The bell of the Roskapelle 1.1
part: 01
warnings: gen, history, fear death,
Content: Aachen, 1890. Whenever the bell rings the Roskapelle, we are sent out with candles.
Title: The Bell of
Roskapelle
part: 01
Author: Nanuk Dain
e-mail: nanukdain@gmx.net
Rating: PG-12 Warnings
: gen, history, fear, death
Claimer: Even if the historical facts have been read, but it is my job.
Comment: For research on a term paper I came across something that I can not get out of my head since then. I have it made into a story that I hope this brings them over the feeling I had during my research. Even if this is something other food from me, I would love to get one or the other Kommi ^ - ^
Content: Aachen, 1890. Whenever the bell rings the Roskapelle, we are sent out with candles.
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Aachen, 1890
echoed the dull, warning bells by empty streets. Everyone heard it, everyone knew what it meant. I ran a shiver down the spine. This bell has long promised nothing good.
I did not know whom it concerned, but I think it was me already. She was not even the last two days have been good and today they had not come to play. Helen was usually so full of energy, it had to be serious.
"Anne, come away from the window." I heard my mother, her voice was weak and shows a lot duller than usual I turned to her and looked at her. Her face was tired, deep wrinkles around her mouth and lay on her forehead. I said nothing, I knew what was coming next.
"Come with me into the kitchen." I followed her silently, past my two older brothers, my father and my Uncle Joe, who sat quietly at the table. My aunt and her three daughters were designated in the James' Church.
In the kitchen I watched my mother how she got from one of the kitchen cabinets, a thin, white candle. She passed just above the wax and I heard her sigh softly. I knew what she thought. Even a child again. Yet another candle. It was the fourth this month.
She turned to me and handed me the candle in his hand. The wax felt cold under my fingers. "Go to the shrine. Take John with. The wait for other children already determined. "
I nodded, holding the candle set carefully and cautiously. My mother had said the value was as a candle. We had not many.
I left the kitchen, went to the apartment door and opened it slowly closed it behind me, very quietly. It was not the time for loud noises. With quick steps I was on the road, I turned to the left and once knocked on the door. It took only a moment, until I opened Mrs. gravels. John was already behind her, and he had a candle in his hand.
"pray with all my heart, kids." John said mother softly. She looked just as tired like my mother.
"Yes, Ms Kiese." I replied, as was expected of me and took the little St. John by the hand. He was a few years younger than me and could not even walk down the street alone.
When we turned around and we walked up the Rosstraße, I heard the front door was closed with a thud behind us. We knew our task, we did not for the first time, but knowing what we had to do, made it easier for us. It made clear and just how quickly things could change.
Our footsteps echoed almost unnaturally loud in the deserted street. The dusk set in, usually we were not at such an hour outside. But anyone could see us from the many dark windows, knew where we were going. They had all heard the bell.
I felt John's hand tremble in my head and turned to him, to look at him. His mother had his ash-blond hair combed back and he put on his good stuff. His eyes were fixed to the front, but I could see that he was fighting back tears. I squeezed his hand briefly and encouraging.
He turned his head and looked at me with wide eyes. His voice was low, as if he hardly dared to ask. "Do you think it is healthy again, Anne?"
I did not know what to answer him. In my own mind there was doubt, but I did not know that John gave up. We had to pray with our whole hearts, that we could help her. So I smiled and replied the only thing of which I knew I could say it without lying.
"We just have to firmly believe and pray." I pointed to the candle in his hand. "For that we have the candles."
He nodded slightly, straightened his shoulders and back. I was hoping that his faith would be rewarded.
We arrived at the end of the road, had the needle and Tuchefabriken behind us. Before us lay the small, white Roskapellchen, its two windows were lit by candles, the light lifted the wrought iron railing in front of the stained glass out jet black. The gently arched dome of the roof could be seen only as a silhouette against the dark house behind it, but through the windows of the small lantern on the roof of the chapel was the light of candles to see.
We stay for a brief moment, are the same, but without agreement. Every time I came here argued, in my fear and hope. On the one hand, we only came here when something bad had happened, the other since we were here, comfort and confidence. I took a deep breath and went on.
I pressed gently against the wooden door with stained glass. They could be easily opened, it was often used. I let John come before me, looked like he hit the cross sign and he did the same. On the high altar, under Mary's loving gaze, uneasy flickering burned a thin, white candle. Prior knelt a girl with dark braids, her head in prayer. As we entered, she turned her head briefly, we cast a glance greet. Emma from the neighboring house, this afternoon I had played with her.
John and I went to the altar, I curtsied. Then we lit the candles at the other and put them in the small brass mounts, took a step back and we knelt beside Emma. I folded my hands in prayer and closed his eyes.
'Please, dear God, please Blessed Virgin Mary, let Helen be healthy again. We ask that you be so kind and give her back her health. It's only as old as me, what they should have done, that they must die? I beg you, please let us can play with her. "
I heard a rustling the candles and opened her eyes. Heller smoke rose above a curled But on, easily in the air and lost itself in the highest. One of the candles had gone out.
I gulped. A certain sadness about the inevitable spread through me. I looked at the other across. Even in her eyes I saw the pain.
Helen would not play with us.
*** END
PS: On the historical background of the story: In Aachen there is a small, inconspicuous chapel in a former workers' quarter of the 19th and early 20 Century. It has long been the custom to ring the chapel bell, when a child of the Rosviertels was seriously ill. Then, three neighborhood children with candles were sent to Roskapellchen, there to pray for the recovery of the sick child. It was considered a good omen when the candles were burning bright and strong. But if they only glowed dull or expires, the child was lost.
I found the History somehow so sad that I wanted to capture the mood that had taken me when I had read in my research. I hope she's coming over.
