Je T'aime.

IX. The Dream

That night I went to bed early. It had been a long day, after all. When I laid my head on the pillow I could still see the streaks of sunset across the sky, outlining the city of Vienna. As I looked out over the city I could see dim candlelight illuminating each of the tiny windows in the distance. Every little window, I knew, told its own story. Each window held its own stories. Some days I wished that I could live one of those simple lives, eating dinner around a tiny table instead of a great dining room. I wished that I could rise early in the morning to wash my clothes in the river before returning home to make my own bread. Maybe I could go to the market and buy a few pounds of salted fish amongst sellers shouting their wares. I was torn between the common rural life and the common urban.

Finally, after a quarter-hour of tossing and turning, I drifted off to sleep. But in my slumber my mind itself did not rest. I had dreams that night that almost seemed like reality. I stood in a beautiful garden- it was not the botanical collections of Schönbrunn, or even the manicured natural art of Versailles. It was a wonderous, magical place. The air had a delightful warmth to it. It was a meadow, with waving green grasses and rustic wildflowers. Birds sang their love songs as they flew across the sky, and fat bumble bees buzzed from blossom to blossom. Cotton ball clouds drifted gently without a care in the world. In the distance, blue mountains with snow-capped summits overlooked the world like a silent sentry. Down on the hillside from the meadow was a grape orchard, plump purple Dionysian fruits nearly beckoning to me. In the middle of the meadow stood a wide-trunked tree with long, open branches. From the tree hung sparkling golden apples.

Reclining under the tree was the figure of a beautiful woman. She had dark hair that she wore untamed, flowing over her shoulders like an ebony waterfall. On her head she wore a crown of red carnations. I recognized the soft features of her rounded face immediately. "Isabella?" I whispered, almost unsure if it was really her.

The nymph looked up. "Christina! I'm so happy that you're here!" I took a few steps closer and noticed that she was not wearing the clothing of a modern princess. She wore a plain white chiton of a light and airy fabric. It was held in place by a pink ribbon around her waist, and a gold clasp over her right shoulder. On her left shoulder the fabric slipped off, revealing the skin of her collarbone. Her chiton clung to her figure in a way her court gowns of everyday could never do; her natural waist curved like the path of a river. Her form looked like that of Egeria, lounging above a pool of fertility. "Here, I have something for you," Isabella picked up a crown of delicate purple flowers. "They're called haberleas. Pretty, aren't they?"

"Yes, very," I replied as Isabella placed it on my head. I laid down next to her under the tree. I leaned back against its rough bark. Isabella offered me a ceramic cup that was filled with a blood-colored liquid. Without speaking, her facial expression encouraged me to drink it. I took a sip, and my tongue was blessed with the delightful taste of a sweet cherry wine. Filled with hubris, I reached up and plucked a golden apple from the tree. Like Eve, I took a bite of the plump fruit.

To my shock, the taste of the apple was bitter, and I spit out the chunk I had bitten. The inside of the apple was rotting and filled with worms. I turned to the side and heaved. Nothing came up. I caught a glance at my own tongue- it was stained gold. I tried to wipe it off to no avail. I grabbed the cup of cherry wine and tried to wash the gold out from my mouth and force it down my throat. But when I did the wine had the metallic taste of blood. The blood began to clot in my mouth. I spat the wine out, too, accidentally spraying a collection of wild cornflowers with crimson. "Isabella!" I cried out, looking over to her for guidance. But when I glanced over to where the princess once lay, the only thing that remained of her was a shape of bedded-down grass and a letter with a blue wax seal.

I hastily opened the letter. In Isabella's handwriting, the message was given:

Look behind you.

Slowly I turned. Over the hillside came a symbol that struck fear into my heart. A blue-fielded flag, with an x of white and a cross of red. The Union Jack. Then the drums began to roll. The footsteps of hundreds of men and horses sent a rumbling into the ground. I saw the first rank emerge over the hillside, their bayonets presented. The ranks came more and more, emerging over the hill in streaks of brutal red. The tack and medallions of great generals clacked as they rode their swift steeds, shouting directions to their men. I tried to run but my feet froze beneath me. I pressed my back against the bark of the apple tree. Wishing for a swift death, I shut my eyes. I felt the cold, sharp metal bayonet poke between my ribs. Just as I thought it was going to run me through, an officer declared, "HALT!"

I slowly opened my eyes and saw the regiments of foot standing before me. The redcoat officer, a plump, gray-haired man, placed his fingers under my chin and lifted my face upwards. "Ah, what a pretty thing. If she wasn't a Catholic, I'm sure His Majesty would love to marry her to one of his grandsons. Oh well, what a loss," the officer turned back towards a colonel on a pale horse. "Benedetto, would you like to do the honors?"

The colonel smiled and hopped off of his pale mare. He strode towards me confidently. "Christina, right?" he grinned as he pulled his sword out of its sheath. He pushed the bayoneted private out of the way. "I'm sure you could have bore me many sons, dearest. But that's all lost now. Now, try to hang on to life for as long as you can so you can see Albert weeping over your corpse." With that, Benedetto pressed the tip of his sword to my torso, just below my ribs. With one quick thrust, he pierced me, the sword ingraining into the bark of the tree of golden apples.

With a ragged gasp for breath, I sat up straight in my bed. I took a relieved sigh when all I saw was the darkness of my bedroom. I fell back against the pillows, and stared up at the canopy, embroidered with my initials surrounded by flowers. There was a pain in my chest where the Benedetto of my imagination ended me, but I dismissed it as my mind playing tricks on me.

I rolled over and reached into the drawer of my bedside table. Gently, I pulled out the porcelain doll that I had owned all of my life. Though her hair was knotted and her dress fringed and dirty, these were all stains of love. Though I was nearly a full-grown woman, I embraced my doll tightly. My arms were much longer now and my torso longer, but somehow the itchy lace and smooth porcelain against my skin still felt the same as it did when I was a little girl. Clinging to my toy, I finally fell back asleep and did not wake again until morning.