by Kate Forsyth
‘There’s always hundreds of people here, it’s never stopped the echo before,’ Lotte answered. ‘No, it’s because they’ve taken good old Freddie down. Who wants to look at that ugly dwarf?’
‘Shh, Lotte,’ Wilhelm said. ‘It’s not wise to call the Emperor names with so many French soldiers around.’
‘And spies,’ Ludwig said. ‘He’s got spies everywhere. That old beggar there could be one. Or that man selling hot pies. Or even that pretty girl with the violets.’
Lotte looked around warily and came down from the plinth. Her face was pale under her bonnet.
Herr Wild had found them a good vantage point near the street, and they huddled close, rubbing their gloved hands together. They heard the parade long before it arrived. First the rat-a-tat-tat of drums and the blowing of trumpets, then the marching of feet, the stamping of hooves and the rumble of wagons pulling heavy guns. Battalion after battalion of soldiers marched by in rigid formation, and then at last a gilded open carriage came into sight. It was pulled by four grey horses with red plumes on their heads.
The new king was young and handsome, with dark curly hair combed forward on to his forehead, laughing dark eyes and beautifully groomed sideburns. He wore military uniform, with very tight white pantaloons and a high cravat. Beside him sat his new wife, plump, plain and apprehensive, wearing a pale gauzy dress with a high waist and puffed sleeves. The inch of skin between her long gloves and the edge of her sleeve was purple with cold.
Behind the carriage ran small beggar children, hands held up pleadingly. Every now and again, one of the King’s men threw out a handful of gold coins, causing fights to break out.
‘He looks very dapper,’ Rudolf said. ‘I wonder if he ties his own cravat.’
‘He looks like a fool,’ his father replied.
The parade proceeded down the Königstrasse and out of sight. Everyone would have liked to have followed the cavalcade out to the palace, but dusk was already falling and it was cold. Reluctantly, they turned for home.
‘I heard they’ve renamed the palace,’ Wilhelm told Gretchen. ‘It’s not Wilhelmshöhe any more, but Napoléonshöhe.’
‘Everything is changing,’ Gretchen said. ‘Mother says we must all try and speak French now but I just can’t get my tongue around it.’
‘French is really not that difficult,’ Jakob said. ‘You should try Old Norse.’
Gretchen flushed and dropped her eyes. She was very much in awe of the clever eldest Grimm brother.
‘Lisette speaks French well,’ Dortchen said. ‘She’s good at languages. Last night we heard the strangest sounds coming from her bedroom. It sounded like she was being strangled by a giant snake. We all rushed in and asked her, “Are you sick, Lisette?” But she just said, “No, you silly billies. I’m learning English.”’
Both Jakob and Wilhelm laughed.
They were almost home when there was a distant bang, and a roar. Everyone screamed and ducked down, covering their ears, expecting a fusillade of shots. Instead, a shower of gaudy sparks shot up into the sky, then flowered into an enormous blossom of coloured lights.
‘What is it?’ Mia cried. ‘Mama!’
‘It’s fireworks,’ Jakob said. ‘They must be setting them off at the palace.’
‘We’ll be able to see from the upstairs window,’ Lisette cried. ‘Come on!’
Everyone hurried towards the shop, craning to see as more fireworks were shot high into the sky. Herr Wild opened the front door and Rudolf led the stampede upstairs. Lotte and her brothers hesitated outside; they would not have such a good view from their window.
‘Won’t you come in?’ Dortchen asked shyly, and she saw her father frown. But her mother, panting along in the rear, seconded the invitation, and so the Grimms accepted and followed Dortchen up to the drawing room. They all clustered at the window, watching as vibrant peonies and dahlias of fire flowered in the sky.
At last the fireworks faded away and farewells were made. Hovering near Wilhelm, Dortchen heard him say to Gretchen, ‘Tomorrow, then?’
Gretchen blushed, smiled and nodded. Wilhelm put on his tall hat and followed his brothers down the stairs.
Standing by the window, Dortchen watched the Grimm family cross to their own house. Wilhelm turned and looked up, then gave a little wave. Gretchen, who was standing at the next window, waved back, then, smiling, went running out to help her sisters prepare supper.
Dortchen shut the window and stood standing by it, leaning her forehead against the cold pane. Her heart felt bruised.
The air stank of smoke and gunpowder.
‘He wants you to tell him a story?’ Lisette asked incredulously, the next morning at breakfast.
Gretchen nodded. ‘He wants to know all the stories we know. He and his brother have decided to collect them.’
‘How very odd,’ Röse said.
‘Surely it’s just an excuse,’ Hanne said. ‘Really, he wants to sit and gaze into your beautiful blue eyes.’ She clasped her hands near her ear and fluttered her eyelashes.
‘He is handsome,’ Frau Wild said. ‘Such a shame.’
A little silence fell; all the girls knew what she meant. Herr Wild looked up from his newspaper and frowned. ‘They’re poor as church mice, Gretchen, without a prospect in the world. Not a family to be encouraging.’
‘He’s not courting me,’ Gretchen said. ‘He just wants me to tell him a story.’
‘Faugh,’ Herr Wild said.
‘What story will you tell?’ Dortchen asked. She was so jealous that she could scarcely frame the words.
‘The one about Mary’s child, I thought,’ Gretchen said.
Frau Wild frowned. ‘Should you? Do you think?’
‘Why not? It’s beautiful,’ Gretchen said. ‘I think he’ll like it.’
‘Lisette, you’d better sit with your sister.’
‘No! I don’t want to be the chaperone. It’s humiliating. Besides, Father needs my help in the shop. I’m the only one who can understand all the soldiers.’
‘Hanne …’
‘I’m not going to chaperone her. Besides, it’s Tuesday. I have to air all the bedding and dust the bedrooms.’
Frau Wild looked at Röse, but before she could speak, Dortchen said quickly, ‘I’ll sit with her, Mother. I can do the mending.’
Her mother nodded in relief.
‘Gretchen had best darn all the stockings,’ Hanne said. ‘That’ll dampen his ardour, if anything can.’
Gretchen laid a small fire in the parlour, hoping her father wouldn’t mind too much, and Dortchen ran to the garden to pick a bunch of rosehips to brighten the room. It was not long before they saw the silhouette of Wilhelm in his tall hat passing the parlour window. Gretchen jumped up, smoothed her curls, straightened her dress and went to the door. She opened it before he could knock.
‘Good morning,’ he said, sounding flustered.
‘Good morning,’ she said, sounding the same.
She led him into the parlour, and the same round of greetings was repeated with Dortchen, who was sitting very straight in her chair by the fire, a basket of mending at her feet. Wilhelm was carrying his writing box, which he put down on the table.
‘So, you have a story for me?’ he asked Gretchen, getting out some paper and his inkpot.
‘Yes. I thought I’d tell you a story about Mary’s child,’ Gretchen answered, blushing for no apparent reason. ‘It’s a tale Old Marie has often told us.’
Wilhelm dipped his quill into the inkpot and looked at her attentively. ‘Yes?’
Gretchen cleared her throat and began. ‘Near a great forest there lived a woodcutter and his wife. They had but one child, a three-year-old girl. They were so poor that they no longer had their daily bread, and they did not know how they were to feed her.’
‘Not so fast – I cannot write that quickly,’ Wilhelm said, dipping his pen in the inkpot again. Gretchen paused while he caught up, the scratching of the pen on the paper and the clicking of the nib in
the inkpot the only sounds. ‘Didn’t know how to feed her,’ he repeated.
On they went, Wilhelm constantly asking Gretchen to slow down, and Gretchen occasionally getting muddled and going back and inserting details she had forgotten. As she described how the little girl was adopted by the Virgin Mary and taken up to heaven, Dortchen listened critically, her needle flying faster and more smoothly than Wilhelm’s pen.
‘When the girl was fourteen years old …’ Gretchen said.
The same age that I am now, Dortchen thought.
‘… the Virgin Mary summoned the girl and gave her thirteen keys, saying, “I’m going on a long journey …”’
‘Wait,’ Wilhelm said. He turned the page round so that he could write across the existing lines. ‘How many keys?’
‘Thirteen,’ Gretchen said. ‘They were the keys to the thirteen doors of heaven. The Virgin Mary told the girl, “You may open twelve of the doors, but the thirteenth door is forbidden for you. Do not open it, whatever you do.”’
‘Interesting. A forbidden chamber motif. Let me guess – she opens it.’
‘Yes,’ said Gretchen, laughing. ‘First she opens the other twelve doors and finds the Apostles behind them. Then she opens the thirteenth door and finds—’
‘Hell?’ Wilhelm asked.
‘No! She finds God. Amazed, she reaches out to touch Him, then flinches back with pain. Her finger is all stained with gold.’
‘And no matter how hard she washes it, she cannot get rid of the stain,’ Wilhelm said.
‘You know the story?’ Gretchen asked.
‘No, no, it’s just like other tales I’ve read. Usually it’s blood that can’t be washed away.’
‘Oh.’ Gretchen looked away, blushing furiously.
Wilhelm flushed too. He straightened his parchment, cleared his throat and said, ‘Give me a moment to catch up. She opened the door, found God, stained her finger with gold … Then what happened?’
Gretchen went on. ‘Tackled with her disobedience, the girl denied it three times and was cast out of heaven. She found herself in a forest, with nothing to eat but nuts and berries.’
‘You forgot to say she had lost her voice,’ Dortchen said.
‘Oh, yes. She had lost her voice and could not speak. Now I’ve forgotten where I was.’
‘She wanted to cry out but couldn’t make a sound,’ Dortchen prompted. ‘She wanted to run away but couldn’t break through the thorns and brambles. Before long, all her clothes were ripped to shreds.’
‘That’s right. All her clothes were ripped to shreds and she had nothing to wear but her long golden hair.’ Gretchen stopped again, embarrassed.
Dortchen realised why her mother had been concerned that Gretchen should tell Wilhelm this story. One did not talk about naked women with young men.
‘Like St Agnes,’ Wilhelm said.
Gretchen nodded gratefully. ‘Anyway, one day a king found her and married her—’
‘Even though she couldn’t speak,’ Dortchen put in.
‘Yes. A year later they had a son, and the Virgin Mary appeared and demanded that she confess to opening the door.’
‘The thirteenth door,’ Dortchen said.
Gretchen cast her a look. ‘Shh, Dortchen, you’re muddling me.’
‘I can’t write down all the details anyway,’ Wilhelm said. ‘It’s not humanly possible to write that fast. I’ll have to remember them when I write the story out later.’
‘Anyway, the girl wouldn’t confess, so the Virgin Mary took her son away. This happened another two times, and each time the girl wouldn’t confess and so the Virgin Mary took her child. The people of the land began to whisper that she had killed her children and eaten them, and called for her death. She was condemned to burn at the stake. Only then did the poor queen wish that she had confessed her sin.
‘Up in Heaven, the Virgin Mary heard her prayer and gave her back the power of speech, so the queen cried out, “Yes, Mary, I did it!” Then rain fell from the sky and put out the flames, and the Virgin Mary appeared with the queen’s three children, saying, “All is forgiven.” And they were all happy together.’
Wilhelm’s quill scratched quickly over the page, then he scattered sand to hasten the drying of the ink. ‘I think I’ve got the gist of it, thank you,’ he said. ‘It’s fascinating. I’m sure it must be old – there are echoes in there of other very old tales.’
‘What will you do with the story?’ Gretchen asked.
‘For now, I’ll just transcribe it and study it, looking to see how it compares with other stories of its type. Maybe, if we find a lot of old stories, we might publish them in a book. No one tells these old stories any more. If someone doesn’t write them down, they might be lost forever.’
At that moment there was a banging on the window. Ludwig and Lotte were looking through, knocking and waving, their faces rosy from the cold. Gretchen hurried to the window and opened it wide.
‘Wilhelm, come to the square,’ Ludwig said. ‘They’ve got a great bonfire going – they’re burning all the Kurfürst’s laws.’
‘They’re throwing in portraits of him, and copies of old decrees,’ Lotte said. ‘People are dancing and singing – it’s like a party!’
Wilhelm stood up, his face grave. ‘It’s not something to celebrate, Lotte.’
‘But you’ve got to hear what they’re saying,’ Ludwig insisted. ‘The new king has declared a new constitution. Come and hear what he says.’
Wilhelm sighed and rolled his shoulders. ‘All those years at university, learning the laws of the land, wasted. I will have to learn these new laws, I suppose, if I am ever to get a job under this new regime.’ He packed up his writing box quickly, then turned and bowed his head to Gretchen. ‘Thank you for the story.’
‘We want to go too.’ Dortchen jumped up, her mending falling unheeded to the floor. ‘Gretchen, call Hanne and Lisette. You know they’ll want to go too.’
Gretchen called to her sisters, and soon they were all in the hall, drawing on bonnets and gloves. Their father heard the commotion and put his head through the door from the shop. ‘What are you doing? Where are you going?’
‘They’re proclaiming a new constitution,’ Hanne explained. ‘The King has thrown out the old laws and made new ones.’
‘They’re burning them all in the square,’ Mia said. ‘There’s a great bonfire, and people are dancing around it.’
‘We must go and hear what they’re saying,’ Lisette said quickly, as her father’s expression darkened. ‘Who knows what it means for us?’
Herr Wild looked back over his shoulder. There were customers in his shop. ‘Where is that worthless son of mine?’
‘Herr Grimm and his brothers will escort us,’ Hanne said. ‘There can be no harm in it, when we are all together, and Fraülein Lotte too.’
Herr Wild frowned, hesitating.
‘They’ll be announcing the new laws in French,’ Lisette pointed out.
‘Very well,’ her father answered reluctantly. ‘But you must be back before dark.’
‘Thank you, Father.’ Before he could say another word, Hanne opened the door and hurried out into the Marktgasse. Dortchen and Mia scrambled after her, with Lisette, Röse and Gretchen only steps behind. The five young men of the Grimm family were waiting for them impatiently, badly knitted scarves bundled about their throats. As soon as the Wild sisters had joined them, they began to hurry down the narrow street, Jakob leading the way.
They heard the roar of the bonfire and smelt the smoke long before they reached the Königsplatz. Soldiers were unloading a wagonload of scrolls and manuscripts, shouting, ‘No more privileges for nobles! Equality for all! No more feudal dues! Liberty for all! Long live the Revolution!’
‘Long live the Revolution!’ shouted a young man with disordered chestnut hair and a faded red scarf loosely tied about his neck.
Hanne caught the young man by the sleeve. ‘Is it true? A new constitution? What does it say?’
; ‘All men are now free, regardless of their birth or their wealth,’ the young man told her, his golden-brown eyes glowing with excitement. ‘The serfs are all to be liberated.’
Hanne clapped her hands together.
Dortchen was amazed and thrilled and frightened all at once. She had always felt so sorry for the serfs working in the fields. They were often dressed in little more than smocks, their feet wrapped in rags. Sometimes, if one of their children was desperately sick, they would come begging to the apothecary’s shop, offering turnips or a handful of eggs in return for medicine. Herr Wild would always take the exchange, even if the turnips were half-rotten.
What are the serfs to do now? she wondered. Where will they go? How will they live? Will they own the land they have slaved on for so long? It seemed impossible.
‘People are free to worship as they choose – or even not worship at all,’ the young man went on. ‘Best of all, the nobles have lost all their privileges. They’ll have to pay taxes like the rest of us.’
‘Women too?’ Hanne demanded. ‘Are women to be given the same rights?’
A soldier nearby laughed and threw up his hands. ‘Women? What need does a woman have of rights when she has a man to look after her?’
Hanne stamped her foot. ‘Just as much need as a man.’ But the soldier was busy throwing old title deeds onto the bonfire and paid her no heed.
The young man in the red scarf shook his head regretfully. ‘I’m sorry, Fraülein. It is, as far as I can see, the one great flaw of the Emperor’s vision. Women cannot vote, they cannot own property, they cannot be a guardian to their own children—’
‘It’s so wrong,’ Hanne said. ‘I swear I am twice as smart as those bone-brained French lawyers. If I were allowed to go to university and study law, I’d show them so, too.’
‘I’m sure you would, Fraülein,’ the young man said admiringly. ‘Listen, he is reading the new constitution out now.’
A man in a white wig and gold-frogged coat stood on the steps, reading aloud from a scroll of paper. Dortchen listened carefully, but with the noise of the crowd, the roar of the bonfire and her own inadequate French, she caught only a few words. Jakob and Wilhelm were listening closely, both frowning.