Vienna is enchanting, full of interesting architecture and lovely parks. It still remains the city of my dreams, even though I have visited and lived in many European cities. This photo captures the path Pieter Van de Graeff takes after leaving the Art Museum and meeting Karolina for the first time in front of Arcimboldo’s Flora.
He passes at the street level, from left to right, in front of the Palace of Justice, then cuts through the park in front of the City Hall, the building with tall Gothic Spires. Passing it and crossing a major street, he reaches Floriani Street where he discovers Spranger’s memoir in his grandfather’s friend’s antique shop that is about to close.
DO ENJOY THE EXCERPT WITH ME:
“Walking mindlessly along the Ring, without noting the strong perfume of roses drifting from the imperial gardens, and paying little attention to the imposing Palace of Justice, I found myself in front of the Rathaus, Vienna’s City Hall.
It had taken years to clean the soot. It looked gray again.
I crossed the park in front of it, and found myself in a familiar street.
When Opa ran the business from Vienna and Amsterdam, he introduced me to the owner of a tiny antique store. Congested with paraphernalia, it looked like a flea market booth, rather than a flourishing business. Herr Ulrich would open a drawer or pull something out from a stack of papers, and Opa’s eyes would flash. “You rascal, why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“I knew that you’d be back some day. I wouldn’t sell it to anyone else.”
Maybe he’s still alive, but I expected a stationery store, selling papers and stamps instead.
Floriani Street was empty, void even of cars. It was damn hot. Stores were shut tight, with the chain shutters pulled low during noon break. I wasn’t sure if I was in the same place, not recognizing any of the storefront signs. Stacks of garbage stood piled high in beer boxes in front of one of them. The window looked familiar, as I entered through the half-open door.
Geschlossen! The writing was clear on the sheet of paper taped to the door.
Closed! spelled Do Not Enter!
But I did. “Gruess Gott. God bless. Is anyone here? I’m looking for Herr Ulrich, the proprietor.” A woman ran in from the back. “You are?”
Her face softened. “Don’t you remember me? I’m Helga! We used to go Prater with our grandfathers. What brings you when all of Vienna vacations in the Alps?”
Time stopped. Memories flashed. Did I throw up when we were together on top of Europe’s oldest Ferris wheel? I did. I ate too many hotdogs that afternoon.
I also won a big doll for Helga in one of the shooting ranges, and promised to marry her.
Bowing gallantly, I kissed her hand. It was sad to see the place shutting down after so many decades.
“I sold all the Rosenthal china, the Moser glass, silver pieces, and coins. A few old books and papers remain. No one is interested. It’s mostly junk. We had a flood in the store ten years ago. Opa didn’t want to throw anything out. If you see anything, take it.”
With hesitation, and out of sheer politeness, I began shifting through moldy stacks of paper. Many were stuck. The rabbit skin glue binding the book spines reminded me of the smell of white Angora rabbits, which Opa had on his farm for their wool.
What a mess! My hands felt greasy, and my trousers soon sported dirty spots.
One more look, for the sake of old friendship. A stack of folio-size books collapsed as I removed one from the middle, exposing an old manuscript. I pulled out my reading glasses. The paper looked old. Seventeenth century? In parts, the text was too blurry to read.
It was in Czech. A drawing protruded from the poorly stacked pages.
The pile somehow talked to me, but I couldn’t fathom why. It was a pure inkling without any scientific foundation. Perhaps I should take it, after all. I could always throw it away later.”