'Everything must be endured anew,' Mama remarked to Elizabeth and Marianna as she swept into the wood paneled entrance hall with her pugs and spaniels all tumbling and wriggling excitedly at her heels, meaning I suppose that she must get on with life and that each thing she does without Papa is its own little milestone. I think again of Johanna the Mad and shudder. It could always be worse.
I am glad though as I was scared that we would never come to Laxenburg again and that would have been a shame as it is so lovely here. Our rooms are high up in the building and my bedroom here has a pretty trompe l'oeil fresco of lattice work, trees, flowers and birds painted all around the walls so that I can lie in bed at night and imagine that I am in the most wonderful garden. My room was decorated as a special treat when I was much younger and recovering from the smallpox. Mama has since offered to have it redecorated in a more 'grown up' style but I refuse to allow it because I still love my garden room and have beautiful dreams whenever I sleep in it.
I wish that Papa were here though. I remember him teaching me how to ride in the park here at Laxenburg. He himself led me by the bridle until I was proficient enough to be allowed to ride alone at his side on my little white pony. How I loved those crisp, sweetly scented Summer mornings spent trotting slowly underneath the trees of the Laxenburg forest beside my dearest Papa.
Tuesday, 5th August, I am supposed to be working on my French.
Leopold's wife is already expecting a baby! I am going to be an aunt again, which is rather thrilling.
Joseph was rather less impressed by the news and looked like he was going to be sick. In the end he went for a very long walk in the rain instead and came back looking very grumpy and with a ruined hat.
I feel sorry for Josephina, who looks even more pale and unhappy now, if such a thing is possible.
Wednesday, 13th August.
Carolina's birthday. We were all extremely jealous of the exquisitely dressed doll that arrived all the way from her godfather in France. A tiny note in her pink silk reticule informed us that she is dressed exactly like one of the Queen's ladies in waiting at Versailles. Carolina considers herself to be too old for dolls now but even she was rendered speechless as she stared at the doll's magnificence and it now has pride of place in her bedroom.
I came upon Mama and Josephina walking together in one of the arbours in the gardens and immediately sprang back and pressed myself against the hedge so that I would not be seen by either of them. It is not my practice to eavesdrop on my family – I leave that sort of thing to Carolina, who seems to be more adept at it than I and never seems to get caught.
'I try and try but nothing happens,' Josephina was saying. It sounded like she had been crying. 'He does not wish to be near me. I have given up all hope.'
'Try harder,' came Mama's voice, sounding colder than I had ever heard her before. 'Joseph must have a son. Austria must have an heir. The empire must have a heir.'
'It is not my fault!' Poor Josephina sounded quite distraught. 'I am trying my best so it cannot be my fault.'
'There is the Archduchess Theresia,' Mama pointed out, and I heard her black silk skirts swish angrily as she spoke. 'It cannot be Joseph's fault as he has already fathered one child and we have no such problems in our family. Therefore the blame must lie with you.'
Josephina began to noisily cry and I could not bear to hear any more, so I silently tiptoed back the way that I had come.
Monday, 15th September, a rainy evening.
It was I who put salt in the Countess Brandeis' hot chocolate. I am very sorry.
Sunday, 2nd November, the Hofburg.
Happy birthday to me. I am now eleven years old which amounts to four thousand and eighteen days or five hundred and forty two weeks. Imagine that. Five hundred and forty two weeks of being me. How very dull.
No beautiful dolls for me from my godfather, the King of Portugal, only an illustrated book of psalms. I wish that Carolina and I could swap. Not that she would rather have a book of psalms, you understand.
Sunday, 30th November, St Andrew's night and the first Sunday of Advent.
Christmas has come so quickly this year, I can hardly believe that it is here again.
Tonight, after dinner, Josepha lit the first candle on the Adventkrantz and we all sang carols again as outside the snow swirled through the air and settled on the stone windowsills. Joseph was in a very good mood and made us all a special spiced punch, which made me feel very warm inside and rather jolly. I danced with Ferdinand and Maximilian and also with one of the Swiss guards while Joseph took Josepha's hands and spun her, laughing madly, around the room while the footmen and ladies in waiting all laughed and clapped their hands.
I asked the Christkindl for a puppy and also that Amalia be allowed to marry Karl.
One of Carolina's maids, Klara offered to share some of the special fortune telling rituals from her village with us. I was wary at first, remembering what a disaster St Thomas' Eve was but Amalia was enthusiastic about the idea and promised that if it was as horrible as last time she would put a stop to it.
'Although, you do know that it is all just harmless fun don't you, Antonia?' she asked, looking unusually serious just for a moment. 'It doesn't mean anything at all.'
I tried to shrug nonchalantly. 'Oh, I know that. Yes.'
In the end it wasn't so bad although Josepha decided not to take part. Klara had told Carolina to write as many male names as she could think of on pieces of paper and then place them carefully around the edges of a bowl of water, which had a candle stump floating in it. 'The first name to start to burn will be the name of your future husband,' she said with a wide grin. 'It never fails.'
Amalia went first and we all watched with bated breath as the candle bobbed around the bowl, looking at one moment as though it would burn a piece of paper before suddenly floating away again until finally it singed the very edge of one of them.
Amalia fished it out. 'Urgh, Ferdinand! I hope he isn't as annoying as our brother, Ferdinand!'
Carolina was next: 'Oh drat, Ferdinand again! Maybe it is the same one and we will end up sharing him?' she joked to Amalia, who burst out laughing.
'I do not think that Catholic princes are in such short supply as all that!' she said. 'Mama would be quite undone if that was the case.'
I went up to the bowl and watched as the candle floated this way and that, illuminating the names on the pieces of paper: Henry, Rupert, Fritz, Karl, George, Ludwig, Maximilian, Wolfgang, Augustus, Joseph. 'Oh, please let me not get Wolfgang,' I silently prayed as I watched the candle come perilously close. I did not think I could bear any more teasing about poor Wolferl Mozart and his alleged fancy for me.
'Aha!' One of the pieces of paper began to slowly burn and Amalia swiftly plucked it out of the water and held it between her fingertips so that she could read it. 'Ludwig!' she announced with a flourish. 'Oh dear. I was hoping for Wolfgang.' She winked. 'Poor Wolferl will be quite heartbroken when he hears that you are not his little fiancée after all.'
Saturday, 20th December, I hate learning Italian verbs.
Snow! Amalia, Carolina and I all went sledging yesterday evening at Schönbrunn, which was just the most delightful thing imaginable. The gardens were lit up with hundreds of torches and the whole scene was quite magical as the light flickered across the yellow brick of the palace, the glittering, snow covered gardens and the icicle covered statues, which seemed to shiver and tremble in the torchlight. I wore my new fur lined blue velvet coat with matching gloves and big fur hat. One of Joseph's friends said that I looked just like a snow princess out of a fairy tale, which made me feel even more warm inside. Finally, some compliments!
Karl of Zweibrücken was there as well. He and Amalia skated together on the pond, while Joseph watched them with the most ferocious scowl on his face. He and Amalia had a row later on and are still not on speaking terms. She called him a 'bullying prig' and he went very red and looked like he wanted to slap her.
Poor Amalia. Her r
ooms are next to mine and I can hear her weeping. Perhaps I should go to her.
Chapter Three
1767
Thursday, 1st January, 1767, early in the morning, there is snow falling against the window.
I hope that this year will be better than the last.
Monday, 16th February, more snow.
There was a huge row between Joseph and Amalia after dinner tonight as we all sat together, sewing in the blue and white drawing room as Marianna read aloud to us. It exploded out of nowhere and she called him despotic and threatened to run away with Karl, to which he merely laughed as though her threats were just so much hot air and of no importance at all. I hate it when Joseph does that. It makes one feel so very stupid.
It did not help matters that Christina was present and very obviously with child. She already looks enormous, even though the baby is not due until May. Mama fussed over her a great deal, which was annoying. It is as if no one on earth has ever had a baby before. Honestly. One would think that Mama of all people would know better.
Carolina and I sang together after all of this, while Marianna accompanied us on the harpsichord and we were much applauded. They can say what they like about my grammar and spelling (and believe me they do) but Herr Gluck has taught me well and my singing is faultless. Perhaps I should run away as well and become an opera singer.
Saturday, 21st February.
Herr Gluck looked rather alarmed when I asked him if he thought I could become a professional opera singer.
Monday, 16th March, Schönbrunn, this is much better than reading some boring book.
The King of Spain's ambassador has made a formal offer for the hand of Josepha! She is to marry the King's son Ferdinand, who is the King of Naples. Mama is beside herself with happiness at this great coup and can hardly stop smiling and rubbing her plump, white hands together with glee.
Josepha is less happy and has been crying ever since being informed of her 'great good fortune' as Mama calls it. 'Naples is far away and I do not think I will ever see home again,' she said sadly as we sat together in the grass by Papa's menagerie, she was hugging her knees with her arms and hiding her wet face in the folds of her pink velvet skirt, while her little dog sat beside her with his head to one side, not understanding why his mistress was so sad. 'I do not want to marry someone that I have never even seen.'
'But you will be a Queen,' I pointed out, not really knowing what to say for the best. 'And you will be able to do whatever you like! Just think of that!' I could not help but be a little envious.
'There is no such thing as a free meal,' Josepha said miserably, wiping her cheeks with a lace edged kerchief. 'The King of Naples is said to be ugly and stupid and I am going to have to let him touch me and do whatever he likes in exchange for my freedom.'
'That doesn't sound very much like freedom to me.' I awkwardly hugged her and we fell silent, listening to the cawing of the huge, brightly coloured parrots as they flew around the trees in their enclosure. They too have the illusion but not the reality of liberty.
Monday, 23rd March.
While we were at our prayers just now, Carolina told me that Mama had originally offered Amalia to the King of Spain for his son but that the offer had been rejected because he considered Amalia to be too old. Ferdinand of Naples is six years her junior.
'Amalia will be furious if she finds out,' Carolina whispered as she crossed herself and then gracefully stood up, sighing as she rubbed the chill of the cold chapel stones from her knees. 'She is still talking about running away if they don't let her marry Karl.'
Wednesday, 15th April, pretending to work on my Italian again.
Mama called us all into the darkly gloomy black and crimson lacquer cabinet next to her bedchamber, which is always a terrible ordeal as she claims not to feel the slightest bit of cold and so likes to have all of her windows wide open with the red and gold silk curtains blowing wildly inwards, no matter what the season or weather. Amalia, Carolina and I all feel the cold terribly and so we always snatch up our fur lined cloaks and wrap ourselves up warmly when we are called into Mama's presence. We stood in a shivering huddle and listened in silence as Mama proudly announced that Josepha will be departing for Naples on the fifteenth of October. So soon. We can hardly believe that we have only a few months left before she leaves us, possibly forever. Princess brides never seem to go home again.
Josepha almost fainted and Joseph had to carry her to the drawing room next door, sit her down next to the huge white stove in the corner and fan her until she revived again.
Carolina and I looked in one of Joseph's huge leather bound map books to see where Naples is. It must be hundreds of thousands of miles away. Josepha will have to travel south through Austria and most of Italy to get there. She will be able to visit Leopold in Florence; he has taken up residence there with his ugly wife now that he has inherited Papa's title of Grand Duke of Tuscany.
'Poor Josepha,' Carolina whispered with a stricken look.
Thursday, 23rd April, after dinner.
Herr Van Meytens has started painting a new portrait of me, which is very tiresome indeed as it means having to sit still and look solemn, neither of which are activities that I much enjoy. Mama likes to fill her palaces with portraits of her children although Joseph says that there is hardly any point as we all look much the same, a remark that never fails to make Elizabeth slap him with her painted fan as of course she believes she is a cut above the rest of us. I privately agree with Joseph though – we all have the same big blue eyes, pink cheeks, pouting lips and high foreheads and really there isn't much difference between us.
Mama requested that I wear my very best dress for the painting and so I duly sit for hours at a time bedecked in heavy blue brocade and lace, with a pearl and lace choker around my throat and some rather pretty diamonds in my stiffly powdered and pomaded hair. There is an ermine cape as well, which I lean one stiff and aching arm on while relishing the luxurious softness of the fur.
When my sitting has finished, I slip from my pink velvet upholstered chair and go to have a look at the painting, which smells heavily and revoltingly of oil paints. Oddly, I look simultaneously awkward and coquettish, with a half smile on impossibly red lips and rather too much rouge. Only my hands show my age and are pink and chubby with extreme youth.
'You look charming, Antonia,' Carolina said with a squeeze of my arm. Meytens has just finished his portrait of her and she looks exactly the same as I do – pale and pouting in heavy blue brocade and lace. Carolina adores her portrait because, unlike me, she actually wants to look older than she really is.
'I do not look like myself at all,' I replied, frowning. 'I do not look like a child any more.' You would not guess from this portrait that I still like to play with dolls. I imagine that Mama will absolutely love it.
Sunday, 17th May, late.
A messenger arrived with the news that Christina's pains have begun! Mama was beside herself and immediately ordered that a carriage be prepared so that she can rush off to Pressburg to be at our sister's side.
Elizabeth is to go with her, which is she not happy about as she is not fond of sick beds and babies. I would happily have accompanied her, as I love babies, but I was not asked. I am too young probably.
Saturday, 23rd May.
Mama and Elizabeth have returned, both dressed in black and looking exhausted and so very sad. Christina's baby girl died after just one day and then Christina herself became very feverish and they thought that she would die as well. Mama sat at her bedside with Prince Albert for two whole days before finally Christina recognised them both and showed signs of recovery.
'It was truly terrible.' Elizabeth was still in shock, and barely touched the cup of reviving hot chocolate that Joseph brought to her with his own hands. 'I have never seen anyone look so very ill. We really thought that we were going to lose her.'
I reach out and take her hand, which is icy cold. 'I am sorry about the little baby,' I say. How horrible it must hav
e been for Christina to lose her little girl so soon after birth. I cannot stop crying when I think of it.
The Secret Diary of a Princess a novel of Marie Antoinette Page 5