Mama came out on to one of the Hofburg's stone balconies in order to watch us as we sped past in the snow and we saw that she had Monsieur de Dufort, the French ambassador with her. He looked very cold and uncomfortable and gave an embarrassed wave as we whizzed by. Poor man, Mama is forever parading us before him in the hopes that he will be overcome by our collective beauty. I know that he likes Amalia, because I have seen him staring at her across the table at court banquets and he always goes faintly red whenever she stops to talk to him. I am certain though that he disregards Carolina and me as mere children and does not admire us at all.
Friday, 15th January, I am late for a harp lesson but I have to write this down before I forget.
It is all around the court that when Amalia, Carolina and I went past in our sledge yesterday, Mama nudged Monsieur de Durfort and said: 'There goes the little wife'. Meaning ME.
Durfort did not reply but who cares? Mama intends that I shall be the one to go to Versailles and Mama's word is law throughout Europe. Yes, even in France.
Carolina looked very sour indeed when I told her about this. Even though she is now promised to Naples, I think that secretly she hopes that King Louis will intercede and demand that she be sent to Versailles instead.
'After all, I am his goddaughter!' she reminded Amalia and me with a pout. 'I think it is very odd that he did not ask for me first.'
'Let us not forget that he has not asked for either of you,' Amalia replied with a laugh, pinching Carolina's rosy cheek.
Friday, 22nd January, late.
It snowed heavily today and I spent most of the afternoon sitting by my bedroom window, pretending to read but all of the time watching the fat white flakes spiraling lazily through the air and then settling on to the paved courtyard below.
Carolina has a cold, probably caught while we were ice skating at Schönbrunn last week, and so spent the day huddled beside the blazing fire in my bedroom, snuffling and coughing with a soft red blanket around her shoulders, a woolen cap on her head and thick socks on her feet. She looked ridiculous but I had not the heart to mock her even if she did annoy me by asking me to come away from the window every few minutes for fear that I would catch a cold as well. Such nonsense!
Thursday, 28th January.
I have a cold. It is not pleasant. Carolina has given me her wool hat and thick socks.
Sunday, 7th February, I do not like learning French, it makes my head hurt.
Two months now until Carolina goes away to Naples. She tells me daily that she will not go and that they can't make her and that she will run away and never be seen again but in front of Mama and Joseph she is meekness and compliancy personified with her downcast eyes, her pretty blushes and her 'yes Mama, no Mama'. I wish that she could tell them what is truly in her heart and have them listen. It will never happen of course; they need this alliance with Naples and Italy and so Carolina must obey them without question.
Obedience is not something that comes easily to my sister though.
The only consolation is that Carolina has not yet had time to fall in love with someone else, unlike Amalia.
Wednesday, 17th February, Ash Wednesday.
The Easter fast has begun again and everyone at court went to Mass this morning to be marked on the forehead with dark ash crosses, even Monsieur de Durfort who looks very embarrassed as usual and like he wishes he could rub it off with the back of his cloth of silver sleeve.
'Anyone would think he comes from a Protestant country and not France,' Carolina whispered to me as we watched the French ambassador examining himself nervously in one of the huge, gilded mirrors in the drawing room and delicately touching the dark cross on his forehead. 'I have heard that they are not as God fearing as they could be and are virtually atheists thanks to all of their wicked philosophers.' She grinned and nudged me. 'Mama will expect you to change all of that when you are their Queen.'
Thursday, 3rd March, evening. I am waiting to be called to dinner.
There was enormous excitement today in the schoolroom when Monsieur de Durfort himself came to pay us a visit. I had no idea that he was expected until I heard Countess Lerchenfeld's page announce him and looked up from my French translation to see him standing in the doorway, looking very red faced and ill at ease in a crimson velvet suit with silver lacings. It was not an appealing sight.
'Monsieur le Marquis!' The Countess was all smiles as she stepped forward to greet him but I could tell from the flush on her normally pale cheeks that all was not well. Could it have been that the Marquis was not expected at all? No, that was impossible. Ah wait, I looked down at my ink stained French book with all of its dozens of crossings out and corrections. Of course. He was too early. They could not possibly have wanted him to see for himself how terrible I am at French; it was likely that he was actually supposed to arrive twenty minutes later while I was safely ensconced in a harp lesson and could be counted upon to show off my talents, as I really am very good at playing the harp. Imagine the horror if he were to report back to Versailles just how much of a dunce I actually am. No, that would never do.
'Am I too early?' Monsieur de Durfort was pulling at his high muslin cravat, which was embroidered with tiny silver stars and moons and looking around for an escape route. 'I can always come back some other time.' He glanced briefly at my book and his eyebrows rose a little. 'Is the Archduchess in the middle of a lesson?'
The Countess hesitated for a moment then gave a titter, which sounded false even to my ears and clearly deceived no one as Durfort was still staring at her with one raised eyebrow. 'Not at all, Monsieur le Marquis! Madame l'Archiduchesse is occupying her time before her harp lesson by correcting the work of her younger brother, Monsieur l'Archduc Maximilian. He is a very clumsy writer, as you can see.' Quick as a flash, she whisked the offending book away, while I hid my tell tale ink stained fingers beneath the table.
After he had gone, she sank down into her chair and began to fan herself with an Italian work book. 'You and your marriage will be the death of me,' she said with a glare.
Saturday, 12th March, late.
Monsieur de Durfort told Mama that I am very pretty but 'not pretty enough for Versailles'. My forehead is too high, my hair is too untidy, my teeth are too crooked, my dresses are not elegant enough and my French is too bad. Mama is reportedly furious with him, with my tutors and with me, or so Carolina said when she came to my room earlier to report all of this.
'She called Joseph to her rooms for a meeting about what is to be done,' Carolina whispered, her huge, blue eyes sparkling with excitement. I was already in bed and she climbed in beside me for warmth as I instinctively moved my toasty warm feet away from her freezing ones. 'Do you remember Wolferl Mozart telling us how ugly all of the French princesses are? Maybe that wasn't true after all?'
I considered this beneath my dignity and ignored it. 'Maybe they will get rid of the Countess Lerchenfeld!' I suggested hopefully, sitting up and hugging my knees underneath the heavy blue coverlet. I was hurt, of course, by Monsieur de Durfort's harsh words but my first concerns were more immediate.
Carolina shook her head. 'Oh, I heard Mama say that it was all the Countess Brandeis' fault for being so lenient with you in the past and that she should have put Lerchenfeld in charge long ago.'
'What then?' I felt cold and scared. 'Will the match with France be called off?'
Again, Carolina shook her head. 'No, never. Mama would rather die than lose the Dauphin as a son in law so calling off the match is just not an option.' She slipped from the bed and went to the door. 'At the very least you should get some new dresses out of this.'
And at the very worst?
Sunday, 3 April, Easter Day, Schönbrunn.
The Easter fast is finally over. We all went to church this morning to hear Mass and then returned to a special luncheon buffet of delicious treats, including all of the things that we have been missing the most. The first cake after the fast is over is always the most exquisite and Amalia and I grinned a
t each other as we drank delicious hot chocolate and filled our plates with spiced cinnamon biscuits, vanillekipferl and lovely little cakes.
'We will soon be as fat as grandmama was,' she whispered to me and I laughed. In her youth, our grandmother, the Empress Elisabeth, had been a famous beauty with chestnut hair and bright blue eyes but in later life, a reported over fondness for cakes, rich cheese sauces and marzipan chocolates had made her quite fat to the unconcealed dismay of her husband. I wished that I might have known her but she died before I was even born.
Tonight there is to be a grand banquet to mark the end of the fast and the beginning of Carolina's wedding festivities. The palace has been filled with frantic activity all day long, while the most mouthwatering aromas float up from the kitchens. Max is a great favourite with the royal cooks and crept down there earlier on with Ferdinand to steal some almond tarts and have a snoop around. They reported back that there are to be mountains of cakes and sweets and biscuits and ices in all sorts of flavours.
'I can hardly wait!' he cried, dancing around Amalia's cosy sitting room, where we were all sitting together after luncheon. 'I wonder when it will be my turn to get married and go away?' He fell against a table and knocked a beautiful blue porcelain vase to the floor, where it rolled underneath one of her black lacquered cabinets.
Amalia rolled her eyes. 'Soon, I hope.'
Monday, 4th April, early morning, I have just returned.
I feel fat and rather sick. The banquet was wonderful and I do not think that I have ever eaten so much in all of my life. Joseph gave me champagne. I do not think I like it very much but it made me feel happy and light headed in quite a pleasant way.
Carolina sat at the centre of the most important table, splendidly dressed in gold spangled pink silk and looking very small and pale and unhappy throughout. Amalia and I tried to make her laugh by flicking hard little bread pellets at her but to no avail. Even Joseph failed to make her laugh. Mama simply pretended not to notice and busied herself instead with the food, which was delicious and richly spiced, just as she likes it.
Ooh la la! The desserts! There was an immense cake decorated with gold marzipan cherubs, orange blossom flowers and the painted arms of Austria and Naples. Carolina looked as though she was about to burst into tears when a group of six tall page boys carried it out and placed it on a special table in the centre of the room before Joseph led her out in front of everyone and offered her his own ceremonial sword to cut it with.
'Just like a real bride,' I heard Elizabeth whisper with a titter behind her glittering fan to Amalia, who immediately shushed her.
Afterwards, Amalia and I went to the nursery to take our niece Theresia, who is too small to go to the state banquets, a plate of cakes and marzipan chocolates. I still fondly remember Amalia and Josepha doing the same for Carolina and me, when we were too young to be included in anything fun and it makes me feel very grown up to be the one who dispenses treats now.
'And one day you must do the same for a daughter of mine,' I made Theresia promise before giving her a kiss and a hug.
I had better go to bed as there is to be a ball tonight and I want to look my very best.
Monday, 4th April, later on.
I have had some sleep and feel considerably refreshed. My maid is just filling a bath tub that has been drawn close to the fire for my comfort, there is rose oil and rose petals to make the steaming water fragrant and also a special lily scented soap all the way from Paris to wash with. My beautiful new blue silk gown is laid out on the bed in readiness, I have lovely new shoes with real diamonds on the buckles and Amalia's own hairdresser will be along later to put my hair up. I am so excited! It seems like so long since we had a proper ball here at Schönbrunn.
Everyone is in a fever of anticipation and the corridors, staircases and reception rooms are filled with swarms of liveried servants carrying orange trees from room to room, moving chairs, hanging floral garlands from the ceilings and preparing the thousands of candles that are required to light the long white, gold and crystal ball great gallery.
Tuesday, 5th April, late, I am so tired.
It was exactly as a ball should be. Amalia came to my rooms beforehand and together we went down the grand staircase, which was lined with dozens of fragrant orange trees, all standing proudly in their own glimmering, polished silver tubs. Amalia looked very beautiful in violet silk, heavily embroidered with gold and sprinkled with diamonds and I think that I looked my very best as well. Even Monsieur de Durfort looked appreciative as he bent over my proffered hand. It would be very easy for me to hate him for his unflattering remarks but even I can see that it would be most unwise to alienate a man upon whom my marriage depends. There will be time enough later on to resent him. Not pretty enough for Versailles indeed! I will show you, Durfort.
'You look quite delicious tonight, little Antonia,' Joseph whispered to me as Amalia and I walked, arm in arm, into the gallery. He took me by the hand and turned me so that I could see myself reflected in one of the huge, precious mirrors that line the room. I saw a very small, pretty girl in a pale blue silk dress with powdered hair, shining blue eyes and a rosy flush on her otherwise pale cheeks. 'You are adorable!' He fondly tweaked the ruffled blue silk ribbon around my neck, which matched my dress and dropped a kiss upon my hand.
'Our little sister is going to surpass us all soon,' Amalia agreed with him, smiling at me fondly. 'I should be quite chagrined at the prospect of losing all of my suitors to her.' She took my hand and unfurled her enormous ostrich feather fan, which had been dyed to match her dress. 'Come, let us go and slay hearts.'
Joseph reached out and placed a warning hand on Amalia's arm. 'Sister...'
A look passed between them and after a moment Amalia unwillingly nodded her head. 'Do not worry; I won't do anything to embarrass you.' We swept away into the gallery, passing through the great crowd of people that had gathered there in gorgeous new clothes and their finest diamonds. The air was heavy with the rich, voluptuous scents of hair powder, musky perfumes and the violet pastilles that almost everyone chews in order to sweeten their breath. I knew these people well, had seen them almost every day of my life and yet they all looked quite alien to me at that moment as their kohl rimmed eyes stared at Amalia and myself and they moved back and curtseyed to let us through, their brightly coloured silk and brocade skirts rustling and their high heels tip tapping on the polished wooden parquet floor, which still smelt faintly of beeswax and lavender.
'It is the youngest girl,' I heard them whisper to each other behind their painted and gilded fans, as I pretended not to hear. 'The one who is to be Dauphine. How pretty she is.'
Amalia turned her head and gave me a slight smile. 'Awful isn't it?' she mouthed with an understanding wink. 'Oh la la, how they all like to stare.' She led me up to the carpeted dais at the far end where Mama, dressed in her customary heavy black taffeta sat with Marianna, Elizabeth, Christina and Carolina, all of whom were dressed in thickly embroidered cloth of gold and silver and blazing with Imperial diamonds. 'You both look very fine,' Mama said with an approving nod after she had looked us both up and down. 'I am pleased.' She looked directly at me. 'Maria Antonia, you will dance the second cotillion with Monsieur du Durfort. Please be on your best behaviour.'
I curtseyed and looked past her to Carolina, who looked very stiff, unhappy and young in her gorgeous white and gold dress, which had an enormous panniered skirt and a diamond and pearl encrusted stomacher. It was odd to be looking up at her in her seat of honour in between Mama and Christina on the dais, when once she would have been standing right next to me, giggling, skipping from foot to foot and wondering aloud where all the young men were.
'Carolina does not look very happy,' I whispered to Amalia as we made our way back down the gallery, bowing and curtseying to all of the dozens of courtiers as once again they parted to let us through. In the distance I could see Karl standing beside the door and watching us over the heads of the crowd, his eyes fixed on the lovely
face of my sister.
Amalia sighed and shrugged. 'Marriage does seem to be a rather depressing business,' she said, fanning herself and curtseying to an elderly Duchess. 'I expect that she will perk up once the deed is done.'
'Do you really think so, Amalia?' I asked, accepting a glass of punch from a passing footman.
The Secret Diary of a Princess a novel of Marie Antoinette Page 8