The Wild Girl (13 page)

‘Come, come, my dear, that’s no way to talk,’ Frau Grimm said, putting the broken plate on the tray. ‘A lovely young girl like you? Why, soon you’ll be married yourself, no doubt, and dandling a little one on your knee.’

Bettina looked at her in horror. ‘Oh, no – do you think so?’

‘Of course, my dear.’

Bettina buried her face in her brother’s sleeve again. ‘Oh, Clemens, save me,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘I’ll end up all grey and moth-eaten, like an old coat.’ She lifted her face, her eyes wide and flashing with emotion. ‘You understand, don’t you? Only the wild, the great and the glittering please me. I cannot bear an ordinary life.’

‘Only ordinary people have ordinary lives,’ her brother soothed her. ‘Look at Augusta now. She’d like nothing more, would you, my dear? A nice little house with a nice little husband and a nice little baby. What a shame you decided to marry me.’

His wife turned and looked at him with scornful eyes. ‘You are trying to drive me to despair, aren’t you? You want me to put an end to myself so you’ll be free again. But what would people say of you? Two wives dead in less than a year.’

‘What on earth gives you the impression that I care what people say?’ Clemens drawled. ‘Altogether too bourgeois, my dear.’

‘Oh, yes, you would think wanting to be happy is bourgeois, wouldn’t you?’ Augusta replied. ‘Do you think agonies of the heart are only confined to poets? Well, I may not be a poet, but I feel just as deeply as you, Clemens. I hurt too!’

‘No need for the histrionics, Augusta,’ he answered in a bored tone.

His wife drew down the veiling so it hid her face. ‘Augusta is dead. Call me that no more.’

‘What, then, do you wish us to call you?’ Achim asked, his face troubled.

‘Call me Franz. I shall cast off these clothes of oppression, dress in the clothes of a man and travel the world as I please.’

‘Oh, unfair,’ Bettina said. ‘You’re just copying me now, trying to be interesting. Can’t you think of your own wild scheme?’

Augusta pressed her hands to her breast and turned her face away again.

‘You’ll have to grow mutton-chop sideburns,’ Bettina said with a giggle, ‘or else no one will believe you’re a man.’

Karl gave a snort of amusement. In a second, a roar of helpless laughter went around the room. Even Frau Grimm was laughing. There was such
a contrast between the image of Augusta as she was now, draped head to foot in her black weeds and sitting in the pose of a tragic heroine, and the idea of her with thick sideburns, a walking stick and a tall hat.

‘You’re cruel. Cruel!’ Gathering up her black skirts, Augusta fled from the room.

‘Oh, dear, we shouldn’t have laughed,’ Frau Grimm said. ‘Poor girl. She’s overwrought.’

‘Don’t you worry about her, she’s always overwrought,’ Clemens replied, as Frau Grimm hurried after the weeping girl. ‘You cannot imagine how I’ve suffered these past few weeks. But what was I to do? If I had not married her, she would’ve been ruined.’

‘It’s a difficult situation,’ Achim said. ‘Indeed, I wonder if you would not have been better off refusing to get into the carriage with her, Clemens. Surely you didn’t need to drive off with her?’

‘It was a whim, an impulse, a caprice,’ Clemens replied. ‘I gave in to the urge of a moment. Believe me, I had regretted it before the night was out.’

‘Enough of such talk,’ Bettina ordered. ‘Don’t you realise there are ladies present? Besides, who wants to talk about Augusta? That’s just what she wants.’

‘Not Augusta,’ Karl said in a deep, lugubrious voice. ‘Franz.’

They were all shaken with laughter again. Dortchen could not help herself, although she felt that she was being cruel.

‘Bettina’s right,’ Achim said. ‘Let us talk about your work, Jakob.’

Jakob and Wilhelm began at once to show Achim and Clemens some of the manuscripts they had been transcribing. Ludwig was busy with his charcoal and sketchbook, capturing the two male visitors in quick yet startlingly acute strokes on the page. Karl and Ferdinand hung close by, trying to join in the conversation, yet clearly out of their depth. Lotte and Dortchen hurried to clear away the dirty plates so Jakob could spread the pages of his manuscript out on the table. Bettina rose and brought them her own plate and goblet.

‘I don’t mean to be cruel,’ she said confidingly to the other two girls, ‘but I am all out of patience with her. Augusta is like that all day long,
moaning and weeping and flinging herself about. She always wants to be the centre of attention.’

Dortchen thought that seemed true of Bettina herself. Yet somehow Clemens’s sister was so full of charm and quicksilver wit that it was impossible to dislike her, while Augusta had been so odd and intense and melodramatic that no one could possibly be comfortable in her company.

‘Well, it’s much quieter with her gone, anyway,’ Lotte said. ‘We’ve never had so many people in our sitting room at once.’

‘I do like eating like this, with our plates on our laps, and everyone sitting where they like,’ Bettina said. ‘So much nicer than having to worry about etiquette and precedence and all those boring things. That is how I shall have my dinner parties when I’m all grown-up.’

‘Aren’t you grown-up now?’ Dortchen asked shyly.

‘Heavens, no. Don’t say so. I intend to remain a child just as long as I can. A poet should be like a child of solitude, Herr von Goethe says. And he is my hero, you know.’

‘I love Herr von Goethe too,’ Wilhelm said, turning around. ‘Which do you prefer, Young Werther or William Meister?’

‘Oh, Werther, of course, if we’re talking about his men. But my favourite character is, of course, Mignon. Mignon, Mignon! If I was to change my name, that’s what I’d like to be called. Don’t you think I look a little like her?’

She capered around like a small child, and Dortchen realised, with amazement and fascination, that Bettina was wearing flowing silken trousers that were tied at the ankle, and not a skirt, as she had assumed. Dortchen had never seen a woman wearing trousers before.

‘You do indeed,’ Wilhelm assured her. ‘Only I would never mistake you for a boy.’

‘Is that a compliment?’ Bettina cried. ‘I believe it was. Clemens, you’re right. Your friends the Grimm brothers are quite charming.’

‘There is no charm in telling the truth,’ Wilhelm replied.

‘Oh, adroitly done. You’re a courtier! Clemens, did you hear? I swear my head shall be turned.’

‘Well said, sir.’ Clemens clapped his hand on Wilhelm’s shoulder. ‘What
you mean, of course, is that my hoydenish sister looks like she belongs with the raggle-taggle gypsies.’

‘Well, that’s a compliment too,’ Bettina replied. ‘I’d love to run away to the circus. Wouldn’t you?’ She turned appealingly to Dortchen and Lotte, who were once again standing and listening as if watching a play they didn’t really understand. ‘Wouldn’t you much rather be like Mignon and living with the gypsies, than a stout
Hausfrau
counting your silver spoons?’

‘Absolutely,’ Lotte cried, though Dortchen was sure she had never heard of Mignon either.

Bettina smiled at Wilhelm. ‘Did you know I’ve met Herr von Goethe?’

‘No? Really?’

‘Yes. I wrote to him and asked to meet him. He was in love with my mother, you know. So he invited me to tea. His house was just like you’d imagine, full of books and fine art and sycophantic people. He asked me, very politely, what interested me. “Nothing but you,” I answered. So then he told me to make myself at home. So I went and sat in his lap and put my arms about his neck and my head on his shoulder and went to sleep.’

‘You didn’t?’ Karl gasped.

‘Yes, I did. I had a lovely little nap, and when I woke up he asked me to stay to dinner.’

No one could help staring at her. Bettina Brentano was such a strong and unusual personality, so full of life, so sure of herself, so determined to shock and enliven. At that moment Dortchen wished with all her heart to be like her, yet felt herself slipping deeper into the shadows. She could think of nothing at all to say, so quietly she packed up the plates and took them down to the kitchen. Lotte followed along behind her. They barely spoke as they did the washing-up together in the scullery.

Dortchen felt a lump in her throat, a quiver in her eyelids. ‘Could I borrow some books?’ she said at last. ‘We don’t have any, you know. Just the Bible and our psalm books and a few others that Father thinks are educational.’

‘Of course, any time. We have more books than we know what to do with,’ Lotte answered.

‘Can I borrow that one they were talking about? The one with the girl called Mignon?’

Lotte nodded. ‘I’ll ask Wilhelm for it tomorrow and bring it over for you.’

Dortchen took up her shawl and wrapped it about her. ‘All right. See you tomorrow, then.’

Lotte threw her arms about her. ‘Thank you for helping us tonight,’ she said, her voice muffled in Dortchen’s neck. ‘I couldn’t have managed without you. I wish you really were my sister.’

‘So do I,’ Dortchen replied, her eyes growing hot. She drew away from Lotte, took up her basket and let herself out into the shadowy alleyway, then ran across to the safety of the gate opposite and the quiet, dark, frost-whitened garden.

From the upstairs window of the Grimms’ sitting room came the sound of laughter.

THE THIRTEENTH DOOR

December 1807

The new King of Westphalia drove into Cassel on 7th December.

An hour before he was due to arrive, French soldiers banged on the doors with the butts of their bayonets, ordering the citizens of Cassel to line the main street and cheer the new king and queen.

‘I can’t believe Father is letting us go,’ Mia said, catching up her bonnet. ‘I haven’t been anywhere but church or school for months.’

‘He doesn’t want any trouble,’ Lisette said. ‘Like it or not, we have a new king now, and only those who are seen to support him will prosper.’

‘I wonder what he is like?’ Dortchen asked. ‘Do you think he’ll be a good king?’

‘Highly unlikely,’ Gretchen said with a snort. ‘They say he’s quite decadent.’

‘Maybe the coming of the new king will mean a turn in our fortunes,’ Lisette said, putting on her bonnet.

‘He’s more likely to beggar us all,’ Hanne said. ‘I’ve heard he’s already squandered a fortune.’

‘Girls!’ their father called. ‘What’s taking you so long? Hurry along now.’

They clattered down the stairs to the hall, where their parents waited for them, Frau Wild in a flutter of shawls, Herr Wild frowning and
consulting his watch. Out they went into the grey afternoon, Herr Wild clearing a path through the crowd with his walking stick.

‘So many people,’ Frau Wild sighed. ‘So noisy.’

‘Let’s go to the Königsplatz,’ Lisette suggested. ‘We’ll get a better view there.’

‘Stay close.’ Herr Wild poked Dortchen with his walking stick. ‘Don’t you go running off anywhere, wild girl. It’s not safe.’

‘No, Father,’ she answered.

It was not long before they recognised the Grimm family walking ahead of them. Jakob was supporting his mother, while Lotte danced beside Ludwig. The two parties soon joined together, Frau Wild and Frau Grimm each taking one of Herr Wild’s arms, leaving Jakob free to walk with Rudolf and Wilhelm with Gretchen.

‘Such a week we’ve had,’ Lotte told Dortchen. ‘Those writer friends of Jakob and Wilhelm’s have been over every day, eating all our food and smoking cigars in the sitting room. Mother swears we’ll never get the smell out of the curtains.’

‘Do you think they’ll help get something published?’ Dortchen asked.

‘I hope so. Jakob and Wilhelm are sure of it. Both Herr Brentano and Herr von Arnim have been full of praise for the work they’ve done. They said they might show it to Herr von Goethe. Wilhelm is in heaven at the thought of that.’

Dortchen did not reply. She had done her best to read Goethe’s novel, late at night with the light of a stolen candle stub, but much of it had puzzled her. It had made her feel stupid. She did not understand many of the words, or why the characters said what they said and did what they did. A few lines had burnt themselves into her soul. The heroine talked about love as rapture. ‘I will clasp him as if I could hold him forever,’ she had cried. Dortchen had repeated those lines to herself many times. She had scanned the pages, looking for any other lines about love, but there seemed to be a lot about philosophy and not so many about romance.

They walked into the Königsplatz, which was already full of people, many of them wearing red, white and blue cockades in their hats. Soldiers were everywhere, keeping the crowds back from the street.

‘Look.’ Dortchen seized Lotte’s arm and pointed. The marble statue of the Kurfürst’s father, the Landgrave Frederick, had been knocked down and taken away from its plinth in the centre of the square. A bronze statue of Napoléon had been erected in its place, looking grim, his hand tucked inside his coat.

Lotte ran up the steps of the plinth and cupped her mouth with both hands, calling ‘
Ja!
’ There was no answering echo.

‘Maybe there’s too many people here,’ Dortchen said.

‘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?’