The Secret Diary of a Princess a novel of Marie Antoinette (10 page)

'I am to be Queen of Naples,' Carolina announced, pausing dramatically in the doorway.
 
'It is a great honour apparently.' She tried to smile but then her fragile facade shattered and she burst into tears. 'I do not want to leave home and never see Antonia again!' she sobbed as we all ran forward to hug her. 'I do not want to get married at all!'

Amalia sighed and kissed Carolina's forehead. 'Did Joseph say when you are to go?'

'Early next year. King of Spain is apparently impatient to see his son married as soon as possible.' She looked at me. 'Josepha's trousseau is to be adapted for me. Do you remember all of those dresses?' I nodded, remembering them very well and recalling also Carolina's jealous expression when we had come upon Josepha being measured up all those months ago. 'They will be mine now.'

'And the crypt?' I shivered, remembering Josepha's tears as she left us that night to go to the
Kapuzinergruft.
I have heard the servants telling each other that poor Josephina's coffin wasn't sealed properly and so the poisonous smallpox gasses had escaped and infected our sister as she innocently knelt beside the tomb and prayed. 'Will you have to go as well?'

Carolina shook her head. 'Joseph promised that I would not be made to do anything of the sort.' She gave a grim smile. 'You can be sure that it was the first thing that I asked about when he told me.'

Amalia laughed. 'Really? Before the dresses? I don't believe you!'

Sunday, 29
th
November, the first Sunday of Advent.

It is already that time of year again, but how sad we must seem in comparison to previous years. Amalia played the harpsichord while we sang the usual carols and Carolina lit the first candle of the
Adventkranz
, while we could not help but remember that it was Josepha who performed the same happy duty last year and then giggled and blushed rosily as Joseph danced her around the room.

Seeing my sad face, Amalia gave me a hug. 'It is all over now,' she whispered, kissing my cheek. 'We will never, ever forget her but she wouldn't want us to be unhappy either.'

Later on Carolina and I crept downstairs to look at a portrait of Josepha and me together, which hangs in one of the many white and gold paneled drawing rooms. It was painted about four years ago and depicts Josepha as Diana and myself as Minerva, which is rather ironic when one thinks about it. I reached out and traced her face with my finger as Carolina held the candle stick close and sobbed into her red cashmere shawl.

Saturday, 12
nd
December, dusk, back at the Hofburg again.

It was I who hid a frog amongst the books on Countess Lerchenfeld's desk. I do not think that I have ever heard anyone scream so loudly or for so long. Was it worth it? I like to think so, yes.

Sunday, 27
th
December, the day is almost over.

Carolina is being made to work even harder at her Italian and a special tutor has been hired to give her extra lessons.
 
She is furious about this but can do nothing but obey. The wedding is to be in April and Mama says that she must be fluent by the time she leaves for Naples.

Mama has also decreed that Carolina should now always wear her fair hair powdered and up all the time instead of loose about her shoulders or pulled back with a plain ribbon hair band like mine. She looks like a grown up young lady now and I feel all the more childish and left behind.

We looked Naples up in Joseph's map books again and Carolina burst into tears when she saw how far away it is from Vienna.

'I wish that you could come with me,' she whispered as I hugged her close.
 

'I will visit as often as I can,' I promised, meaning every word but knowing that it might never be permitted.
 

Chapter Four

1768

Friday, 1
st
January 1768, early in the morning.

I promise that I will be better behaved this year. Please, God, if you care for me at all, don't take any more of my family away from me.
 

Thursday, 14
th
January, so cold.

We all went sledging from the Hofburg to Schönbrunn today, which was enormous fun. Amalia, Carolina and I were dressed in matching white fur cloaks and hats and sat together in our horse drawn sledge with Theresia sitting in between us, our cheeks may have been chilled and reddened by the frost but we still grinning widely as we waved and blew kisses to the Viennese citizens who came out to see us pass and cheered in greeting. Most of the shouts and cheers were for Amalia as she is much loved in the capital, thanks to her regular appearances at the Viennese carnival balls.

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, 15
th
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, 22
nd
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, 28
th
January.

I have a cold. It is not pleasant. Carolina has given me her wool hat and thick socks.
 

Sunday, 7
th
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, 17
th
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, 3
rd
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, 12
th
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.'