Marie Antoinette (11 page)

She ran from the room! I now fear for Schnitzy’s life.

April 2, 1770

The first of the delegations to arrive to offer me their congratulations consisted of twenty scholars from the University of Vienna. They addressed me in Latin. I understood hardly a word, but thankfully Abbé had prepared for me a short speech (very short, three sentences) in Latin and I was able to respond. Elizabeth tutored me in my response. She said I did very nicely. Postscript: Elizabeth and I told Mama about Sauer Kraut’s deceptions at the gaming table. Mama just smiled and nodded. “She has served her purpose. I shall send her back to the
Fraugarten
.” That is what Mama calls the assembly rooms for the Ladies-in-Waiting. When I asked Mama why she didn’t send her from the Court, Mama seemed appalled by my stupidity. “What? Where I cannot keep an eye on her? Never!”

April 3, 1770

Happiness!!! Oh, dearest diary, you shall never guess what happened today. At last I have heard from my dear future husband. The French ambassador Durfort arrived today and brought with him not one but
two
portraits of Louis Auguste — one for me and one for Mama. He is not uncomely, though his face seems a bit heavy, but still he has a pleasing countenance, just as Abbé de Vermond said. I much prefer this slightly heavy face to those of the powdered court dandies with their beauty spots. I have hung his portrait up in my apartments near the window by my desk. And now I confess that I have practiced speaking to it this evening. In the portrait his mouth is a straight, somewhat thin line, but I can tell that it easily could be brought to a most pleasing smile. So I try to think of amusing things to say. Riddles are always good. His Excellency the ambassador Durfort was most pleased with my reaction. He tells me that locks and locksmithing are of special interest to the Dauphin. I know absolutely nothing about such things. Elizabeth suggests that I send for the Court locksmith and have him show me some locks and explain them.

April 6, 1770

Locks are quite boring. No, not quite. Very. But for some they seem to be a passion. Herr Munchenmaas, the Imperial Court locksmith, was delighted to come to my apartments yesterday with an assortment of locks and explain to me their intricacies. Luckily, Elizabeth was here so she asked all the important questions. I was simply too bored to think of any. Here is what I have learned: The first locks were very primitive and invented in Egypt thousands of years ago. They were simple bolt locks. Then Herr Munchenmaas quoted the Old Testament prophet Isaiah. “I will place on his shoulders the key of the house of David.” That allowed him to discourse for at least twenty minutes on the invention of keys, something called the falling-pin principle, tumblers, and all variety of mechanical pieces used for locks. Elizabeth has made a list of all the basic lock parts and has sketched them for me so that I might review them and thus educate myself for the Dauphin. I hope that the Dauphin has some other interest beyond locks that we might share.

April 10, 1770

Mama requires that I sleep in her apartments, indeed in her sleeping chamber in a bed next to hers. It is as if she feels there are not enough hours in the day before my departure for her to tell me all I need to know about marriage, and having babies, and treating servants and courtiers. She talks incessantly as our maids prepare us for sleep. It is interesting, but living so close to Mama I can see how she has aged so much in the past two years. When her maid undresses her, I can see how her skin sags, especially around her neck, how despite her plumpness there is a frailty to her body. Without her switches and braids, her own hair barely covers her head, and her skull appears as small and fragile as a porcelain bowl. Mama is fifty-four. This is a great age, I know. But there are some at fifty-four who appear much younger, but then again they are not Empresses of the Holy Roman Empire. And they do not have to deal with monsters like Frederick of Prussia. I vow that I shall listen carefully to Mama and take her lessons to heart. I do not want her to have to worry about me.

April 12, 1770

Barely a minute to write. I have been subjected to hours upon hours of fittings for my new French wardrobe. My journey to France begins in less than two weeks!! My marriage by proxy takes place within a week.

April 13, 1770

Last night as Mama and I knelt in prayer before bed, I noticed a tremor in her hands. Once more I was struck by how old Mama has become. I hope I shall fare better. I just would hate to have my skin creased and slack like hers is. And the parts that are smooth are mottled and gray. Fifty-four is an unimaginable age to me. She has had so many cares, however. I pray that as the Dauphine and future Queen of France my way shall be somewhat easier. The French have a large capacity for gaiety and diversion. This should help me. And of course the Court is so rich. Mama worries about budgets and money matters so much. I don’t really think one needs to worry quite that much.

April 14, 1770

Tomorrow the French ambassador Durfort is to arrive with the Royal entourage that is to accompany me. I have been in meetings with Mama and Prince Kaunitz and our ambassador to the French Court, Count Mercy, all day. There are over one thousand people in the entourage. I found these meetings very hard, for I have learned for the first time how few of my own things I shall be able to take with me to France. Not one of my chambermaids may travel with me beyond the French border. None of the horse grooms that I have come to know over the years. There will hardly be a familiar face, save that of Abbé de Vermond. At the border, near the city of Strasbourg at the abbey of Schuttern, I shall meet my new Ladies-in-Waiting and servants. Not only am I not allowed to take along the dear people who have served me so well as long as I can remember, but none of my personal possessions, none of my clothes. I began to cry, much to Mama’s dismay. I begged to take Schnitzy. They say they shall think upon it.

April 15, 1770

We stood for three hours on the balcony and watched the procession enter the grand courtyard of the Hofburg. In all there were forty-eight coaches drawn by six horses each, including the immense gilt Berlins specially ordered for me by Louis XV. I cannot wait to see the inside of the Berlins. I understand they are plushly lined with blue velvet, have small crystal chandeliers and a table for a complete tea service! There were over one hundred equerries, or horse officers, just for the coaches.

April 16, 1770

The official reception to welcome Ambassador Durfort as representative of Louis XV was tonight. There were two performances, including a ballet especially choreographed by Noverre. I could not help but remember our performances of this summer and our ballet with Titi at Schönbrunn. For this event I had to spend six hours with four hairdressers. I shall not sleep well tonight at all for I must give up my pillow for the wooden block to preserve my hairdo. However, Liesel, my chambermaid, promises to put a thick wadding of cotton on the neck rest.

April 17, 1770

Today at noon sharp in the Hofburg’s high conference room in the presence of Mama and my brother Joseph, their ministers and councillors, I signed the Acts of Renunciation of all my rights as a descendant of the Habsburg dynasty. This means that neither I nor any of my future children can ever claim any rights to the throne. Joseph, who rules alongside Mama as Emperor, retains all such rights for himself and his children. I had to swear an oath on a Bible. It felt odd. I have always lived in Austria, been Austrian, and now with this I remove myself from Austria. It is a mental removal. It is to serve as a signal to my mind that I can no longer claim what I was born to. In four days there will be a physical removal as I climb into one of the two Berlins to be driven away from the country of my birth.

P.S. Elizabeth came bursting into my apartment just a few minutes ago with the wonderful news that I am to be allowed to take Schnitzy with me to France. I was seized with happiness, but as I bent to scoop up Schnitzy, I was suddenly struck by the cold truth: how much I would rather take Elizabeth, and when shall I ever see her again? As I rose up, I could spy in Elizabeth’s eyes, even through her veil, a mirror image of the same thoughts. We rushed to each other and embraced with Schnitzy squashed between us. Schnitzy was yipping and we were crying, our cheeks so wet and salty with tears that Schnitzy began licking our faces and then we started laughing. Oh, I am so mixed up. I laugh. I cry. I cannot sort out my feelings. And in two days I shall be married by proxy.

April 18, 1770

Ferdinand and I practiced today the proxy ceremony for marriage. We could not help but giggle. It is hard not to, for after all we have been brother and sister all these years, racing our ponies, playing games and tricks. To have him now as a substitute groom and me a bride seems ridiculous. Is it just another game? I remember so well when Ferdinand slipped a small frog under the silver dome of my favorite dessert, Vienna torte. Instead of fluffy white whipped cream there was this tiny quivering green frog. We all nearly hurt ourselves laughing.

Now when Ferdinand and I kneel together in the church of the Augustins as we did this afternoon in practice, all I can think of is that little green frog and I just start laughing. At first I pretended I was coughing but I could not keep up that deceit for long. Ferdinand knew exactly what I was thinking, and he started making funny faces and then choking because he was convulsed with giggles, too. Oh my goodness, it was agony. Count Mercy spoke severely to us. We finally did it right, without laughing.

April 19, 1770

I’m married and I feel not one speck different than I did before. Ferdinand and I did perfectly in the ceremony. It was hard to believe I could ever have dreamed I might laugh, for it was so solemn. I walked through an honor guard of two hundred Royal grenadiers to the church of the Augustins which adjoins the palace. My dress was of silver and with a train of more than thirty feet. Mama’s old and very dear friend the Countess of Trautmannsdorff carried my train. I understand that Countess Sauer Kraut was very upset, for she had expected to carry my train. But I have always loved “Trautie,” as Mama calls her, and she will be in my entourage to the border. When Ferdinand slid the ring onto my finger, I tried to picture Louis Auguste but for some reason I simply could not capture his face, although his portrait has been on my wall now for several days.

This evening I wrote a letter to my new father-in-law, King Louis XV, and my husband, the Dauphin, to inform them that my marriage has been celebrated. I signed the letter Antonia. Mama did not object, which surprised me. But this is the last time I shall ever sign my name thusly. Henceforth it shall be only Marie Antoinette. I am told that the name Antonia does not exist in France. After a day of rest I leave. Our procession of carriages and equerries and attendants is said to stretch almost two miles in length.

April 22, 1770
Enns, Austria, Castle of Prince Auersperg

It is cold and rainy and this castle seems to me inadequately heated. I have asked Trautie how we are expected to dress for the Prince’s banquet if it is this cold in the banquet hall. Thank goodness Trautie is so no-nonsense. She says that she plans to wear flannel unders and I can do as I please. This is what I love about Trautie. She never tells one what to do. She leads by firm example.

Our first night was spent at Melk in an abbey. My brother Joseph accompanied us this far. There was an opera performed by the monastery’s singing students. They were terrible. It just shows that what Mama says is true — if one removes to anywhere outside of the circumference of Vienna, the music worsens. The farther one travels away from Vienna, the worse the music gets.

The coach we ride in — the Berlin — is as wonderful as described. In fact, Trautie said that tonight we might be more comfortable in the Berlin than in this cold stone room of the castle. I plan to have Schnitzy sleep under the covers with me. I certainly don’t want him catching cold. He is all I can carry with me over the border from my old life.

April 25, 1770
Alt Ettingen, Bavaria

It is amazing, the sameness of the days. I feel inadequate to the journey, for I am easily bored when I look out the window of the Berlin as we pass through the countryside or through the small villages where people come out to wave and cheer. Mama would be so enthralled, for this is her kingdom and there is not a corner of it that does not interest her. Indeed, we are passing through all of the little states that form the Empire. We are now in that part called the Holy Roman German Empire, but it is still under the rule of Mama and Joseph.

We are coming close to Munich now and there are many festivities planned for my stay. The Elector of Bavaria lives there and is one of the richest men in all of Europe. His shooting lodge at Amalienburg and his gardens are supposed to be extraordinary. We sent news back to Vienna by courier. I have prepared letters for Mama and for Elizabeth and Ferdinand. It was very difficult for me to write Elizabeth. I realized that I have not talked much of the good-byes I had to bid when we left. It is simply too painful, but to say good-bye to Elizabeth was the worst. I feel a cold coming on.