, the Emperor said, “Although an
uninvited, thou art a welcome guest, Monsieur Tzandi!” While Max and
Betty patted his shaggy head, as he trotted from one to the other,
licking their hands with his soft red tongue.
Suddenly, the Emperor nodded to the Herr Doctor.
The face of the little Prince grew white; but there was no trace of
fear or doubt in the blue eyes, lifted to the great surgeon’s face.
Betty tried to smile bravely at him, creeping closer to Fritzl, and
slipping her hand within his. While to Fritzl himself it seemed as if
everyone must hear the beating of his heart, so frightened was he.
Then, very tenderly, the Herr Doctor lifted the Prince from his wheeled
chair, and stood him carefully on the dais, a few feet from the
Emperor’s throne. Involuntarily, both Betty and Fritzl moved nearer,
each stretching out a trembling hand as if to help him. But Max stood
steadily.
“Maxchen, Maxchen,” called softly the Emperor, his face as white as his
snowy hair, “come thou to me, dear child!”
[Illustration]
The boy gave a last look into the good Doctor’s eyes, which were
strangely dim.
“Go thou, little lad,” said the surgeon gently.
Then the Prince walked bravely into his grandfather’s outstretched
arms.
CHAPTER VII
When the tumult of congratulation had somewhat subsided, and Max had
walked proudly back to the great surgeon (happiest perhaps of all those
present), the Emperor rose, and silence fell upon the room. His voice
trembled a little, from excitement and relief, but the fresh color had
come back to his kind face.
“Good friends and mine own people,” he said, “of that which the Herr
Doctor has done for the Prince--for me--for you--for the empire--I can
not speak. There are no words for that which is within my heart. Only
my life henceforth can prove its gratitude.” Then beckoning to Fritzl,
who mounted the steps of the dais fearlessly, and stood beside him, the
Emperor continued: “Somewhat over a hundred years ago this Christmas
night, a little lad, one Mozart, sat at yonder spinet, and played to
our great Empress and her children. To-night, a little lad shall play
to you. This little lad, Fritzl, whom I believe God means to become as
great a musician, as became that child of long ago. He has known cold
and hunger and neglect. But he has been a brave lad, and none of these
things shall he ever know again.”
“Now Fritzchen, play to these thy friends,” he commanded kindly,
reseating himself upon his golden throne.
Slim and straight, in his suit of black velvet, Fritzl stood beside
him, looking about the brilliant room. At first he was timid and the
little hand which raised the violin to his shoulder trembled. But
looking into the gentle face beside him, and down at the smiling ones
of the good Herr Doctor, Max and Betty and Tzandi, he thought of
nothing but pleasing them.
So, wholly forgetting himself, he cuddled his violin closely under his
chin, and whispering to it lovingly, played.
Played as he had played that afternoon, in the quiet chamber to the
Emperor and his grandchildren; and all curiosity and indifference died
away, and those who listened, held their breath in surprised delight.
For he brought to them the cool sweet breath of pine woods, the ripple
of April leaves, the sound of voices long unheard but never to be
forgotten. And when at last, at the Emperor’s request, he played “the
song that mothers sing,” into many eyes which for long had not felt
them, crept tears. Then his bow dropped and he looked wistfully into
the Emperor’s face. There was a moment of absolute silence, and then
the room re-echoed with applause. It came with such a crash that once
more Fritzl was frightened, and shrank closer to the Kaiser. Seeing the
boy was overwrought, “Unser Franz” said quickly, “Now he shall play for
you the noblest hymn our ‘Vater Haydn’ ever wrote. And then, the little
ones shall dance!”
[Illustration]
Once again, Fritzl lifted his shining bow. The voices of the people
joined that of the violin, and “Gott erhalte, Gott beschütze” rang
through the room, as it had never before been sung there. For every
heart rejoiced that the little Prince could walk, and they knew that to
the lad who played to them, God had given the gift of genius. Then the
Emperor ordered the salon prepared for the children to dance.
The older members of the imperial family made their obeisances and
departed. And at last, only the children of the house of Habsburg and a
few of the younger matrons remained with the Emperor.
Once more the great Christmas tree blazed with candles, while about it
danced the children hand in hand.
Then Fritzl tuned his violin carefully. “May I play for them to dance?”
he said.
“Unser Franz” nodded a smiling consent.
Then, back and forth over the tense strings flew the gleaming bow,
and the waltz the elder Strauss wrote for the music and dance loving
Viennese, and which they love above all others--“Die Schöne Blaue
Donau”--vibrated through the Blue Salon.
Back and forth, like butterflies, danced the children, curls and
ribbons blowing, little feet twinkling on the polished floor, while
the Emperor beat time on the arms of his throne and smiled happily,
greeting them all as they fluttered by.
At the foot of the throne, two boys watched the dancing. The “little
lame Prince,” lame no longer. The little “waif,” a waif no longer, and
to-day, one of the world’s great violinists.
“Thou wilt be dancing with them, next Christmas, Liebchen,” said the
Emperor, patting his grandson’s curly head.
“Ye-e-s, sir,” assented Max, without enthusiasm; “but oh, Grandpapa
Franzchen,” he cried excitedly, “I’d rather run races in the garden
with Betty and Fritzl and Tzandi!”
“Well, thou canst do both,” laughed “Unser Franz.”
“Oh dear me,” sighed Betty, as the candles having burnt low in the
sconces, and upon the great tree, the last good nights were being
said: “Christmas is all over!”
“It will come again next year, little sister, it always does,” consoled
Max, “and next year it will be nicer for Fritzl, because he missed the
Christmas tree last night, you know, Betty!”
“It _couldn’t_ be nicer,” cried Fritzl, smiling gratefully at the
little brother and sister: “it’s the very most beautifullest Christmas
that ever was!” And Tzandi, whirling delightedly on his hind legs,
barked an ecstatic assent.
[Illustration]
Transcriber’s Notes
Italics are represented thus _italic_.
The following corrections have been applied to the text:
Page 12 - ...“Now God bless thee, Liebchen,’... _changed to_
...“Now God bless thee, Liebchen,”...
Page 12 - ...demurely to to the Emperor.... _changed to_
...demurely to the Emperor....
Page 28 - ...the lad who played to them’... _changed to_
...the lad who played to them,...
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