Je T'aime.

XI. The Rosary

Wearing a bland wool charcoal gray skirt and Brunswick coat, I exited my room and headed down the stairs. I had a determination to go to a place where I knew I could find solace. In these simple clothes, I hoped to abandon my role as an archduchess for just an hour or so. Hoping not to be noticed, I sneaked out of the palace and headed towards the stables. It was a chilly autumn morning, and a heavy fog laid over the ground. Overnight rain had left puddles over the cobblestones. With the hood of my coat pulled over my head, I entered the royal stable.

The place reeked of waterlogged hay and wet horses. Rainwater dipped off of the edge of the building. From his stall in the very corner, Gladiator whinnied and kicked at the dirt. "Hey, boy," I said to him. "You and I have a special mission. Come on," I led him out of his stall and began to dress him for a ride. With a heave, I lifted the blandest saddle I could find onto him. It was still made of a brilliant leather, as appropriate for a horse of the imperial stable, but it was conservative enough for me and my mission. I struggled to get myself into the saddle gracefully. I wrapped my arms around Gladiator's neck and awkwardly slung myself into the saddle. "Jesus. This is much easier with an equerry to help me," But finally, I was up and mounted.

I rode out of the stable with my head low and my hood pulled up, trying my best to keep a low profile. To my great surprise, with a noble nod, the guards let me through the front gates! From there, I ventured out into Vienna. Riding atop my brilliant white gelding, I observed the slowly waking city. Pigeons marched on the streets, plucking crumbs from the ground and fluttering away from Gladiator's hooves. The streets were filled with carriages and carts. Crowds began to form, dodging piles of manure as they made their way to their destination. Dogs barked and children chased each other around noble statues of long-dead kings. The whole place had a brownish-gray haze, and the air smelled heavily of smoke. I had often travelled on this road before on the way to the royal winter residence, Hofburg Palace, but I had always been enclosed in a carriage. Now I was out in the open, the wind rustling my skirt atop my own horse. The sounds of shouting, laughing, clanging metal and clacking hooves echoed off of the tan and off-white buildings, which were streaked with the black remnants of soot. Standing tall and mighty was the massive spire of St. Stephen's Cathedral, sending the clanging tune of its church bells ringing throughout the city.

As I glanced over to my left, I saw the grand bronze statue of a man in Roman garb on a rearing stallion. He and his steed were decorated in laurels, perched on a podium of rich granite. On his outstretched finger rested a bird, who immediately defecated, landing with a splat of the imperial stallion's raised hoof. The pedestal boldly read CAROLUS VI, paying homage to the king it presented, the god among men that the artist had represented. To the common people he was a distant figure, a man whose face was only hastily drawn in the newspaper, or horribly portrayed in a political cartoon. And here he was in the town square, overlooking the life that he never experienced. Coated in the regalia of Caesar, he was nothing more than a character to these people. But to me, a cloaked girl riding past him on a white gelding, he was more than just a storybook prince. The common Viennese on the streets would have never guessed it, but the girl in the gray Brunswick coat was his granddaughter.

Though he died two years before I was born, I always had a draw to my mother's father. Every time I climbed the stairs to go to my chamber, I saw his portrait. He overlooked me every morning and every evening through every stage of my life- from baby dresses to frocks, riding habits and court gowns. In the beams of day and the glowing candles of night, he gave me a still, regal glance from his form made completely of brush strokes. Suddenly I realized that my lingering could draw attention to me. An Archduchess alone in Vienna could be a dangerous game. I took one last glance at my noble grandfather before continuing my journey through the city.

As I rode on the roads became narrower and narrower, and the general population drew closer to me. It was strange- for all of my eighteen years of living I had been within a carriage, the crowds struggling to catch a glance of my siblings and I. But now they paid me no mind. Gladiator's hooves splashed puddles of brown stagnant water, dirtying his white ankles. From an upper window, a housewife carelessly tossed out her chamber pot, nearly emptying it over my horse and I. Oh, if she only knew who I was! I kept my anger under control and silently rode onwards.