Marie Antoinette (4 page)

March 4, 1769

Nearly a week without seeing Mama. She has been in constant meetings with the Duc de Choiseul and the other French ambassador, the Marquis Durfort. Every day I don’t see Mama is good, for it gives me more strength for the time when I will see her. I am still very angry but I think I can hide it better. And if there is one thing I do not want to do, it is to cry in front of Mama.

Even though I don’t see Mama, there are messages and notes from her every day. One came just this morning telling me that she has instructed Abbé de Vermond in his French history lessons with me to familiarize me with the names of all the French colonels and the colors of their regiments. This is very much like Mama. They say that in 1756, when The Monster marched into Saxony and war broke out once again between our Empire and the Prussians, Mama personally checked many of the supplies being sent to the soldiers at the front line. She insisted that one lot of blankets be exchanged for another, for they were too thin to keep the dear brave soldiers warm, and she even pawned many of her jewels in order to better equip the soldiers at the front.

March 5, 1769

Another message from Mama today instructing me that I should devote even more time to the study of the reign of Louis XIV, who ruled France in the early part of this century and of whom I am a descendant.

March 6, 1769

Oh dear, Mama wants to see me today. I am so nervous. I know she is going to quiz me on Louis XIV and the colors of the regiments.

March 7, 1769

No quiz at all. Mama was in the best of moods. A portrait painter has been sent from France to paint me with the intention of taking back my likeness to King Louis and the Dauphin. Mama is beside herself. She was practically dancing around Kaunitz, tweaking his beard, her eyes glittering. “We are coming closer, closer, Mein Prince,” she kept saying. “And you, my little
bijou
(
bijou
means “jewel” in French), we must have Larseneur work on your hair. The hairline is coming back. Look, Kaunitz.” And she brought me over to the prince and had him examine my forehead. “And how is the dancing going with Noverre?” she asked next.

“Mama, I am to be still in the portrait and not dancing or even walking,” I said. And everyone laughed very heartily, Mama the heartiest of all. Then she pinched my cheek and called me her little Leibenkügel, which means “sweet cake,” and do you know, this is the only time I ever remember Mama using such tenderness with me. Then she said, “You see, Gentlemen,” for not only was Kaunitz there but Mama’s ambassador to Versailles, Count Mercy d’Argenteau, as well. “You see, Gentlemen,” she said, “she has wit, this one. She will be a match for any of those women in the Court of Versailles.” But there was something in the way Mama said “those women” that made a chill run through me. It was as if she did not respect them or felt they were bad in some way, and if this be true, why is Mama sending me there? I wanted to ask her but I was frightened.

March 10, 1769

The French painter arrived today. His name is Monsieur Ducreux and he is a specialist with pastels. He actually has been instructed to paint not only my portrait but others in my family as well. When Mama heard this, her eyes narrowed, but then she said in German, so I trust Ducreux did not understand, that she knew what the French were doing. “Very crafty. They do not want this to look too obvious, too definitive in terms of the progress of the engagement. I see what that old fox Louis is doing. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch! Ah ha! Well, when he sees my little chick, he shall not be able to resist her for his grandson.”

I hope that Monsieur Ducreux did not understand. For as the “little chick” who does understand German, I, for one, found it most discomforting.

March 11, 1769

Monsieur Ducreux did understand! I was mortified. But he was so kind. He said, “Do not blush, Archduchess, or I shall not have enough crimson left for your dress. Fear nothing, you are the loveliest creature I have ever painted. You are so young, so fresh.” He shooed Monsieur Larseneur away when he came in with a basket of hairpieces and a tub of powder. “
Non! Non!
None of that. Would you powder the blossoms of the cherry tree? Would you tint the
muguets
that spring from the earth after the last snows of winter? Are you crazy?” Then he entertained me with delightful stories of how wonderful the woods around Versailles are and the lovely riding, especially in the spring when the wild bulbs first start to emerge and the millions of snowdrops pop from the earth. Oh, it sounds heavenly. I really like Monsieur Ducreux very much. He seems so artistic in every way. He paints as well with words as he does with his brush.

April 5, 1769

So sorry, dear diary, that I haven’t written but I have been so ill these past three weeks. Everyone came down with the chest catarrh, including Mama. Now she has us all on a strict regimen in which we are required to drink donkey’s milk at least once a day. She says donkey’s, or ass’s, milk is much better than cow’s milk when one has a phlegmy chest congestion. She suggested this, not the doctor. Mama says that if she were not the Empress she would be a doctor! She says this all the time, even in front of Herr Doktor Kreinetz. He is used to it. He just smiles. I don’t think there is anything that Mama thinks she could not do. How often I hear her sigh and say if she only had the time — meaning if she were not the Empress of the Holy Roman Empire. I shall make a list of the things Mama says she would be if she were not Empress:

• doctor
  
• opera singer
  
• horse trainer
  
• apothecary
  
• gunnery sergeant
  

She actually said that is what she would have liked to be in 1756 when The Monster invaded Saxony and she was examining the axle system of a new gun carriage. If she were not Empress, she told the troops, she would love to “wheel this gun about and blow the behind off The Monster!” This endeared her to the soldiers and gave rise to a very rude rhyme shouted by them in the battlefield:

Bend over, Freddy of Prussia

Let the Empress take aim

Your butt will fly to Russia

Your brains to sunny Spain

My mother!

April 6, 1769

I am back posing for Monsieur Ducreux. I was too sick for the last weeks so he just worked on the dress part of the painting and the background. It shall be finished in another week, he thinks, and then be sent off to France. I hope they like me. I hope the Dauphin thinks I am pretty. I tried very hard to have a sweet expression and a kind look in my eye. While Ducreux paints, I think of ways that I might make the Dauphin happy. I think of little jokes and rhymes I can share with him. I wonder if I would ever have enough nerve to tell him the soldiers’ rhyme about Mama. It is so funny but I think I would blush too much. I mean, I cannot imagine ever saying the word
butt
to the man who will be my husband. Oh my goodness, I turn red right here in the privacy of my chamber even thinking about it.

April 17, 1769

Have not written much lately. Between celebrating Easter and all the confusion of getting ready to move the Court to Schönbrunn there has hardly been a minute. Even my lessons with Abbé de Vermond and Dance Master Noverre have ceased for now. The Abbé marvels at my progress and then gives a wink and says, “I think your little friend has helped.” By “little friend” he means you, dear diary, and that is exactly what you have been to me these past several months. What a blessing it was the first day the Abbé brought you into my apartments and handed you to me. You are the one with a lock, but you have allowed me to unlock my heart and my deepest thoughts.

My portrait is on its way to France, to the Court of Versailles. I tremble every time I think of it. What will he, the Dauphin, think of me? What if I am not pretty enough? What if my eyes appear dull or harsh to him? I thought the portrait a good likeness, but how is one to judge her own face? I mean, I know not what Louis Auguste looks like. He might be the most handsome young man on earth. He might look like a god from Mount Olympus. And the women of the French Court are supposed to rival Aphrodite. Yes, that is what they said about King Louis’s last “good friend,” Madame Marquise de Pompadour. I might look like just a poor Viennese church mouse.

Oh dear, I am so nervous. I just pray to God every night that the Dauphin won’t be disappointed, but if an official marriage proposal does not come within the next month, I shall be frantic with worry. And what will Mama do? I suppose she will make me an Abbess as she did my oldest sister, Anna, who lives in a convent in Prague. Mama also made Elizabeth an Abbess of a convent in Innsbruck. They do not have to live there. They just visit occasionally. This, however, is what happens to Archduchesses for whom no husbands can be found.

April 25, 1769
Schönbrunn Palace

We are here at last. Is there anything with more tumult and confusion than when the Court moves? We all must go to bed for the better part of the next day once we get here, except for Mama, of course, who met with some ministers. In all, there are more than one thousand people in our retinue when we go to Schönbrunn. The Empress’s carriage alone is accompanied by twenty-three others to carry her Ladies-in-Waiting, the maids, the Master of the Plate, meaning her coin and silver, the Master of the Palace Linen, the apothecary. Then there are four kitchen coaches specially designed to carry various utensils and foodstuffs, in addition to the usual courtiers, trumpeters, pages, postilions, and guards on horseback. Oh yes, and a special coach for Father Confessor and the chaplain and then eighteen other coaches with our baggage and other provisions, including two for musical instruments.

April 27, 1769

It is so lovely to be at Schönbrunn. Everything is so much easier here. We are allowed picnics every day. We go just with Hans and Lulu. None of Mama’s Ladies-in-Waiting are required. However, I invited the Abbé to our first one yesterday and Titi talked Elizabeth into coming. Elizabeth wears white veils at Schönbrunn to cover her face instead of the dark ones that she wears in Vienna. I think she likes the sun to shine through and warm her. I was watching her today as she sat on the tapestry in Lark Meadow. That is what we call one of our favorite places for picnics because there are so many larks. She has a perfect figure and perfect posture. Through the veil I could see her profile. It is far more beautiful than mine. Her face is exquisite. They say that we Habsburgs have a slightly protruding lower lip. It is true, except for Elizabeth. And her eyes are the color of violets. A lark began to sing and she took my hand and said, “Listen, Antonia! Listen!” Then she tapped out the rhythm of the lark’s song on my palm. I looked at her and through her veil I could see that she was smiling. She looked happy in a way that I have never seen anyone look happy in my life.

April 29, 1769

Another picnic today and horseback riding. Mama did not go with us so I rode astride and not sidesaddle. Mama, who has always ridden astride herself, suddenly says that I should not. I think this is something the French have suggested. It is ridiculous and one’s balance is so much better astride. I went with Ferdinand and Hans and Lulu (she rode sidesaddle of course) and my brother Max, who is just a year younger. Max is a fantastic rider. We like to race.

May 5, 1769

Mama is furious with me. I think I have never seen her so angry. Max and I went riding again today and raced through a sparse woods that we love and then out the other side where there is a creek. Well, this year the water was much higher in the creek than we expected and my petticoats were soon drenched, and I was splattered with mud from head to toe. When we came back into the courtyard, Mama was standing there with a delegation of gentlemen. I could see from their dress that they were from the Court of Versailles, for their livery was gold and pale blue, the same colors as your cover, dear diary. I got this awful sinking feeling. For a moment I thought maybe no one would recognize me since I was so mud-splattered and, of course, astride on the horse.

I was bade approach and I did and slipped out of the saddle. Mama looked like a stone statue. I curtsied, and a blob of mud fell from my neck. “Antonia,” Mama said, “you of course remember Ambassador Durfort and his councilors.” I was mortified. “I think you had best excuse yourself and bathe,” she said, her voice like ice.

Oh, dear Lord, have I ruined everything? How shall I ever make this up to Mama? I feel terrible. There is a note from Mama that I am to come to her apartments tomorrow morning.

May 6, 1769

Well, I have seen Mama. It was worse than I could have imagined in ways that I had never imagined. Mama did not scream or rant — and she has been known to do that before. No, she was still and silent. She just glared. She did not say a word for a full four minutes, I think, and she had dismissed her Ladies-in-Waiting and her guard! I have never known her to do this. Indeed, I had never in my life been alone with Mama until that moment. It felt very odd. After she dismissed them, she just continued to stare. And the minutes stretched on and on. Then she made two small gestures, but she made sure I was noticing. She twisted her wedding ring on her left third finger, and then she twisted the diamond ring of the Holy Roman Empire on the finger next to it. With these two small gestures I knew that I had failed in the most sacred tasks that had been put to me. I had endangered my marriage prospects and endangered the Empire. It was almost as if in these few seconds I could feel the hot breath of The Monster on all our backs. Then Mama said, “Get out!” and the words scalded the air.