The Secret Diary of a Princess a novel of Marie Antoinette

by Clegg, Melanie

  'My dearest one,

  Congratulations on attaining womanhood! It will come as no surprise to you that the commencement of your menses is the sole topic of conversation throughout Europe with all and sundry delighting in the happy news. I am sure that it is only a matter of time before a medal is struck to commemorate the event, featuring a very demure and toga clad you offering flowers and fruit to a statue of Hymen. I will be sure to send one to you if it ever comes to pass.

  Everything here is much the same as usual – it is snowing, my husband bores me and I long to be back in Vienna again. How are you all? Did you know that our own dear Max sent me a letter last week? Yes, I was shocked as well. It was the most illegible scrawl in which only the words 'dogs', 'snow' and 'shooting' could be discerned but I was exceedingly touched to receive it nonetheless. Do please give him a kiss from me and have one for yourself as well.

  Your loving sister in Parma.'

  Thursday, 1st March.

  How I detest Durfort. Horrible, nasty little man!

  There was a small card party in my mother’s rooms last night and Durfort was there in force, dressed to impress in black and silver taffeta and followed by at least a dozen bored looking pages in crimson satin, who lounged around the edges of the room yawning and whispering to each other in a most tiresome manner.

  I did my best to avoid him but he accosted me as I took a turn about the room with my sister Elizabeth and leered at me in a very familiar and rather repulsive manner after taking my shrinking hand in his sweaty paw and kissing it lingeringly.

  ‘Are these French manners then?’ I could not resist asking him, with an arch look.

  Durfort looked displeased and dabbed his upper lip with a musk drenched kerchief. ‘You shall find none better, your Highness.’ He looked about himself with undisguised disdain. ‘The manners here in Vienna are nothing to those which you will encounter at Versailles. This is the merest barnyard in comparison.’

  ‘Really, Monsieur?’ I could feel myself getting angrier by the moment and Elizabeth, recognising the angry flush that spread across my collarbones, placed a warning hand upon my arm. ‘I can assure you that there cannot possibly be any finer manners or people in all the world than those that you will encounter at my mother’s court.’ I looked him over with a curled lip, from the diamond encrusted shoes upon his feet to the absurdly over powdered violet hued wig upon his pate. ‘You think it some sort of game do you not, Monsieur, to insult me, my family and my country and to find us always sadly lacking in comparison to your beloved Versailles?’

  He looked flustered now, realising too late that he had blundered unforgiveably. ‘I seek only to educate you, your Highness, in what will await you upon your marriage. Things are very different at Versailles…’

  ‘Enough!’ I raised my voice rather more than I had intended to and saw my brother Joseph stop mid sentence and look over in concern. ‘I do not want to hear another word about Versailles! Enough, Monsieur!’

  ‘Is all well, sister?’ Joseph was at my shoulder now, looking with his habitual distaste at Durfort. ‘I do hope that nothing has distressed you.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Durfort cut in smoothly. ‘We were talking of France. I had just asked her Highness what she thought of the great king Henri IV, one of our most august monarchs.’

  ‘Hm.’ Joseph looked dubious. ‘And what do you think of him, Antoinette?’ He brushed an imaginary speck of snuff from his black velvet sleeve, clearly entirely disinterested in my response.

  I stared at them both in horror, my mouth suddenly so dry that I could not speak at all. I stared in mute appeal at my abbé, who was standing with Marianna on the other side of the room and utterly failing to meet my agonised eye. I had been taught about Henri IV, the ‘evergreen gallant’ of course but at that moment all my knowledge fled and I could not think of a single intelligent thing to say. Joseph looked up from his sleeve with a quizzical and rather disappointed look, while Durfort absolutely glowed with this unlooked for triumph over me.

  ‘Come, come,’ he murmured in faux concern. ‘Surely you have heard of Henri IV?’ He could not conceal his smirk.

  ‘My sister is tired,’ Elizabeth said then clearly, with a discreet pinch to my arm. ‘We speak of our ancestor, le roi Henri, often do we not Antoinette?’ She did not wait for an answer but instead plunged on. ‘We particularly like to talk about his charitable works and how fond he was of the common man. A chicken in every pot, was it not, Monsieur de Durfort?’

  He looked furious but managed to smile and nod his head. ‘Indeed, yes, your Highness.’

  When he had gone, Joseph crooked his finger at Abbé Vermond, beckoning him forward, and fixed me with a steely blue glare. ‘That must never happen again. Do I make myself clear, Antonia? You are not to bandy words with that man again and you must apply yourself more to your studies.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I have no wish to appear inferior to the likes of Durfort.’

  Tuesday, 6th March, late.

  Today, one of my former maids, Ludmilla, brought her new baby son to the palace so that I could see him. As was traditional, she had left royal service upon her marriage armed with a generous pension from my mother and a wedding gift of a silver goblet from my brother and me. We were always encouraged to stay in contact with our favoured servants as they often stayed with us for decades and so I was quick to send a bag of gold coins and some delicately embroidered baby clothes and invite Ludmilla to visit after she had given birth.

  She was flushed with happiness when she came to my rooms, holding the slumbering baby who was wrapped snugly in a red wool blanket, close to her bosom and pausing every so often to kiss his soft forehead and rub noses with him. Clementina, who had little time for babies, rolled her eyes at this but the rest of us were enthralled, our arms itching to hold the infant ourselves and kiss his plump pink cheeks.

  ‘What was it like?’ Clara asked at last, asking the question that we all, even Clementina, longed to know the answer to. ‘Was it very horrid?’

  Ludmilla laughed. ‘It was not the most pleasant experience and did hurt very much but it was all worth it in the end.’ She gazed down again at her son and we all sighed. ‘I had no idea how wonderful being a mother would be.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘Wonderful and tiring but mostly wonderful.’

  ‘It won’t be like that for Antoinette,’ Clementina said with an arch look. ‘She will have dozens of nursery maids to help her with her babies.’

  I laughed. ‘Oh pish! I won’t let anyone help me! I shall do it all myself!’ I mean it as well. I don’t want some other woman looking after my precious baby when I am perfectly capable of doing it myself. I want to bathe him myself, dress him in lovely clothes and then hold him close all day and all night long, just breathing in his beautiful baby scent.

  ‘Easy for you to say,’ Clara said with a wink. ‘Just wait until the baby’s first teeth come and you don’t get a wink of sleep! You will be grateful for help then!’

  ‘Shush!’ Ludmilla shook her pretty head so that her blonde curls tumbled about her shoulders and laughed. ‘Don’t ruin things! It is not so bad as all that, your Highness!’ She jiggled the baby and kissed the downy blond hair on top of his head. ‘I would not have it any other way.’

  ‘And your husband, Ludmilla? Does he help?’ Clementina asked. ‘It is not a man’s business is it?’

  Ludmilla blushed. ‘He does his best but he can’t feed the babe as I do and finds it harder to quiet him when he cries. It will be easier when Josef is older and needs me less.’ She looked at me and smiled. ‘I am sure your husband won’t have as much time to help as he would like.’

  I thought of the Dauphin Louis, of his fleshy face and sleepy blue eyes and tried to imagine him holding a baby, our baby, jiggling it against his shoulder when it cried as I had seen young fathers in Vienna do and speaking to it in a singsong voice. It seemed impossible. It all seemed impossible and I felt suddenly weary and afraid.

  ‘Your Highness?’ Ludmilla held her son
out to me. ‘Would you like to hold the baby and give him your blessing?’ She smiled shyly.

  I smiled back. ‘It feels more appropriate for him to bless me but of course I will do as you ask.’ I held out my arms and tenderly, gingerly she placed the precious baby in them. ‘Oh, Ludmilla, he is so beautiful.’ I gazed down at him, mesmerised by the perfect rosebud pout of his lips, the dark sweep of his long eyelashes against his flushed cheeks and the way his tiny, dimpled hands clutched at the soft, warm wool of his blanket. ‘You are so fortunate.’ I leaned down and nuzzled his neck with my nose, closing my eyes and inhaling the delicious milky, vanilla scent of new baby. ‘Oh, I bless you, you sweet little man. May your life be long, happy and fortunate.’ I kissed his forehead and allowed myself the pleasure for just a few short moments of imagining that he was mine.

  Wednesday, 21st March, morning.

  Amèlie has sent me a well thumbed copy of a French biography of Henri IV, which she clearly filched from the royal library in Parma.

  Inside the front cover she has written: ‘Better luck next time.’

  Indeed.

  Friday, 23rd March, late.

  I am writing this in haste and could be interrupted at any moment so will have to be brief.

  I had returned from dinner and was sitting with my ladies in my sitting room earlier this evening when there was a smart knock upon the door and my brother Joseph entered, accompanied by four footmen dressed in Imperial livery. ‘My dear one, Mama has decided that from this night on you will sleep on a bed in her chambers so that she can keep you close to her at all times.’ He looked rather embarrassed as he said this and shrugged and smiled apologetically at my confused look. ‘I know that this must be a shock but I have only just been informed.’

  ‘What have I done now?’ I had risen at his entrance but now sat down heavily upon my raspberry silk covered sofa. ‘Is this about Henri IV? I am truly sorry, Joseph but my mind went blank and I could not think of a single thing to say! You know how much Durfort dislikes me and I get all flustered around him which makes me seem even more stupid than usual.’ I began to cry. ‘I am so sorry and it really won’t happen again.’

  Joseph held up a hand to silence me. ‘No, it is not just about that, Antoinette,’ he said. ‘Mama is concerned that your education has been overly lax and thinks that keeping you close to her during these final weeks in Austria will prepare you for what lies ahead. She has had a bed prepared for you in her own room so that she can speak privately with you at the beginning and end of every day and keep close watch over you at all times.’

  I felt my cheeks go red with anger. ‘This is intolerable,’ I whispered furiously. ‘There is no need for Mama to watch over me and I have my Abbé to teach me about France. Such ridiculous fuss is absolutely unnecessary!’

  He shrugged. ‘Mama believes otherwise.’

  The footmen were now helping my maids gather together some of my belongings which were placed into a large chest and I watched them in helpless, impotent despair. ‘I can’t refuse to go can I?” I said. ‘This is so humiliating.’ I bent down and picked up Mops, who wandered past, confused and a little frightened by all of the noise at what was usually a quiet time of day. I nuzzled her soft neck and kissed her nose until she was calm again.

  ‘It is not intended to be so,’ my brother said softly, taking my hand which I had balled into a fist and gently uncurling my fingers. ‘She thinks only of you and of your future comfort, Antoinette. She worries constantly about what awaits you at Versailles and this is the only way she can think of to prepare you for your future life.’ He sighed. ‘Surely you cannot blame her for having a natural motherly concern for her daughter?’

  I shrugged rather gracelessly. ‘I suppose not.’

  Joseph grinned. ‘That is better. I knew you would see her point of view.’

  I can hear footsteps and so had better go.

  Saturday, 24th March, early morning.

  It was every bit as awful as I had anticipated. Worse in fact. Mama had ordered that a simple camp bed be set up for me in the corner of her large and draughty bedroom, with only a painted screen pulled around it for privacy. One of the windows was open as usual and I had to pull on thick woollen socks and cover myself in heavy blankets in order to keep myself warm. How does Mama endure it?

  She came in, already in her nightdress and with her silver and gold hair in a thick, long plait down her back after I had got into bed and immediately began to lecture me about Queenship and duty and made it all sound about as dreary as possible, which is very dreary indeed. I wanted to fall asleep oh so many times but pure fear kept me awake throughout as I could well imagine her fury if I showed myself to be anything less than absolutely attentive.

  In the morning she woke at the crack of dawn and strode across the freezing cold floor to shake me awake before beginning to talk at me about my wifely duties and the ‘nice little things’ that my husband may well expect from me. It is my duty not just to bring forth children but also to be an ornament to the court and a joy to my husband. It all sounds so unimaginably and dreadfully exhausting. How will I manage?

  ‘I hope that you will enjoy our little chats, Antoinette,’ she said to me this morning before leaving to start work in her office next door. ‘I have certainly enjoyed myself.’

  I nodded in what I hoped was sufficient enthusiasm then, as soon as the door was pulled shut behind her, I pulled the blankets back up over my head and went back to sleep.

  Sunday, 25th March, after breakfast.

  The Secrets of the Boudoir are secrets no longer. I wish that they were.

  Mama insisted upon explaining it all to me last night, with a large dose of far too much information about what she and Papa used to enjoy during their days of conjugal bliss. Ugh. I blush to think of it.

  It really is quite shocking. Do I really have to do it? If the Dauphin tries to do THAT to me, then I think I will just pretend to be asleep and hope that he goes away.

  Tuesday, 27th March, late.

  Oh dear. I was sitting with my dear Vermond in my little school room when a terrible bustle outside the door warned us that we were about to be interrupted. To be honest, I did not mind in the slightest as he was talking to me about that unsavoury wench, Catherine de Medici and I did not care to hear anything more. There was a knock on the door and we looked at each other with wry smiles, wondering what it was this time. More presents perhaps?

  ‘Your highness,’ the footman paused and cleared his throat. He was very young and had bright red hair underneath his neatly clipped and powdered wig. ‘Your Imperial mother requests your presence in her apartments.’

  I sighed and stood up, shaking out my sadly crumpled black silk skirts. ‘I will be there directly.’ I looked at Vermond. ‘It is always going to be like this from now on isn’t it?’ I said a little regretfully. There is less than a month to go now before I am married and after that I do not think we will ever be left alone together again.

  I anxiously wrung my pearl bracelets around my wrists as I followed the footman down the stairs and through the numerous white and gold panelled rooms that led to my mother’s reception room. The pearls clicked against each other, beating time as my high heels tip tapped on the polished wooden floors.

  I longed to ask him if he knew what was happening but dared not as I did not wish to appear foolish and the pity that I sometimes saw in the eyes of those around me, which was always swiftly hidden as soon as they realised that my gaze was upon them was not something that I wanted to see directly. I do not know why they feel so sorry for me. Possibly they think me too young, too innocent to be sent away from home. Possibly they know something that I do not.

  The Swiss Guards swung the doors open and the footman stood aside, bowing his head reverently as I passed by and stepped into the room, looking around me anxiously before I swiftly lowered my gaze. There were only a dozen people present besides my mother, Joseph, my sisters and Durfort so not the huge court gathering that I had been afraid of.
My mother has a bad habit of springing such things upon us - remember Amalia’s betrothal?

  ‘My dearest one,’ Mama greeted me fondly and kissed me on both cheeks. ‘Monsieur de Durfort has something for you.’ She beckoned him forward and smiled on us both as he stepped towards me carrying a thin red leather box stamped with a large gold fleur de lis, symbol of France.