The Battle of the Braganzas Volume I: Brazil - Chapter 4 Like a King

João was enjoying himself very much as he rode on his horse, as the hounds pursued the stag. There is nothing better in the world than this, he thought. He had another reason to celebrate as well: the war against the United Provinces of the Río de la Plata had been successfully concluded, and the Banda Oriental had been annexed to Brazil as the province of Cisplatina. But just as the hounds were catching up with their increasingly exhausted quarry, João heard a shout from afar of "Your Majesty!".

João turned and looked over his shoulder. The hounds also seemed distracted by the noise, and the stag somehow found an extra burst of pace to sprint away from them.

"What is it!", the frustrated King shouted to the messenger.

"The Marquis of Palmela has come to see you."

With the greatest reluctance, João turned his horse around and rode back to the palace, changed out of his hunting gear into more suitable attire, and made arrangements to receive Palmela in the throne room.

"Your Majesty", said Palmela, bowing, "there has been a revolution in Portugal. The Regency is deposed, and the rebels have elected a Cortes in order to write a new constitution They also want Your Majesty to return to Portugal."

"What!", exclaimed João. "It can't be true, it just can't be."

"With respect, sire, it is true", said Palmela, respectfully but firmly.

"But this is an outrage", said João, sounding more bewildered than angry. "Only I can summon a Cortes."

"That may be so", said Palmela, "but the Cortes has already met, and has a lot of support, especially in the towns and cities. It would be folly to try to crush it."

João sat down heavily on his throne. He was completely stunned. After several minutes of awkward silence, he finally said:

"I suppose it will be useful to have a Cortes. I will give my sanction to it, and I will pardon those of my subjects who have usurped my authority."

"And will Your Majesty also return to Portugal, as the Cortes asks?", inquired Palmela.

"Once the new constitution is completed to my satisfaction", replied João, "then I or one of my sons or descendants shall return to Portugal."

But he also felt he needed some more advice on how to proceed.

Pedro was running round the garden, chasing after his 18-month-old daughter, Infanta Dona Maria da Glória. Leopoldina sat on a chair, smiling as she watched them: she would have loved to join in, but could not as she was heavily pregnant. Both parents were very happy with their daughter: the fact that she was in good health had gone some way to ease pain over the loss of their son - named Miguel after his uncle - who had been born earlier in the year, only to die within hours of birth. There was no doubt that Maria had helped bring Pedro and Leopoldina closer together. Leopoldina had no difficulty in dismissing all the rumours about Pedro sleeping with other women: her Pedro would never do that.

As Pedro made a sharp turn to follow his mischievous daughter, he saw someone approaching out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see, and realised it was a messenger.

"Your Royal Highness", said the messenger as soon as he got close enough, "the King has sent me to ask you to come to him."

"What? Why?", exclaimed Pedro, who was torn between paying attention to the messenger, and trying to keep sight of Maria. Noticing this, Leopoldina called to her daughter, and the girl trotted over to her mother, who lifted her onto her knee.

"His Majesty wants your advice about recent events in Portugal. He has also summoned Dom Miguel and Dona Isabel", said the messenger.

Pedro wanted to ask what had just happened in Portugal, but decided to wait: he would find out when he saw his father, he reasoned. He was also surprised: João had never asked for his advice before.

"Very well, I shall go", he said.

Pedro walked back to Leopoldina and Maria.

"I'm afraid I have to go now", he said. "Papa wishes to see me, along with Miguel and Isabel."

"What about?", asked Leopoldina."

Pedro shrugged.

"I suppose I'll find out when I get there", he said. "I'll see you two later."

Pedro kissed his wife goodbye, then hugged and kissed Maria, who started crying in confusion as he left.

"Well hang the traitors then!", said Miguel.

"With respect, Dom Miguel", said Palmela, "that will simply not be possible."

"And why not?", glowered Miguel.

"Because there are large numbers of men who support the revolution", said Palmela patiently. "They would all rise up in an instant if His Majesty followed your advice, with the most horrible consequences."

"If King Louis had done what I suggest", replied Miguel, "he would never have lost his head. Papa", he continued, turning to his father, "you need to act like a King."

"If I may", said Palmela, "a King cannot simply ignore what his subjects are saying, even if he does not like it. That is not kingship, that is foolishness."

João looked up at the ceiling. How hard it is to have such conflicting advice, he thought.

Pedro stepped forward.

"I think", he said, "that there should be a constitution where the King shall propose laws and a Cortes shall enact them. However, Papa, I do not think you should submit guidelines for such a constitution to this self-proclaimed Cortes: it would be indecorous and a sure disgrace for you to recognise such subversion."

Pedro's father, brother and sister all stared at him.

"I thought you did support revolutions", said João.

"I believe in change, but change must come from the King, not from subversive subjects", explained Pedro. "That was the French way, and we all know what happened there."

João seemed rather puzzled by this answer.

"Isabel", he said, desperately hoping for advice which would be a comfort, "what do you think?"

"Do what you think is best, Papa", replied Isabel. "That is the best advice I can give."

João sighed.

"Your Majesty", said Palmela, "I respectfully advise that you recognise the authority of the present Cortes: the support it enjoys, especially in the cities, is too wide for you to do otherwise. You should accept the principle of limited monarchy both here and in Portugal, and send Dom Pedro to Lisbon to present a moderate settlement that shall satisfy all parties. You should also call elections to send Brazilian representatives to the Cortes."

"I agree to this", muttered João. He paced up and down the room, still trying to make sense of all that had happened. Maybe, he thought, the situation will soon resolve itself, or the Holy Alliance will come to the rescue.

"So you are to be sent to Lisbon?", inquired Leopoldina.

"Yes", said Pedro.

"Then I will come with you", declared Leopoldina.

Pedro stared.

"Are you sure about this?", he asked.

"If I have to give birth at sea, so be it", she replied.

"I'm not so sure", said Pedro. "I think we should delay until after the baby is born. And, anyway, I'm not certain if we are going to Lisbon."

"Why not?", asked Leopoldina.

"It's just . . . well, Papa didn't seem to have his heart in it."

"Do you think he's playing for time?", asked Leopoldina. "I mean, I don't like to say this, but your father does like to avoid making these hard choices, doesn't he?"

"I think you're right", said Pedro grudgingly.

"I knew it", said Carlota Joaquina. "I knew he could never stand up to traitors. He will sooner doff his cap to these Jacobins than defend his God-given rights. What is the world coming to? First we have that horrible revolution against your uncle in Spain, and now this."

"I know", said Miguel.

"What did you advise him to do?", asked Carlota Joaquina.

"I told him to hang all the traitors", said Miguel.

Carlota Joaquina smiled proudly.

"At least there's one person in this family who knows how to deal with that sort", she said. "Unlike your father and brother."

"To be fair, Mama", said Miguel, "Pedro did say he doesn't like what the traitors did."

"What?" Carlota Joaquina was baffled.

"He said that change should be made by the King, not by subversive subjects."

Carlota Joaquina shook her head in astonishment.

"I will never understand that young man", she said. "But you, at least, know how a King should behave. It will fall to you to protect the dignity of the Crown, not those who are to wear it."

"I am aware", said José Bonifácio, "that many of you will be pleased by the news from Portugal. But I, who have actually studied what these revolutionaries are saying, know differently. These fanatics, these men who have subverted His Majesty's sacred authority, harbour a hatred for Brazil. They do not wish to have an equitable relationship between the sister kingdoms: they wish for Portugal to dominate us again. If the King should return to Portugal, as they are demanding, he would be siding with the Cortes against our interests. This is precisely what he should not do: we are a much larger, more prosperous country, and we are far more important to the monarchy than Portugal is. I hope His Majesty will see this clearly, as I do. I will do whatever I can to defend the interests of Brazil against all who threaten us."

The crowd cheered loudly.

Pedro vaulted himself onto his trusty bay mare. On his arm he wore a blue and white armband, symbolising loyalty to Portugal. He was being watched by an admiring Leopoldina.

"I know you can do this", she said.

Pedro smiled, though he was not so sure of himself.

"Off we go!", he cried, and the horse galloped away.

News had come that summer's morning of a mutiny by Portuguese troops in Rio de Janeiro, who were demanding that the King accept any constitution produced by the Cortes. João had not wanted to face them himself, so he had commanded Pedro to do so, carrying a decree that had been prepared for just such a scenario. It was just after five o'clock when Pedro pulled up outside the Royal Theatre, which the troops were surrounding: they greeted him with loud cheers. Feeling more confident now, Pedro dismounted.

"It's all done", he announced, waving the decree. "The troops can go to the barracks and to the officers to kiss the hand of my august father. His Majesty swears to adhere to and adopt for the Kingdom of Brazil the constitution that the Cortes shall make, except for modifications that local circumstances might make necessary."

Most of the soldiers shouted their assent, however one voice boomed out:

"It's not enough!"

"Not enough?" Pedro was genuinely puzzled.

"This will not satisfy us or the people", said Marcelino José Alves Macamboa, a Portuguese lawyer and priest. "The King should swear to uphold the new constitution with no reservations, dismiss his Council of Ministers, and appoint a junta of 12 men chosen by the army and the people."

"And who are these 12 men?", Pedro inquired.

"Here they are", said Father Macamboa, handing the Prince Royal a list.

Pedro glanced at the names: most of them had been born in Portugal, and were known for their moderate opinions. This reassured him.

"With all willingness will I go to His Majesty and tell him of your demands", he said.

In an instant, he remounted, wheeled the horse round and set off for Boa Vista Palace.

"Are you sure I should do this?", asked João.

"Yes, Papa", said Pedro. "This is the only way for us to avoid disaster."

João privately wondered what on Earth would happen next, but he kept his composure.

"So be it", he said, and he drew up and signed a new decree: this one pledging to accept the new constitution without reservations - it was backdated to the day that revolution had erupted in Portugal. The King also produced a second decree, appointing the new ministers suggested by the mutineers.

With the new decrees in hand, Pedro got on his horse again and galloped back to the Royal Theatre, arriving at about seven o'clock.

"Soldiers", Pedro announced, "the King has agreed to accept the constitution which the Lisbon Cortes shall adopt, with no reservations. He has also agreed to appoint the ministers you suggested. I shall now take an oath to uphold this forthcoming constitution in my father's name."

Pedro had expected to be loudly acclaimed, but instead Father Macamboa's eyes narrowed.

"How do we know that this oath is the will of the King?", he asked. "For all we know, Your Royal Highness might be playing us along. His Majesty should appear before us in person to take the oath."

Pedro gave an exasperated sigh, but seeing all these armed men, in a state of excitement, made him realise he had no choice, so once again he set his course for Boa Vista.

It was about 11 o'clock when the King's carriage came within sight of the theatre. The crowd cheered, and cries of "Long live the King! Long live the constitution!" went up.

Inside the carriage, João began to feel slightly more reassured, but was then somewhat put out when several of the crowd unhitched the horses and began to pull the carriages themselves. Although he knew this was a traditional gesture of gratitude, he still felt uncomfortable.

They finally stopped pulling once they reached Rio's Royal Palace, and João was able to get out of the carriage and enter the palace, soon reappearing at a window. With a bishop administering, João took the oath:

"I, Dom João VI, do swear by Almighty God to observe, protect and perpetually maintain the constitution, exactly as it shall be made in Portugal by the Cortes."

Loud cheers from below.

"You did very well", said Leopoldina.

Pedro was sitting on a chair in his garden, relaxing after his hectic morning: both he and Leopoldina were keeping watchful eyes on Maria.

"You acted, if I dare say it, like a King."

Pedro felt very proud of himself.

The Battle of the Braganzas Volume I: Brazil - Chapter 3 Revolution

It was the early hours of the morning, as the soldiers gathered in the Santo Ovídio Field outside Porto: Costa had told them to be there for a military parade. A priest was there to celebrate mass, and when that had finished, a salute of artillery was fired. Then, at eight o'clock, the men received orders to march to the grounds of the Town Hall: Costa was waiting for them there, holding a piece of paper in his hand, containing a declaration.

Once everybody was gathered, Costa read out his speech in a ringing voice:

"Soldiers of Portugal, we are gathered here today to finally take some action about the state of our poor country. We are to march on Lisbon and finally depose that dreadful Regency. Let's join our brothers-in-arms to organise a provisional government that will call on the Cortes to draw up a constitution, whose absence is the origin of all our ills. In particular, we demand that the royal family leave Brazil and once again take up residence in this country, to restore the metropolitan dignity. We demand that Portugal be transformed into a limited monarchy, where the Cortes makes the laws and the King executes them. We want to restore our exclusive right to trade with Brazil. We want Brazil, that presumptuous colony, reduced from a kingdom to a principality. Our brothers in Spain have shown us what is possible: now it is our turn. Are you ready to do this?"

"Yes!", came an enthusiastic roar from all present.

"Right then", shouted Costa. "To Lisbon!"

Another loud cheer, and Costa led his men southwards.

In a room in Queluz Palace in Lisbon, the Regency Council was meeting. Sitting at the head of the table was its chairman, the Duke of Oliveira, a short, wizened, sharp-featured man.

"Are you all agreed that we need to crack down on the Freemasons?", he asked.

But before anyone could answer, Costa and his soldiers burst into the room, pointing their guns at the men inside.

"In the name of the Portuguese nation, I declare the Regency abolished", announced Costa.

"What are you doing, traitor?", demanded Oliveira, with a mix of anger and fear. "Who are you?"

"My name is Rodrigo Costa and I am an army officer. I am no traitor", announced Costa. "My men and I have come here to depose you tyrants, and to call elections to the Cortes."

"And what do you want the Cortes to do?", asked the Marquis of Palmela, a short, dark-haired man with a prominent nose.

"We want a constitution, we want the King to come back to Portugal, and we want Brazil reduced to a principality", announced Costa.

"Why", said Palmela cautiously, "not all of these are unreasonable demands."

"They are treasonous demands!", thundered Oliveira.

"No", said Costa, "you are the traitor for standing against the people"

He pointed his gun directly at Oliveira, who quailed.

"My men will now escort you off the premises", announced Costa.

Oliveira made as if to argue, but quickly realised it was useless, and let out an angry sigh instead. At a nod from Costa, the soldiers seized the Regency members, some of them more roughly than others. As the soldiers and their reluctant companions were leaving the room, Costa proclaimed:

"I hereby declare that elections shall be held to the Cortes, and that until a constitution is adopted, the glorious Spanish constitution shall be in force in Portugal."

The Necessidades Palace was buzzing with excitement as the members of the General and Extraordinary Cortes of the Portuguese Nation took their seats. They sensed that they were part of something historic, that momentous events were about to be set in motion. Once everybody had sat down, Costa got to his feet.

"Members of the Cortes, may I welcome you to this historic day, the first meeting of this great institution in more than 120 years. There is much work ahead of us, but first there are a few steps I would like us to take. I propose that all political prisoners be released, that censorship be ended, that the Inquisition be abolished, and that an amnesty be offered for those involved in activities against our revolution. I would like to submit each of these proposals to a vote."

The votes were cast, and all four proposals were adopted. Then Palmela stood up.

"Members of the Cortes", he said, "I have a proposal that I would wish to put forward. As Foreign Minister, I suggest that I should sail to Brazil to inform the King of what has transpired. I will do my utmost to persuade His Majesty to recognise the Cortes and the constitution that will be adopted. Does Senhor Costa agree with this idea?"

"Certainly", said Costa, "I think we will all agree that His Majesty needs to know what has happened, and I hope you will be able to show him that we mean him no harm."

There was a general murmur of assent.

Palmela was at Lisbon harbour, approaching the ship that would take him to Brazil. Walking beside him was the Duke of Terceira, an oval-faced man with sticking-out ears and a moustache.

"Are you sure about all this?", Terceira was asking.

"I don't agree with everything the revolutionaries are saying and doing, and certainly not with how they seized power", explained Palmela, "but I do think there needs to be some change. I hope the King will accept the general principles of reform, but will also moderate their more extreme demands."

"Do you think he will?", asked Terceira.

"We'll see, won't we?", replied Palmela.

They were now just in front of the ship's gangplank.

"Well", said Palmela, putting his hand on Terceira's shoulder, "this is where we say our farewells."

"May good fortune be with you", said Terceira, with a sad smile.

Palmela smiled back at his friend, then boarded the ship, waving at Terceira as he did so. Terceira waved back, and kept on waving until the ship passed out of sight.

The Battle of the Braganzas Volume I: Brazil - Chapter 2 The Austrian Archduchess

The 19-year-old Archduchess Leopoldina of Austria was feeling very excited as the ship Dom João VI pulled into Rio harbour. Although she occasionally took a glance at the shore, she spent most of her time gazing at the portrait she had been given.

Eventually the ship dropped anchor, and Leopoldina stood up and stepped onto the shore. They were all there to greet her, as she had expected.

"Your Majesties", she murmured, curtseying to the King and Queen.

"Welcome, daughter-in-law", said João, gallantly helping her up again. "I trust you had a good voyage."

"I did, sire", replied Leopoldina.

"Pedro, meet your bride", commanded João, turning to his right.

Leopoldina turned to face in the same direction. She suddenly felt herself all hot and flushed: Pedro was even more handsome than his portrait, she thought.

Pedro looked at her: she was blonde and blue-eyed, with a light complexion, a plump figure, full lips and cheeks, and a thick neck. She's not ugly, he conceded, but nor is she beautiful. He also felt that she should be wearing a more brightly-coloured dress, and was disappointed that she had no makeup.

Despite this, Pedro smiled and extended his hand: "Welcome to Brazil, Leopoldina", he said.

"Thank you", Leopoldina smiled back at him.

"Hopefully you can knock some sense into Pedro", suggested Carlota Joaquina.

"How was the voyage?", asked Isabel quickly.

"Oh it was fine", said Leopoldina. "Nothing really happened, which I suppose is for the best." She sensed that something strange was happening with the family dynamics. "I'm just happy to be here to get married . . ."

"Didn't your sister marry Bonaparte?", butted in Miguel.

"Well, yes . . ." said Leopoldina somewhat awkwardly.

"Be fair, Miguel, she can't be blamed for that", said Pedro.

"Now, now, Miguel", said João, in the tone of a parent trying to explain to his child that the Sun rises in the east, "alliances are always shifting, there was a time when it looked like Bonaparte had won. But now times have changed, an alliance between our family and the House of Habsburg will help us balance the power of the English in Portugal."

The mention of Napoleon and his wars stirred Leopoldina to ask about something that had been troubling her.

"How are things in this country?", she asked João.

"Oh perfectly fine", said João, who sounded surprised she had even asked the question.

"But wasn't there some trouble earlier this year?", persisted Leopoldina. "In the north-east?"

"In Pernambuco you mean?", said João. "Oh that was nothing, just a few agitators, they were easily dealt with."

"But might there not be more like them?", asked Leopoldina.

"Absolutely not", said João, in a somewhat uncomfortable tone. "But look", he added, pointing, "there are the coaches that will take us to the chapel."

There were indeed three coaches lined up. João and Carlota Joaquina clambered into the lead coach, Pedro and Leopoldina into the middle one, Miguel and Isabel into the one at the rear.

"Your mother seemed rather rude to you", remarked Leopoldina, surprised.

Pedro gave an exasperated sigh.

"Yes", he said. "I hate how she humiliates Papa."

"How does she humiliate him?", asked Leopoldina. What a strange family these Braganzas are, she thought.

"She fucks about with too many men than there are to count, no respect for her wedding vows", said Pedro, his voice rising. "And he just puts up with all that shit, I don't know why, I sure as fuck wouldn't."

Leopoldina winced at Pedro's language. She knew she was expected to remain composed, but she had certainly not expected her handsome prince to be like this.

"And what did she mean by 'knocking sense into you'?", she asked.

"It's because I believe in making changes", said Pedro, with an ever increasing passion. "I believe in liberty, in a limited monarchy . . ."

"God help us, you love the new ideas!", exclaimed Leopoldina, putting her hands to her face.

"So you agree with her?", said Pedro, his voice getting all the more heated.

"Think about what happened in France", said Leopoldina, as calmly as she could manage. "What happened to my great-aunt. They started out talking about liberty, equality and fraternity, but they imprisoned her, they slandered her, they murdered her friends, they took her children away, they made her son tell the most horrible lies about her, and in the end they cut off her head."

Pedro hesitated for a moment after hearing this, and then said, in a more measured tone:

"Well obviously I do not agree with what the French did, but I do think that we need to make changes, to listen to the people, or we won't stay on our thrones for very long. If poor King Louis had done that, then none of those horrible things would have happened."

There was silence, as Leopoldina tried to find a new topic of conversation.

"It's very hot and humid in Brazil, isn't it?", she said at last. "All these flies buzzing around."

"I found it a struggle when we first came here", Pedro assured her, "but you'll soon get used to it."

"I suppose", said Leopoldina, "that there will be plenty for me to do here. Plants, butterflies and minerals for me to study . . ."

"I'm afraid I have no interest in any of those things", said Pedro sheepishly.

Is there anything we have in common, Leopoldina wondered.

"I much prefer horse riding", continued Pedro.

"Oh, I like that as well", said Leopoldina: her relief was audible.

"Well, then", said Pedro, smiling, "we can go for rides together in the Tijuca Forest."

"What an excellent idea", said Leopoldina.

"I also quite like painting, and writing and singing music", said Pedro.

"I could help you with that", promised Leopoldina: her expression now was much brighter, and she was feeling more optimistic.

Just then the carriage came to a halt: they had arrived outside the Royal Chapel. Pedro helped Leopoldina get out of the carriage, and they proceeded to the altar together. There they both pledged to love one another, to be faithful, and to stay married "till death do us part", and then they kissed, with Leopoldina being especially passionate

An excited crowd had gathered in the city square in São Paolo, eagerly looking up at the podium. There stood José Bonifácio de Andrada e Silva, a small, slightly stooped man in his fifties with long grey hair and small eyes.

"Alas", he said, "what a situation this country finds itself in! Censorship, and the strictest of punishments for those who make the slightest criticism of the government. Of course, the government needed to be tough with the Pernambuco traitors, but they do not seem to know the difference between the criticisms of honest men, and the treachery of those who wish to destroy the entire system. For the avoidance of doubt, there is no one in Brazil who loves or is loyal more to His Majesty than I: the problem is his ministers. For who are these men? Why, they are all Portuguese - there is not a man among them who was born in Brazil, who truly knows what is best for this kingdom. If only His Majesty would listen to us Brazilians, if the best of us had ministerial posts, surely he will make great improvements to our condition. And what great changes there could be! We could see humane treatment of the Indians, a gradual end to the evil of the African trade and the curse of Negro slavery, and a redistribution of land belonging to the great estates. I believe that this is possible: do you?"

Loud affirmative cheers followed, and José Bonifácio stepped down from the podium feeling very pleased with himself. He was greeted by his two younger brothers, Antônio Carlos and Martim Francisco, who effusively congratulated him.

In the Porto barracks, the soldiers were all huddled together. Rodrigo Costa had taken the precaution of locking the door, and every so often he broke off from his speech, just to check that no one was coming down the corridor. As he spoke, he had to struggle to avoid raising his voice and hence attracting attention.

"My fellow soldiers of Portugal", said the tall man with unkempt dark hair and hard brown eyes, "who among you can deny the tyranny our poor country labours under? The pitiless cruelty of the Regency, executing those 12 unfortunate men, not even allowing them to appeal to the King for mercy, which is the right of every free-born Portuguese. Not to mention the punishment for any man who dares to raise his voice to call for change. The economic and social devastation caused by the war, which His Majesty, so far away in Brazil, has done nothing about. We groan under the yoke of England's soldiers and trading interests, and Beresford constantly meddles in our politics. And lastly, we have been hit hard by the trading and manufacturing concessions which His Majesty has bestowed upon Brazil: a colony, which should be dominated by us, instead dominates Portugal."

There were angry murmurings from the other soldiers.

"We cannot go on like this", Costa concluded. "Change will have to come."

The Battle of the Braganzas Volume I: Brazil - Chapter 1 Fight at the Funeral

The old Queen lay still and peaceful on her bed: at first glance you would have thought that she was asleep.

"Well, I suppose she has been released from her sufferings", sighed a fat man with a huge head and small limbs: Dom João VI, the new King of the United Kingdom of Portugal, Brazil and the Algarves. His head was bowed, but every so often his eyes would flicker upwards to catch a glimpse of his dead mother. He was trying his hardest to put on a brave face for the three children who stood next him: Dom Pedro, the new Prince Royal and Duke of Braganza, aged 17; Infante Dom Miguel, aged 13; and Infanta Dona Isabel, age 14.

"Do you remember it?", João asked, after an interval of about 10 minutes.

"Remember what?", asked Pedro sharply. He was a tall, slender and broad shouldered youth, with a light complexion, rosy cheeks, thick brown hair with sideburns, large dark sparkling eyes, a thin moustache and a straight nose.

"How we came to this country of course", said João patiently. "How we had to leave Lisbon, to flee Bonaparte, how" - at this point an affectionate smile crossed his lips, "your poor demented grandmother said to the coachman taking her to the port, 'Don't go so fast! The people will think we are fleeing!"

João was finding it hard to maintain the appropriate solemnity, but he did his best.

"Our country was overrun", he continued, "but we got away: whatever trials we have to face, the House of Braganza will always endure. So we came to this beautiful country, and how things have changed since then! Once a poor, backward colony, Brazil is now a thriving, prosperous country! No more a colony, but a kingdom, in perfect equality with the Mother Country. Our trade and our industry are flourishing, and we now have books and newspapers, educational programmes and scientific and cultural institutions. And so many more slaves brought over from Africa!"

Pedro shuddered, but João did not appear to notice.

"And", João concluded, "Bonaparte has been defeated, Portugal is now free, thanks to the gallant Wellington and Beresford, and Brazil is at peace while chaos reigns in the rest of this continent. Soon the Banda Oriental will be ours, and our natural borders will be restored."

João looked rather misty-eyed. Pedro privately thought that the situation in Brazil was not as rosy as his father seemed to think.

"So", said João, "now I suppose we have a funeral to arrange . . ."

"Will she be going?", interrupted Pedro. Miguel gave his brother an annoyed look, while Isabel had a "Please don't say that" expression.

"She? You mean your mother?", asked João. "Of course she will, we have to keep up appearances, you know."

"You really want to humiliate yourself?", asked Pedro.

"Humiliate myself?" João was puzzled.

"She humiliates you constantly, all these men she fucks with, her constant plotting against you, I don't know how you put up with all that shit", said Pedro.

"Don't say that", said Miguel angrily. Miguel was dark haired with large brown eyes

Pedro looked at his brother in astonishment.

"Why can't you see what she does? She's a complete bitch", he said.

Miguel lunged at his brother, but João moved swiftly to hold him back.

"Please, Miguel, he doesn't mean it", said Isabel: she was dark haired and soft featured.

"You should show respect to Mama", Miguel shouted at Pedro.

"She shows no respect to Papa", insisted Pedro, "just because she is all lovely towards you . . ."

"Enough!", said João, in a manner that brooked no argument. "Stop it boys, you know myself and your mother are estranged, but we can't let the people see that."

"But . . .", began Pedro.

"The most important thing for us is to keep our dignity in public", said João, "and if that means I hold hands with a wife I am estranged from, so be it".

"Please", added Isabel, "can we just get along with each other, at least for the funeral."

Pedro muttered a grudging "Yes": Miguel gave a half-nod

"And speaking of husbands and wives", said João, "remember Pedro, that you are soon to be married, so I command you to put aside that French dancer."

"I will", promised Pedro, in a respectful tone.

After the royal family had filed out of the Carmo Convent, Pedro and Miguel enjoyed a race on horseback, with Miguel knocking off the hats of passers-by with his riding crop. Eventually they parted after Miguel confirmed he was heading to their mother's house.

When Miguel arrived at the farm near Botafogo where his mother lived, he was happy, but exhausted and sweating. He was escorted to the front door where a servant knocked for him: the initial response, a sharp "Who's there?", changed dramatically once the female voice inside was informed that it was her second son, and she commanded the door to be opened.

Miguel stepped inside: coming down the stairs towards him was a short, sharp-featured woman whose dark frizzy hair was rapidly fading: she also had facial hair, and one side of her body was taller than the other. On seeing Miguel, she smiled broadly and held her arms out wide: Miguel knelt to her.

"Why . . .", began Carlota Joaquina, but she quickly understood. "So I am now Queen?"

"Yes, Mama", said Miguel, looking at the floor.

"Well, then, stand up, and let us embrace", Carlota Joaquina demanded, and Miguel did not need telling twice. They hugged each other hard, and Carlota Joaquina lovingly caressed her son's face.

"So", said Carlota Joaquina, once they had separated. "Your father is now the King."

"Yes", said Miguel.

"All the worse", said Carlota Joaquina, making no attempt to hide her scorn. "He is a weak man, changing his mind from one second to the next. And as for that Pedro . . ."

Her contempt increased.

"With all his French ideas, all his claptrap about the 'rights of man', I mean, does he even know what happened in France? Has he forgotten the dastardly Bonaparte, the man who drove your father out of his kingdom, and stole your uncle's throne? I fear for the future of this United Kingdom."

Miguel said nothing.

"Why does he like all of Bonaparte's ideas? I will never understand that", the Queen went on. She then fixed her gaze on Miguel.

"But, Miguel", she said, in a softer but commanding tone, "will you make a promise to me, to your mother?"

"Of course", said Miguel. "What is it?"

"That you will never go down your brother's path. That you will always pledge yourself to the traditional ways."

"I will", said Miguel unhesitatingly.

Carlota Joaquina smiled again. "That's my boy", she said, patting him on the head. "What a pity that it is Pedro and not you who is born to wear the crown. But let's forget him: would you like to go for a ride?"

"Yes, please", said Miguel enthusiastically, and in no time at all he and his mother were saddled up and riding next to each other, thoroughly enjoying the activity.

The day of the funeral arrived. The black-clad crowds all bowed and curtsied as the royal family passed between them: first the King and Queen, holding hands, with João doing a rather better job than his wife of smiling and waving to the well-wishers; then Pedro; then Miguel; and Isabel bringing up the rear. João and Carlota Joaquina climbed the steps to the door of the Royal Chapel, and then stood on the threshold, still waving to the crowd, waiting for their children to join them. When Pedro did, he threw his mother an angry look.

"You bitch", he spat.

"I beg your pardon", said Carlota Joaquina, trying to remain as dignified as possible.

"You heard what I said", answered Pedro. "You have no business being here, you who show no respect to Papa."

"He put me under house arrest, if you would care to remember", responded Carlota Joaquina. "In Queluz Palace, two years before the French came".

"Because you had plotted to have him arrested and declared unfit to rule", hit back Pedro.

"Pedro!", said Miguel angrily.

"Boys", said João sternly, as Isabel put a restraining hand on each of her brothers' shoulders, "please, this is a funeral, for God's sake."

That silenced Pedro and Miguel, and the family took their seats at the head of the congregation, but all the onlookers could see the tension between the Queen and the Prince Royal.

It was some hours after the funeral. Pedro stepped into one of Rio's taverns and ordered a drink of water. It was nice to get away from the family bubble and spend time among ordinary people. His family did not approve, but for Pedro it was important to mingle with the people he would one day rule, and to see what they were saying and thinking. As he sat at his table, he overheard his fellow patrons complaining about press censorship, the harsh repression of any dissent, increasing numbers of Portuguese immigrants, high taxes, income inequality, the requisitioning of food to fund the Royal Court, the fact that only Portuguese were given ministerial posts. How could any King be safe on his throne, thought Pedro, if his people were so unhappy? Why couldn't his family see that times had changed, that Kings needed to give their people more freedom if they were to survive? Wasn't that the lesson of Louis XVI? But he would make changes, Pedro thought: it was probably many years away, but he would make great changes when he became King, and then the people would be content.

A Friendship Epilogue: Despair and Hope

Theobald was doing his best to fight on, but he was growing weaker and weaker by the day. It had been two months since food supplies had been able to enter Stalingrad, and he had already seen more of his comrades than he cared to count perish from cold, starvation or the relentless bullets of the Red Army soldiers. He had also noticed increased grumbling in the ranks, about how the Führer was crazy to have sent them here, to their deaths. Despite also feeling the hunger, Franz was continuing to profess undying faith in Hitler, and attempting to rally the men with shouts of "For the Reich! For the Führer!", but fewer and fewer of his fellow soldiers were listening to him. Though he did not like to say so, not wanting to turn Franz against him, privately Theobald was thinking the same thing: how foolish he and his fellow Germans had been to listen to this man. Thanks to Hitler, the man who had promised Germany a glorious future, Theobald was now starving to death hundreds of miles away from Gertrud, their warm, comforting fire, and her loving embraces. And also, he thought bitterly, he had driven away Herman, the friend who had always been there for him since childhood, the one who had always cheered him up in hard times, who had even saved his life in the Great War. It had been a truly wonderful friendship, and he had squandered it for . . . this.

Then he gave a strangled cry and fell to the ground: he had been shot in the chest. Franz grabbed him by the arm, and together with several others, dragged him into a nearby building, abandoned by its owners roughly two weeks ago. They laid him down on a rough carpet, and Franz tore off part of his trouser leg to use as a tourniquet, but the wound was too large and too deep. There was nothing more that could be done, with supplies not able to get in.

"How stupid we all were", he gasped. Knowing that his life would soon end, Theobald was past caring about Franz's reaction.

"What do you mean?", said Franz sharply.

"To follow . . . him. Hitler.", said Theobald.

Franz looked outraged.

"You traitor!", he shouted. "I always thought you believed in our Führer, and now . . ."

But Franz suddenly broke off his diatribe: Theobald looked so pitiful that he could not carry on with it.

"And, please", said Theobald, his voice fading with every breath, "remember me to Gertrud. Tell her . . ."

He said no more. Franz crouched down over Theobald's lifeless body, howling with grief.

It had been three and a half years, but finally Herman and his family were released from the enemy alien camp. Lena was furiously complaining that the authorities had not seemed to understand that they were Jewish victims of Nazism. She was also worried about the rumours about what was happening to the Jews in the rest of Europe. Herman paid little attention to her. He was happy to be free, and to finally being able to build a new life in his adopted country. But he also wondered what had become of Theobald.

A Friendship Chapter 6: Broken Glass, Broken Friendship

Evening was normally a time for relaxation, but Lena was anxiously pacing up and down the living room. Once or twice she glanced upstairs, in the direction of the rooms where the children were sleeping.

"Come on, Lena, sit down", urged Herman. "What are you worrying about?"

"I've got the feeling that something terrible will happen tonight", said Lena.

"Why do you think that?", asked Herman.

"It's that shooting in Paris", said Lena, barely looking at her husband. "Didn't you hear the news? The man has just died, the radio was calling it 'An abominable Jewish crime that shall be avenged.' I just know that something will happen."

"But aren't they always saying things like that?", suggested Herman.

"This just feels different", said Lena. "This wasn't their usual threats, there seemed more of a focus to it."

Herman got up from sofa and put his arm around Lena.

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about", he said, though he did not sound entirely convinced.

Lena turned her head sharply to face him.

"Why are you so happy and smiley about everything?", she demanded. "Can you not see what has happened to us over the last five years?"

"It's been horrible, of course", said Herman, "but there's always a bright side. And didn't Hitler once say he was going to hang us all? Well, he hasn't done that."

"But he constantly demonises us, and that is an encouragement to violence.", said Lena.

Herman thought for a minute or two about how he would respond to this.

"Yes, but can we not forget about Hitler for a little bit?", he asked. "Try and have some enjoyment?"

"I don't feel like enjoying myself, not tonight", answered Lena. "In fact I think I'll go to bed."

And she swiftly made her way upstairs before Herman could attempt to dissuade her. Herman remained downstairs for another hour or so, but in truth, even he was feeling a strange anxiety, and eventually he went to bed too.

Herman and Lena woke with a start. What was that noise? They looked at each other, wondering if the other had heard the same thing as them. Then the sound came again, unmistakably the sound of glass being smashed. Then, from downstairs, they could hear shouts of "Heil Hitler!" and "Down with the Jews!" Lena hid herself under the bedclothes. Herman hesitated: might he not be able to fight these men off, as he had done so often in the war?

"Get under!", Lena hissed, and Herman assented: it had dawned on him that he alone would not be able to confront what would surely be a large gang. From underneath the bed cover, Herman clasped and caressed Lena's hand. They could hear more smashing noises downstairs: the intruders seemed to be destroying everything in the house. The sound of crying could be heard from the children's rooms: Herman and Lena desperately wished they could go over to comfort them, but did not dare to. 

All too soon, they heard the sound of boots thundering up the stairs. The boots came ever closer: they were clearly marching towards the bed. Suddenly, the cover was roughly pulled back, and some 20 men, armed with sticks and clubs, surrounded the bed. Then Herman started: among the men was Theobald. Franz was also there, with a young man who was apparently Wilhelm. The men raised their weapons, poised to strike. Herman fixed his gaze on Theobald.

"Please", he begged, "remember me, your old friend . . ."

Theobald's expression softened, and the hand holding his club wavered.

"You pathetic weakling!", shouted Franz. "The Jews who betrayed you, and you can't do what you should? I'll show you."

And he set about striking Herman and Lena alternately: Theobald, Wilhelm and the other men soon joined in. The beating was relentless, with the men hitting every part of their victims' bodies they could reach. One blow to Herman's arm was so severe as to draw blood, while Lena received bruises all over her legs.

"Get off me!", one of the attackers shouted suddenly. His comrades left off the beating to see what was happening, and this also gave Herman and Lena the chance to catch a glimpse. They froze as they saw Isaac pulling at the man's leg, obviously trying to drag him away from the bed: Rebecca was standing behind him, her eyes darting between her brother, her parents and the assailants. Before Herman could tell his children to get back to their rooms, Franz seized Isaac by the hair and yanked him back from the other man. Isaac screamed.

"You dirty little Jewish scumbag", growled Franz, his face so close to Isaac's that the boy received a dose of his saliva, "I'll teach you to mess with the Master Race."

He flung Isaac onto the floor and hit him in the head with his club. The other attackers all crowded around the terrified child, almost competing with each other to strike a blow. Herman and Lena attempted to get up from the bed and somehow rescue their son, but were too badly hurt to move. Rebecca ran up and tried to force herself in between two of the attackers to reach her brother. Wilhelm  grabbed her by the arm and forced her back: then he looked at her with a greedy expression, and put his hands underneath her nightdress, cackling as he felt her developing breasts.

"No!", Lena instinctively cried out.

"No!", commanded Franz, "stop it, Wilhelm, do not defile the race."

Wilhelm opened his mouth to argue, but his father stopped him.

"Franz is right, Wilhelm", said Theobald. "I think we've done enough here, let's go next door."

"Yes, let's", said Franz, and he charged down the stairs shouting "Heil Hitler!": the other attackers followed.

Herman, Lena, Isaac and Rebecca were left behind in the bedroom. Herman bowed his head: he was feeling a mixture of shock at the brutal assault, and sadness at what Theobald had become. Lena was breathing very heavily, still trying to take in what had just happened. Both the children were crying: Isaac staggered as best he could over to the bed, where his father placed a hand on his shoulder, while Rebecca sat down on the floor with her head in her hands, feeling a mixture of horror and shame. None of them spoke.

About an hour later, Franz led the gang to Rosa and Richard's house.

"Here", he said, "lives a Jewess and her Aryan lover."

Angry murmurs from his followers.

"But", grinned Franz, "we have some special treatment in store for them."

After smashing the glass, they charged inside.

Richard was slowly making his way downstairs: he had heard the smashing in the neighbouring houses, and had got out of bed on hearing the destruction of his own window.

"There he is! Kill him!", shouted Franz, and he and his men charged onto Richard and started viciously beating him. Franz raised his club high above his head and brought it crashing down onto Richard's skull. Blood burst out, and Richard collapsed lifelessly at the foot of the stairs. All the men cheered.

"Bastards! Scum!"

Rosa had come running down the stairs and witnessed the murder of her partner. She ran furiously towards Franz, but he just laughed and cracked her skull open just as easily as he had done to Richard. More loud cheers followed: the men barely seemed to notice the blood seeping all over the hallway.

"So should end all race defilers", shouted Franz. "The Aryan for treachery, the Jew for leading the Aryan astray."

Herman, Lena and the children remained awake all night, barely speaking. Finally, as daylight began to seep through the bedroom windows, Herman attempted to get up, but was so badly hurt he was unable to, and he fell back onto the bed. Lena reached out to him, but barely had she touched him than they heard the sound of more men thundering into the house, evidently through the broken window downstairs. Then the ominously familiar sound of boots on the stairs, and of Nazis pouring into the bedroom. The children screamed and hid in the wardrobe, Herman and Lena once again hid under the bed clothes, but barely seconds later, the invaders had whipped the blanket off and dragged Herman out.

"Please! No!", cried Lena. "Let him be!".

"Shut up, you silly Jewess", said the leader of the men, with a threatening sneer. Lena flinched.

"Where are you taking him?", she asked.

"Somewhere special", the leader answered, smirking.

"Can I please get dressed", begged Herman, through he could tell that it was useless.

"You think we'll do favours for a Jew? After what you made us do?", said the leader.

"We didn't make you do anything", said Lena stoutly.

The leader pointed his pistol at her.

"Yes, you did, one of you committed a most heinous murder of one of our diplomats. It was a terrible crime that can never be forgiven, and last night you got your punishment. Now take him away", gesturing to his men.

They complied, dragging Herman out of the room. Lena wanted to call out to her husband, but with the gun still pointing at her she did not dare. The children ran out of the wardrobe, crying "Daddy!", but the leader thrust his pistol in their direction, and they fell silent. Once Herman was clear of the bedroom, the leader marched after his men, leaving Lena shaking badly, and the children once again crying.

Herman was dragged down the stairs, banging his head against the wood, and out into the streets. His head and shoulders were hurting very badly, and his injured arm began to bleed again. After several hours, the man who was dragging him pointed to something.

"See that sign?"

To the best of his ability, Herman looked up. They were in front of a set of gates, and above it was a sign proclaiming, "Arbeit Macht Frei" - "Work Sets You Free".

The men laughed as Herman read the sign, and dragged him through the gates, and over some rough ground into a small room: there they left him, before locking the door.

Herman soon learned he was in a concentration camp called Sachsenhausen. He would never forget his time there: the guards routinely mocked him and beat him, he was forced into hard and arduous labour, and the food was terrible. On his first day, just hours after he had been locked up, the guards came back to his cell and laughingly told him that they had discovered someone who looked like him, and had taken him to the mortuary, where he saw the body of Rosa, with a horrible gash on her head. Herman cried out in anguish, and the guards laughed at him even more. About a week later, he and the other Jewish prisoners were forced to see pictures of all the synagogues that had been destroyed on that awful night: Herman gasped when he saw the one of them was the place where he and Lena had got married.

After about a month in the camp, Herman was finally released. His body frail from mistreatment and malnutrition, he staggered back to his house, where he noticed wooden boards had been put up to replace the smashed windows. He knocked at the door, and when Lena answered she instantly embraced him, sobbing profusely, while Isaac and Rebecca flung their arms around his waist. Eventually Herman asked, with a feeble smile, if he could please be permitted to enter his own house: he sat down in the kitchen, where Lena made him a delicious beef steak pie and afterwards a cup of tea. This was the first proper meal he had enjoyed since his arrest.

Lena asked him what conditions in the camp had been like, but he didn't feel able to tell her. There was a brief silence, before Lena said in her most forthright tone:

"We've got to get out of here. Now. Straight away. If we don't they'll kill us all."

Herman nodded.

"You're right", he said, his voice much weakened by his ordeal.

"We should go to Palestine", piped up Isaac, "and fight to have our own country. Then we'll be safe."

"Really?", asked Lena. "What about the Arabs? Won't they fight against us? They're the ones that live there, after all. And what would you do when that happens?"

"We'll force them out", said Isaac. "It's our land and the Arabs have so many other places to go, so they can't complain."

The other three all stared at him.

"But surely that's not right", said Rebecca. "Why should other people suffer for what the Germans have done to us?"

Isaac opened his mouth to argue back, but Lena cut across him.

"We should go to England", she said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

"Yes, you're right", said Herman. "England it shall be."

A Friendship Chapter 5: Harsh Lessons

The end of the school day should have been a time of joy. A time for happy children to come running out of the gates and be joyfully reunited with their parents. A time to look forward to a happy family evening. But today, Isaac and Rebecca were in tears as they ran into their parents' arms: they were running not out of joy or excitement, but out of a desperation to escape. Isaac ran headfirst into Herman, who placed a consoling head on his shoulder, while Rebecca flung her arms around Lena's waist: Lena gently caressed her daughter's hair.

"Has something happened?", asked Herman.

"The other children have been so horrible", sobbed Isaac, "calling us names like 'dirty Jew' and stuff like that."

"How awful", exclaimed Herman. His expression was stunned: Lena's was grim.

"And they kept telling us to do that stick-your-arm-in-the-air thing, saying it was 'for the Reich Chancellor' or something", said Rebecca, "and then they laughed so horribly when we asked them why."

"And in History", Isaac continued, "the teacher said that we Jews betrayed this country in the war, and we're to blame for everything that goes wrong. He looked over at me as he said it. And Wilhelm has joined the Hitler Youth. He used to be my best friend . . ."

Isaac clearly could not go on. Herman patted him on the back.

"My Biology teacher made me stand up in front of the class", added Rebecca, "and he said my head wasn't shaped like the other heads, he said it was ugly, he said that means that I'm not as good as them, and they all laughed."

Lena let out a furious roar.

"A curse on Hitler!", she shouted (this exclamation drew a number of frowns and glares from neighbouring parents, but she neither noticed nor cared). "A curse on these so-called National Socialists! A curse on Hindenburg!"

"Please, Lena", urged Herman, "be careful, people might tell the Gestapo."

"We must leave", said Lena, "we need to get out of this country, before something terrible happens."

"It won't last forever", Herman assured her. "As Babylon fell, as Antiochus IV was defeated, as the ban on us entering Jerusalem was lifted, as the Spanish Inquisition came to an end . . ."

"We can't wait hundreds of years", said Lena scornfully. "We need to leave now."

"I cannot leave", said Herman. "This is our country. My country."

"But if we don't leave we're in danger", Lena asserted.

"The regime might not last long", said Herman.

Lena stared at him, bewildered. Then she said bitterly:

"I suppose Theobald is happy now. All these things his Nazi mates are doing."

"Well, maybe . . ." said Herman tentatively.

"Maybe what?", said Lena abruptly.

"Maybe he'll realise what a terrible mistake he made", suggested Herman. "Maybe he'll now see what the Nazis are really like."

"But, Daddy", said Isaac, "if Wilhelm is in the Hitler Youth . . ."

Lena gave an exasperated sigh.

"Oh, Herman", she said, "you still think that man can change. He's been in the party nearly 10 years, he knows full well the things they believe, and he's still a member. You need to put him out of your mind."

"But maybe", said Herman, "now he sees what they actually do, he might change his mind. Maybe we can meet with him to discuss it."

Lena's jaw dropped.

"I'll write to him", said Herman. "See if he would like to meet up."

"You'll be wasting your time", said Lena. "You'd be better off trying to protect your own family."

"Are you saying . . .", said Herman, his voice rising ever so slightly.

"I'm saying", said Lena, "that you need to think of what's best for your wife and children, rather than trying to chase a lost cause with that man. But let's go home."

She strode purposefully up the street. Holding his children's hands, Herman trotted after her, not wanting to prolong the argument, but still determined to write to Theobald.

It was evening, and Rosa was excited about another night in the cabaret club. She was wearing a striking green dress, her hair was in ringlets and she had powdered her face all over. Richard had been open-mouthed when he saw her, saying she looked absolutely stunning: she had happily repaid his compliment with a full-on kiss. Now they were walking hand in hand to the club. They rounded the final corner: as Rosa was happily chatting to Richard about the night ahead, he suddenly stopped walking.

"What is it?", asked Rosa.

Richard pointed ahead: Rosa looked where he pointed and gasped when she saw a gang of brown-shirted men standing in front of the entrance.

The SA men all burst out laughing.

"Why are you here?", said the infuriated Rosa.

The men laughed again.

"Are you that stupid?", said one of them.

"To be fair, she's a Jewess", said another one.

More laughter.

"I'm not a Jew", insisted Rosa. "I don't follow all that religious nonsense."

"You belong to the Jewish race", said a third SA man.

"How do you know that?", asked Richard.

"We have ways of finding these things out", said the first man: he obviously enjoyed the power of these words.

"And that means", said the second man, looking at Richard, "that you're a race defiler."

"I don't know what you mean by that", said Richard.

"It means you're an Aryan who fucks a Jew", said the third man. "You're a traitor to your race."

"A traitor because I fell in love?", exclaimed Richard.

"You are supposed to love your race", said the first man, in an ominous tone. He and his comrades edged themselves closer to Rosa and Richard.

"But I couldn't choose . . ." began Richard, but before he could finish, the stormtroopers charged. Rosa and Richard turned and ran: they could hear boots thundering right behind them. Richard pointed Rosa down a dark alley, but the stormtroopers followed them down it. They attempted to shake off their pursuers by zig-zagging between one alley and another, but the sound of the boots could still be heard.

"Let's try the direct route", whispered Richard at last, and he and Rosa summoned one last burst of energy to dash straight in the direction of their house. Outside the door, Richard fumbled the keys with the stormtroopers just 10 feet away from them.

"Please, please", urged Rosa, panicking.

Richard finally managed to get the keys out of his pocket: he opened the door, and Rosa burst in, with Richard following her and slamming the door shut just as the stormtroopers arrived at the threshold. The stormtroopers began pounding on the door, but Rosa and Richard held themselves against it with all their strength, and eventually the pounding stopped, and they could hear the sound of the men walking away.

A week later, Theobald was leaving the house to go to work when he saw a letter lying on his doormat. He picked it up and saw that the address was in Herman's handwriting. He looked at it momentarily before dropped it, unopened, on the ground.

A Friendship Chapter 4: Two Nights Out

Rosa had been encouraging Herman and Lena to come to the cabaret club with her for some weeks. They had eventually agreed to it, even though it really wasn't their thing. After parking their car up, they met Rosa outside the entrance: her hair was tied into a bun, she was wearing two large and elaborate earrings and a striking low-cut green dress, and she was holding a man's hand. He was about a head taller than Rosa, with a square face and earnest brown eyes.

"Herman and Lena, meet Richard Baumann", announced Rosa, in the style of a club announcer.

"So you're Herman and Lena", said Richard: both of them nodded.

"Pleased to meet you", said Richard, and he shook hands with both. Rosa then beckoned them, with an excited and mischievous grin on her face.

Inside the club, Rosa immediately sprinted onto the dance floor, while Richard ordered four drinks. He found a table, then made his way to the floor to join Rosa. At first they danced together, with Richard repeatedly spinning Rosa round and lifting her up, to her evident enjoyment. After a while, Rosa began to drift away and dance on her own, while Richard returned to the table where Herman and Lena were sitting. Rosa's moves were not the most elegant but she was full of energy: she spun herself round too many times to count, she waggled her hips, lifted up her skirts to above knee height, and would softly press her face and body up against any man who agreed to dance with her.

"Don't you feel jealous when she does that?", Lena asked Richard.

He shrugged. "It's just her way of enjoying herself. I know that I'm the one that she loves."

"If she enjoys it, then it's fine", said Herman.

"I suppose so", said Lena, somewhat grudgingly.

Eventually even Rosa tired of dancing and she left the floor and sat down next to Richard, drenched in sweat.

"Do you come often to this place, then?", asked Herman.

"Yes", said Rosa breathlessly. "I absolutely love it here."

"I would never have guessed", smiled Herman.

"What about you, Richard?", asked Lena. "Is this your first time?"

"No", said Richard, "I go here a lot too." (Lena looked somewhat put out by this.)

"We met here", said Rosa. "Two months ago it was, we met on the dance floor and there was . . . something, a spark, between us."

"She's an amazing dancer", said Richard, looking at Rosa with pride and affection: she turned her head and smiled sweetly at him.

"But why do you do it", asked Lena, "all this dancing, all that . . ." She couldn't think of the right word.

"It's the spirit of the times", said Rosa, "these wonderful new times that we live in. All the old restrictions have gone, we're now free to do as we please, no more of the old 'women must behave modestly' nonsense."

"But aren't you worried?", Lena inquired.

"Worried?", echoed Rosa in a puzzled voice.

"About the example you're setting to your students", said Lena.

"Do you really think I walk into my classroom every morning and do all those sexy moves?", said Rosa scornfully. "My work and my leisure time are completely separate."

"Do your bosses know what you do of an evening?", Lena asked.

"Why am I supposed to tell them that?", demanded Rosa: her eyes were flaring up now. "My pupils like me, my bosses tell me I do a good job, that should be enough. And don't you dare talk to me like that." She was glaring at Lena now.

"Please, Rosa", said Richard, placing his hand on her arm, "don't get so angry with Lena, this is all new to her."

Rosa yanked her arm away from Richard, looking almost as angry with him as with Lena.

"It's not that, she's just a sad, stupid bore."

"Now just a minute", said Lena, her voice rising ominously.

"Calm down, Lena", urged Herman. "And Rosa, don't be so rude."

"Rude? She was the one who was rude to me", hit back Rosa, "accusing me of 'corrupting the youth', saying I'm unfit to be a teacher . . ."

"Yes but . . . can we . . . let's just talk about something else, can we?", suggested Herman: out of the corner of his eye he saw Lena getting ready to argue back.

A brittle silence descended. Eventually, Richard spoke, rather awkwardly:

"Did you see that rally last night?"

Herman sighed. Richard eyed him.

"You weren't there, were you?", Richard asked.

"No", said Herman, "but my best friend probably was."

"Your best friend?", repeated Richard.

"I have . . . or used to have, a friend called Theobald", said Herman. "We've known each other for years, fought in the Great War, but then he got really upset about the armistice, swallowed all that 'stab in the back' thing. He's since met a man called Franz who's a really ghastly anti-Semite, me and Lena met him once, and he insulted us."

"Did your friend introduce you to this man?", asked Richard.

"Yes", said Herman, "Theobald didn't hate us then, and he thought if we met him Franz would stop being anti-Semitic."

"He was really stupid like that", added Lena, "so we decided we wouldn't see Theobald again."

"And I've since learned", said Herman, "that he's joined the Nazis, I know he admires Hitler, he told us how he thinks Hitler has the right ideas."

Richard's and Rosa's mouths were wide open.

"So you're no longer friends with this Theobald?", asked Richard.

"We're well out of it", said Lena. "I wouldn't want to hang around with a Nazi. But this rally . . . in this city, you say?"

Richard nodded: Lena looked seriously worried. Herman smiled indulgently at her.

"There's no need to worry", he said, "Hitler's a really horrible man, but he's no threat, things are so much better now."

"He's just a raving madman", added Richard, "there's no way people will vote for that. I mean, even in the bad times, he had to try and seize power by force: he knows he can't win an election."

"You're always complaining about everything, Lena", said Rosa, seemingly delighted to score points over her sister-in-law. "You really need to cheer up."

Lena gazed at each of the other three in turn.

"Why are you so complacent?", she asked. "There's a very nasty streak in this country, there are people who are prepared to listen to Hitler. And if he did come to power, we", she indicated herself, Herman and Rosa, "would all be in danger."

"I wouldn't be", said Rosa. "I'm not a Jew, he wouldn't go after me."

It was the previous night. Theobald and Franz were standing in the packed crowd, waiting for the Führer to arrive in nervous and excited anticipation. Theobald had also persuaded a somewhat more reluctant Gertrud to come along too. When the main man finally made his appearance: a huge cheer erupted from the crowd: Franz bounced up and down with excitement, Theobald waved enthusiastically, Gertrud politely applauded. The noise continued until Hitler stepped up to the microphone: then it instantly fell silent.

"Good evening!", bellowed Hitler: the crowd acclaimed him raucously in response. "After four years, finally, I'm allowed to speak to you all: the Jew's grip on the government has weakened!"

More loud cheers.

"But only very slightly", Hitler continued. "He may have lost this battle, but behind the scenes the cunning Jew is continuing his plots, secretly worming his way into every single one of our institutions: the government, the media, our schools, the civil service . . . everywhere you look, is the hidden hand of the Jew. And slowly, very slowly, too slowly for most people to notice, the poison that the Jew injects does its work, corrupting and destroying this country, this Germany, the greatest country in the world! Should we tolerate this?"

"No!", the crowd shouted back in unison.

"If we look to Russia", Hitler went on, his voice rapidly rising, and his hand gestures becoming ever more dramatic, "and we see what the Jew does when he gets his way. All the Bolshevik filth, that is the work of the Jew. While here in Germany, the Jew is the creator of finance capital, squeezing money out of decent Germans like you and I to line his own dirty pockets, and has foisted this weak democratic system on us against our will, in order to keep Germany down. The Jew divides us, telling us that we all belong to different classes and should fight against each other, instead of uniting to fight our common enemy: himself. All of this is part of the Jew's eternal desire to destroy Germany, so the Elders of Zion will control the world! And he has come very close to achieving this aim, when almost nine years ago, when we were fighting the enemy hard and were close to winning, he stabbed us in the back and signed the armistice. Given the chance, the Jew will always betray us!"

Theobald nodded vigorously: after all, had Herman and Lena not betrayed him?

"And so", Hitler concluded, now virtually screaming, "I will fight and fight against these black-haired, hook nosed traitors. I will not let them destroy Germany: instead I will remove every last Jew from this country, so that never more can that accursed race harm us again!"

Hitler stepped back from the podium. The crowd raised their arms in salute, and chanted "Heil Hitler!" over and over again. Gertrud was hesitant at first, but after some encouragement from Theobald, eventually she joined in. The over the loudspeakers the national anthem blared:

Deutschland, Deutschland, über alles

Über alles in der Welt!

A Friendship Chapter 3: The New Friend

It was the happiest of times. Three children were chasing each other round the living room, watched by two sets of parents.

"Careful!", called out Herman, with a smile on his face, as Wilhelm nearly upset the fire guard.

Wilhelm pulled a face: "You're not my daddy", he said.

"But he's right", said Theobald, though he too could not help smiling.

"I'm going to hide!", shouted Isaac, and he darted out of the room, with Rebecca and Wilhelm running after him.

Lena got up from her seat to keep an eye on the three wayward children: she had barely got to the living room door when Rebecca could he heard screaming:

"Found you!": it seemed that her brother had been hiding in the kitchen cupboard.

"Stay where we can see you", said Lena, and the three children wandered back to the living room, where they began to play a game of "Guess Who?"

Herman eyed the children affectionately.

"The wonders of youth", he sighed. "No worries, no cares, just fun and games."

"They should enjoy it while they can", said Lena.

"Don't say that", said Herman, "things are looking up now. The inflation's over, the French are out of the Ruhr, that lunatic who tried to seize power in Munich is in prison."

"You think Hitler's a lunatic?", said Theobald. "I thought he talked a lot of sense."

Herman and Lena stared at him. Was this really Theobald talking, Herman thought. An uncomfortably still atmosphere had descended on the room.

"Are you joking, Theobald?", asked Herman.

"I'm not, I mean it", replied Theobald. "He said it like it was, about how we were betrayed, none of that tip-toeing around that's in fashion these days."

"But he wanted to be a dictator", Lena pointed out.

"Maybe that's what we need", said Theobald. "Get rid of the weakness we've had since 1918".

"But what about us?", asked Lena, indicating herself, her husband and their two children. "As Jews, where would we be if Hitler had got his way?"

"Read the trial transcript", insisted Theobald. "He didn't attack the Jews at all."

Herman's and Lena's mouths were wide open.

"But he has said that before", said Herman, speaking very slowly. "It was all over the papers, remember, saying that we're vermin, that we should lose our citizenship, that we're to blame for everything that goes wrong, that we should all be hanged."

"Maybe he's changed his mind", suggested Theobald.

Herman and Lena staged at each other in disbelief. The children suddenly stopped playing.

"Why are you saying these things?", asked Lena. "I always thought you were a sensible man."

Theobald looked at the floor, swallowing hard.

"I've met a man called Franz", he said. "He's helped me see the light about the betrayal of this country, he's showed me a lot of nationalist groups, he's been very helpful."

"Is he anti-Semitic?", asked Herman, though he half-guessed the answer.

"Well, yes", said Theobald sheepishly. "He does think that you are to blame for everything, but I don't think that. Please believe me." He looked plaintively at his friends. Isaac and Rebecca made their way over to their parents, seeking some reassurance, but Herman and Lena were too distracted to give it. Wilhelm sat down next to his father.

"Have you told him about us?", inquired Lena, a hard edge to her voice.

"I haven't", said Theobald. Then suddenly a thought seemed to cross his mind. "Maybe if you could meet him, he'll realise that not all Jews are bad."

"Really?", asked Rebecca in a puzzled voice. Isaac gave his father a troubled look.

Lena stared up at her ceiling. It was hard for her to take in what she had just heard. After a few awkward moments, she turned to Gertrud.

"Please, Gertrud", she said. "Talk to him, make him see sense."

"Why should I?", asked Gertrud. "A lot of what he says is true, the Republic has let us down at every turn, something needs to be done about it, I think these groups he's involved with have something going for them."

"Have an open mind, come and meet Franz", said Theobald.

"Absolutely not", said Lena. "I will never meet such a horrible man."

"You haven't met him", said Theobald, with a hint of anger. "You need to see him, maybe you'll like him."

"If Daddy likes him, he must be good", piped in Wilhelm.

"I'm not sure about this . . ." began Herman.

"Do it for me", said Theobald. "I really want you to meet him, he's really friendly."

"Surely, Herman", said Lena, "you're not going along with all this rubbish."

"Well if Theobald really wants me to . . .", said Herman.

"Oh, Herman", sighed Lena, "do you really think this Franz is going to be all lovely to us, once Theobald tells him that we're Jews. Do you really think a man like that can have his mind changed?"

"He sounds really horrible, Daddy", said Rebecca.

"You must meet him, I insist on it", said Theobald.

"All right then", said Herman. "We'll go through with it."

Rebecca was open mouthed. Isaac's head darted from left to right, trying to make sense of it all. Wilhelm looked proudly at Theobald.

"You can't", said Lena. "It's madness."

"It's what Theobald wants", said Herman.

Lena opened her mouth to argue, but then realised it would be useless.

"Jews? You're friends with Jews?", exclaimed Franz. He was so shocked that he dropped the receiver.

"Yes", said Theobald, part embarrassed, part defiant.

"Why didn't you tell me?", Franz demanded: he was in the process of bending down to pick up the receiver again as he said this.

"Because . . . well . . . because . . .", mumbled Theobald.

"Because you thought I would have stopped being friends with you?"

Theobald's silence told Franz all he needed to know.

"Well let me tell you", he said, "you were absolutely damned right. There I was, thinking you were a good German, and now you tell me your best friend is a dirty Jew."

"We've known each other for years and he's a really decent man". Theobald sounded almost pleading.

"A decent Jew? That's like saying a clever Negro, or a vegetarian tiger."

"He fought for us in the Great War", said Theobald, who had now recovered his courage. "He loves this country."

"How do you know?", asked Franz. "He might have joined the army just to stab us in the back."

"He wouldn't do that", insisted Theobald.

"Of course he wouldn't tell you that", scoffed Franz, "but he's sly, all Jews are, they're very good at hiding what they're up to, that's why people like you are taken in by them."

"But would you please agree to meet them? For me." Theobald was desperate.

"Of course I will", said Franz, "and I'll tell them exactly what they are."

He abruptly put the phone down. Well, Theobald thought, at least he agreed to meet them, that's a start.

A week later, one evening, Herman and Lena knocked on Theobald's door, without much enthusiasm or expectation. Theobald welcomed them in enthusiastically and led them into the sitting room, where they saw, sitting on the sofa, Gertrud and a strange man whom they knew instantly must be Franz.

"Franz, this is Herman and Lena", announced Theobald.

"So these are your Jewish friends", said Franz sneeringly.

"I will not be spoken to like that", said Lena.

"I'll say what I want, don't we all believe in free speech these days?", taunted Franz.

Herman sighed. Franz now turned to him.

"So how did you stab us in the back?", he demanded, getting up from the sofa and thrusting his face into Herman's. "Go on, answer me."

"I don't understand what you mean", said Herman, in as dignified a manner as possible.

"According to Theobald, you fought in the Great War", said Franz. "So tell me how you betrayed us."

"I did not betray us, I was awarded the Iron Cross, and when Theobald was gassed at Cambrai, I helped get him to hospital."

"Liar", snarled Franz. "You're a Jew, you're a liar and a traitor."

"Let's go, Herman", said Lena. "I knew it all along, this thing was a complete waste of time."

"Please stay", urged Theobald, "and show him that he's wrong, show him that you're good people."

Lena made no attempt to conceal the scorn in either her face or her voice.

"How stupid are you, thinking he can change. Men like that never can. You now have a choice, Theobald: you must stop seeing him, or I never want to see you again."

"I'm not stupid", spluttered Theobald. "You need to know your place, you can't tell me who I can and can't see."

"But you've chosen to be friends with a man who hates us for being Jews", said Lena. "How can I ignore that? You are utterly ignorant of who this man is."

Theobald was quivering with rage now: he made an angry step towards Lena. Herman stepped in between them.

"I'm afraid she's right, Theobald", he said, with a heavy heart. "We simply can't be friends with this man."

"So you're deserting me", shouted Theobald, "just because you don't like my new friend?"

"It's he who hates us, we've done nothing to him", Herman pointed out.

"Let's go, Herman", said Lena again.

For the second time, Herman sighed, and he and Lena walked out through the front door, though not before Herman had thrown a backward glance at Theobald. As Herman closed the door, he and Lena could hear Franz shouting, "Dirty stinking Jews!"

Outside in the calm night air, Herman and Lena breathed heavily.

"Perhaps you were a bit harsh", suggested Herman.

"How do you mean?", asked Lena.

"I'm just thinking", said Herman, "maybe if we were a bit more careful with Theobald, we might be able to turn him."

"Turn him?", echoed Lena.

"You know, make him see that Franz is a bad man", said Herman.

"He won't do that, he's too far gone", said Lena. "And I don't for one moment regret what I said to him. We need to forget about him now."

"But he's my best friend . . ."

"He was, but that's over now", said Lena. "But anyway, it's cold out here, let's go back."

And before Herman could argue, Lena strode ahead of him in the direction of their house: Herman could only follow her helplessly.