TFOC: Chapter 1, pt 2

Chapter One: 1859

I.

Marie Charlotte Amélie Augustine Victoire Clémentine Léopoldine, Archduchess of Austria, looked out of the window as her carriage trundled onto the rocky promontory stretching out into the Adriatic Sea.  At the very end rose the vast expanse of Miramar, the country home that her husband, Ferdinand Maximilian Joseph, had had designed and built when he became Commander in Chief of the Imperial Navy, in 1854. Now, five years later, Miramar was finally completed.

Charlotte was 19 years old…she had been only 17 when she had married Maximilian, who was eight years older than she. When they had wed he had given up his love of the sea to be with her, and in these last two years they had ruled the Italian province of Lombardy-Venetia as viceroy and vicecountess.

Now, Maximilian was no longer viceroy. His brother, Franz Joseph, Emperor of Austria, had removed him from that post, since Maximilian’s policies had been too liberal for Franz Joseph to stomach.

Charlotte sighed.  Maximilian had been popular with the people in Lombardy-Venetia, and Franz Joseph hadn’t liked that either. Maximilian was simply too good for this world.

But now, at last, they could be all alone. No subjects to be concerned about. No nobles to placate. Just she and Maximilian, and their servants, at Miramar.

What a glorious setting for the estate, Charlotte thought, as the cool breeze off the sea fluttered the curtains of the carriage window. The azure water of the Adriatic surrounded the promontory on three sides. And she knew, from previous visits, that one could look down at the rocks below the castle at any time of the day or night and watch the waves break over them, sending up constant plumes of white spray. Maximilian could stand at the windows of his study – shaped like the stern of a ship, with fretwork windows - and believe that he was once more sailing around the world on his beloved frigate Novara.

The carriage came to a halt just in front of the doors to Miramar. The coachman hopped down from his side of the carriage, and her equerry hopped down from the other side.

The coachman opened the door for her maid, Hortense, who had been seated with Charlotte in the interior of the coach. Her equerry opened her door and assisted Charlotte to dismount.

Charlotte glanced behind the carriage, at the two other carriages that had followed them from Trieste. These carriages continued on to the rear of the castle. They bore the rest of the servants, and a month’s worth of provisions.

The steward of Miramar hurried out to greet his mistress, and escorted her and her maid into the hall.

“I had understood that the Archduke was accompanying you,” the steward said.

“He was delayed another day in Trieste,” Charlotte explained. “He will arrive tomorrow afternoon.”

“Ah, I see. Well, your rooms have been prepared.”

“Thank you, Heinrich,” Charlotte said. “Hortense and I shall retire to our rooms for now. We shall dine at seven o’clock.”

“very good, ma’am.” 

Hortense assisted Charlotte in washing off the dust of travel, and then Charlotte changed into a simple dress for the evening. After dining, Charlotte and Hortense walked along the edge of the cliff – on a path constructed wide enough and flat enough to accommodate the female fashions of the day with ease – and watched the sunset.

They returned to the mansion, laughing and talking together girlishly. Hortense assisted Charlotte to undress and don her nightgown, then retired to her own room, adjacent to Charlotte’s.

Charlotte read in bed for about an hour. The book On the Origin of Species, by Charles Darwin, had been translated into French, one of the three languages in which she was fluent – the others of course being German and Latin.

Fluent in French she may be, but she found the book’s concepts difficult, and after an hour’s reading she had had to continually re-read the pages in order to fully grasp their import.

Charlotte closed the book and placed it on her night-table. She plumped her pillow, pulled the covers snugly about her shoulders, and closed her eyes, lulled to sleep by the sound of the wind sighing against the windows of her bedchamber. 

A few hours later, Charlotte sat bolt upright, eyes wide with horror, mouth open in a silent scream.

Although her scream had been silent, Charlotte’s sudden movement had caused her bed to squeak loudly. This noise roused Hortense.

Hortense poked her head into the room. She saw her mistress with her hands grasping at her throat, her breasts heaving as she tried to breathe.

Hortense hurried forward. “My child, my child. What is the matter?”

Charlotte stretched out trembling hands toward Hortense, who took them in both of hers.

“My child,” she said gently, “what is the matter?”

“Oh, Hortense,” Charlotte whispered. “I have had the most horrible nightmare.”

“It was only a dream, my child,” her maid comforted her.

Charlotte took a deep, shuddering breath, and then another. Her heart was racing. But the images she had seen were not fading away, as the images of dreams always did. They remained vivid in her mind, as if seared there.

“Yes, of course,” Charlotte said, but there was uncertainty in her voice.

“Tell me about it,” Hortense requested. “That will make you feel better.”

“I dreamed that Maximilian had been named Emperor of Mexico.”

“Mexico? Where is that?”

“Oh, it’s not in Europe, Hortense. It’s across the ocean, on the North American continent.”

“Fancy,” said Hortense.

“Yes…it was like a play, Hortense, my nightmare. Four years, unrolling day by day.  Maximilian and I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean to the port of Veracruz, where we were greeted with great fanfare. We then traveled to Mexico City, where we were crowned at the Catedral Metropolitana. The monarchists loved us. Many of the common people loved us. But there was this man, Benito Juarez. He raised an army to depose us and abolish the monarchy.

And we were betrayed, Hortense! Oh, how we were betrayed! Louis III of France, the worm who set my husband on that throne in the first place, abandoned us after only a few months, and removed most of the French garrison from the country. I myself abandoned Maximilian…”

“Oh, no, child,” murmured Hortense.

“No, of course I didn’t abandon him…but I left Mexico. I sailed to Europe. I visited every royal house, begging, abasing myself, trying to find someone who would send troops to his aid. But everyone refused me. Everyone. And I remained in Europe, prostrated, and poor Maximilian faced his death alone…deposed and executed by Benito Juarez.”

Hortense hugged her comfortingly.

“Oh, he met his death bravely, Hortense,” Charlotte continued, her voice trembling only slightly. “He stood tall and proud and unafraid. And yet the firing squad shot him dead anyway.”

“Charlotte, be comforted. It was just a nightmare. Your husband would never leave Europe to become ruler of a foreign country where they didn’t speak either German or French! Ridiculous!”

Charlotte smiled wanly. “Of course you are right, Hortense. It was just a silly dream.”

“Of course it was. So close your eyes and go back to bed.”

Charlotte kissed her aged nurse on the cheek. “Good night, Hortense. I do feel much better.”