Marie Antoinette (2 page)

• Nosy Mama

• Caroline, my dearest sister

• My fat dead awful sister-in-law

• My favorite niece

January 5, 1769

This is fun. And Abbé de Vermond says I am improving in my writing and my reading. Already! And it has been only five days.

Now to my list.

1) Nosy Mama — I love the Empress my mother very much. But she and I are quite different. She is not so lazy as me. She never wastes a minute. Indeed, when she was in labor giving birth to me she called a dentist to come along with the midwife, for she decided to have an old rotten tooth pulled at the same time. She felt it was efficient to be in pain all at one time for two things. She is very orderly. Nothing is ever out of place. I misplace my handkerchief all the time and I lost my fan, the good one, that belonged to Brandy, my old governess whom Lulu replaced. Mama never forgets or misplaces things. But Mama is nosy. She wants to know everything I am doing, every bit I am learning. She tries to peek when I am getting dressed or undressed. She worries that my bosom might remain too flat, but with Caroline I remember her worrying that her bosom might be too large. “A heavy bosom adds age to a young girl.” That is one of Mama’s sayings. She has many sayings, including the family motto, which she recites all the time. “Others make war, but thou, oh happy Austria, make marriages.” These words are written in Latin on many crests and emblems around the palace. But that is not enough for Mama. She says it all the time — in Latin, in French, in German, and in Italian.

Mama’s goal is to marry all of us children off to Kings or Queens, Princes or Princesses, Dukes or Duchesses. That is how the Empire grows, gets new land, and friends or allies to help us in times of war. Through marriage we can perhaps get peace. It is a very good bargain, in Mama’s mind.

I think that is why Mama is so nosy. To make marriages, she must stick her nose into all of our businesses. So far she has done well. My sister Maria Christina married Albert of Saxony, and he is now governor of the Austrian Netherlands, the part we call Hungary. Maria Amalia married the Duke of Parma and is therefore a Duchess in Italy. My brother Joseph married fat Josepha of Bavaria, and my favorite sister Caroline was wed to Ferdinand, King of Naples.

Mama would be more nosy with us children if she had time, but because she is the Empress she is always working. Sometimes we go two weeks without seeing Mama. If someone were to ask me my very first memory of Mama, I would say it was when Brandy led me into her rooms of state at the summer palace, Schönbrunn, and Mama looked up from her papers. She had been peering at them through a large magnifying glass and she continued to hold it up and began to peer at me.

I had not intended to write this much. I am tired. My hand needs a rest. I shall find my brother Ferdinand and play shuttlecocks.

January 9, 1769

I am continuing my list concerning my innermost thoughts. Number two is Caroline. Do I say
is
or
was
? She is not dead but she is not here, either. It has been almost a year since I have seen her. Mama insisted that she marry Ferdinand of Naples. You see, my sister Josepha, who was older than Caroline, was supposed to marry him but Josepha died — the smallpox. So Mama insisted that Caroline “step in,” as she put it. I loved Caroline dearly. She is three years older but we were very close. We were as close as . . . let me think . . . bees and honey or roses and thorns.

chicks in a nest

leaves to a twig

bark to a tree trunk

You might think me nasty for saying this, but Caroline would be the first to agree. You see, I am considered quite pretty with my blue eyes and ash blonde hair and very fair skin. Caroline is not. She is rather stumpy and very ruddy of face, prickly on the outside but lovely and beautiful inside. No matter, every rose must have its thorns — Caroline herself once explained this to me. And Caroline provided the thorns. She is fierce and independent, and she always protected me just as the thorns protect the rose from greedy people in a garden. She made an uproar when Mama insisted she marry the King of Naples. Mama said such an outburst was thoughtless and rude. But I loved Caroline with all my heart. She writes me, but it is not the same Caroline. She seems sad and almost weak in her letters.

I love my sister Elizabeth, too, but poor Elizabeth hardly comes out of her apartments. You see, Elizabeth was once a great beauty, really much more beautiful than I am, and very charming and witty, but she was stricken with smallpox. Her skin is deeply pitted. Elizabeth is twelve years older than I and she had been promised as a bride to the Duke of Bavaria, but of course it could not be, once her skin was ruined. She stays in her rooms now, heavily veiled, but at Schönbrunn in the summer she feels freer and wears thinner veils.

Before Caroline left for her marriage, I had really learned as much from her as from any of my governesses and maybe even more than from Abbé de Vermond.

Now number three on my list: Josepha, my sister-in-law. No one liked Josepha, not even my brother who was married to her. Mama made him marry her. Josepha was miserable, cranky, ugly, selfish, and whiney. She caught the smallpox and died. No one was too sad. But Mama felt we had to pretend. She said we must appear to grieve. It was only proper. So she insisted that my older sister, who was by coincidence also named Josepha, visit her tomb. Well, the body was still warm in the coffin and the terrible pox must still have been alive in the air, because the very next day our dear sister came down ill and was dead within three days.

Josepha had been promised to Ferdinand of Naples as his wife. So that is when Mama insisted that Caroline take her place. So I lost two dear sisters just because of that miserable Josepha’s death and, yes, Mama’s notions about what is proper and a duty. God forgive me for these words but if I cannot help but think them, is it that much worse to write them down in this diary? And remember, God, I am writing this diary so that I might become a more learned person and fulfill Mama’s wishes that I become Queen of France.

Enough! It makes me sad, and now the snow comes down thickly and we have been promised a sledge ride.

January 11, 1769

Today we went sledge riding and sledding. My dear little niece Theresa, or Titi as I call her, comes with us now that she is over her cold. She is just seven. She and I rode on the same sled. She rides stretched out on my back and we go whizzing down the slope. There are better slopes at Schönbrunn Palace out in the country. Here in Vienna there are not that many. It is too flat. But if we can get permission from the chief of the Imperial Guard, then Hans is allowed to take us across the river Danube to the other side where the Vienna woods slope down to the river. We then go to the Hermannskogel, which is the highest point in Vienna. We hope to go there tomorrow.

January 13, 1769

No time to write. Fresh snow and we have permission to go to the Hermannskogel. Titi and I are so excited!

January 14, 1769

No more sledge riding or sledding. Mama was furious when we returned the last time. First I was late for my music lesson with Master Gluck. Mama came in to scold me for being late, as I had just begun on my scales. Mama takes our music education very seriously. She says we live in the center of the best music in the entire world. For everyone knows that Vienna is where all the greatest musicians live and study and work. She even goes as far as to say that the music gets worse as soon as one leaves the city proper and keeps getting worse the farther one is from Vienna. She hates to think of what the music will be like in France, and in England, she cannot imagine.

In any case, when she came into the room, she lifted my hands from the harp. They were red from the cold, and she said, “Daughter! These are not the hands of an Archduchess, nor shall they ever be the hands of the Queen of France at this rate. You look like a scullery maid!”

She then ordered me to sleep in chicken-skin gloves. I hate more than anything those chicken-skin gloves. Even Lulu looked pained by the suggestion. It is an awful feeling, not to mention the odor of sleeping with chicken skin. But it is true that they whiten and soften the hands. Mama was so worried about Caroline’s ruddy complexion that she had specially made for her a chicken-skin mask for sleeping that fitted over her eyes and cheeks. But Caroline took it off the moment she got in bed and the governesses weren’t looking, and then the next day she would just powder her face more heavily. I wish I had Caroline’s nerve in standing up to Mama sometimes. Except did it give Caroline what she wanted? She still had to marry that ugly old fellow from Naples.

January 19, 1769

Very boring days with no sledge driving. Monsieur Larseneur came today to work with my hair. They say that my forehead is too high and that my hairline is too far back. This is because Brandy, my old governess, used to always pull my hair back so tightly when I went to bed. It caused it to thin and break. Monsieur Larseneur is a fashionable Parisian
friseur
, as they call hairdressers in France. He does many of the Ladies-in-Waiting at the Court of Versailles. He is very friendly and we have nice chats. I learn how to spell many French words about hair from him. Here I’ll make a list:

cheveux
=
hair

peigner
=
to comb one’s hair

se coiffer
=
to do one’s hair

se friser
=
to curl one’s hair

épingle à cheveux
=
hairpin

You see, I am learning French. But I am bored.
J’ai beaucoup d’ennui
. That is French for “I have much boredom.” I want to be sledge driving with my dog Schnitzel or my darling Titi.

January 20, 1769

Oh, I am so bored with the hair and the lessons and the dancing. But Lulu says they must get me near perfect very soon, for a French painter is to make my portrait and then a miniature that will be sent to King Louis and the Dauphin. Mama feels if they see how pretty I really am it shall speed the official engagement. You see, although this has all been planned since I was nine years old, it is not yet official, no date has been set, and that all depends on the French King. I wonder what the Dauphin looks like. Maybe they are trying to get him ready for a portrait. He is probably terribly handsome, as his grandfather the King is said to be the handsomest reigning monarch in Europe. I have heard that King Frederick the Great of Prussia is quite handsome but one dare not even whisper that name in front of Mama. Frederick is her great enemy. It is because of Frederick that we must all marry so well. Almost twenty years ago, just after Mama became Empress, Frederick invaded Silesia, part of our hereditary lands and our richest province. Mama never got over losing Silesia and vowed she would not sacrifice another centimeter to The Monster, as she calls King Frederick. She still vows to recover Silesia and we, her daughters and sons, are part of her plan. We lay siege not through weapons of destruction but through marriages.

So I must learn to dance. My hairline must grow back. I must improve my reading and writing and card playing. Card playing and gambling are favorite pastimes of the French Court of Versailles. All this is not so easy. I suppose marching and being shot at is harder, but not so boring.

January 23, 1769

Imagine this: While I practice walking with a book on my head to balance in the most immense panniers I have ever seen, which they tell me are quite the mode at Versailles, Abbé de Vermond reads aloud to me the history of France. This of course was Mama’s idea. “She can listen while she walks. She has ears as well as feet.” Thank you, Mama. There is a special walk for the ladies of Versailles that has to be mastered. One must take very small, quick steps. This makes one’s dress float over the polished marble floors.

January 30, 1769

Lulu tells me that Mama is very worried because King Louis has not yet sent a formal letter concerning my marriage. He apparently was supposed to do so by the end of this month. I always get worried when Mama gets worried, because she makes us, whichever child is worrying her the most, go with her to Papa’s tomb at the church of the Capuchins to pray.

February 1, 1769

Guess where I was today — the Capuchins church with Mama. Oh, I just hate it. I was nine years old when Papa died, and Mama has rarely worn anything but black since then. She cut her hair and she painted her apartments black. Now her hair has grown and her apartments are painted gray. But still the coffin she ordered made for herself at the time of Papa’s death sits in the burial vault of the chapel beside Papa’s, waiting for her. So Mama goes every afternoon and sits there beside the two coffins, the one with Papa’s bones, the other empty, and prays. And today she brought me, too, to pray for my marriage, to pray for Silesia, to pray for good fortune against The Monster.

February 4, 1769

I do not think I shall ever learn to dance as well as Lulu. Today in my dance lesson, not ballet but ballroom, Master Noverre asked Lulu to dance with him to show me one of the special Court dances. Lulu is so graceful. She appears to almost float. Lulu has reddish hair and when she dances her cheeks flush and her gray eyes grow all sparkly. I could tell Noverre was completely taken with her, and the violinist, who until then had just been scratching out his tunes for my awkward feet, suddenly played with new life.