Narrative Interlude #2: What dreams may come...
Narrative Interlude: What dreams may come…
“To die, to sleep – to sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come…”
Charles Albert could not help but repeating to himself those immortal words while he could not get himself to sleep. Villa Pindemonte, his son’s makeshift headquarters nearby Verona(1), was bursting with night activity, mainly couriers coming in and out, but this had nothing to do with his insomnia, which was about…everything. Goito. Goito. Goito. He had read the reports, listened avidly to the accounts of his son and heir, of his son-in-law, of the other officers, and yet… It had to be true: he had met with Radetzki, after all. But how did it come to happen? This question burned down deep within his soul. This question he had asked to his son, and not just one time, during their long afternoon meeting. Ferdinand, with his usual clarity of mind, had brilliantly explained his tactic, his gamble, his reasons, his plans for the future, but yet… He guessed that one must live some realities to grasp them, and not depend on someone else’s account. But aspects of this new reality were there for everyone to see. A king, one of those kings from the tales of ancient times, the kings whose touch could heal and whose sword could summon spring in the middle of winter, had taken his beloved son’s place. Was this what victors looked like? Or was this an after-effect of bravery? No, it could not be just that. In his own life, he had been a coward Regent and a brave soldier (2), and the latter had hardly made up for the former. Be as it may, the real problems lay ahead. What would come next? Ferdinand seemed to have clear goals in mind. Some he could agree with, some others he could barely understand, one or two were utterly alien. He sent several silent prayers to the Almighty, for guidance, for a sign. And then, as in answer to his prayers, a voice in his head started to whisper. “Abdicate… or not to abdicate, that is the question.”(3) He could feel a reproach in this whisper, but also see the truth in it. There was a kind of flash… and suddenly he was on a battlefield, sitting on his horse, impatient. Why were his orders not being carried out as swiftly as he wished? They needed to break the Austrian line! And then… the charge of the Carabinieri, and he with his general staff joining, victory shining in the faces of everyone, the Austrians retreating, breaking, fleeing, and then… he could hear himself saying “Enough for today.”(4) No, you fool! Dare! Pursue… Do not hesitate. But he would not listen to himself. Defeat after defeat, unavoidable abdication, a bitter departure for exile. He summoned his son and heir, but… Who was this young man? Short, slightly plump, a slightly vacuous yet ferocious expression in his eyes….This was not Ferdinand! Another flash, and suddenly fire broke out, consuming the man who said he was his son… Another shift, another change of place: it was a nursery now. A cradle, a healthy baby sleeping under the curtains, breathing regularly, peacefully. Charles Albert went to look at him. A handsome toddler, a boy, ripe with potential, full of expectations ,of happiness. He could be anything, become anything… And then the fire flared up, again. Charles Albert screamed, reaching for the boy, trying to save him. He grasped him with his left arm, and suddenly he felt pain. In his arm, in his chest… The smoke would not let him breathe. He went, looking for a door, but no door was to be found, nor a window. Filled with desperation, he sat on the floor, hugging the boy, trying to protect him from the heat, the flames, the smoke…. They were doomed. He had failed. He closed his eyes, kissing the child’s front. And then… A fresh touch on his left shoulder. A hand! He opened his eyes, and he saw Ferdinand in front of him, his usual shy half-smile on his face. Ferdinand touched his arm, and the pain eased. His arm… the child! The boy had disappeared. He was lost for words. Ferdinand took his hand and helped him to stand. Never before had they been so close. Silently, Ferdinand lead Charles Albert out of the room, through a door which had just appeared out of nowhere, and they were… Where? It looked like the Garden of Eden, or maybe the Arcadia of the ancient pagan poets. Beautiful trees, the greenest grass he had ever seen, the bluest sky on earth, birds singing. On and on would Ferdinand lead, until finally they reached a crossroad. From there, three roads would depart. “Where do we go, son?” he finally managed to ask. Smiling, Ferdinand would not respond: instead, he pointed to the middle road. Suddenly a lion roared not far away, but for some reason there was no threat, no challenge: it was a welcome, a greeting, a promise for the future. Everything became clear, all at once, and finally Charles Albert understood. Without further hesitation, he stepped on the middle road, murmuring “So be it”.
He woke up soaked in cold sweat, his arm and chest sore with pain. But he knew what to do now. He called for a doctor and his confessor. He prayed and confessed for over an hour, and only then called for his son. Ferdinand rushed to his side, worry evident on his face. Charles Albert asked him to kneel beside his bed. Ferdinand obeyed, a strange, knowing look in his eyes.
“Now rise, Ferdinand of House Savoy, Lieutenant of the Kingdom and Supreme Commander of the Army”.
Ferdinand arose, and stood at attention, before giving his father a crisp military salute and replying: “Obbedisco”. (5)
Footnotes
“To die, to sleep – to sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come…”
Charles Albert could not help but repeating to himself those immortal words while he could not get himself to sleep. Villa Pindemonte, his son’s makeshift headquarters nearby Verona(1), was bursting with night activity, mainly couriers coming in and out, but this had nothing to do with his insomnia, which was about…everything. Goito. Goito. Goito. He had read the reports, listened avidly to the accounts of his son and heir, of his son-in-law, of the other officers, and yet… It had to be true: he had met with Radetzki, after all. But how did it come to happen? This question burned down deep within his soul. This question he had asked to his son, and not just one time, during their long afternoon meeting. Ferdinand, with his usual clarity of mind, had brilliantly explained his tactic, his gamble, his reasons, his plans for the future, but yet… He guessed that one must live some realities to grasp them, and not depend on someone else’s account. But aspects of this new reality were there for everyone to see. A king, one of those kings from the tales of ancient times, the kings whose touch could heal and whose sword could summon spring in the middle of winter, had taken his beloved son’s place. Was this what victors looked like? Or was this an after-effect of bravery? No, it could not be just that. In his own life, he had been a coward Regent and a brave soldier (2), and the latter had hardly made up for the former. Be as it may, the real problems lay ahead. What would come next? Ferdinand seemed to have clear goals in mind. Some he could agree with, some others he could barely understand, one or two were utterly alien. He sent several silent prayers to the Almighty, for guidance, for a sign. And then, as in answer to his prayers, a voice in his head started to whisper. “Abdicate… or not to abdicate, that is the question.”(3) He could feel a reproach in this whisper, but also see the truth in it. There was a kind of flash… and suddenly he was on a battlefield, sitting on his horse, impatient. Why were his orders not being carried out as swiftly as he wished? They needed to break the Austrian line! And then… the charge of the Carabinieri, and he with his general staff joining, victory shining in the faces of everyone, the Austrians retreating, breaking, fleeing, and then… he could hear himself saying “Enough for today.”(4) No, you fool! Dare! Pursue… Do not hesitate. But he would not listen to himself. Defeat after defeat, unavoidable abdication, a bitter departure for exile. He summoned his son and heir, but… Who was this young man? Short, slightly plump, a slightly vacuous yet ferocious expression in his eyes….This was not Ferdinand! Another flash, and suddenly fire broke out, consuming the man who said he was his son… Another shift, another change of place: it was a nursery now. A cradle, a healthy baby sleeping under the curtains, breathing regularly, peacefully. Charles Albert went to look at him. A handsome toddler, a boy, ripe with potential, full of expectations ,of happiness. He could be anything, become anything… And then the fire flared up, again. Charles Albert screamed, reaching for the boy, trying to save him. He grasped him with his left arm, and suddenly he felt pain. In his arm, in his chest… The smoke would not let him breathe. He went, looking for a door, but no door was to be found, nor a window. Filled with desperation, he sat on the floor, hugging the boy, trying to protect him from the heat, the flames, the smoke…. They were doomed. He had failed. He closed his eyes, kissing the child’s front. And then… A fresh touch on his left shoulder. A hand! He opened his eyes, and he saw Ferdinand in front of him, his usual shy half-smile on his face. Ferdinand touched his arm, and the pain eased. His arm… the child! The boy had disappeared. He was lost for words. Ferdinand took his hand and helped him to stand. Never before had they been so close. Silently, Ferdinand lead Charles Albert out of the room, through a door which had just appeared out of nowhere, and they were… Where? It looked like the Garden of Eden, or maybe the Arcadia of the ancient pagan poets. Beautiful trees, the greenest grass he had ever seen, the bluest sky on earth, birds singing. On and on would Ferdinand lead, until finally they reached a crossroad. From there, three roads would depart. “Where do we go, son?” he finally managed to ask. Smiling, Ferdinand would not respond: instead, he pointed to the middle road. Suddenly a lion roared not far away, but for some reason there was no threat, no challenge: it was a welcome, a greeting, a promise for the future. Everything became clear, all at once, and finally Charles Albert understood. Without further hesitation, he stepped on the middle road, murmuring “So be it”.
He woke up soaked in cold sweat, his arm and chest sore with pain. But he knew what to do now. He called for a doctor and his confessor. He prayed and confessed for over an hour, and only then called for his son. Ferdinand rushed to his side, worry evident on his face. Charles Albert asked him to kneel beside his bed. Ferdinand obeyed, a strange, knowing look in his eyes.
“Now rise, Ferdinand of House Savoy, Lieutenant of the Kingdom and Supreme Commander of the Army”.
Ferdinand arose, and stood at attention, before giving his father a crisp military salute and replying: “Obbedisco”. (5)
Footnotes
- A beautiful residence in Isola della Scala, nearby Verona
- A reference to his courageous behavior at the battle of Trocadero in 1823
- Yes, we are taking the “Italian Hamlet” thing this far
- This part of the dream is a short account of OTL charge of Pastrengo, after which the charge of the Carabinieri and Henri in TTL Goito is modeled
- Wouldn’t be an Italian TL without this reference, would it?