Marie Antoinette: Princess of Versailles, Austria - France, 1769 by Kathryn Lasky
“Austria,” I started to say.
But Elizabeth cut me off as sharply as I have ever heard her speak in my life. “No! Mama’s idea of Austria.” In that moment it was as if I could see straight through Elizabeth’s veils, and what I saw was a woman completely free, free of Mama, free of Austria, free of empires and husbands and filled only with her own music and love of God. If people, especially women, knew the secret of Elizabeth, she would be the most envied woman in the Empire, in Europe, in the world!
May 14, 1769
I picnic now. I go to chapel one hour each day instead of five. I practice my harp diligently and have asked Elizabeth to help, and I spend many minutes several times a day trying to concentrate on what Elizabeth said: not letting Mama fill my mind. This is difficult, for Mama is a strong presence even when she is not nearby. One has to really concentrate to get Mama out of one’s thoughts. I do not seek to be defiant of Mama, but I do seek to have my own thoughts and not let her will so completely invade my nature. It is after all my nature and not Mama’s. People have always said that I am much like dear Papa in spirit, but I must be something more, too. Something that is just me, and only me.
May 19, 1769
A masked ball tonight. Funny, I have not thought once about trying to persuade Elizabeth to attend. Titi wonders why, for this was to be our big project. It is hard for me to explain to her. She is so young. But now that I have seen how complete, how happy Elizabeth is, trying to force her to go to a masked ball seems rather silly.
May 20, 1769
The ball was beautiful. They moved the dancing platforms into the rose gardens, which were illuminated with huge torches, and they tinted the water pink in the fountains. I danced until I thought my feet would drop off. Master Noverre pranced up to me with his beaked eagle mask and whispered that the French delegation was enchanted with my gavotte. I have not truly mastered all the complicated figures of French dances. These are much more difficult than our simple Austrian dances. However, he complimented me on how cunning it was of me to add a tendu at the finish, which revealed my ankle. I didn’t even know I had revealed my ankle. It was certainly unintentional. I hope Mama didn’t see it. She would have been angry. It is just that Titi and I have had much ballet instruction since arriving at Schönbrunn and I guess it must somehow creep into my dancing. A tendu is an extension of the leg and of the foot. The foot must have the toes pointed, of course. I just seem to do it.
May 23, 1769
I went riding for the first time since The Incident. I did not ride astride and I did not gallop through mud. And it was not nearly as much fun.
May 27, 1769
Mama has gone back to Vienna for a few days. She always does this in the summer for she likes to visit Papa’s tomb. She cannot bear to be away from it for too long. So I went riding astride today but did not get mud-splattered. It was still fun.
May 28, 1769
Rode astride and got muddy. Even more fun.
May 29, 1769
Mama returned today. Rode sidesaddle through a meadow.
June 2, 1769
My brother Leopold arrived today with his wife, Maria Luisa of Spain. Their little boy Francis is enchanting. He looks like a little fat cherub, all rosy and golden. And he smiles all the time. This is amazing to Titi and me because Maria Luisa never smiles and is the most severe, somber person I have ever met.
June 4, 1769
Little Francis came running down the long corridor with his Nursey chasing him and spotted Titi and me at the ballet barre with Master Noverre. He charged right in and went up to the barre. He could barely reach it, but he started doing exactly what we were doing. Master Noverre was delighted. I think the child is a genius. He followed everything we did and pointed his toes and held up his arms for port de bras.
June 5, 1769
Little Francis is like a beam of sunshine darting around the palace. Mama, too, is enchanted with him. She gave him a puppy and a pony, and he loves to crawl up onto her lap and play with the emerald pendant she often wears. Do you know I cannot remember ever sitting in Mama’s lap? She must have been so busy with all sixteen of us, although three had died young. Maximillian, Ferdinand, and I are just one year apart. There would have hardly been time to dandle us on her lap. I do remember sitting on Papa’s lap. Papa had not nearly so much to do, however. For although Papa had the title of Emperor, he was not the one who ruled through birthright. That is Mama. Papa had been the Duke of Lorraine. Lorraine was a duchy, or province. Although it is now part of the Austrian Empire, it sits in the northeast corner of France. Very inconvenient, for it made it a borderland that has always been fought over between France and Austria, and Prussia and Spain, too. It was Mama and Papa’s marriage that set off a terrible fracas that is now called the Austrian War of Succession. The French wanted this horrid Bavarian lout to rule and be Emperor. The only way Mama could be Empress was to give Lorraine to Poland with the agreement that when Papa died, it would go back to France. And so it did, in 1766. Now if I marry the Dauphin and then become Queen at least I shall be ruling over what once belonged to Papa. That will make me most happy, and I hope from heaven Papa will smile down, too.
June 7, 1769
Mama has been having me visit her every morning for twenty minutes. Lulu accompanies me and we go over the etiquette of the Court of Versailles. I think as I see Mama reading the charts that Lulu has prepared that she sometimes thinks it is too much herself. Her eyebrow shot up this morning. “What is this? There is the Lady of Honor and then there is the tirewoman and the first femme de chambre and then there is the undertirewoman and a wardrobe woman? All that to get dressed?”
Mama especially does not like the part where the femmes de chambre have the right to sell the old discarded clothes of the Dauphine or the Queen and that they can have, as needed, all the wax candles of the bedchamber and card room for their own use. I asked Mama why not, and she answered simply, “It gives them too much power over others beneath them; they can buy and sell their influence this way. Not good. I would never permit it.”
Indeed, I had the distinct feeling that Mama felt the whole system was too elaborate and much too costly. “Two Ladies of the Bath! Ridiculous! You’ve been bathing yourself since you were six years old.” Then she paused. “Of course, if you insist on riding through muddy creeks, it might take four Ladies of the Bath!” and I thought I saw a little twinkle in Mama’s eye and a twitch at the corner of her lip. But she whisked out of the room so suddenly I couldn’t tell. But I do believe that this is the first joke Mama has ever made. I think it’s wonderful. Mama made a joke!
June 13, 1769
Oh my God! It has come at last — the marriage proposal! King Louis XV’s personal envoys arrived this morning. I was called immediately to Mama’s summer house, the Gloriette, where she works on the hottest days. I did not know what I was being called for. Indeed, I thought maybe Maria Luisa had told Mama about our picnic and I was to be reprimanded for hill rolling! But as soon as I set foot in the cool marble receiving room, Mama was out of her chair behind her desk and running toward me. She crushed me to her bosom and whispered, “Antonia, you are to be married! You are to be the Queen of France!” Her cheeks were wet with tears and soon mine were, too! She took me immediately to the chapel, where we both fell on our knees and thanked God for this great and good fortune. Mama held my hand tightly all through the prayers as they were chanted by Father Confessor. So it has all worked. All of Mama’s planning — the lessons, the hair treatment — all of it has worked. I have come so far in six months. Dear diary, I write so fluently now. Did you know that in the past when I was required to write even the simplest of notes, my old governess, Brandy, would first prepare the note in pencil and then I would write over the words in ink? And look at me now. Oh, I think when I am Queen of France I shall probably have to do much writing. Or maybe not. They probably have secretaries who write for you. But maybe I shall be like Mama and write my
June 14, 1769
People now regard me differently. And most certainly Maria Luisa does. I think she is slightly disappointed. She among others, I believe, never thought the marriage would come to be. But now they all know and their behavior tells the difference. They stop speaking when I come near, just as they do when my mother passes. They take a step back not just in the narrow corridors of Schönbrunn but in the very widest ones. And my teachers, like Noverre and, yes, the Abbé, too, act differently. All except for Lulu. She is still the same dear old Lulu.
June 15, 1769
Mama says we must make a pilgrimage to Mariazell, a village some miles away. There is a statue of the Virgin in wood and it is believed she brings luck and many children to young married couples. We leave tomorrow and shall stay there in a monastery for a week in retreat where we shall do nothing but pray and fast lightly, which means no meat but fish. No pastries. Just “simple food,” as Mama keeps saying. This means thin broths, ass’s milk (Mama’s favorite for everything), cheeses, and, of course, bread. Perhaps a pear from the monastery orchards.
I think it shall be very boring, as I am not even permitted to write. But that perhaps is good, for if I brought you, dear diary, and Mama and I share a room, well, she might discover you. Even in a monastery my mother could not resist poking her nose into a private diary!
But in all honesty I do not mind going. If this is what Mama wants and she wants it only for my happiness in marriage, then this is the least I can do.
July 5, 1769
Back from Mariazell. It was not as boring as I thought. Each day we spent many hours praying to the Virgin. Her lovely face has been nearly worn smooth of paint and her expression seems dim. Each day as I looked at her and prayed, I seemed to see her in a new light, and finally in the last days I realized that she indeed did remind me of my sister Elizabeth, for it was as if the years of wear, the thinning of the paint, the smoothing of the wood, dropped a veil of sorts across her face — a veil of tranquility and complete acceptance.
When we were not praying, we helped the nuns with their embroidery. We took walks in the nearby hills, which were sprigged with field flowers, and we drank lots of ass’s milk. It was quiet. It was simple and it rests in a corner of my mind like a calm little island.
July 7, 1769
I am being taught a new card game that is becoming very popular at Versailles. Abbé de Vermond says it is a favorite now of King Louis’s daughters Adelaide, Victoire, and Sophie. I am told that the King was much impressed with the pastel Ducreux sent of me. Now I hope they shall send one of the Dauphin. I am so eager to see what my future husband looks like. I know so little about him. However, I do know that his birthday is coming up. He shall be fifteen on August 23. I think I should make a gift for him. Perhaps an embroidered vest. Oh, I could never finish it by then. Maybe something smaller. An embroidered cover for his prayer book. The Dauphin is almost fifteen months older than I am. I shall turn fourteen on November 2. I think this is a nice age difference. Ferdinand of Naples is much older than Caroline. He has a vast amount of wrinkles and many gray hairs, some sticking straight out of his ears. It’s rather disgusting.
July 12, 1769
The poupées from France arrived today. They are the little fashion dolls that show how the various dresses look when worn. They are absolutely charming and stand about one foot high. One is just for undergarments — chemises, shifts, underpetticoats, petticoats, corsets, and hoops. But the dresses themselves are what are the most amazing. The modiste, or designer, for these new fashions is a young woman named Rose Bertin, and she has made the most extraordinary creations. I love them all. I want them all, and these are only her designs for the early spring season at Versailles. The panniers have grown even wider, and this allows for more decorations and flounces and lace frills. The necklines are much lower, and I must say these dollies have more bosom than I do. And then there are the most beautiful flower-decorated ribbons called échelles that tumble down the fronts of the dresses over the stomacher. The stomacher is an inset triangle that goes from the neckline of the dress down over the stomach and helps the waist appear thinner.
My favorite gown, however, was one called a polonaise. It is really more of an overdress or coat dress with a skirt that opens from the waist down and is drawn up to show the petticoats. Mama thought it was scandalous. But I loved it and it looks so comfortable. I ordered two polonaises and two robes à la Créole, which is supposedly fashioned after gowns worn by French ladies in the Americas. It is very simple, almost the weight of a chemise, and is caught at the waist with a large sash. And then I ordered several of the huge pannier gowns and numerous mantles and cloaks. The wedding is set for May and Madame Bertin has already begun on my wedding dress and a poupée will be coming next month. I think the dress is to be of white satin brocade with diamonds. The poupée, of course, will have fool’s diamonds. Oh, this is all so exciting! I can hardly stand it. I am counting the days.
July 15, 1769
With the poupées came a long letter from a Countess de Noailles. She is to be my Lady of Honor. The letter was very kind. She said she thought she would take the opportunity to explain to me some of the etiquette pertaining to fashion and dressing, since I had the poupée before my eyes. And then, unbelievably, there were fifteen pages of closely written rules and regulations concerning fashion and dressing. How shall I ever remember them all? An exceedingly stupid one comes to mind right now: Lappets, which are two long flaps on either side of a headdress and are usually worn pinned up, are always to be loosened and left hanging when receiving people in the state apartments. No one ever lets their lappets hang in Court here. They are such a nuisance. Mama always has hers pinned up. They get into the ink pots when she is writing. Although the Countess’s tone is most friendly, I hope that she is not too strict about all of these rules of etiquette.
July 18, 1769
I could not help but think what a wonderful summer this has been — picnics, horseback riding, balls. They say that at Versailles a Princess must be accompanied by no less than four of her Ladies-in-Waiting, a chair carrier, and a valet. And that when a Princess is on her way to the King’s suite, she is required to be carried only as far as the guard’s room and then alight there before entering the presence of the King. No one carries anyone around here. We do not even have such chairs.
July 19, 1769
These disturbing thoughts about etiquette occupy my mind more and more. Almost once a week it seems new papers arrive concerning the various rituals of the Court. Now one has come about card playing. I don’t really play cards that well to begin with. But now I am required to understand that only a Lady-in-Waiting can hand the cards directly to me and not a Lady of the Chamber. I am trying my best to learn all this. I must say, Lulu makes it as nice as possible and sometimes funny.
Despite all this etiquette I must learn for Versailles, I am determined to enjoy the rest of the summer and the special freedom I find here at Schönbrunn. Titi and I went wading in the fountains in our nightrails last night. It was so hot. So we just decided to do it. I wager that I should never be permitted this at Versailles — even if I were Queen and commanded it. This is probably a terrible thought to commit to paper. However, I must say it, although Mama would be furious: But what is the point of being the Queen of France if one cannot wade barefoot in one’s nightclothes?
July 24, 1769
The wedding dress poupée arrived today. It is the most splendid gown. It is white brocade with stripes of diamonds. The hoops are immense. There was included a note from the modiste, Madame Rose Bertin, saying that she designed this gown with the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles in mind. It is through this Hall that the wedding procession shall pass on its way to the Royal Chapel. More than five thousand seats are to be installed so that spectators may view us. Madame Bertin writes “. . . and the four thousand diamonds that are right now being sewn onto your gown shall appear as forty mi
Mama read this and made a little face, then muttered, “I’m glad they’re paying for it.” I blushed. How can Mama think of cost at a time like this?
July 27, 1769
The heat has been terrible. It is nearly impossible to sleep. Titi and I went out again tonight to wade and you’ll never guess who joined us. Mama! Titi and I were so frightened when we saw her coming. She was with one of her Ladies of the Chamber and wore a great cape over her chemise. Then she spoke up. “This is the best idea of the whole summer.” She sat down on a bench, took off her shoes, unrolled her stockings, walked over, and climbed into the fountain. She let her chemise drag through the water. “Ooh, Bissy!” she called to her Lady of the Chamber, “Come in. It’s the best!” Then under her breath she whispered to us, “She never will. She’s such a fearful thing.” And Bissy didn’t. But Mama and Titi and I waded about and Mama told us she used to do this when she was young. I noticed, for the moon was full and the light was good, that Mama has grown quite stout. Her wet chemise clung to her calves, which looked like large hams.