Even though the German characters speak English in the novel, I wanted to gently remind readers that these people are German. So I have sprinkled some German words that are generally familiar to readers throughout the book.
Also in deference to the majority of readers, who are American, the German characters use the standard terms of measurement that are used in the United States rather than the metric system. This is to avoid the tediousness of having readers mentally convert kilometers into miles, meters into yards, grams into pounds, or hectares into acres. Europeans would likely suggest that it is time for Americans to learn how to make those conversions, since the vast majority of the world is on the metric system. That’s a hard argument to set aside, but my primary concern is to avoid distracting readers by pulling them out of the story to try to figure out just much or how far something is. Clearly, I am aware that Germans use the metric standards of measurement.
February 20, 1908—Graswang Village, Bavaria, Germany
As it is throughout the world, a child’s birthday in Germany is a big occasion laden with tradition. This is especially true of the twelfth birthday. Children look forward to their birthdays with great anticipation. In addition to the house being decorated in their honor, on that they day they are excused from any of their normal obligations—homework, chores around the house, laying wood in the stove. And for the Eckhardts, no milking the cows that day. Exquisite joy!
One of the favorite traditions was the birthday wreath. Normally this consisted of a simple wooden ring about a foot in diameter. Often the ring was made of four curved pieces of wood that lay flat and were about two inches wide and half an inch thick. These snapped together to form an outside ring and a large open space in the center of the ring. Twelve holes were drilled into the wood. Here candles were placed for each year of life, with one more being added each year until the child’s twelfth birthday. In the center of the ring, usually in its own holder, was a larger, more ornate candle. This was known as “the candle of life.” Once lit, all of the candles were left to burn out on their own. None of this blowing them out, as in America. That would not be seen as a good omen.
The family—usually the mother and perhaps older female siblings—would be awake before sunrise to decorate the house and put out the birthday wreath. In the Eckhardt home, that was how it was with the birthdays of their three girls. But for Hans Otto, his father always insisted on not only helping out, but taking the lead. On this, his twelfth birthday, Young Hans awakened early, but he was not allowed to come out of his room until all of the candles were lit.
His mother cooked him a special breakfast, and shortly after noon the guests began to arrive with their gifts. Young Hans reveled in being the center of attention and begged his father to let him open the presents first, but his father held firm. The two biggest ones on the table were from his father. He wouldn’t tell Inga what he had spent on them, but it was probably two or three times the combined total of what he spent on his three daughters each year.
Early on, Inga had tried to reason with her husband about the need for equity in the way he treated his children, but Hans had dismissed that out of hand. A boy had a different role in life, especially an only boy and the heir of the family. The interesting thing was that even now, though they were getting older, the girls accepted that without any visible rancor or resentment toward their little brother. It wasn’t that Inga disagreed, but it bothered her that Young Hans was coming to believe that somehow he really was better than them by nature. All of this, of course, she kept to herself.
A sharp rapping on the table brought Inga’s attention back to the party. The senior Hans stood up, holding up his hands for silence. When he got it, he looked at his son. “Before we cut the cake, let us sing the birthday song to our boy who is no longer a child. Ready? Wie schön, dass du geboren bist.” He raised one hand as if he were leading a choir, and they all sang together.
It’s great that you were born.
Otherwise, we would have missed you very much.
It’s great that we’re together.
We congratulate you, birthday boy.
Hans Otto was absolutely beaming when Inga bent down and kissed him after it ended. “Happy birthday, son.”
He quickly wiped the kiss off, but he smiled up at her. “Danke, Mama.”
As she stepped back, Inga’s eyes were shining. Her son had turned out to be just as his father had predicted. He had passed her up in height last year and looked as if he would be even taller than his father. His hair had remained a light blond, his eyes were large and expressive and so blue they looked like chips taken from the sky. Even older girls at school and in the village shamelessly flirted with him.
“May he never be found on the steps of city hall with a broom!” his grandfather called out from the corner. That brought a roar of laughter and red cheeks from Hans.
In Germany, if a man reached the age of thirty without either being married or having a girlfriend, on his birthday he had to go to the city hall and sweep off the stairs. Usually his friends would throw rubble on the stairs to give him something to sweep. And when he finished, they would throw more. This was so every single girl in the town could see that here was an eligible bachelor who could clean a house very well.
It seemed a little strange to say that to a twelve-year-old, but then, he was becoming a man this day. It was a subtle reminder that finding a wife and having a family were major parts of his coming responsibility.
Inga had long ago given up trying to talk Hans out of giving such lavish gifts to Young Hans on his birthday. But each year it galled her. “If you keep it up, Hans,” she had said last year, the night after their son’s eleventh birthday, “we are going to end up with a son who is spoiled, arrogant, and who thinks special entitlements are his natural due.”
Her husband, of course, had scoffed openly at such a notion. “If a man is to make something of himself in this world, he must have supreme confidence,” he said. “And our Hans Otto is going to make something of himself.” If she tried to reason with him, he always erupted and started yelling at her, so she now kept her concerns to herself.
Since this was the twelfth birthday, Inga decided she would say nothing. Hans had been hinting that their present this year—he always called it “their” present, so as to make Inga party to the deed—would be something truly fantastic. She had told him that Hans Otto needed a new pair of boots and wanted a new fussball. To her surprise, her husband had gotten both. But she knew that wouldn’t change the gift that he had picked out. So when her husband and Grandfather Eckhardt went outside to retrieve the special gift, Inga held her breath.
When they came back in, she gasped. They staggered under the weight of a large, shiny, black metal box. It was rectangular, about two feet long, with a hinged lid and a clasp with a place for a lock.
Young Hans shot to his feet. “What is it, Papa? Is that for me?”
They set it down on the table with a loud clunk. Everyone moved in closer. Oohs and ahhs filled the room.
“Is that a toolbox, Papa? Is it?”
His father was grinning even more than Young Hans. With a flourish, he undid the clasp and opened the lid. It was a double lid, actually, and when he pulled it open, a double tray filled with every sort of screwdriver imaginable unfolded.
“Oh, Papa!”
Necks craned to see better. More cries of amazement.
His father held up a finger. “Silence, please.”
He lifted out the two trays and set them aside. Beneath them was another tray, only this one filled the entire space inside the toolbox and was an inch deeper than the first two. Applause rang out as the children cheered.
Up came the finger again. The sound died quickly. Using both hands he removed that tray and stepped back, revealing the rest of the toolbox. It was filled with larger tools—pipe wrenches, spanners, crescent wrenches, clamps for holding wood in place while it was being glued, a small vise that could be mounted on a bench or table.
It was impressive. Inga had to give his father that much. He had really outdone himself this time. And, she thought, that was all right. This was not a set of child’s toys. These were the real thing. Tools that men used. How appropriate for this day when he officially began manhood.
She had to laugh as she looked at her son’s face. It was like there was so much to take in that his brain had overloaded and short-circuited. He just stared at them, not sure where to start.
When he finally got over his initial shock, he started pulling tools out and holding them up for all to see. And then he would name them. “This is a claw hammer. You use the claw to pull out nails. This is a ball-peen hammer. This is a roofing hammer. This is a leather punch. This is a lathe, for smoothing wood.”
Inga’s husband stepped over beside her and took one hand in his. “So?” he asked.
“I think it’s wonderful, Hans. Look at his eyes. They’re as big as cart wheels.”
He reared back, feigning shock. “So no criticism this year?”
She laughed in spite of herself. “None. Well done.”
He surprised her and reached down and kissed her cheek. “This is the son you gave us, Inga. Thank you.”
Then he moved back over behind the boy and laid both hands on his shoulder. “Hans Otto?”
Their son turned and looked at them. “No taking apart my things without my permission.”
Everyone roared.
Hans Senior quickly looked at Inga. “Or your Mama’s, jawohl?”
“Yes, Papa. I promise.”
“Good, now come over here and give your mother a hug and a kiss for giving you such a wonderful present as this.”
• • •
She should have known.
That didn’t end the surprises. As Inga brought the cake out and prepared to cut it, Hans held up his hand. “Einen Moment, Schatzi.”
She looked up in surprise. What now? The grin that had filled his face when he brought out the toolbox was even wider now, if that was possible.
Young Hans was surprised too. “Another present for me?”
“Yes, for you. But not just for you, Hans Otto. This one is for the whole family. And especially for Mama.”
That caught her completely off guard. She gave him a sharp look.
He ignored it. “As you know, two days ago I sold two of our heifers to the butcher in Oberammergau, and therefore . . .” He let the silence stretch out, smiling at the eager faces before him.
“What, Papa? What?” That was from the girls, who were squirming excitedly.
“Our family is going on a little trip.”
Inga whirled. “What?”
Young Hans shot to his feet. “Really, Papa? Where?”
Very much looking like a little boy himself now, the older Hans let the suspense build for a moment before he spoke. When he did so, it was with great solemnity and great elation. “When school is out in June, we shall go to the train station in Oberammergau and catch a train to . . .” He let it hang for several seconds. “To Hohenschwangau.”
Inga’s jaw dropped. There were gasps from every side. But it was Young Hans who spoke first. “To see Mad Ludwig’s castle, Papa?”
Inga was so utterly stunned she just gaped at her husband. He laughed aloud. “Yes, Hans Otto, to see the fairy-tale castle of King Ludwig II. Would you like that?”
In answer to that, Hans Otto launched into a wild dance around the table, pumping his arms in the air and singing out, “Ja, ja, ja!”
The only thing that a dazed Inga could think of to say was, “What about the milking?”
Triumphant that he had for once achieved total surprise with her, the older Hans was smug. “Ilse and Heidi are both married now. And they and their husbands will help Grosspapa and Grossmutti take care of things for us while we are gone.”
When she turned and looked at his parents, they were beaming and nodding. Ilse and Heidi, though not happy about being left behind, also nodded. Which meant that they had all known all about it. Grandfather Eckhardt, seeing her dismay, chuckled. “We are getting old, Inga, it is true. But we are not too old to take care of the farm for a few days.”
“It is all arranged,” Hans said.
“And where shall we stay?”
He laughed again, and then took her face in both hands. “I have arranged for us to stay in a hostel in the village there. It is very reasonably priced.” Then he kissed her soundly and whispered softly in her ear. “This is for you too, my Inga. For giving us such a son and such fine daughters as this.”
It was a brilliant move on his part. Inga had seen pictures of the fairy-tale castle just outside the village of Hohenschwangau all of her life. It was certainly the most famous castle in Germany, and perhaps even in all of Europe. It was exactly like the castles she had pictured as a young girl when she and her sisters and friends had played Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty or one of the other princesses from the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm. It was only about thirty miles to their west, but for poor farmers that was still out of reach. As she had grown older she had come to accept the fact that it was likely she might go her whole life and never see it for herself. Tears suddenly filled her eyes. She kissed her husband on the cheek as her children applauded wildly. “I am speechless.”
He clapped his hands in delight. “Then I have achieved a first.”
June 22, 1908—Hohenschwangau, Bavaria, Germany
The moment the train pulled out of the Oberammergau station headed west, Hans Otto stood up and cleared his throat. “Ahem,” he said. “May I have your attention please?”
This was the first train of the day, and there were only a few other passengers in the car with them. But they all turned to look and then smiled. Young Hans had a folded paper in one hand and a short stick in the other, which he now rapped sharply on the back of the bench beside him.
Inga, never one to call attention to herself, blushed a little at his boldness. But she also found it amusing.
“In preparation for our visit, I have prepared a short lecture on King Ludwig and his castle at Neuschwanstein,” he began.
“Yes, Herr Holzer,” Inga murmured.
Anna, who was five years older than her brother, started to giggle, but one searing glance from her father cut that off instantly.
He leaned in closer to his wife. “Was that really necessary?”
It was her gentle way of chiding her son for his pride, and it irritated her that her husband took Hans Otto’s side in it—as always. “Is it really necessary that he be so pompous?” she retorted.
He harrumphed something and then looked at his son. “Proceed, Hans Otto.”
“Thank you, Papa.” He opened his paper and began to read.
“King Ludwig II assumed the royal throne of Bavaria in 1864, shortly before his nineteenth birthday. Unfortunately, two years later, Bavaria lost its independence when the German Empire was formed and Otto von Bismarck was appointed chancellor. King Ludwig retained his title, but sensing it was little more than that, he steadfastly ignored state affairs and devoted himself to two things. He became a patron of the arts, most notably as a major supporter of the famous German composer Richard Wagner. He also commissioned the construction of two lavish palaces and a fantastically beautiful castle perched atop a rocky crag above the village of Hohenschwangau. He called it Neuschwanstein Castle, meaning ‘New Swanstone Castle,’ a reference to Wagner’s Swan Knight in his opera based on German legend, Lohengrin.
“The castle turned out to be fantastic. Astonishing. Breathtaking. Magnifique, as the French would say. Its white stone blended into the mountaintop so that it looked like someone had carved it out of the native granite. Its turrets and round minarets pierced the blue sky like gigantic spears. Even before it was finished it was dubbed the ‘fairy-tale castle,’ and Ludwig came to be known as the ‘fairy-tale king.’”
Young Hans stopped as the man three benches ahead of them stood up and came back. He removed his hat and briefly bowed, speaki
ng to the boy’s father. “Excuse me. I am sorry to interrupt, but is your family going to Neuschwanstein?”
“Ja,” the senior Hans said in surprise.
“My family also. Would you mind terribly if we came back and joined you? I would like my children to hear this too.”
Young Hans was beaming as his father turned to him. “Is that all right with you, Hans Otto?”
“Of course.”
The man turned and motioned to his family, which included a woman about Inga’s age and two daughters about ten and twelve. They came hurrying back and took the benches behind the Eckhardts. The older daughter was blushing furiously as she looked at Young Hans and did a little curtsy.
As the mother sat down, she leaned forward to Inga. “How old is your son?”
“He is twenty-eight and a college professor in Munich.”
The woman’s jaw dropped, and her eyes flew open in shock. Smiling, Inga turned clear around and leaned closer. “He’s actually only twelve and just out of primary school,” she whispered, “but don’t tell him that. It would come as quite a shock to him.”
Laughing, the woman stuck out her hand. “We are the Ballifs. I am Katrin, and these are my daughters, Eleanore and Ellspeth.”
Inga’s husband looked around, frowning. “Shall we continue?”
Young Hans picked up right where he left off as if there had been no interruption at all.
“King Ludwig’s extravagance became an embarrassment for the government, and Ludwig’s ministers and court advisers strongly counseled him to restrain himself. His answer was that he built his castle using only his own royal revenues and money he had personally borrowed and not state funds. But by 1885, he was 14 million marks in debt and still talking about additional projects. They felt it was time to take action.
“The government advisers knew that Ludwig’s projects had captured the imagination of the Bavarian people and that, in spite of his eccentricities, he was a beloved monarch. So they hit upon a strategy that would allow them to constitutionally remove him from the throne. Ludwig was quite eccentric. He had never married. He was very shy. He would dine out of doors in bitterly cold weather and wear heavy overcoats in the heat of summer. So his advisers compiled a ‘medical report’ on his mental state, and Ludwig was declared incapable of ruling Bavaria. It was then that the nickname ‘Mad Ludwig’ began to circulate.
Fire and Steel, Volume 1 Page 4
