by Kate Forsyth
‘To abdicate,’ Rudolf said slowly. ‘You mean …’
Jakob nodded. ‘Yes. It’ll be the death knell for the Holy Roman Empire.’
‘But the Empire has been in place since Charlemagne …’ Rudolf said.
‘A thousand years,’ Wilhelm said.
Jakob looked tired. ‘France wants forty million francs in compensation. Emperor Francis will be beggared. France and her allies have taken Württemberg, Baden, the Tyrol, Venetia, Istria, Dalmatia …’
Nobody spoke. It seemed impossible to believe.
‘What about Russia? Is no one to stand up to Napoléon?’ Rudolf demanded.
Jakob said, ‘The Tsar has retreated to Russia—’
‘His tail between his legs,’ Karl interjected.
‘—and though England still fights the French on the seas, they’ve made no move to send an army to Austria’s defence,’ Jakob concluded.
‘Our only hope is Prussia,’ Wilhelm said.
‘Yet Prussia and Austria have always been enemies,’ Hanne said. The men shot her a look of surprise, but she forged on eagerly. ‘Surely the King of Prussia would be glad to see Emperor Francis so humbled?’
‘But surely not glad to see Napoléon ruling half of Europe,’ Wilhelm pointed out. ‘It won’t be long before Napoléon seeks to conquer Prussia too.’
‘Impossible,’ Rudolf said. ‘The Prussian army is the best in the world. They’ll stop the French in their tracks.’
Jakob shook his head. ‘Haven’t you heard the news? The Prussian king has sent his warmest congratulations to Napoléon and signed a treaty with him. He’s given him great swathes of land so that he will keep away; in return, Napoléon has said the Prussians can occupy Hanover.’
‘But Hanover belongs to the British,’ Wilhelm said.
‘Yes – so the British have declared war against Prussia, too. They are now the only ones standing against Napoléon.’
‘Can nothing stop him?’ Gretchen cried.
Everyone was silent.
At last they made it back through the broken medieval walls, leaving the forest behind them. The streets of Cassel were lit with golden lanterns, and people in heavy coats and mufflers called ‘Merry Christmas!’ to each other as they hurried through the snow. A group of carollers stood on the church steps, singing to the crowds. The air smelt deliciously of woodsmoke and roasting chestnuts. As they walked towards the Old Town, the strip of stars overhead narrowed as the crooked, overhanging roofs and gables of the houses grew ever closer together, till it was almost like walking through a tunnel.
‘I’m glad we ran into you,’ Lotte whispered to Dortchen, pressing her arm between both hands.
‘Me too,’ Dortchen whispered back.
Rudolf pulled up the horse and buggy in the alley between the Grimm and Wild houses, and the young men began untying the Christmas trees. Dortchen hurried into the kitchen to ask Old Marie for some spiced wine. While Marie heated it by thrusting a hot poker into the jug, Dortchen ducked into the stillroom and scooped out some dried flowers from one jar and some dried leaves from another. She put them in a small muslin bag, thrust it in her pocket, then hurried to collect the tray of pewter tankards, which she carried out into the frosty night. Everyone was glad to accept a cup.
‘What do you want the Christ child to bring you this year?’ Wilhelm asked Dortchen, as she passed him a steaming tankard.
‘Peace,’ she said.
He smiled wearily. ‘Apart from peace.’
She thought for a moment. ‘I’d like a rocking horse,’ she said. ‘And a storybook with beautiful pictures. Oh, and a new doll to play with – one that is mine, all mine. All of our dolls are so old and battered, and Hanne chopped all their hair off. But Father thinks that we are too old for toys and must not waste our time playing.’
‘I suppose there must be a lot of hand-me-downs, in a family of six sisters,’ Wilhelm said.
She nodded. ‘I’ve brought you something for your asthma.’ Shyly, she showed him the small muslin bag. ‘Put some honey in it and drink it before you go to bed. You’ll feel much better in the morning.’
He gazed at her in surprise. ‘Is that one of your father’s remedies? I’m sorry, but I cannot pay you …’
‘My father didn’t make it, I did,’ Dortchen said, which was true enough. She had indeed made it, but from her father’s recipe. Wilhelm did not need to know that, however. ‘It’s a gift,’ she went on quickly. ‘It is Christmas, after all.’
‘Well, then, thank you,’ Wilhelm said, and stowed the muslin bag away in his coat pocket.
‘I hope it helps,’ Dortchen said. ‘In summer, I will make you tea with linden blossoms. It helps with coughs, and reduces fever, and helps you sleep,’ she added, afraid that he might know that the linden was called the tree of lovers, for its heart-shaped leaves and its intoxicating sweet smell.
‘You’re very kind,’ he said.
Dortchen blushed.
Lotte ran up and grabbed her hand. ‘What are you having for supper tonight?’
‘Roast goose,’ Dortchen replied.
‘Mmm, that sounds good. Aunt Zimmer gave us a chicken, but it’s rather scrawny.’
‘There won’t be much left of ours but a pile of bones,’ Dortchen said apologetically, ‘or I’d bring you some leftovers. We’ll be making soup from the carcass, though. I could bring you some tomorrow.’
‘Lottechen, do you ever think of anything but your stomach?’ Wilhelm asked.
She hugged her thin belly. ‘It won’t let me stop thinking about it.’
Karl bent and scraped up a handful of snow, which he flung at Ferdinand. His brother retaliated, and Ludwig ran to join in. A moment later snowballs were flying everywhere. Lotte and Dortchen joined in enthusiastically, while Lisette and Gretchen squealed and ran for the gate to their back garden. Mia crouched down behind the buggy and waited till Röse took shelter there, then shoved a handful down the neck of her dress. Röse screeched. Her brother laughed and scooped up a snowball, which he threw with deadly aim straight at Jakob’s face. Jakob wiped it away, his back stiff, and stalked inside. Wilhelm looked rueful. ‘Come on, boys,’ he called. ‘Let’s get the tree inside and decorated, or else we’ll be late for church.’
‘What a dull dog,’ Rudolf said, and he sent a snowball whizzing towards Wilhelm. Wilhelm ducked and caught up a handful, which he flung back rather wildly. Rudolf laughed and sent a barrage of snowballs in return, each finding their mark. Ludwig and Karl ran to their brother’s rescue, and soon Rudolf was seeking shelter behind the buggy, jeering and catcalling.
A window crashed open above them. ‘Stop that noise,’ Herr Wild’s voice shouted, ‘or I’ll call the town watch.’
Everyone froze. Nobody spoke until the window was slammed shut again, then the Grimm brothers quickly dragged their tree inside, with Lotte giggling after them.
‘Goodnight,’ Wilhelm mouthed. ‘Thank you for the wine.’
Rudolf made a face at his father’s window, muttered something under his breath and took Trudi back to her stable. The girls gathered the tankards and, trying to keep them from clanking together, hurried back inside.
‘I hope Father didn’t realise it was us,’ Dortchen said.
‘It was fun, though,’ Mia said. ‘I can’t remember the last time we had a snowball fight.’
Rudolf came in with the tree over his shoulder, and they set it up in the front parlour. Old Marie had kindled a fire, and with the lamps on the mantelpiece reflecting in the tall mirror, it looked as warm and welcoming as Dortchen had ever seen it. They decorated the tree with red ribbons and gold-painted pine cones, and Lisette and Hanne carefully affixed candles to the boughs. It was Dortchen and her little sister’s job to hang the gilded tin angels, Rudolf lifting Mia to hang one at the very tip of the tree.
The church bells rang out, filling the night air with music. Out into the cold the family hurried, snow feathering their faces. They joined the procession of families making their way to th
e church, each with a lantern swinging brightly in the darkness.
Dortchen matched her steps to its rhythm, feeling her soul expand inside her body till it was pressing against the bones of her chest. It’s Christmas Eve, she thought. At midnight tonight, all the animals of the world will speak with human tongues. I wonder what they’ll say …
Old Marie knew an old tale about a man who crept out to eavesdrop on the animals in his barn. He heard one horse say to another, ‘It’ll not be long before we will drive our master to his grave.’ Frightened, the man had turned to flee; he slipped on the ice and broke his leg, and had to lie all night in the barnyard. He caught pneumonia and died the next day. With black plumes on their heads, the horses had taken his corpse to the graveyard, just as they had prophesied.
I’ll not try to listen tonight, Dortchen decided. I’m afraid to hear what the beasts will say.
THE BLUE FLOWER
May 1806
On her thirteenth birthday, Dortchen was released from the duty of the weekly wash and allowed to spend the day in the market garden. This made her happy, and she swung her basket and hummed under her breath as she went down the alleyway.
Overhead, the family’s eiderdowns were hung on the washing line to catch the early-morning sun. It was a beautiful spring morning and Dortchen felt sorry for her sisters, who had to spend the day struggling with boilers and wringers and mangles, helping their mother and Old Marie with the week’s wash. Already the scullery was full of steam, and Lisette and Hanne’s faces and hands were the colour of boiled lobsters.
As Dortchen passed by the house where the Grimms had their apartment, she heard a low whistle and looked up. Wilhelm was standing at a window, smiling down at her. Heat rushed up her face. She had not seen Wilhelm in months – he had been at the university in Marburg, studying for his final exams. He was more handsome than ever, his dark curls hanging over his brow, his shirt unbuttoned to show his throat.
‘Dortchen,’ he called, ‘you’re the very vision of springtime. How are you?’
‘I’m well, thank you. And you?’
‘Glad to be home. I’ve passed all my exams, you’ll be glad to know, and am now a fully accredited lawyer. Isn’t it awful?’
‘Are you home to stay?’ she asked.
‘For now. I must get a job. I’m hoping to find one here in Cassel.’
‘That’s good,’ she answered, then bit her lip, thinking she sounded like a fool. She dipped her head and gave a small wave of her hand, knowing she should not be seen talking in the street to a young man who was still in his shirtsleeves.
‘Wait,’ he called. ‘I have something for you.’ He disappeared from the window. Dortchen waited, casting a quick look at her father’s shop. No one seemed to be watching her. She took a few steps back into the shadow of the alley.
Wilhelm reappeared at the window. ‘Look, I found it for you in Marburg.’ He lifted up a small doll, dressed all in white frills, and showed it to her. ‘Is it not your birthday today?’
Dortchen flushed pink. He remembered my birthday, she thought. ‘Thank you,’ she managed to say. ‘She’s beautiful.’
‘I’ll lower her down to you,’ Wilhelm said, and disappeared again. In a moment he was back; he opened the casement wider and lowered the doll down to Dortchen on a string. Dortchen received her into her arms as tenderly as if it were a real baby. ‘I’ll call her Wilhelmine, after you and the Kurfürstin,’ she said.
‘I remember you hoped for a doll for Christmas,’ Wilhelm said. ‘I gave one to Lotte for her birthday too. You’ll be able to play together.’
‘Thank you,’ she said again, and looked down at the doll in her arms. She had never seen such a lifelike doll. Its face was white and smooth, and skilfully moulded to look just like a baby’s face, while its blue eyes and black curls had been artistically painted. Its body was soft and well-stuffed, much nicer than the stiff bodies of the old wooden dolls.
‘It’s made from papier-mâché,’ Wilhelm said.
She nodded, although she did not understand what he meant, and turned to go back inside and put the doll safely away.
‘Happy birthday,’ Wilhelm called after her.
Spring turned into summer, and Dortchen was kept so busy in the garden and the stillroom that she scarcely had time to play with her new doll, or to go wandering in the woods with Lotte.
She only saw Wilhelm at a distance, usually at church on Sunday, or when the reading circle met at the Wild house. The circle had widened to include a few other friends, including Johann von Dalwigk, the son of a local baron, and Karoline and Gotthelf Engelhard, the daughter and son of the Grimm family’s landlord.
Wilhelm always had a smile and a kind word for Dortchen, but this only made her heart ache more. She longed to be near him, but his presence made her hot-cheeked and tongue-tied, so that she felt she was always making a fool of herself. Her greatest fear was that someone would realise how she felt, and would mock her or tell Wilhelm. Yet she longed for him to realise, and to return her feelings.
One Friday afternoon, on the first day of August, Dortchen went to the big garden outside the town walls to cut cornflowers for her father. Their colour was as bright as the hot blue sky overhead. Her father would boil the blossoms to make eyewash. It seemed a shame, Dortchen thought. She would have liked to fill a vase with them and have them by her bed, to bring a little of the meadow into the house. Her father would think it a waste of good eyewash material, however.
She heard the garden gate open and turned. Wilhelm came towards her, a sombre figure in his black suit. Dortchen rose to her feet, very aware of her muddy apron and dirt-streaked face. She hoped he would think the red in her cheeks was from the sun.
‘Good morning, Dortchen,’ he said, taking off his tall hat. ‘Have you seen Lotte?’
She shook her head. ‘Not today.’
‘Mother needs her help but she’s run off again.’
Dortchen made a face. ‘I don’t blame her. It’s such a beautiful day, it’s a shame to be indoors.’
‘She’s not a little girl any more – she has to realise that. Mother cannot manage it all on her own. I wish Lotte was good and quiet like you.’
Dortchen was surprised. She wasn’t used to being called good and quiet. ‘No, you don’t. Lottechen wouldn’t be Lottechen if she was good and quiet.’
‘True,’ Wilhelm admitted. He looked at the basket of flowers, then picked one up. ‘Such a lovely colour. Almost as blue as your eyes.’ Dortchen blushed. Wilhelm slipped the flower into his buttonhole.
‘You know they’re called bachelor’s buttons?’ she asked. ‘If you go home wearing one, people will think you’re courting.’
‘Oh, no, I can’t have that.’ Wilhelm took the flower out of his buttonhole at once. ‘I can’t afford to go courting. We can scarcely afford to feed ourselves as it is, without adding another mouth to the family.’
‘Times are hard,’ Dortchen said, wishing she had better comfort to offer.
At least there had been peace of a kind. After the Austrians had signed the peace treaty with France, Napoléon had been kept busy making his brothers kings of Holland and Italy, and marrying off his stepdaughter. Everyone hoped he would be happy with what he had won, and would not turn his rapacious gaze on the rest of Europe.
‘I was about to make some tea,’ Dortchen said, seeing Wilhelm move to put his hat on. ‘Would you like to join me?’ He hesitated, and she went on: ‘You study too hard – some fresh air and sunshine would do you good. And I could make us a nice, fresh salad. I keep oil and vinegar in the summer house. And I have bread and cheese and sour pickles.’
‘I am rather hungry,’ he said, still hesitating.
‘The bread and cheese is very good,’ she tempted.
He smiled at her. ‘It does sound lovely,’ he replied, taking his hat off again. ‘Though I don’t want to eat all your food.’
‘I have plenty,’ she said, throwing her hands wide.
Wilhelm smiled. ‘Yo
u are lucky to have such a big garden.’
‘Father doesn’t like to spend money on food when we can grow our own. And we need the land for medicinal herbs as well, of course. I wish this garden was closer. It’s my job to look after it, most of the time, but it can be wearisome having to walk all this way.’ As she spoke, Dortchen gathered salad leaves.
When her basket was full, she led the way to the summer house. This was a small wooden building, rather dilapidated, with a stove in one corner, and a cupboard in which Dortchen kept a few chipped cups and plates. Wilhelm sat down, toying with the blue flower he still carried.
Within a few minutes, Dortchen had a kettle singing on the stove, and bread and cheese and salad laid out on the rickety old table.
‘You’re very deft,’ Wilhelm said admiringly. ‘I do wish you’d teach Lotte. She shows no liking for domestic tasks at all.’
‘You think any of us do?’ Dortchen replied. ‘The floors don’t scrub themselves, though.’
‘I guess not,’ Wilhelm responded, smiling.
When he smiled, his eyes crinkled in a most attractive way. It made Dortchen want to make him smile again, but she could think of nothing witty or amusing to say. A silence fell. She made the tea, putting extra milk and sugar in it – she knew sugar was a luxury the Grimms could not afford. Wilhelm drank it thirstily, then fell upon the food.
Dortchen sipped at her own tea, then said, rather shyly, ‘What work would you like to do, if you could do anything at all?’
Wilhelm shrugged one thin shoulder. ‘I’d like to be able to study old poems and stories, and maybe write some of my own. I’ve been reading the work of Novalis. He’s a poet, you know, a most tragic figure. He died when he was only twenty-eight. He said this thing about language and words … I find it very beautiful.’
‘What did he say?’ Dortchen asked.
‘He said that words have a remarkable power. The word “God” is only three letters – yet how much meaning is in those three letters? It’s vast, unimaginable. Think of the word “liberty”. Only seven letters, yet it changed a whole country and looks like it might change the world.’