The Secret Diary of a Princess a novel of Marie Antoinette (14 page)

'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, 20
th
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 that 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, 29
th
July, I should be in bed.

Another letter has arrived from Carolina. She is not the best correspondent but then neither am I and I fear that we both wait a very long time to hear from the other. If I was being charitable, I would say that she sounds not entirely unhappy.

'
My husband, the King, is not at all what I had imagined. He is not handsome, clever, witty, polite or charming. In fact I would go so far as to say that he is absolutely stupid in every way imaginable and some that had not previously occurred to me. Fortunately he seems as disinclined to seek out my company as I am to spend my time with him. He is seventeen and ends all of his time with his stupid friends playing stupid card games or daring each other to do ridiculous pranks. I sometimes think that I hate him.

It is not all bad though. The weather here is very clement indeed and we barely have any rain. Also, the views from our palace are quite spectacular. I have sent you an engraving of the Caserta Palace, which is my home now, so that you can imagine where I live now that we are so far apart. It is really quite huge and, I am told, looks almost exactly like Versailles. Just fancy, there are over one thousand rooms already and it is not even quite finished! It is not as rough as one would expect, considering that it has such a master, and is really quite exquisitely decorated throughout with an excess of marble, gilt and splendour that I think would not put even Mama to shame.

I have my own apartment, which is really quite beautiful and filled with the most lovely objects imaginable. Here, I can be quite myself. I have my books, my musical instruments and my paints. I want for nothing but you.

I am not completely happy but I find that I can be content with my lot in life. And what woman of our rank can ask for more than that?
'

Oh, Carlotta, Carlotta...

Wednesday, 10
th
August, late.

It is unbearably hot and I cannot sleep. My maids left my windows wide open tonight but there is not even the lightest breeze and the still night air is heavy, warm and richly scented with the lilacs and roses that grow beneath my windows. In the distance I can hear the faint sounds of the animals in the menagerie as they roam around their enclosures in the darkness and bellow mournfully at the moon.

Oh, I am so tired and yet I feel like I will never sleep again as I just can't get comfortable in my bed. My embroidered linen sheets and pillows are fresh and newly laundered and still they feel itchy and uncomfortable. I tossed and turned for what seemed like hours before giving up and coming to my desk. I could write a letter to Carolina or maybe read a book, as I am sure that is what Mama and the Countess would advise me to do if I am unable to sleep.

I can hear the maids shuffling about and whispering to each other in their little room, which lies beyond the green painted panelling. Clearly sleep is eluding them as well, poor things. Maybe I should ring my bell and ask for a carafe of water and some cake and then we can all sit and chat together until we feel sleepy? That would be very pleasant.

Saturday, 13
th
August.

Happy birthday Carolina. I wish that you were still at home. God bless you, wherever you are.

Monday, 15
th
August, late. I can't sleep again.

A very dismal evening. Amalia and I were reading together in her lovely little pink and white sitting room when one of the many liveried palace footmen knocked on the door and announced that we were both wanted downstairs in the Mirror Room. We exchanged concerned glances (I immediately thought of Carolina and my heart began to thud most uncomfortably in my breast) but hastened to follow the footman, who was very young and had bright red hair peeping out from beneath his snowy white wig.

'What do you suppose it is?' I whispered to Amalia, linking my arm with hers as we walked slowly down the long corridors and then the beautiful marble staircases, our high heels clattering loudly against the cold stone. 'Do you think that there is bad news?'

She shook her head but I saw that she looked paler than usual beneath her bright red rouge. 'I do
 
not know,
petite
. Let us hope that it is good news.' She smiled down at me. 'I am sure that it is nothing bad.'

We paused for a moment outside the room to check our appearance in the huge mirror that hung opposite the door and then entered as the footman held the door open for us. To my surprise several dozen courtiers were already gathered and they all stared at us curiously as they bowed and moved out of the way to let us through.
 

I suddenly thought that maybe the summons had arrived from France and felt quite sick as, still arm in arm with Amalia, I crossed the long green and gold room and went to stand beside my sisters and brothers. I looked about myself with satisfaction, thinking as always that we made a very good looking family and that Mama's pride in us was entirely justified.
 

'Is someone going to be married?' Little Max was asking in a highly audible whisper as he danced impatiently on the spot. 'I hope that it is not Amalia or Antonia!'

'Silence!' Elizabeth hissed impatiently from behind her black veil. ' I hope that it is
you
that is to be married, impertinent little whelp!'

Max stuck his tongue out at her then ducked as she tried to slap him on the head with her richly painted fan.

There was a buzz of excitement in the room as the door swung open again and Mama entered, dressed in black brocade and leaning heavily on Joseph's blue silk arm. We all watched them closely for clues as to what this was all about but they were giving nothing away.

'I wonder what it could be?' I heard Elizabeth whisper to Marianna. 'Mama looks very happy but Joseph looks more serious than I have ever seen him.'

Mama reached the ornate gilt chair that had been brought in for her and sat down, fixing each one of us with her bright blue gaze as she did so. 'I am pleased to see you all together,' she remarked with a smile. Did I imagine it or did her eyes linger on Amalia as she spoke?

Joseph stepped forward, clearing his throat as he did so. 'I... we have gathered you all together today to hear some good news.' He looked at Mama and she gave a tiny little nod. 'Our prayers have been answered and on this day, the envoys of his Royal Highness the Duke of Parma have asked for the hand of our dearest sister, Maria Amalia.'

I heard Amalia give a gasp beside me and immediately took hold of her hand, which trembled pathetically within mine. How could Joseph and Mama have thought it a good idea to surprise her with such an announcement? How could they? It seemed and still seems so unkind and cruel, especially as it is common knowledge that she is in love with someone else. I looked for Karl amongst the gathered courtiers but thankfully he was not there to witness this. I saw that all eyes were upon my sister and that some smiled mockingly as she struggled to hide her misery.
 

Joseph turned to Amalia and held out his hand. He was smiling but I could see that his eyes were pleading with her to play along and not to hate him for what was about to happen. 'Come, my sister,' he said when she did not move from the spot. 'Come.'

I looked up at Amalia to see that she had tears in her eyes and was staring at our brother almost pleadingly. 'I... I
can't
,' she whispered as a ripple of whispers and laughter ran through the room. 'Joseph,
please
.'

'Count your blessings and do as you are told,' Elizabeth hissed, poking her with her fan.

'My daughters are raised to be maidenly and innocent,' Mama said loudly, beckoning to Amalia with fingers that were heavy with diamonds and rubies. 'Come, daughter, don't be shy.' She smiled and spoke in the most caressing tones but there was a subtle edge to her voice that made me tremble. I would not have dared to disobey her if she had spoken to me in such a way.

As if in some terrible dream, I watched as Amalia released my hand with a final reassuring squeeze then slowly took Joseph's and allowed him to lead her to our mother. 'I am truly thankful for the honour that has been shown to me,' she whispered as with a swish of her green silk skirts she curtsied to Mama, who raised her to her feet and kissed her on both cheeks before slipping a diamond ring on to her finger.

I blinked away my tears before the cynical, all seeing eyes of the court but as soon as we were free to leave, I ran up the stairs to my room, told the hovering, curious maids to leave me alone and then threw myself across my bed and cried.

It is all too unfair and so unjust.
 

Friday, 19
th
August, after dinner.

We still know next to nothing about the Duke of Parma. His splendidly dressed, swarthy envoys are still in Vienna but they speak only Italian and keep to themselves, smiling charmingly and lisping '
si, si, si
' to everything that one might say to them. They whisper together as I walk past.

'They think that you are very pretty,' Elizabeth told me with a smile. 'They wish that you were going to be their Duchess instead of Amalia. They think that she is grumpy and ungrateful.'