Chapter 52
JACOB
ACADEMY OF THE SCIENCES
Throngs of people pack the auditorium so that every chair is full, leaving standing room only as spectators gather under the stone arches of the hall of the Academy of the Sciences. My heart thumps in my chest as Wilhelm and I wait in the side room to be introduced.
“Why are so many people here?” I ask the professor introducing us, shocked at the crowd. “There must be hundreds.”
“They’re here to see you, of course,” Professor Müller explains. “You and your stories have become famous.”
“I don’t believe it,” Wilhelm says, gaping alongside me as Professor Müller strides out onto the platform and begins his introductions.
“Greetings, fellow students and scholars,” Professor Müller calls out in a loud voice.
“I’m pleased to introduce you to our newest professors, Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm.
They’re fluent in over fifteen languages and have been granted prestigious awards from countries around the globe.
Yet they are most famous for their numerous book publications, including Children’s and Household Tales.
Without further ado, I introduce you to the Brothers Grimm. ”
As Wilhelm and I step up to the platform, hundreds of people burst into cheers. I’m stunned at this support, considering our years in exile, the hardships of scraping by for food as we hunted down monsters. If Mother could see us now. She’d be proud.
“Greetings, my esteemed colleagues,” I begin. Instantly, silence rules the stone halls. I fumble for a moment with my papers, trying to pull myself together.
“Thought is lightning; speech is thunder. As I stand before you today, I’m reminded of a Saturday night long ago at a king’s ball.
Invaders attacked the castle, causing panic and mayhem.
Amidst the chaos, it was a single woman who saved us all.
She stood her ground when everyone else fled, found help in the most unexpected way, and was instrumental in defeating our enemy.
It’s stories like hers that inspire us to break free of our ordinary acts and give us the courage to take on extraordinary moments.
Acts like hers belong at the bedside of our children and in the hands of those who need hope and strength for the day.
“And so the idea of our books was born, sharp and bright as lightning. Fairy tales.”
I glance over at Wilhelm, tears in his eyes as he remembers that night that nearly took my life and the sacrifice of Ella.
“Fairy tales remind us of the place where once upon a time lives and thrives. Where witches charm kings, and wolves hunt the innocent. Where young men disappear from villages at the piper’s tune, and a prince can transform into a frog.
I’m sure you’ve read some of our reviewers who claim our fairy tales are nonsense, rubbish, and violent.
But we believe these tales represent the most reassuring and refreshing of God’s gifts to man: resilience, hope, love.
They are reminders of who we are and the roots of our people.
Every character, every act, and every choice in those tales is a part of us. They are the truth of us.”
I pause, and for the briefest of moments, I think I spot Ella standing in the crowd, her dress soot-covered, eyes blue as summer, hair wild as a bird’s nest. Even in this moment, she has given me purpose, life.
I’m about to lift my hand to wave to her, but she vanishes, a mere figment of my imagination.
Once our speeches are finished, Wilhelm and I open it up to questions.
“What are you writing next?” someone asks.
“I hope to begin work on a dictionary,” I say. “Except how often, as writers, it’s when we are comfortable, we long to begin something new?”
Laughter rushes through the crowd.
“What about your love life, Jacob?” another asks. “There are speculations about whether you will marry or not.”
“I’m convinced that love is like death.” My voice trembles and my hands shake, forcing me to grip the podium as I speak. “It must come to us all, but to each in his own unique way and time. Sometimes it will be avoided, it can’t be cheated, and never will it be forgotten.”
Ella von Maier. Even now, she remains my one true love, forever, if only to live in the fairy tale of my heart.
Once the speech finishes, we’re assaulted by autograph requests and invitations.
It’s rather overwhelming, and I’m eager to get home to my quiet study and return to my books.
A mother stops us from leaving. Her daughter, with bright brown eyes and a tangle of dark curls framing her face, looks up at us.
Our book of fairy tales is tucked under her arm.
“Excuse me,” she says, showing Wilhelm and me her copy of Children’s and Household Tales.
She opens it to the tale of Cinderella. My heart clenches.
“I’ve read all your stories, including this one.
As I do not believe the tale, I must pay you a thaler.
Actually, I don’t believe any of your stories.
But since I don’t have much pocket money, I can’t pay you all at once. ”
“But they are true,” I say, bending down to her. “Why don’t you believe them?”
“Trees don’t throw down dresses, birds can’t speak, and witches aren’t real. Even I know that.”
She opens her pink purse and takes out a coin, handing it to Wilhelm.
“I can’t accept this,” Wilhelm says kindly. “Keep it and save it to buy yourself another book.”
“Mama says I shouldn’t accept money as a present.” She pulls on her mother’s hand and marches away, leaving the coin in Wilhelm’s palm.
“I suppose we can’t expect everyone to believe our stories,” Wilhelm says.
“Sometimes I find it hard to believe myself,” I whisper.