Aunt Gertrudis's Teapot (from the Teapot Collector)

 

 

 

 

Aunt Gertrudis's Teapot

 

Aunt Gertrudis was very ill in her deathbed. She was a venerable old woman of almost a hundred years, a witness to much of the history of her small town, where she was much loved. The second to last of seven siblings, she had a hard childhood in which she could go to school very little because she had to work to help her family. Life had not been generous to her. Her mother died in childbirth when giving birth to her last child, who was stillborn. Her father, from then on, became sullen and intractable, and after his death, Gertrudis lived alone for most of her life. Her youth was not easy either. The boyfriend she had since she was practically a child, her first and only love, died in the war and she would never again have interest in any other man. Some of her siblings died as children, and of those who reached adulthood, only one, José, had offspring, of which his grandchildren Curra and Pepe remained. 

Gertrudis' great-nephews rarely came to see her; only in recent times did they take care of her, knowing that the sweet old lady was about to die and they were eager to inherit the humble little house in the town where she had always lived. The house only contained the essential furniture of the two bedrooms, the dining room, and the kitchen. They were rustic pieces made of pine and olive wood. They were largely moth-eaten and had lost all the value and presence they might have had when they were acquired. However, Gertrudis' family had not always been so humble. Her maternal great-grandmother was the last of the descendants of a rich family from a nearby town. She lost everything when she married without her father's consent to the son of a modest farmer whose only wealth was a mule and his own hands with which to earn his bread. 

One of the few things her great-grandmother was able to inherit was a precious tea set of which she was very proud, as it was always said in the family that that set was Limoge's porcelain from "the time of Marie Antoinette." Unfortunately, the pieces were broken or lost during several moves and when being cleaned or by carelessness. Only the teapot had been spared from any damage. Gertrudis kept it with great affection and care; it could be seen behind a small glass door in a small cupboard where she displayed it with pride. A few days before dying, Gertrudis told her great-nephews the story of the teapot.

"My dears, I don't have much to leave you as an inheritance, only this house and the valuable Limoge’s teapot, which is in the dining room. You will see that the lid cannot be opened. It is glued on purpose. It was my grandmother's idea so that it would not be lost and thus could not be broken like the rest of the pieces. I only ask you one thing: never sell it or give it away to anyone. That teapot must always remain in the family, at all costs. It is too valuable and represents the origin of our ancestors, of which we must feel very proud."

Pepe and Curra nodded and assured the old woman that the teapot would never be alienated. A few days later, Gertrudis died. The great-nephews had barely buried the endearing Gertrudis when they put the little house up for sale, including the battered furniture and the rest of the contents. Everything except the valuable Limoge's teapot. Carefully, they packed it in countless layers of tissue paper and bubble wrap, forming an immense and impregnable ball, impossible to break. They stored it in a cardboard box and took it to a renowned old antique dealer in the capital, an expert in antique porcelain, monsieur Atlèe Barbier. When they arrived at the antique dealer's shop, they explained what it was about, and he took them to the back room to examine the valuable object with the utmost confidentiality. After a good while cutting, peeling, and opening layers and layers of wrapping, the expert monsieur Barbier was finally able to access the coveted teapot. But... as soon as he saw it... his face was transformed into a whole poem.

"Guys, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I don't know who told you that "this" is Limoge’s porcelain, but I assure you that, having seen thousands of pieces of Limoges and the best German, French, and English porcelains throughout my life, this is not. I regret to tell you that this teapot has no value."

Pepe and Curra looked at each other and put on a face of disbelief, denial, and despair. Their joy in a well. They had placed all their hopes on that "invaluable" piece that would get them out of the poverty and mediocrity in which they lived.

"At most, I can give you €50, and that's for the value of the antiquity of the piece, but nothing more."

That was the antique dealer's offer. The siblings accepted the harsh reality and the €50 offered by the sly businessman. Pepe and Curra had just left the premises when the rogue antique dealer lowered the blinds, ran to the back room, and observed the teapot again carefully from all angles. He shook it repeatedly to see if anything sounded inside, but nothing was heard. That surprised him a lot. It was the first time someone had shown him a piece of porcelain with the lid glued on to prevent it from breaking.

The normal thing in these cases would have been to wrap it carefully, as they brought this one, and the lid fixed to the rest of the piece with several strips of adhesive tape, but nothing more. What would be the point of gluing the lid of a teapot if that would prevent it, precisely, from fulfilling its function of pouring tea? Even in the case of being a valuable piece and not having use, that was not a logical solution. What if there was something stored inside? What if whoever kept that hypothetical object knew the teapot had no value? What if what could be inside far exceeded the tiny value of the piece?... Monsieur Barbier was asking himself all these questions when he decided to act.

First, he tried to open the lid by inserting a Victorian letter opener, but there was no way. Then he found a 19th-century Albacete knife, but fearing that it might break, he did not insist too much.

Afterwards, he rummaged in a toolbox he had at hand until he found an extremely precise cutter. He tried for a good while but only managed to break the cutter blade.

Finally, already beginning to despair, he decided that desperate times call for desperate measures. He took a hammer out of the toolbox and that brought back memories of his childhood when he opened the piggy bank with hammer blows to recover his savings.

After a couple of attempts, the piece broke into several large pieces and many smaller ones. Suddenly, something bright and shiny caught his attention. It was a huge ancient coin glued to the base of the teapot! He picked it up from the floor and tried to carefully peel it off, this time successfully. He examined it with all his attention and, indeed, it was a gold doubloon of the Catholic Monarchs. A very rare piece that could cost a real fortune. And he assumed so even without knowing the exact appraisal, since he would have to consult with a colleague expert in numismatics.

After all, it was true that that teapot had an incalculable value.

Moral: The real value is not found on the surface of things or people, but inside..., although not always.

Juan J. L. de Guevara