Je T'aime. - Chapter 23: Chapter 23

The previous night, Pia had lit a roaring fire in my bedroom. The temperatures had swept extremely low overnight, and only this massive blaze could keep out the chill. She also warmed my bed with coals, and all snug up in there, I never wanted to get out. But eventually, I knew I would have to brave the cold.
So, mustering the courage, I did. I quickly did up my gown and wrapped a wool shawl over my shoulders. Outside of my window, the snow of the gardens were trampled with footprints, a gleaming layer of ice over the snow. Certainly out in Vienna, the streets would be like an ice skating rink.
I pulled up a chair and sat near the hearth. When I was a child I would imagine images within the flames; a dancing woman or a great dragon. If I tried hard enough I could still see them, but it was almost impossible to be enthralled by it at this age. Fire was survival. Fire was the mother of civilization.
Pia came up the service stairs. "Good morning," she said, adjusting her fingerless gloves.
"Good morning," I replied. "You look a bit dishevelled."
Pia paused to shove a loose hair back into her cap. "Half of the palace is rushing around. The Empress has herself all worked up into a frenzy. Your brother has a fever."
"Which brother, Pia, I have too many."
"Archduke Charles. Hot water bottles, blankets, remedies. They're all being rushed in and out of his room. I haven't had a look at him, but I'm sure I'll hear the scoop of it at lunch."
"Charles?" I said, turning towards my handmaiden. "Mama always took such a liking to him. She's probably just overreacting. Where's my father? He's more rational."
"I don't know. I can try and find out for you."
"That's alright, I'm sure I'll see him at supper."
"Oh! I almost forgot," Pia exclaimed as she reached into her pocket. "A letter for you."
I took the letter from her. It was unmarked, only saying my name in an unfamiliar script. The seal was a pale blue, decorated with a lion. "This isn't Isabella's," I commented.
"It's not," Pia replied. "Her seal is a richer blue, with one of those French flower things."
"A fleur-de-lis."
"Yeah."
I broke the seal of the letter and unfolded it. The script was flat and unfamiliar, written in an ink of dark brown rather than black. The language, I came to see, was French. Not great French, but French nonetheless. Translating from French to German, I read it aloud to Pia.
To Her Royal Highness, Archduchess Maria Christina Johanna Josepha Antonia of Austria,
I immediately rolled my eyes. Anyone who addressed me by my full, royal name and title definitely wanted something out of me.
It is my distinct pleasure to finally be able to speak to you. I hope that this letter finds you well. I have been in correspondence with my uncle and your father, Franz Stephan, Holy Roman Emperor, and from his descriptions of you, you seem like a truly incredible woman, and of an impressive lineage. Both I and your father believe that we would both get along very well and would make quite the handsome couple. And, of most importance, our marriage would solidify the ties between the houses of Lorraine and Savoy, and with all hope, that of Habsburg.
I have my own wing in the Royal Palace of Turin, which we call the Palazzo Chiablese. Turin itself is a beautiful city, located along the grandest mountains in Northern Italy, where the olives grow aplenty and the weather is beautifully warm. I have heard that you take up painting as a hobby. Here we have the most beautiful landscapes that would make any artist weak in the knees. Not to mention that Italy has the richest operas and musicians the world over.
Behind my father, my older half-brother, and his two sons, I am in line to be the King of Sardinia. Though I do admit that my chances are rather unlikely, so I am hoping to soon join the military forces of Sardinia, if we do choose to enter the current war. If we do, we will enter on the Franco-Spanish front, though away from any naval conflict, as the British will surely crush us. I watch the British become more and more powerful every day and I wonder how your mother can keep her eyes on the Prussians with so looming a threat.
If I do go out and fight, then, most likely the first years of our union we will be separated by the tides of war. I have three sisters and a delightful sister-in-law at court who would be pleased to be your accompaniment. And do rest assured whatever you would like, within reason, I will purchase for you. I also have five nieces and nephews, if you prefer the accompaniment of children.
Speaking of children, I truly hope that our marriage will be as fruitful as possible, but with your mother's reputation, I don't think that it will be much of a problem! Sons, daughters- it does not matter much to me. After watching my brother and his wife, I realized that all I want is a little family of my own, beyond the politics of it all. My only hope is that one day you will be called the Duchess of Chablais.
Though I do believe that your father treats this as a matter of state, I am enthralled by you, truly. My only request is a miniature of you. Your father said you possessed one, but he simply cannot find it. If you do happen to have it, please send it my way, and I will send one in return. If you can, please write back at your convenience. I am elated to hear from you.
Yours Truly,
Prince Benedetto Mario Maurizio of Savoy, Duke of Chablais
I folded the letter on my lap and leaned my head back, groaning with frustration. "I told my father I didn't want to talk to him. Listen to him, such a pretentious bastard!"
"Oh, Christina, don't be so hot-headed," Pia said. "Give the poor lad a chance. He seems sincere enough."
"I don't give a damn about his sincerity. I gave that miniature to Albert already."
"What?!" Pia exclaimed, rushing towards my jewelry box. "Albert isn't your fiancé. That miniature was supposed to be-"
"In my heart he is. And if he dies at war, I suppose I'll marry Benedetto. If and only if."
"War? He's going to war?"
"In three days. The Prussians are near Dresden, and he won't stand it. I love him, Pia, I do. And my mother has already approved."
"Don't you throw this poor boy in the dirt. He cares about you, Christina, can't you see it?"
"I don't give two shits about how much he cares about me. I don't love him."
"Maybe if you gave him a chance, you would."
"I won't love another man besides Albert. That's final. We'll take a denomination from the crown and rule a little duchy. We'll be happy, Pia. That's all I want, Pia. Happiness."
"Happiness for yourself and no one else. That's a little selfish, don't you think?"
"It's my life. I won't be miserable."
"And leave your sisters to be? Your mother will most likely not allow more than one love match."
"Antonia is so young, she won't understand-"
"I meant Elisabeth and Amalia. At your expense they will be married into marriage that are cold and loveless, with adulterous husbands and irritable courts."
"It's my life, not theirs, and that is the life that consorts have endured for centuries."
"Save yourself from that life and throw your sisters down behind you, Christina, do you hear yourself?"
"If I can't control my own life, then what am I worth? You and your country people, you have your destiny in the palm of your hand. That's all I want for myself. To finally be liberated, and marry the man that I love, and that means best by me. In person, with earnest eyes, not locked in a letter."
"You don't know anything about the country life. You sit in a palace of marble and gold, thinking the high life of those who sleep on dirt."
"And you consider yourself some kind of courtier, shoving yourself into royal affairs," Pia huffed, turned, and began to stomp towards the door. I stood and reached for her. "Pia-" but she was already gone, slamming the door behind her.
I glanced down at the letter in my hand, and saw the fluffy, superfluous language written on the page. My full name was scribbled across the paper, formal and cold. "Duchess of Chablais, my ass." I tore the letter in half and threw it into the fire. The fire crackled and licked like a starving dog on a scrap of meat. The letter turned black at the edges, crinkled into a bitter roll, and was turned to ash.
I paced around the room a few times like a wild stallion in a pen before I opened the doors to my apartments and continued down the hall. I went off down the stairs, with no particular destination in mind. Being stuck in the palace during winter was like being a bird in a cage. Circles and circles, with no way out!
I reached the ballroom, with its Roman pillars and grand French chandeliers. Banners of the state hung under painted motifs of heavens and clouds. The balconies, which were usually crowded with onlookers with fluttering fans, were barren. I walked over to the windows and glanced out into the whiteness of a January day. The square of the palace was before me, and then to the great city beyond, just below the statue of Charlemagne that marked the house of the Empire.
In the square I saw two lines of stiff soldiers, standing at attention in their crisp white uniforms. They stood facing each other, making a pathway between them. They stood perfectly at arms, their gazes fixed in nothing in particular. Then, coming up the aisle between them, came the officers in their full dress. Swords and sashes, gold and silver. The flags of the regiment were held aloft, fluttering slightly in the lack of wind. Then I saw him, looking the most soldierly and princely that any man could. He looked fantastic, utterly, in that uniform, and my breath caught in my throat. Captain Albert Casimir. Even though most of his uniform was covered with a wool cloak, his professional aura was enough to break through it. His stance and his gaze were so professional, slightly leaning on one hip in a way that made him look like a Hellenistic statue of perfect form. He looked over some paper with his fellow officer, moving his hand to match his words. His fellow said something back, and Albert nodded knowingly.
Albert glanced up from the paper and for a moment we locked eyes. Excitedly, I gave a wave. Albert smiled, shook his head, and went back to his duties. At that moment I strived to run to the door and go out to him, but I couldn't. He had a job to do. I couldn't have everything I wanted all of the time.
I decided to go back up to my chamber and read a book or something. Maybe paint. Sew. Something that would take my mind into a different place. So I turned, away from Albert and his regiment, and towards the stairs back to my apartments. But as I approached the western wing of the palace I noticed that the hall was bustling with people and servants. They rushed past me, holding all kinds of items. There was a kind of stillness to the rushing, and none of the servants seemed to utter a word. As they passed they would whisper a rushed "Your Highness" in acknowledgement, but that was it.
As a footman rushed passed me, carrying a chamber-pot covered with a cloth. "Sir?" I called out.
He turned and bowed to me. "Your Highness," and turned to continue down the hall.
"Wait. What in God's name is going on?" I asked, grabbing the footman by the arm.
"I am sworn to a level of secrecy, Your Highness. All that I can tell you is that the Archduke Charles is experiencing a bout of illness."
"Illness?" I inquired, "What kind of illness?"
"Secrecy, Your Highness, I apologize." The footman turned and continued his hurried walk down the hall.
Then, coming up the hall the other way, was a stout, curly-haired man carrying a large black bag. Following behind him was Madame von Brandeis. Just by the man's walk I could recognize him, and he was a man that could strike either fear or joy into anyone. My mother's personal physician. "Doctor van Swieten?" I called out to him.
The stern-faced doctor gave me a slight bow as a footman opened the door for him.
"Good day, Your Highness," he turned to Madame von Brandeis. "Stay out here for just a moment, Naomi. I'll call you in as soon as I get this zoo of an operation under control." The doctor went into the room, and the door was closed behind him.
Madame von Brandeis crossed herself and began to murmur a rushed prayer under her breath. "Madame?" I said to her as she finished her prayer.
Madame von Brandeis opened one eye. "I suggest you start praying too, Christina." She gave me a glare that I had not received since I was a child, and it tugged at my brain uncomfortably.
"I won't pray until I know what I'm praying for."
"Your brother's health, isn't it obvious?"
"But what in the world is wrong with him? Is it just a cold? Is everyone here overreacting?"
Madame von Brandeis looked to the door and sighed. "That's what the Doctor is trying to find out. What exactly the illness is. Hopefully it's just nothing. Just nothing. Our Father, who art in Heaven..."
Frustrated, I turned from the praying governess. If no one was going to give me answers, I was going to have to find out for myself. I was not going to sit around and wait like the rest of the court for an official announcement. He was my brother, damnit.
I walked into the dining room for supper that night. And I meant night, because the shortening of the daylight hours in winter meant we ate supper by candlelight in the dark. My mother was late. The clock struck six, and we all stood behind our chairs waiting for her. Nobody was allowed to eat until the Empress was seated. Even my father stood. The children were antsy. Joseph leaned over and whispered something to his wife.
Finally, my mother rushed into the dining room. "I apologize for my tardiness," she said, sitting down at the table. Formally we all followed, and the servants came out with our drinks and first course.
"Not a problem at all, dear," said my father, but in reply all he got was half of a smile.
As I took a sip of my wine I looked over to my mother. She was wiping her eyes with a napkin, and her face was red. Nobody spoke. We all just ate quietly. I glanced over to my left. At the place where Charles ate, it was empty. I looked up at Joseph. Through a forkful of food, he stared at the empty chair of his brother beside me. It seemed as if everyone was, but no one had the courage to speak.
"Mama?" Carolina said, her voice echoing against the dining room's silent halls, "Where's Charles?"
"He's in bed. He's just tired, darling. After all of that running around you all did outside in the snow," my mother answered.
Ferdinand intercepted, "That was three days ago, Mama."
"Yeah," Antonia commented, holding up three fingers. "Three days."
Just then, the dark-clothed doctor came into the dining room, standing awkwardly in the back, my mother facing away from him. As soon as she heard his footsteps she closed her eyes and sighed. "Doctor."
"Your Majesty."
My mother stood from her chair. As per protocol, we all did, too. Once the Empress was finished eating, we all were. As I exited the dining room, Joseph grabbed my arm. "What the hell is wrong?" he hissed. "Mama never leaves supper. Never."
"It's Charles," I explained. "Up at his apartments they have every servant running around like chickens without heads. He's ill."
"Ill with what?"
"I don't know. They said earlier that he had a fever."
"Well, that could be anything. Consumption, diphtheria, gout-"
"He's fifteen. He doesn't have gout."
"Influenza, dysentery, pleurisy, the goddamn pox, anything."
"The pox. Do you think it's the pox? I've heard that it's been going around in Vienna. How long would we have to wait until it got here? Could he have smallpox?"
"Wouldn't it infect a courtier before an archduke?"
"I don't think the disease cares much about rank, to be honest."
Joseph sighed. "If Charles has smallpox, I don't know what in the hell I'm going to do."