Je T'aime. - Chapter 31: Chapter 31

I kept Isabella's daisy between a folded piece of wax paper, pressed flat between the pages of my book of Sappho's poems. It seemed only appropriate. And it seemed unreal that what we did that night had actually happened, and was not a part of some vision of sleep- not a dream or a nightmare. While part of my mind lifted with ecstasy at the thought of her and floated on clouds of love, another side sat in a dark corner, contemplating the lustful sin that had overtaken me. So much sin. I had loved a woman. I had loved a woman in a church. I had loved a woman who was already married. I had loved a woman who was married to my brother. I had loved my brother's wife while I was engaged. I had loved my brother's wife while my fiance was off at war. The sins just piled and piled, like the crushing weight of a hundred bricks. But why did sin feel so good? Why did Satan taunt me like this? Had I let Father Lachner down? Had I let God down? Had I let little Christina, a young girl in Bible study, down? Had I let my mother down?
In times like these I would go to the church and beg for forgiveness, striving to save my soul from damnation. But I knew if I went there and I looked upon that altar I could only see her seated there, and I could only feel her neck on my lips and her leg around my waist. That place was no longer a temple of God. If you took me to church, I could only worship a shrine to her on a pile of lies. Lies that the church told me, lies that I told others, and the lies that I told to myself.
Now that I knew how sweetly the sin tasted, there was no way that the Catholic faith could ever rope me back in. Every Sunday at Mass, as I stood with the Holy Roman Empress, I could only falsely pray in the name of a foreigner's god. Never again for me. Now I was tied to her more than I had ever been tied to God. The church put a lock and key on me, to reserve me for my husband some day. They told me that my purity was my best asset. But my purity was not ripped from me last night. There was nothing lost and nothing broken. It was sweet, it was loving, it was beautiful. Why had they taught me to be so afraid of pure love?
While I was contemplating every event in my life so far, Pia was dressing me. "You were out late last night."
I snapped back into reality. "What?"
Pia repeated, "You were out late last night."
"Oh, yeah," I said. "The opera was wonderful."
Pia tightened my stays. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."
There was a knock at the door, and Pia went to answer it. She thanked the person and closed the door. I saw that she had a letter in her hand. "Who's it from?"
Pia gave me an irritated look. "The name starts with a C, but other than that, I can't read it."
I took the letter from her. My heart dropped as soon as I read the name. "Captain Albert Casimir of Saxony," I tore open the letter. "Please please please be okay."
Dear Christina,
I hope that all is well back in Vienna. I assume that your greatest news all week will be to hear that I am healthy and alive! The Regiment and I have marched to the border of Prussia and Saxony ,and we have secured a fortification along the river. I can see the outline of the city from here. Under the protection of heavy cavalry, I was able to meet with my brother and his wife. They are well. My brother's wife is heavily pregnant and looked near ready to pop when I saw her. By the time this letter gets to you, the baby will most likely already be here. I wished greatly to see my father, but he is stuck in Poland due to the war. I met with my youngest sister Kunigunde and nearly cried when I first saw her. She is the spitting image of my mother.
We have not seen much military action besides a few skirmishes, but our men are trained and well prepared. For now, we have plenty of supplies to keep the army ready for action. We drill every morning. It has been bitterly cold recently and miserable in some circumstances, but my fellow advanced officers and I have been lucky enough to use a small farmhouse as a headquarters. I have made a few friends within our officer corps, as well as others from the outside. But some that I have never made friends with are those Prussians- and they are even uglier in person than I could have ever imagined! And their accents, by God! They sound as if they speak while gargling water! They don't even sound like they're speaking German! It's utterly hilarious and sometimes I have to hold back my laughter in important meetings. If you ever have the utter misfortune to meet a Prussian, be sure to listen to what they are saying or you won't understand a word that comes out of their mouths!
I must admit that I bragged about you a little. While we were eating one night your portrait slipped from my pocket and into my lap. The fellow next to me asked about you, and I told him all about you. Now everyone in the regiment knows that I am engaged to one of the grandest ladies in all of Europe, and are shocked at how I managed to catch you. Luck, I told them, luck.
For now, everything is well. Do make haste to write back to me. I am afraid that mail travels very slowly through the military if it is not a correspondence of war. And word is from the front that the fighting by land, at least for the most part, may come to a close within the next year or so. In other theatres and by sea, I do not know. And it seems to me that the fighting in North America and the Caribbean is unknown to any European who does not live near the coast. With all hope, I will see you sooner than expected.
Do keep me updated with plans for your marriage. If your engagement to Benedetto goes through, and I pray that it doesn't, I will ride to Vienna immediately and meet with your parents. And by your parents I mean your father, because your mother already approves of us. Hopefully I can get through to him somehow if that happens. Maybe the military service will be good enough.
Please, Christina- keep a good watch on my art collection for me. It's very valuable and I would hate for it to be stolen. And keep a good watch on yourself. Please, please write! It lessens my anxiety to know that you are well. Until I hear from you or you hear from me again, I love you. If you forget all else in my absence, remember that. Maybe you'll wake up with amnesia or something, I don't know. I'm not good at being mushy.
Your most humble and obedient of servants,
Albert
I flipped to the last page of the letter. Drawn on the page was the image of a horrifyingly ugly ogre wearing a military uniform. An arrow was drawn to it, with a label in Albert's handwriting. "Prussian!" it read.
Giggling, I showed the drawing to Pia. We both laughed at the childish sketch. "I see he isn't too shaken up by war quite yet," said Pia.
"I hope that he never is," I sighed. "I'd miss that sweet, goofy Albert too much."
Pia began, "I had a few childhood friends from the countryside who went off to war. Some of them came back unchanged, others were different, and some never came back at all. But they were all privates- no, Karl was an ensign. But they were common men, and certainly not the Prince of Saxony. He will have his family beside him in Dresden."
"The city will give him his strength. He loves that city almost as much as he loves me. And he'll keep fighting to avenge his mother, though he won't admit it. He says he fights for honor, but he fights for revenge. Revenge for Queen Maria Josepha of Poland, Grand Duchess of Lithuania and Electress of Saxony."
"How can one hold so many different titles?" Pia asked.
"She was a Habsburg by birth. As many titles as she wished."
"Maybe you should go to the church today and pray for Albert. Just to protect him."
The church. "No, I don't think so. Not today."
Pia looked at me, puzzled. "You're not ill, are you? Is something the matter?"
"No, I'm fine," I replied. "Though I appreciate your concern. I just don't really want to go all of the way to the church. I'm tired from last night."
"Oh... very well then."
I made it down into the drawing room, trying to not attract attention to myself. I laid down on the chaise and opened a book, but I couldn't force myself to read it. My mind still raced with thoughts about God, about her, about everything. I was convinced that there was no way to make them go away. I just stared at the pages, just letters on paper, instead of the words that they used to be. And the masquerade. I still had to think about the masquerade. Isabella and I still needed our gowns to be made. Orfeo ed Euridice.
I just sat there in silence, listening to the whistling of the wind against the window. How trivial was love. The infidelity- I was as bad as my father. I was complimented over and over as a child about how I resembled him. They said I had his laugh and his eyes, and that the dimple on my cheek was his. This was the last of his attributes that I wanted to inherit. Genetics- a doorway to unescapable misery.
But did I want my mother's stubbornness, and her bitter perfectionism? Those traits, as well as a thick head of sandy blonde hair, had fallen to Joseph, the heir to all of the Empire. It seemed that even long after my mother was dead, the tight grip that she held on the Empire and on the court would never fade. It would simply pass through the generations as a dominant trait.
Through Joseph and through his heirs, and his heir's heirs and so on. The lineage that Isabella would continue, solidifying the pact between Austria and France with a child, the manifestation of a document. That sweet child, whenever they would be born. If Isabella waited too long, then the assumptions and court drama could be crushing. The appeal of her as a new bride was slowly fading already. For the matter of politics and society, she had to keep up appearances. Being the Crown Princess, and with all hope the Empress, could never be easy.
But I would stand by her side for as long as I could, holding her hand if she needed it. To be there for her when she needed me was my goal, for as long as I could. With all hope, I could stay at the court of Vienna with her, rather than moving to Turin. I was sure that Albert wouldn't mind if we stayed here as long as Isabella did, with occasional visits to Dresden.
And at some point, while it was possible, we needed to take Isabella back to Versailles. I would have to polish up on my French.