The Secret Diary of a Princess a novel of Marie Antoinette (9 page)

Mama and Josepha left after dinner, which was a very sad, silent meal. Mama seemed not at all perturbed by the prospect of a night spent praying amongst the gloomy remains of our ancestors and ate her dumpling soup and roast chicken and
apfelstrudel
with relish but Josepha was unable to eat a single morsel and cried silently until we all got up and went into the Yellow drawing room.

'Come now, child, it is not so bad as all that,' Mama said impatiently when she noticed Josepha's pale face and sore, red rimmed eyes. 'I am disappointed in you. This is not how an archduchess of Austria behaves.'

Mama's disappointment is a terrible thing (worse than her wrath even) and so accordingly Josepha wiped her wet cheeks, straightened her shoulders and pretended to smile as she handed her pug dog to Amalia then donned her black velvet cloak, hugged each one of us in turn and said goodbye.
 

'I wish to God that I could prevent this,' Joseph murmured into her fair hair as they embraced. 'I shall not rest until I have you here with me again in the morning.' He sighed deeply and looked like he was blinking back tears. 'I am so sorry, little one.'

'Dearest brother,' Josepha smiled up at him with a bravery that would surely have impressed Mama had she only noticed it. 'I do not blame you at all.'
 

She turned to me next and I clung to her, trying hard not to cry as she gently stroked my hair and kissed my forehead. 'Oh, Josepha, I wish that I could go with you!' I really did wish it as well, I am not very brave but my sister looked so frightened that I think I would have done anything to make her feel better.

She smiled through her tears and gave me another kiss. 'Pretty little Antonia, I am afraid that I am leaving you forever.' She looked so sad that I really did start to cry then, thinking how horrible it would be if Josepha really didn't come back.

Amalia gave a snort of laughter. 'Oh, Josepha, if the King of Naples decides that he doesn't want you after all then I am sure you could have a wonderful career on the stage instead.'

Thursday, 8
th
October, morning.

They are back. Carolina and I were looking out for them from my bedchamber window which overlooks the street when Mama's black and gold carriage rattled across the cobbles and came to a shuddering halt in front of the palace. A footman came forward and released the steps with a clatter and Mama descended first, standing still for a moment to breathe deeply and look about her (we hid behind my heavy pink brocade curtains at this point) before stepping aside so that the footman could help Josepha down.
 

'There she is!' Carolina cried, relieved to see our sister again. 'I knew it would be alright really!' But as we watched, Josepha crumpled to the ground in a dead faint, her long black cloak fanning out and covering the ground.

'No, oh no.' Carolina was aghast. We watched in silence as our brother Joseph picked her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a sparrow and then carried her into the palace with Mama hurrying behind him, her face pale and anxious.
 

'Maybe she is just tired?' I said hopefully, but not really believing it. 'She will be better when she has had some sleep.'

'Come on.' Carolina, always the brave one, took my hand and we crept down the dark corridor to Josepha's apartment. Her cosy little lilac painted drawing room with its mess of books, sheets of music and unfinished sketches was totally deserted and so we tiptoed to her bedroom door, which was slightly ajar and peered inside. Josepha was lying on top of the pink embroidered silk coverlet on her bed. She looked frighteningly pale, except for a deep and hectic red flush on her cheeks and was turning her head restlessly from one side to the other on the pillow.
 
A court physician dressed from head to toe in rusty black was bending over her while Mama and Joseph sat on either side of the canopied bed. Mama looked very old and tired and was wiping Josepha's forehead and cheeks with a cloth soaked in lavender water while Joseph sat with his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

'Is it...' I started to whisper, but Carolina immediately put her hand over my mouth and shushed me.

'Don't say it,' she hissed, her blue eyes filling with tears. 'If you don't say it then it won't come true.'

Friday, 9
th
October, the coach to Laxenburg.

It is smallpox. Again. One would think that it had had enough of our family by now, but apparently not. We have all been banished to Laxenburg until all is over. I asked Joseph if I could stay, reminding him that I have already had smallpox and am therefore immune from infection but he would not listen and so here I am, uncomfortably sandwiched in between Amalia and Carolina (who are both asleep and snoring softly), with little Theresia asleep on my lap and a warm, snoozing pile of pugs and spaniels at my feet, watching mud flying against the closed window and longing to be back in Vienna again.

Bump. Bump. Bump. I cannot write any more.

Thursday, 15
th
October.

Josepha has gone forever.

Saturday, 17
th
October, a wet afternoon.

I can't stop thinking about Josepha. She should have been married and on her way to Naples by now but instead she is lying dead in the crypt of the
Kapuzinergruft
. It is so unfair. They expected her to survive the infection and so some of the wedding celebrations carried on anyway but then on the very morning that she should have been getting into her new grey and gold coach and driving off to her husband she had become terribly hot and feverish and then quickly died soon afterwards.

'There was no struggle and no distress,' Joseph told us when he came to Laxenburg to break the terrible news. He was dressed in heavy black and his eyes red and raw from weeping. 'She slipped away from us peacefully.' I think that he is lying.

So much death. I lie awake in bed at night wondering who will be snatched away from us next.

'If Mama had not forced that poor child down into that ghastly crypt then none of this would have happened,' Amalia observed earlier today as we all sat together in our plain black silk mourning dresses, embroidering tiny shirts for Leopold's baby (he and his ugly wife had a daughter in January and now they are expecting another child, much to Mama's delight) in her yellow paneled bedchamber, which is deliciously cosy and smells of lilies and vanilla. 'It is entirely her fault.'

Carolina and I exchanged looks but said nothing. Amalia has become very outspoken since Christina got married and went away from court. We pretend to be shocked of course but secretly we love it as no one else in the family dares to say the things that Amalia does.

'And now I suppose they will be deciding which one of us to send to Naples instead,' Amalia continued, ignoring her little gold handled scissors and angrily biting the end off her white silken thread.
 

Carolina and I stopped sewing and exchanged another look, this time of pure horror. Of course. Of
course
. We had been so upset about Josepha's death that it had not occurred to us that Mama and Joseph would have to send another one of us to Naples in our sister's place. Maria Amalia has already been dismissed as too old for his son by the King of Spain, which leaves only Carolina and me to make the long, long journey south. I feel sick just thinking about it.
 

'It is too soon,' Carolina stammered, wide eyed with dread. 'Josepha has only just died. They can't possibly be thinking of another marriage already.'

Amalia laughed and picked up her embroidery again. 'Do not be fooled, Carlotta,' she said, not unkindly. 'Mama, Joseph and the King of Spain will already have sorted it all out between them. Mark my words.'

Monday, 19
th
October, afternoon.

We have returned from Josepha's funeral. It was really horrible to walk into the church and see her small coffin lying just in front of us, underneath its pall of heavy purple velvet while all around us the voices of the choristers swirled and moaned in the chill, incense scented air. It was awful and yet strangely beautiful at the same time.
 

Mama walked ahead of us, head bowed, swathed in heavy black velvets and furs and leaning heavily on Joseph's arm. Behind her came Marianna, Amalia and Elizabeth, her face covered with black veils and probably counting her blessings as she surveyed Josepha's coffin in the centre of the church. Last of all there was Carolina, Theresia and me in matching black silk dresses with our eyes fixed demurely on the floor.

The courtiers watch us all closely. Waiting to see who is next. Next to die and next to wed. I blush beneath their scrutiny.

Thursday, 29
th
October, a bright morning.

I was woken up last night by Carolina climbing into my bed with me. Her feet were freezing and I instinctively jerked mine away.
 

'Are you awake, Antonia?' She whispered, her face very close to mine so that I could smell the cinnamon sweetness of her breath. 'Antonia?'

'Ssh! Yes!' I turned towards her and reluctantly opened my eyes. The heavy blue curtains were drawn and it was gloomy in the bedroom but I could make out her face and her expression, which was unusually sombre. 'What is wrong?'

I felt her shrug. 'I just wanted to come and give you a hug. Do you mind if I sleep here with you tonight?'

'No, of course not.' I reached out and gathered her to me, kissing her cheeks and rubbing her feet with my own, in an attempt to warm them. 'Are you sure that there isn't anything wrong?'

'I hope that they do not break us up,' my sister whispered, her voice muffled by my shoulder. 'What if one of us is really sent to Naples? I do not think that I could bear it if we were never to see each other again.'

'That won't happen,' I replied, giving her another kiss. 'We could visit each other and there are always letters.'

'Letters aren't the same,' Carolina said. 'And I can't count on getting any from you anyway.' I felt her grin in the darkness. She doesn't know about this book. Sometimes I think about telling her but then decide that it is too risky as she would instantly demand to see what I had written about her. Besides it is private and I like being able to say exactly what I like within these pages. It would all feel different if Carolina knew about it.

Monday, 2
nd
November, late, I should be in bed.

It is my birthday and I am now twelve years old. There was a small family party (we are still in mourning) and I had too much chocolate cake. Joseph danced with me twice and said that I am the prettiest of all of his sisters. I hope that Elizabeth did not hear him.

Tuesday, 10
th
November, I am so angry.

Mama has decided that Countess Brandeis is too lenient with Carolina and me and now she is no longer our governess! Instead we have to put up with horrible Countess Lerchenfeld, who hates us and actually thinks that we should learn things. I was made to learn French verbs all afternoon until my head hurt and I started to cry. It was torture.

Carolina thinks that Mama must have found out that the Countess wrote my letters and essays in pencil and let me write over the top in ink in an attempt to deceive Mama. 'And you know how much Mama hates to be deceived,' she whispered as we sat together sewing beside the big white painted stove in our schoolroom. 'I think that the Countess is lucky not to have been sent away from court altogether as she must surely be in disgrace now.'

Oh poor Brandeis, I shall miss you so much.
 

Wednesday, 25
th
November, the Countess thinks I am working on my French while Amalia reads aloud.

A footman just came to ask for Carolina while we were sitting in the drawing room with Amalia, Theresia and Max. We are still in mourning clothes and the Countess Lerchenfeld watches us all closely to make sure that there is no suggestion of frivolity about our behaviour, thus Amalia reads from an improving book of sermons, while I work on my hated French and Carolina labours at embroidering a suitably dour passage from the Bible on her sampler. There was a small buzz of excitement when the footman entered to tell us that Joseph is here at Laxenburg and asking to see Carolina. I wonder what is happening. Could it be that she is to go to Naples after all? I hope not but then I do not want to go myself. It is all very unfair.

Amalia stopped reading and gave me a knowing look as our sister left the room but did not say anything. Max, however, is less discreet and asks us every few minutes if
 
'Carlotta is going away to be married'. I cannot bear it.

25
th
November, much later.

It was not long before Carolina returned to the drawing room. She looked very pale but there was something halting and stately about her walk and the tilt of her chin that told us everything. 'My dearest girl!' Amalia put her book down and half rose from the sofa.