The Secret Diary of a Princess a novel of Marie Antoinette (27 page)

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

I can hear footsteps and so had better go.

Saturday, 24
th
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, 25
th
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, 27
th
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.

‘My master, the King has sent this for you.’ He handed me the box and they all held their breath and leaned forward, waiting for me to open it. My hands trembled as I opened the lid, my mind racing as I imagined what lay inside. What could it be? I could hardly contain my excitement.

‘He hopes that you like it.’ Something in his voice made me look up and I realised at once, from his smirk, that he already knew what lay inside and furthermore, he knew that I would not like it.

I would show him. I proudly put back my shoulders and lifted the lid, not allowing a single trace of disappointment to cross my face as I looked down at a black and white engraving of a portly young man pushing a plough, a look of intense concentration on his chubby face. ‘Monsieur le Dauphin,’ it said underneath. There could be no doubt that firstly, this was my intended husband and secondly, someone somewhere in France wanted to insult me and was using Durfort as their proxy.

‘How charming.’ My lips formed a smile of purest pleasure and I forced myself to look him in the eyes. ‘He looks very handsome and just as a young man should be. I look forward to meeting him.’

Durfort did not trouble to hide his chagrin and turned immediately away, while I exchanged a look and a wink with Joseph. It will take more than such childishness to break my spirit.

Friday, 30
th
March, after dinner.

It has been decided that I will spend the first three days of April closeted alone with Abbé Vermond for a period of silent reflection, lectures about spirituality and prayer. It sounds thoroughly dismal, although my dear Abbé has promised to keep his lectures short and to the point. He could not promise, however, to make them amusing.

I am still sleeping in Mama’s bedroom and the nightly lectures continue. I do not know what sort of terrible moral degradation she expects me to fall into when I am living in Versailles but there is a heavy emphasis on morality, faithfulness, marital duties and not allowing my head to be turned by the shallow and self serving flattery of my social inferiors.

Every night I fall asleep, my head aching horribly after listening to her talk and in the morning I am woken early as she flings aside her coverlets and causes a cascade of state papers to fall to the floor as she is in the habit of working while in bed and cares nothing for the splashes of ink and red sealing wax that cover her fine linen sheets. My mother never stops working, even in her sleep she mumbles to herself about the Prussians. I suspect that even I appear to her as a sort of project, as something that needs to be sorted out and dealt with like a particularly troublesome edict or treaty.

This morning she presented me with a large bundle of papers, all tied up with pink velvet ribbon and sealed shut with the Imperial seal. ‘I have taken the precaution of writing down some thoughts for you to read when you are away from home,’ she said, handing me the
bundle. ‘I have included the rules that I expect you to abide by in your new life, some advice about suitable modes of behaviour and also lists of the people that you will be permitted to correspond with once you are installed at Versailles.’

‘Thank you.’ I looked down at the letter and gulped. She had clearly spent many hours putting it together.

‘I expect you to read it once a month, in order to focus your mind on your duties and strengthen your purpose against the many temptations that will assail you.’ She briefly touched my hair. ‘I have wondered if perhaps it is too soon for you to be going away from me but I know, Antoinette, that you will make me very proud.’ I quickly looked up at her face and
saw a doubt and uncertainty in her blue eyes that contrasted sharply with her words. My mother had never been uncertain about anything, ever. Until now and about me, it would seem.

‘I will do my best, Mama,’ I whispered, not knowing how else to reassure her. How could I ever tell her, or anyone else, how young and unprepared and insignificant I felt when confronted by the hugeness and magnificence of my projected destiny? I tried to imagine the weight of a crown upon my small head and could not.

‘I want you to do better than that,’ she replied rather curtly, turning away.

Wednesday, 4th April, afternoon.

I have spent the last three days sequestered alone at Schönbrunn with only the Abbé and my thoughts for company. I have given more thought and consideration in the last few days to the state of my frail flesh and immortal soul than at any other time in my life and you may rest assured that if some tragic accident were to overtake me between now and my marriage then I would be fully prepared and ready to meet my maker in my present virgin state.

Do I feel cleansed of sin and more spiritual? It remains to be seen, although I have to say that I am so bored now with prayer and worthy introspection that I am almost tempted to misbehave, just to feel myself again.

I am not sure that I like the Antoinette that they want to send to Versailles.

Sunday, 15th April, Easter Sunday, evening.

Lent is over once again and we are gorging ourselves on hot chocolate and cakes . It is always hard for me to practise restraint when it comes to the sweet things in life but this year has been particularly difficult.

Of course, now that life has returned to normal, it is time to prepare for my wedding on the nineteenth which is only, oh my heart beats faster and my head spins whenever I think about it, four days away. My dress is finished, presents are starting to arrive from all over Europe and the final details of my triumphant journey to France have been completed.

Today there was Mass followed by a huge reception in the state rooms of the Hofburg. Everyone was in attendance as Durfort was due to make a grand entrance to mark his promotion from mere Ambassador to the far more grandiose Ambassador Extraordinary. He left court three days ago with a great deal of bowing and scraping to all and sundry before re-entering the capital yesterday at the head of an enormous cavalcade and today he is due to return garbed in what is reportedly a new magnificent suit of embroidered purple silk with gold rosettes everywhere and enormous ostrich feathers on his hat.

I stood beside my mother and Joseph, smiling and bowing my head gracefully in response to all the courtiers who filed past to kiss our hands and wish us a happy Easter. I find that I am paying a lot of attention now to how I look to others and often glance at myself in the huge gilt framed mirrors that line the walls to check how I tilt my head or smile, keen to appear as the most perfect princess ever. I know that I am not beautiful but I am told that my face is charming and it is amazing what can be achieved with the help of lovely clothes, high heeled shoes, diamonds and carefully styled and powdered hair.

Clementina and Anna had positioned themselves by the tall windows so as to have a view across the courtyard, they both turned and, stifling their giggles, nodded at me when Durfort pulled up with his forty eight painted and gilt embellished carriages, each drawn by six of the finest horses in Vienna and with a stiff backed postillion perched on the back, lavishly dressed in the finest livery. Yes, forty eight. Really, the vainglory and arrogance of the man knows no bounds. He may well protest that it is all intended to reflect the glory and grandeur of his master, the King of France but we all know the truth - that it is intended to reflect his glory alone. Silly, pompous, puffed up little man.

He entered in great state, preceeded and followed by a train of dozens of pages, all dressed to match him in purple silk with gold embroidery, their high heeled polished shoes tapping on the wooden parquet and their sly eyes roving here and there about the assembled courtiers. They parted to allow Durfort through as he doffed his enormous black, feathered hat and bowed several times to my mother and brother. I hid my smile behind my painted ivory handled fan as his eyes slid over me and he accorded me the merest of bows.

‘You are welcome to our court, Monsieur,’ my mother said politely, protocol requiring that she go along with the absurd charade that he had returned to France in order to gain his promotion and had only just come back when the truth is that he had retreated to his estate on the outskirts of Vienna for a couple of days.

‘Your Majesty is most kind and gracious.’ Durfort bowed again. ‘I have in my possession a gift from my master, his Majesty the King of France for your august daughter, her Royal Highness the Archduchess Marie Antoinette.’ He clicked his fingers and two of the pages sprang forward, one carrying a small wooden box while the other held what was clearly a painting beneath a large piece of cloth of gold.