TFOC: Chapter 1, Part 4

IV.

The next day, Charlotte was calm and focused.

God would not have sent her that premonition if Maximilian’s fate was sealed. He was giving her the opportunity to save her husband and she would do so.

She was a woman with a goal, and a plan to reach that goal, sketched out while she’d paced her bedchamber hour after hour last night. (As was the custom of the time, she and her husband had separate bedchambers. That was one of the joys of living in a house with over a dozen rooms.)

While breakfasting with Maximilian, they discussed the parties that they would host over the coming weeks and months – inviting society from Trieste to come and enjoy the beautiful setting that was Miramar.

After breakfast, Maximilan retired with his equerry to his study, to discuss business of the estate. Charlotte retired to her study, and sent one of the housemaids to fetch her own equerry.

“Hans,” she began after he’d entered and bowed to her, “I need you to find two people for me. You will need to travel at least as far as Trieste, and perhaps further, to set things in motion.”

“As you wish, madam,” said Hans.

“I want a tutor who can teach me both English and Spanish. Preferably a woman but a man if necessary. An elderly man. (Maximilian would never believe that she would have an affair with a tutor, but the tongues of Society would doubtless wag if she had a young male in the house, while living with a husband who traveled a great deal.)

“Very good, madam,” said Hans.

“And this is very important, Hans. She is to come to me only as an English tutor. Maximilian is not to know that she is teaching me Spanish as well.”

Hans raised an eyebrow, but said, “As you wish, Madam.”

 Charlotte smiled to herself. But her reasoning was simple. She did not want Maximilian to know that she was learning Spanish because then he would perhaps think that she was subtly hinting that he should accept the honor to become the Emperor of Mexico. If he was to come to that conclusion – and according to her premonition he would – she wanted it to be his own decision, not one influenced by her. Outwardly, she would support him in any of the decisions he chose to make on his own, while privately, she would ensure that when the time came, she would have the ability to support him with more than words alone.

“And I need you to find me a man, Hans. A trustworthy and honorable man. A man, young or old, who can speak English well. But – and this is important – he must have a silver tongue. He must be able to charm the birds down from the trees. And he must be willing to travel to the United States of America, and do there as I bid him.”

“Such a man might be hard to find,” Hans said musingly.

“Then the sooner you start looking for him, the better,” said Charlotte. “There is some urgency in the matter – I do not want to wait more than three months for you to find him.”

“Very well, Madam. I will leave for Trieste within the hour.”

“Thank you, Hans. When you find him, summon me to Trieste. I will meet you there and tell him his commission at that time. Do not fail me, Hans.”

Hans clicked his heels together and snapped his shoulders to attention. “I will never fail you, Madam.”

He spun on his heels and strode from the room.

Charlotte took a deep breath. No, Hans would not fail her. Just as she would not fail Maximilian.

TFOC: Chapter 1, Part 3

III.

Charlotte wiped tears from his eyes. “It was a premonition,” she repeated.

Hortense wrung her hands. Charlotte had rushed into her bedroom, flung herself onto the bed and burst into tears.  Hortense, who had been sitting in the corner with a good view of the Adriatic out of the window, had dropped everything and embraced her. Then Charlotte had burst into a flood of speech.

“Come, my child,” said Hortense.

“If you say once more that it was just a dream, I shall scream,” snapped Charlotte. “Hortense, you know about dreams as well as I. No matter how horrible they might be, once you awaken, the memories of the dream dissipate. But I remember my dream last night – my premonition – perfectly. Every single minute of it!”

“But…you said Maximilian has refused the honor,” said Hortense. “So your premonition can’t come true.”

“No, you are wrong. This is exactly how my premonition started. In 1859, these Mexican royalists ask Maximilian to assume the throne, and he refuses. They return, four years later, in 1863, this time with the backing of Louise Bonaparte III of France. And then he accepts. And we sail to Veracruz…”

“Well…you must simply tell him not to accept the honor, when next the offer is made. Maximilian loves you so dearly…”

“He may love me dearly, but he will not refuse the honor merely because I tell him I had a bad dream. He will dismiss it as you have done. And we will go to Mexico and he will die…riddled full of holes by a rabble of men who can’t read, who can’t write…who….!”

Charlotte stopped and took a deep breath.  “Is this to be borne?” she murmured into Hortense’s comforting shoulder. “No, it is not to be borne. It will not be borne.”

“What is in your mind, my lady?” asked Hortense.

Charlotte rose to her feet, her face determined.

“I will need friends, Hortense. Friends who will help me. There will be none to be found in Europe, when the time comes. I must look elsewhere.”

Hortense looked at her mistress uncomprehendingly.

Charlotte took another deep breath, and gazed fondly at her maid.

“Thank you, Hortense. I feel much better now. You may leave me.”

Hortense rose, but looked at her mistress doubtfully. “What is in your mind, my child?”

“I need friends,” Charlotte repeated. “I have four years to find them. Plenty of time, if I start now.”

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.”

TFOC: Chapter 1, Part 1

II.

The next day, the household was roused as Maximilian and his equerry came galloping down the causeway to the doors of Miramar.

Charlotte had been reading in the garden and had seen them coming from a long way away. Her breath had caught in her throat – Maximilian looked almost like a centaur, so skilled was he as he sat astride his horse.  So virile, so vibrant.

She went to greet him. Maximilian dismounted, tossed the reins of his horse to his equerry, and embraced her.

They walked, arm in arm, into Miramar.

“Are you tired from your journey?” asked Charlotte.

“Not at all. I quite enjoyed the ride,” said her husband. “Indeed, I could easily go for another. Would you like to accompany me? You brought your riding habit down with you, did you not?”

“Of course. Give me a half-hour to change.”

“I will have your horse ready, darling.”

True to her word, Charlotte walked into the stables half an hour later. She wore a dark blue riding habit and a perky hat perched on her head.

Her horse, Bellerophon, had already been fitted with a two-pommel side saddle, and the stable boy held his head while she mounted using the mounting block. She entwined her legs around the two pommels and gathered up the reins.

“Come, Maximilian,” she laughed. “Let’s see who can reach the other end of the causeway first.”

She whirled Bellerophon around and set him to the gallop. Laughing, Maximilian spurred his horse after her.

Latter that evening, after dinner, it was Maximilian’s custom to retire to his study and smoke and read, while Charlotte retired to the library – if they had no guests to entertain

This evening, Maximilian joined Charlotte in the library.

“What was so important in Trieste today that you had to stay over?” Charlotte asked idly, as she dealed cards for a game of piquet.

Maximilian waved a hand airily.  “I received a delegation of individuals from Mexico,” he said. “They offered me the crown…but I turned them down.”

Charlotte stared at her husband in horror.

“Charlotte, your face has gone quite white,” said Maximilian in concern. “What is the matter?”

“I…I…why would people from Mexico want you to be Emperor? They have no affiliation with the royal houses of Europe.”

“Oh, you are wrong, Charlotte. Thirty years ago, Mexico had a monarchy, very briefly. The King of Spain ruled Mexico as well. But the people revolted.  For thirty years Mexican nobles have struggled to restore that monarchy, and I was their choice.”

Maximilian placed his hands over hers, for hers were trembling.

“Charlotte, my dear, you look quite distressed. Are you unhappy because I refused the honor?”

Charlotte’s mind was racing – too many thoughts to express.

“Of course not, my dear husband,” she said. “To travel halfway across the world, to rule complete strangers who do not even know our language…I am quite pleased that you refused the honor.”

“Good,” said Maximilian. “But then…?”

Charlotte smiled. “A twinge of indigestion, my dear. Indeed, I think I will retire to my bedchamber early. Do you mind?”

“No, not at all. I will put the cards away. You’re sure you’re alright.”

“Yes, I will be fine tomorrow. “

He kissed her, and watched her leave the room. Maximilian thoughtfully replaced the cards in their pack, then shrugged. He had never known Charlotte to suffer from indigestion before, but she was not one to make a fuss. She would be alrght tomorrow.

Maximilian turned to one of the bookcases, removed Plutarch’s Lives, and settled down to read.

Manifesto

The purpose of THE FRIENDS OF CARLOTA is two-fold - to tell a fasacinating story, serialized over the course of several months, and to teach are readers Spanish vocabulary and a bit of grammar.

This is an alternate universe story.

Maximilian and Carlota, Archduke and Archduchess of Austria, traveled to Mexico in 1864 to become Emperor and Empress of Mexico – installed on the throne by the troops of Louis Bonaparte III of France and royalist Mexican nobility. They were opposed by Benito Juarez and his army who did not wish to see Mexico ruled by foreigners.

In 1865, after the end of the American Civil War, Juarez and his cause were assisted by weapons from the United States, because President Johnson and his congress did not want France to once more gain a foothold in North America.

As a result of the action of the United States, Bonaparte removed his troops, effectively sealing the doom of Maximilian and the Mexican royalists and troops who had supported him.

Carlota sailed to Europe and sought audiences with the royal houses of country after country, attempting to raise troops to help shore up Maximilian’s rule, but everyone refused her. She had a nervous breakdown, and never returned to Mexico. Maximilian’s forces were defeated, he was arrested by Juarez, and was executed by firing squad on 19 June 1867 after a reign of just 3 years.

But in The Friends of Carlota, things happen quite differently…