The Secret Diary of a Princess a novel of Marie Antoinette

by Clegg, Melanie

  'All I think is that it would be better if you were to hide your precious feelings a bit better in front of the French ambassador,' she snapped with a look of sheer exasperation. 'He already thinks that you are too immature to be sent to France, don't make him think that you are an ill bred hoyden as well.'

  Monday, 25th April.

  I am sitting for yet another portrait, which is very tiresome. Mama is seemingly addicted to commissioning portraits of myself and my sisters; either because she is proud of her own fecundity or because she wants to show off about how good looking we all are. Each one of us has been painted, sketched or engraved several dozen times over and our portraits, all looking almost exactly the same and all looking equally pretty and simpering with bright blue eyes, rosy cheeks and flaxen, powdered curls are proudly displayed in each of the Imperial palaces.

  In this latest portrait I am wearing a blue velvet dress trimmed with lovely lace, sable and pearls. I posed with the spinet in the porcelain room, which is one of Mama's favourite rooms in the Schönbrunn as it was designed by poor dead Isabella and is decorated with hundreds of lovely pale blue drawings, all done by myself (Countess Brandeis drew mine in pencil and then allowed me to paint over it in ink, which I think almost counts as my own work) and my sisters and brothers. It hurt my arms to sit for so long with one hand poised in the act of turning the sheet of music and the other fluttering just above the keys but in the end I complained so much that Herr Wagenschoen, the artist, sighed and decided to use one of his models instead for the hands.

  Thursday, 12th May, late.

  An eventful day. The court dentist has always come to visit my sisters and me every Thursday to check our teeth and do any cleaning that needs to be done (Carolina hated this as she was always too lazy to clean her teeth herself and so the dentist would insist on scrubbing her teeth himself with a rough brush and powder, tutting as he did so) and, not very often thankfully, remove any teeth that were causing discomfort. I do not like his visits but am accustomed to them now, so they do not trouble me as much now as they did when I was younger and more nervous.

  Today, however, Joseph was waiting for me there with a new French dentist who bowed very low and then politely requested to be allowed to see 'Madame l'Archiduchesse's' teeth. He had a silly wig and smelled strongly of roses and cloves, which was pleasant at first but then began to give me a headache as he stood behind me and poked and prodded inside my mouth for about ten minutes before announcing that my teeth were of acceptable quality but lamentably crooked.

  'What is to be done?' Joseph asked with a frown. Who would have thought that my teeth would be cause of so much fuss? 'Can they be straightened?'

  The dentist grinned and bowed. 'But of course! I trained with the great dentist, Pierre Fauchard himself and so am entirely proficient with the employment of a brace on the teeth.' He opened a small wooden box and produced a strange contraption made of metal and silk threads. 'It looks entirely insignificant, does it not, but this device, invented by Monsieur Fauchard himself, will straighten Madame l'Archiduchesse's teeth in a matter of months.'

  I stared in horror at the ugly brace as he excitedly waved it around. 'You expect me to put that thing in my mouth?' I asked, casting an imploring look at Joseph. 'Will I have to wear it all the time? Won't I look very ugly?'

  'Better now than later on when you are seen more in public,' Joseph said with a shrug. 'Just try not to smile at Monsieur de Durfort.'

  Saturday, 14th May.

  I do not like Monsieur Fauchard's brace, it is cold and uncomfortable and tastes horribly metallic, like blood.

  'Oh dear!' Amalia laughed when I visited her after my consultation with the dentist. 'You had better just smile at me and get it over and done with!' She smiled down at Max, who was sitting beside her on her pink silk sofa and sleepily pulling the silken ears of her spaniel, Coco, while at their feet Ferdinand sat, engrossed in a book. 'We are not afraid are we, little brother?'

  'No,' Max shook himself awake, yawned widely and grinned at me. 'Show us, Antonia! Is it very horrible? Does it make you look like a monster? Will the French prince refuse to marry you now?'

  'What a very strange boy you are,' Amalia said to him fondly, ruffling his untidy ash blonde hair and then tutting as she encountered a stray tangle. 'Oh, Max, I do wish you would let someone cut your hair.'

  Max pulled a face. 'No, shan't.' He then gave the matter some consideration. 'Not unless Antonia shows us her brace.'

  I felt like crying as they both turned their merry faces towards me. 'Oh no, please don't make me smile. It is too hideous.' I pinched my lips closer together. 'You have no idea.'

  'Oh come now,' my sister coaxed, jumping up with a rustle of her yellow silk skirts and putting an arm around me. 'It cannot be so bad as all that.'

  'It is every bit as bad,' I muttered, trying not to cry. 'No one will ever want to marry me if I have to wear this horrible thing on my teeth for months and months.' I imagined myself growing old in Vienna, watching enviously as each of my sisters and then my nieces made brilliant matches while I was left at home, alone and unloved until finally they packed me off to a convent somewhere to die without ever having been so much as kissed. Oh, the angst.

  Amalia laughed then, probably accurately guessing the melancholy turn that my thoughts had taken. 'Oh dear, what a dreadful fate! How fortunate therefore that no one other than the King of France cares about the teeth of princesses!' She fell back on to the sofa again and hugged Max. 'I wonder what sort of man he is,' she mused with a sparkle in her bright blue eyes. 'To be so obsessed with hairstyles, dresses and teeth. What do you think, Max?'

  Max wrinkled his nose. 'I think that he must be very silly,' he pronounced. 'Princesses are never as pretty as they are in stories.' He lifted up the spaniel and kissed its damp nose. 'Isn't that right, Coco?'

  Amalia tapped him on the arm with her fan. 'Ungallant, Max!' she exclaimed with a laugh. 'And what about your own sisters?'

  Ferdinand looked up then from his book and fixed us both with a stern look. 'You don't count,' he muttered ungraciously while Amalia and I exchanged a look and burst out laughing.

  Monday, 6th June, I am late for dinner.

  I had a delightful surprise today when I went to the schoolroom for my usual lessons. Mama has hired two French actors to teach me French. How delightful is that? Their names are Monsieur Aufresne and Monsieur Sainville and they are both utterly charming. They are handsome of course, smell of crushed rose petals, violet and cinnamon, have beautiful powdered and curled snowy white wigs and wear gorgeous silk suits in green and pink and purple with silver stripes. They are so polite and pay me lots of compliments, even when I get things wrong, which they both profess to find even prettier than when I manage to say something perfectly.

  'This is no way to teach the Archduchess,' the Countess sniffed disapprovingly from behind her desk, when Monsieur Aufresne clapped his hands and exclaimed that my mispronunciation of 'aujourd'hui' was quite the most exquisite thing that he had ever heard. 'She will never learn anything if you insist on praising her mistakes.'

  Monsieur Sainville winked at me and I had to pretend to cough in order to hide my giggles.

  Monday, 13th June, St Anthony's day, my name day.

  I am so tired but am determined to stay awake for long enough to write all of this down before I fall asleep. Today was my name day, and I think that it was my best yet. My maids dressed me in a lovely new dress of light white silk printed all over with a pink, blue and yellow floral pattern and I had breakfast in Papa's airy, green painted pavilion in the middle of the menagerie, with Mama, Joseph and Amalia which was delightful as always, especially as Joseph took me to feed apples to the elephants and giraffes afterwards. I always giggle when the elephants use their grey, wrinkled trunks to snort the fruit from the palm of my hand and then toss it into their huge mouths.

  Afterwards, we returned to the palace and Mama made me sit beside her in the gold and blue drawing room while I opened my present
s: a glorious diamond necklace from Mama, a triple string of pearls with an opal clasp from Joseph, opal earrings from Christina, a pearl bracelet fastened with a ruby clasp from Amalia, an emerald ring from Marianna, a set of diamond hair combs from Elizabeth and a beautiful doll from my brothers and Theresia. Carolina sent a pair of diamond bracelets and a long letter, which I saved until I was alone in my room.

  Monsieur de Durfort arrived later to pay his respects and was followed by a small page who struggled beneath an enormous basket of fruit and another who proudly carried a small inlaid and highly polished box on a pink velvet cushion. 'My master, the King of France would like to present these tokens of his admiration and esteem,' Durfort announced with a great deal of flourish.

  I glanced quickly at Mama and saw that she was looking extremely pleased. 'Pray tell your master that I thank him very much,' I said in what I knew to be very faltering French. 'And I hope that I prove myself worthy of his esteem.' I saw Mama give a slight nod of approval and then eagerly reached out for the box. It opened to reveal a gorgeous diamond bracelet with a lovely cameo clasp, nestled on a soft bed of green velvet.

  'Oooh.' I lifted the bracelet out and immediately fastened it on my wrist. 'It is beautiful!' I smiled at Durfort, not caring if he saw my horrible brace or not. 'C'est trés belle. Merci beaucoup!' Everyone smiled and clapped as though I had said something very clever indeed, even Durfort who must have been very pained indeed by the combination of ugly brace and bad French.

  After this the entire court went in a grand procession to the Riding School by the Hofburg in Vienna, which is a huge building which looks incredibly grand inside, almost like a cathedral with huge, bright windows, white classical pillars and chandeliers hanging over the main arena, where the horses parade. Today, the ladies of the court rode around the arena in my honour, all wearing their finest dresses and jewels and smiling bravely as their beautiful horses delicately raised their hooves and cantered in unison. After this the professional riders entered and there was a display of the celebrated white Lippizan horses who did pas de deux, and performed various tricks to great applause from all of the court. My favourite tricks involve the rider not using stirrups and performing complicated caprioles, courbettes and levades before finally there is a Grand Quadrille when twelve riders bring their horses out and they ride them in a formation. How I would love to ride alongside them one day.

  'Thank you so much,' I whispered to Mama when it was all over and I even felt bold enough to slip my hand into hers. She looked down at me and smiled, giving my hand a squeeze.

  'Coming to see the horses perform was always my favourite treat when I was a little girl,' she said, still smiling as she remembered those happy times. 'I will always remember sitting beside my father and watching the horses do their tricks. He adored it here.' She gave my cheek a little pinch. 'I am sure you remember coming here as a little girl as well. How your father used to laugh to see you and Carolina bouncing on your seats, pretending to ride imaginary horses.'

  'I remember that as well!' I exclaimed, for once quite forgetting to be afraid of her. 'We used to daydream about the day when we would be allowed to ride our horses in the arena in front of all the court.' Mama said nothing but pulled me close and hugged me.

  Back at Schönnbrunn, my maids were waiting to help me out of my dress and into another, far more elaborate blue and silver brocade one, which had been specially made for that occasion. The new diamonds from Mama and the King of France's bracelet had been placed on my dressing table in readiness. I gingerly picked the bracelet up and then thoughtfully trickled it between my fingers as the maids tightened my blue silk corset and then laced the new dress over the top. I had never owned anything quite so lovely in all of my life and now suddenly I had been presented with what seemed to be a King's ransom of jewels. Or a trousseau. I stopped playing with the bracelet and stared at myself in the lace and ribbon bedecked dressing table mirror. Could it be that I am so close to being married?

  Thursday, 14th July, I am supposed to be in bed but am too excited to sleep.

  Monsieur le Duc de Choiseul's sister, the Duchesse de Gramont (what names these people have! They sound like cream puffs or delicious cakes) sent her own hairdresser all the way from Paris to Vienna to do my hair in a more becoming, more French way. He arrived today, Monsieur Larsenneur, a small man with a monkey face, pink taffeta coat and ingratiating manner. I did not like him at first and was unwilling to allow him to touch my hair but had to relent in the end and let him have his way, while Amalia and Elizabeth stood by and gossiped with their ladies in waiting. He started by staring at me for a while, with his little head on one side and a gleam in his eye. 'Ah, but la petite is careless of her beauty,' he whispered to me at last, in a very flirtatious manner that I did not really like and which made me feel hot and embarrassed. 'Do not look so nervous, belle chérie, I shall transform you from a gauche girl into a beautiful young woman.'

  'Just by doing my hair?' I could not help but laugh at him.

  Larsenneur looked hurt. 'But of course. A beautiful coiffure is everything nowadays! Did you not know that?' He lifted up one of my reddish blonde curls. 'Ah, but Mademoiselle has the most lovely strawberry blonde hair, comme une fraise. I had expected a blonde Viennese fräulein, not this.' He tutted as he looked through my hair. 'Do you not have maids to brush your hair? Why so many tangles?'

  I jerked my head away. 'I do not like to have my hair brushed,' I muttered. 'It is boring and hurts my head.'

  'Tsk, this will never do. A princesse does not have tangled hair like a... like a fille de ferme. It is not right!' He waved his silver handled comb in my face and looked really quite upset. 'From now on you must submit gracefully to having your hair brushed through no less than twice a day. A hundred strokes each time!' I must have looked appalled as he pinched my chin consolingly. 'Ah, but after only a very few days Mademoiselle will be rewarded with the most beautiful hair and be the envy of all who see her.' He raised his voice. 'Now, I must have gossip while I work! Someone tell me something scandalous! Do you have scandals in Vienna? I want to hear them all!'

  'Cover your ears, Antonia,' Amalia said with a laugh.

  It took a very long time and I was very weary and short tempered by the time Larsenneur had finished his work, but oh, it was so worth it. I stared at myself in the mirror for a very long time, unable to believe that the sophisticated little lady with powdered, carefully arranged hair staring back was me. 'Mademoiselle entered this room as a gauche, untidy schoolgirl and now, voila!' the little hairdresser crowed triumphantly as he tucked a final delicately blooming pink rose behind my ear. 'Mademoiselle, you are a beautiful princesse at last.'

  Amalia came forward and kissed my cheek. 'You look beautiful, Antonia,' she murmured with a smile. 'Quite exquisite and so grown up.'

  I gazed at myself, totally unable to speak. I had always seen myself as the youngest, least pretty and most insignificant of Mama's girls but now suddenly I believed that I too could be beautiful and important. I hope I never forget how I felt just at that moment: powerful.

  Wednesday, 20th July, I am supposed to be working on my Italian.

  Today it was the turn of the dressmakers. I spent several hours this morning being measured for what is to be a splendid collection of clothes. 'Mama is determined that you should look as exquisite as any of the French princesses,' Amalia said with a smile as she sat in a chair and watched while the dressmakers showed me swatch after swatch of silk, cotton, taffeta, brocade and velvet in all the colours imaginable, some striped, some spotted and some patterned with tiny stars, hearts, flowers and fruits.

  There was a milliner as well with the most gorgeous designs for bonnets and hats, a stocking maker who showed me delicious stripped and plain silk stockings, several shoe makers who measured my feet and then made me try on beautiful shoes, the colour of delicate Spring flowers with diamond buckles and ribbons at the heel.

  'I am sure that Monsieur de Durfort will appreciate all of the effort tha
t has been made to attract his approbation,' Amalia commented wryly as she picked up a sample of very fine Brussels lace and examined it against the light. 'Let us hope that he is suitably bedazzled by your transformation.'

  I smiled, lifting up my green silk skirts to admire a very lovely peach silk shoe, decorated with green velvet ribbons. 'I do not see how he could fail to be impressed.' I turned my ankle this way and that, thinking how pretty it all was and how lovely I would look from now on. What could the French possibly find to complain about now?

  Friday, 29th July, I should be in bed.