Photo Pest: Castello di Miramare

Fortune smiled. If the weather had been bad, I probably would have skipped Miramar Castle and missed one of the trip's highlights. A man on the bus told me to exit a stop later than my guidebook suggested so I could approach the modestly sized structure from below and experience the full effect of the manicured public park that surrounds it.

Built around the same time as Central Park but much smaller, it transplants an English garden to the Adriatic coast. Classical sculpture sprouts from marble pillars.

Its hard to believe the lush grounds were once nearly bare, with only indigenous shrubs and thorny bushes on a rocky spur of land.

Wrought iron trellises and umbrellas serve both decorative and functional purposes.

Greenhouses--which remain--were constructed on the site to nurture the trees and plants used in the landscaping.

Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian, the younger brother of Emperor Franz Josef, built the castle shortly after he became the commander-in-chief of the Imperial Austrian Navy and established Trieste as the major port in the landlocked mostly empire; the Archduke picked the site after taking shelter in the small harbor of Grignano, where I got off the bus, during a storm in the gulf.

The castle faces west with a narrow walkway around the perimeter overlooking the turquoise sea.

This modern statue looked kind of, well, horsey in context of the rest of the grounds.

While overseeing the castle's construction, Ferdinand Maximilian and his wife Charlotte of Belgium, whose dowry helped finance it, lived in the smaller Castelletto.

Shortly before the castle's completion, Ferdinand Maximillian made a fatal miscalculation: with the urging of his wife, he agreed to become Emperor Maximillian I of Mexico in an attempt by European powers to thwart the country's independence. He commissioned this portrait, far less famous than the one Manet painted of his execution by firing squad in 1867.

Charlotte, who became Empress Carlotta, fled Mexico shortly before her husband's killing to plead with Napoleon II and Pope Pius IX to rescue their fledgling monarchy from Mexican rebels led by Benito Juarez. When her pleas fell on deaf ears, her mental health deteriorated and Emperor Franz Josef, who had restored his brother's and sister-in-law's titles as arch duke and duchess in the belief that the Mexican rebels would not execute a member of the Austrian royal family, confined her to Miramare. She was not told of her husband's death but when the Belgian royals learned of it the queen schemed to have her sister-in-law returned to Brussels by persuading Franz Josef to release her and faking a telegram from her Maximilian urging her to go back to her family. Charlotte left Miramare for good in 1867 which means that both she and her husband spent much more time in the Castelletto than they did the castle.

None of this tragic history is apparent as you climb the staircase to their sumptuous living quarters.

Sure, it's over-the-top but I'd say in a tasteful way.

It was a bit of a shock to see my birthday in a display case but Googling didn't help to further identify Marie.

Seven thousand volumes comprise the library, including many books on botany and gardening.

I recognized the distinctive style of this Redouté illustration from an exhibition I publicized at the New York Public Library in the early '80s.

Dante Aligheri scowls from many busts throughout Italy.

Charlotte, picture here as a child, died in 1926 at the age 86, surviving her husband by nearly six decades, much of it spent in madness. Nevertheless, despite what appears to have been an unhappy marriage, she did everything in her limited power to keep the memory of Emperor Maximilian alive.

The marble sculpture gives the sunny parlor its name: The Saloon of Daedalus and Icarus, which seems almost prophetic in context.

Given Maximilian's violent end, blood red seems entirely appropriate for the royal bedroom.

After more than half a century of intermittent use by members of the Habsburg family (including Empress Elisabeth, better known as Sissi and no fool, who stayed in the castle 14 times), Miramar welcomed new occupants after World War I when Trieste became part of Italy. The Duke

. . . and Duchess of Amadeo.

Although World War II cut short their occupancy--the Duke, who was the commander of Italian forces in East Africa died after their defeat by the British in a Kenyan prisoner-of-war camp--the couple, who had two daughters, put their stamp on the furnishings, decorating the castle in the Rationalist style. The Duchess never remarried.

I wonder if the Duke got the call to become the Viceroy of Ethiopia in 1937, the position in Mussolini's fascist government that took him away from Miramar, on this phone?

In 1955, Miramare opened to the public, one of the few European castles with its original furnishings preserved. My ticket included admission to the stables, now a contemporary art museum.