It is unbearably hot. The Countess kindly gave Carolina and I permission to take our books outside and sit in the shade reading them but thanks to the heat and the incessant buzzing of the bees, I could hardly keep my eyes open and so ended up falling asleep with my head on the open page.
Consequently, I did not learn very much today.
Carolina slipped past the footmen and guards and came to my rooms last night to sleep in my bed with me. It is usually forbidden for us to wander about the palace in the dark in such a way but we might as well take advantage of Mama’s absence. Schönbrunn has almost two thousand rooms and it is very easy to get lost if one does not know precisely where to go and even then there is the risk of turning down the wrong corridor or going up the wrong stairs. Joseph and Leopold like to tease us by telling us stories about unfortunate maids who took a wrong turning and were never to be seen again or who were eventually discovered many years later as a mouldering skeleton in the attics. Mama says that this is all nonsense but even so we are forbidden to leave our rooms at night, just in case we get lost. Our apartments are on the second floor of the left wing of the palace, where all of the archduchesses have their rooms, while our brothers are housed across the cobbled courtyard in the right wing. It is very quiet on our side, without all of our sisters rushing about, chattering with their ladies in waiting and borrowing dresses and shoes from each other. They are young ladies now. I wonder what it is like for Max and Ferdinand without Joseph and Leopold and all their dogs and servants and fuss?
We each have five rooms – two antechambers, an audience chamber (which is not used very often as you can imagine), a bedchamber and a drawing room, with a small room hidden behind the panelling, where our maids sleep and keep their possessions. My rooms are very pretty with pale green and pink paneling, simple white painted furniture, paintings of flowers by my older sisters and white and gold ceramic stoves standing in the corners, as in all of the rooms in the palace. My precious harp and pianoforte stand in the drawing room along with a stand holding all of my music, including some pieces specially composed for us by Gluck and Mozart, both of whom are favourites with our parents. Herr Gluck even gives us as all music lessons.
Wolferl Mozart is an old friend of mine of course. Mama is very fond of telling us about the time he came to play for us in the crimson and gold Mirrors Room when he was all of six years old and a tiny little prodigy from Salzburg in a ridiculously over sized wig and tight pale blue silk coat. His sombre Papa had stood over him anxiously as his thin little fingers flew across the harpsichord keys, while we all caught our breath and watched in wonderment, hardly able to believe that such a small boy could produce such heavenly music. It was really quite astonishing (and of course Mama compared us to him for many months afterwards) and we all applauded enthusiastically when he came to a halt and then bowed to us all before running up to Mama and clambering up on to her blue silken lap for a kiss. I would never have taken such a liberty but Mama was delighted and kissed the little imp on both cheeks! Wolferl tripped on the polished parquet floor when she placed him back on to the ground and I rushed forward to help him to his feet.
‘I want to marry you!’ he cried, clasping my hand to his heart, much to the amusement of all of the court. ‘You are the prettiest and kindest girl that I have ever seen!’
Mozart is only a few months older than me and is now one of the most famous composers in all of the world. He seldom comes to Schönbrunn any more, as he always seems to be touring the courts of Europe with his parents and pretty sister, Nannerl but when he does he always has a wink and a smile for me and calls me his ‘little fiancée’ when no one can hear. He has been to Versailles and played for the King of France himself and all of his daughters. ‘None of the French princesses are as pretty as the Austrian archduchesses,’ he reported back with a grin. ‘And as for Madame de Pompadour! She is pretty enough, if you fancy fat ladies with a turn for melodrama, but I quite took against her when she refused to give me a kiss.’ He looked indignant. ‘If the Empress herself took me on her knee and kissed me then you would think that a mere…’ He giggled and clapped his hand over his mouth. ‘Oops, I almost said too much.’
I wish I knew what he was going to say. People always clam up before they get to the interesting bits don’t they?
Today was Carolina’s thirteenth birthday. We had a party in the gardens. There was chocolate cake! Max fell into a fountain and had to be pulled out by one of the Swiss guards. He has made us all promise not to tell Mama.
It was I who stole a monkey from Papa’s menagerie and let it loose in Countess Brandeis’ bedchamber. I am very sorry but it was worth it.
.
They have all gone and it is now oddly quiet here at Schönbrunn. The palace was in uproar all day as the court packed up and prepared to move on to Innsbruck. Mama, of course, was ready to leave days ago as she plans every move with military precision and cannot abide to be kept waiting by anyone. Papa and Joseph however were in disorder until the very last minute and so dozens of servants have charged up and down the sweeping marble staircases all day in search of ‘the Emperor’s boots’ or ‘the Archduke Joseph’s favourite dog’, the latter being discovered cowering underneath Amalia’s bed. Poor animal. We tempted it out with chocolates and gingerbread biscuits.
Our sister Josepha came to see us in our schoolroom before she left and promised to bring us back sweets and all manner of treats to make up for being left behind. ‘I would not have liked it either,’ she said with a sympathetic smile. ‘It will be different when you are my age.’ She is fourteen now and is treated like a grown up by Mama and Papa, although I know she enjoys playing in the gardens just as much as I do. Elizabeth is considered to be the beauty of the family but I think that Josepha is far prettier – she has thick corn coloured hair, enormous soft blue eyes and a pretty pink and white complexion with cheeks that flush bright red whenever she is the slightest bit embarrassed or excited. She looks just as I would imagine the princess in a fairy story to look, wears pretty pink silk dresses and always smells deliciously of roses and violets.
‘Oh, Josepha, I will miss you so much.’ I flung my arms around her slim waist and for a moment we embraced before she smiled and held me at arm’s length.
‘Promise that you will be good while we are all away?’ she said, just as Mama would do except with a smile instead of a fearsome frown. ‘We will be back before you know it and with a new sister to love as well.’
She said this as though it was the most delightful thing imaginable but I pulled a face. A portrait of Leopold’s bride, the Princess Maria Luisa of Spain was sent to Vienna a few months ago so that we could all see what she looked like. The couple had already been married by proxy over a year beforehand but had yet to actually meet in person so Leopold was full of impatience when the portrait arrived and then was unveiled before the entire royal family in the small gallery. Maria Luisa is not ugly but she is not as pretty as any of us (I am pleased to note) and has a big nose, thin face and mean little eyes. Like a shrew. I am not disposed to like her.
Josepha saw my mutinous expression and laughed. ‘I do not expect the Princess of Spain to be very pretty but she is said to be very amiable indeed.’ She leaned down and kissed my cheek. ‘Promise that you will be nice to her?’ she whispered. ‘It must be horrible indeed to come to a new country and a new family and it is a fate that will befall us all one day so we must be understanding and take care not to hurt her feelings.’
‘I suppose so.’
Countess Brandeis took Carolina and I downstairs to watch everyone leave from the palace courtyard. It was madly exciting as everything was in chaos as hundreds of courtiers bundled themselves, their little dogs and their belongings into their carriages and then bickered about precedence and who should be the first to leave after the royal family, while liveried servants dashed smartly in between the vehicles with band boxes, dogs and luggage piled high in their arms. It was hard not to feel aggrieved when our elder sisters swept past on their way to their gilt decorated carriage, all looking divinely pretty in matching traveling dresses of dark pink silk, with adorable little feathered hats set at an angle on their powdered ringlets and with their pug dogs tucked under one arm. Christina pretended not to see us (we are too young and insignificant to be worthy of her attention, of course) but the others all smiled and blew us kisses from the windows.
Mama was already in her huge carriage at the front of the procession and she beckoned the Countess to bring us both forward to say our goodbyes. An attendant footman in the Imperial livery let down the wooden steps with a thrilling clatter and opened the door and we both climbed inside and sat on the pale green velvet seats so that we were facing her. She was dressed in a voluminous traveling dress of soft crimson velvet and smelt of lilies and jasmine. Her favourite pale grey pug sat on her knee and closed his eyes sleepily and yawned revealing black speckled gums as she slowly stroked his sleek head. ‘I trust that you will both be good girls in our absence,’ she said, looking at us both with her bright blue eyes that seemed to see absolutely everything. ‘The Countess will be writing to me every day with reports about your progress, so rest assured that I will be kept informed of even the slightest and most insignificant misdemeanors.’
‘Yes, Mama,’ we both chorused, trying not to smirk as we both knew that the Countess does not know about half of the naughty things that we get up to.
‘Maria Carolina, I hope that you will pay especial attention to your Italian while we are away,’ Mama remarked with a sigh. ‘The Countess has informed me that your grasp of grammar is still less than perfect and there is much room for improvement.’
‘Yes, Mama.’ Carolina dipped her head submissively and gave me a swift, sidelong look. ‘I am sorry, Mama.’ She did not really sound very sorry at all.
‘As for you, Maria Antonia…’ Mama gave another great sigh and brushed imaginary crumbs from her crimson skirts, disturbing the little dog on her lap who stared up at her reproachfully. ‘I hardly know where to begin. You must pay more attention to your teachers.’ I chanced a quick glance up at her face and then quickly looked away as I met her disappointed gaze. ‘I am told that you are barely able to read and write and that your French is appalling, your Italian barely passable and even your written German is flawed beyond what can be considered excusable.’
I felt sick. ‘I am sorry, Mama.’ What else could I say? I know that I am not very clever but there is no point at all trying to explain this to my mother, who expects, nay demands, excellence in all things and especially in her children. ‘I promise to try harder.’ Lies, of course, because just the thought of it makes a headache come on and I know that an hour spent playing outside with my friends will push all thoughts of educational self improvement straight out of my head.
‘You are not a stupid girl, Maria Antonia,’ Mama continued, still in that dreadful disappointed tone of voice that I knew so well. ‘If you would only apply yourself more then I am sure that you could be a very fine young woman indeed.’
‘Yes, Mama.’ I looked down at my feet, impatient now to escape. Why must she always be so critical and dwell so much on our failings? Note how she never seems to make any mention of the things that we happen to be good at? I am good at dancing and music, for instance and Carolina’s French is superb. If only she would give some praise once in a while – perhaps it would encourage us to try harder at everything else.
She beckoned us forward one after the other to kiss the violet powder scented imperial cheek and then we were summarily dismissed and handed down by the footman into the care of the Countess, who looked flushed and desperately guilty now that we knew that she had betrayed our shortcomings to Mama.
‘I do not blame you, Countess,’ Carolina said, as soon as we were safely out of Mama’s annoyingly formidable earshot. ‘I know that you have to tell Mama everything or lose your position.’
‘I am sorry, Archduchess,’ the Countess said miserably, looking like she would like to say even more but hardly dared to do so. ‘I know that her censure comes from her great love and concern for you all.’
‘Strange then that the only one of us who can do no wrong is Christina,’ Carolina muttered grimly, kicking a stray pebble across the cobbles. The Countess sighed but said nothing.
Papa was last to leave and he came over to give us both one last kiss before mounting his white horse. He is a large, active man and hates to feel cooped up inside a carriage and so likes to ride with his friends whenever the court travels anywhere. I am sure that Mama would much rather that he traveled in her carriage with her but she always smiles and allows Papa to do exactly as he pleases.
‘I am sure that your Mama has already told you to be a good girl, Antonia,’ he said with a deep laugh, as he picked me up easily into his arms and kissed me soundly on both cheeks, the feathers on his black tricorne hat tickling my cheek, ’so I will only make you promise to be a happy one.’ He kissed me on the nose and then placed me carefully back on the ground, before digging some lemon bonbons out of his spacious riding coat pockets and cramming them into my hands.
‘Thank you, Papa.’ I smiled up at him. ‘I hope you have a good journey.’ We stood back and watched admiringly as he swung up onto his horse and gathered the red leather reins, ready to ride off. Mama calls him the most handsome man in all of her lands and we absolutely believe this to be true. No one could look more splendid or better looking than our Papa when he is astride his white stallion.
The great imperial cavalcade slowly began to rumble out of the huge courtyard and we dutifully stood aside and waved as Mama and our elder brothers and sisters drove past in their splendid carriages and they just as dutifully waved back, looking faintly smug that they were on their way to all the fun of a wedding while we were left behind at Schönbrunn. Max and Ferdinand joined us in the courtyard, both of them looking grumpy and faintly rebellious. I guessed (rightly) that they had both been lectured by Mama as well.
‘When I get married, I will not be inviting Leopold to the wedding,’ Ferdinand muttered with a scowl. ‘I shall not even send him any of the cake.’ It is only fair to explain at this point that Ferdinand is exceedingly fond of cake. He has also been engaged for several years, since they were both infants in fact, to the daughter and heiress of the Duke of Modena. We often like to tease him about his ‘petite fiancée’ that he has never even seen.
We all laughed at this and even Ferdinand cracked a begrudging smile. ‘Alright, he can have some cake but he isn’t allowed to come to the ceremony or to any of the parties afterwards.’
We watched the carriages for a while but this soon became very boring as they moved so slowly and there were so many of them. ‘Oh, it is so unfair!’ Carolina ejaculated, turning away impatiently. ‘I wish that we could have gone with them!’ Countess Brandeis took her by the hand and began to lead her up the steps and back into the palace, with myself and our brothers following close behind. There was nothing else to see after all, now that Mama and Papa had gone.
There was a clattering of horse’s hooves and a great shouting and fuss behind us. We turned around in some surprise and there was Papa again, weaving his great, white horse in between the carriages and waving at us to stop.
‘I wonder what he has forgotten this time,’ the Countess muttered with a sigh. Papa is well known for being scatter brained and somewhat forgetful. Mama laughs and calls it one of his more ‘endearing qualities’, which is surprising because she would be furious and impatient if it was anyone else and especially one of her children.
The horse drew up alongside us and Papa jumped straight off. ‘I wanted to kiss my pretty Antonia again,’ he said with an almost bashful smile. ‘I did not want to go all the way to Innsbruck without one last embrace from my little girl.’ He knelt down on the dirty cobbles and opened his arms wide to me and I laughed and ran to him, proud to be singled out for once. I wish that Christina could have seen it.
‘Oh, Papa!’ I found that I was crying and rubbed my wet cheek against his stubbly one. ‘I wish that we could go with you! It is so horrible to be left behind!’
He laughed and kissed my cheeks. ‘I am afraid that your mother has already given the order and I am not at liberty to countermand it.’ He stroked my hair tenderly. ‘There, there, do not cry about it. We will be back again soon enough.’
‘Promise?’ I clung to him and wept even more.
He hugged me tightly and I saw that there were also tears in his eyes. ‘I promise.’
One last kiss on the forehead and then he was gone. ‘God knows why, but I could not rest until I had given that child one more kiss,’ I heard him to say to one of his friends as they rode away for the second time, their horses’ hooves clattering merrily on the cobbles. ‘The Empress has blessed me with many children and I love them all dearly but none so much as my little Antonia.’
Consternation! My elder brother Leopold is getting married next month in Innsbruck and Ferdinand, Max, Carolina and I are being left behind in Vienna with the servants while everyone else goes off to have a lovely time at the wedding. This is so unfair! Joseph’s wedding was held in Vienna and we even got to dance in a special ballet composed by Gluck for the occasion. ‘Il Trionfo d’Amore’ with me as a shepherdess (in a very pretty blue and white swagged silk dress and with flowers in my hair) and Max playing the fattest, sweetest cupid ever with tiny little pink wings on his back. It was such good fun and afterwards, Mama took me upon her knee, kissed my hot cheeks and said that she was very proud of me.
Why can’t Leopold’s wedding be just like that?
Poor Josephina, Joseph’s little Bavarian wife was sitting all alone in the middle of the huge hedge maze in the gardens. I think that she wanted to be by herself but she looked so very sad that I could not help but come out from the bushes and sit down beside her. I ought not to have done so of course, as I was supposed to be at my lessons but Countess Brandeis decided that Carolina and I might spend the rest of the afternoon playing outside instead of learning more boring old Italian. We had instantly run to the maze and it hadn’t taken me long to lose my sister amongst all of the paths although I could still hear her shouting for me. I was breathless and giggling as I reached the very centre but then stopped still in shock when I saw Josephina quietly sitting on the bench reading a book. My first instinct was to turn on my heel and run away but instead I lifted my chin bravely and went up to her.
‘Would you like me to sit with you for a while?’ I felt very shy, as we have not spoken much since her arrival in Vienna. I do not think that any of us have spoken to her as much as perhaps we ought to have done. Other than Papa, of course, who makes a point of talking to everyone and anyone who enters his presence and has been very kind to Josephina. I think that perhaps we were all still very sad about poor Isabella when she arrived and Joseph was the saddest of all and the arrival of a new wife just seemed so wrong somehow and so poor Josephina ended up neglected, when really we ought to have been kind to her.
Josephina looked at me and smiled in a way that somehow managed to make her seem even sadder than before. ‘Of course,’ she said politely, carefully marking her place in her book and then putting it down beside her on the bench, where a small, plump black and white spaniel lay asleep, his tail wagging idly as he slumbered. ‘It is a lovely day is it not?’
I nodded, understanding that she was making conversation. ‘Yes, it has been lovely this year. Have you walked down to Papa’s botanic garden yet? It is very pretty at the moment.’ Papa loves gardening and has been building a collection of rare plants and trees in the vast parkland that surrounds Schönbrunn. Mama likes to tease him by saying that he loves his plants more than he loves her, which is silly of course but sometimes he talks about his rare flowers in such a way that it is almost as if he loves them more than anything.
Josephina nodded. ‘I love to walk there.’ Her voice is very low and almost gruff, which is not as unpleasant as that sounds. ‘You are very fortunate to have such a father,’ she said suddenly. ‘My own father is dead and I still miss him very much.’
‘Oh.’ I did not know what else to say. ‘I am sorry.’ I tried to imagine what it would be like to have my Papa taken away but just couldn’t. It is just too awful to think about.
‘He was a good man,’ she said. ‘Like your father.’ She smiled and I could tell that she shares my hero worship of Papa, which made me feel much more friendly towards her. I stole a look at Josephina from beneath my eyelashes, thinking that actually she isn’t really ugly after all although we all laughed at her when she first arrived because she is much smaller than all of us and has thick dark hair and brown eyes. ‘Like a monkey’, Amalia had commented and of course, secretly, the nickname has stuck. Her eyes are nice though and she has a pretty mouth and a straight nose, which is very important. She could look worse, in other words, but would look even better if she dressed in lighter, prettier colours (she has a fondness for dark blues and greens and a horrible maroon) and asked her maids to arrange her hair in a more flattering way instead of pulling it back very tightly into a bun and then pinning an absurd little lace cap on top. It looks worse when she powders it though as the contrast with her thick, dark eyebrows is quite absurd. Do they not have tweezers in Bavaria?
‘It must be very horrible to be so far away from home,’ I blurted out. ‘I expect that I will be going away one day to be married as well and I do not think that I will like it at all.’
Josephina laughed. ‘Oh, but that will not happen for many years to come,’ she said. ‘You have many years here with your family ahead of you.’ She sighed. ‘I am already twenty six years old and believed that I would always be at home with my mother. It did not seem like anyone wanted to marry me and I had long since reconciled myself to the prospect of remaining a spinster.’ She shrugged. ‘I was quite amazed when my mother told me that a proposal had arrived from Vienna.’
Twenty six? I knew that she was old but had no idea that she was quite so ancient! No wonder Joseph is annoyed with her. I struggle to hide my consternation but find that Josephina is watching me with amusement.
‘You are wondering why your handsome brother agreed to marry such an elderly bride, are you not?’ She smiled and patted my hand. ‘I often wonder that myself and I am afraid that I have no answers. All I know is that he asked your mother to choose his wife for him and her choice fell on me.’ She started to nervously play with a fold of her dark blue silk skirt, pleating it into a fan shape then smoothing it out and beginning again. ‘It is not easy to be married to someone who is still mourning for his first wife,’ she said after a pause. ‘My cousin, Maria Josepha of Saxony, was in exactly the same situation when she was married to the widower Dauphin of France. Her husband was still in love with his dead wife but in time she managed to make him love her instead and she often writes to say that they are very happy together now.’ She sighed, before giving a start and turning faintly pink as she recollected to whom she was speaking. ‘I am sorry, I ought not to speak to you like this. Please do forgive me.’
I smiled. People often tell me things that I really ought not to know. I think that it is because I am so very small and they think that I do not quite understand or perhaps it is because I am very good at listening to people’s problems. ‘It is not important,’ I said reassuringly. ‘I will not repeat any of this elsewhere.’ I absolutely meant it as well. I wanted to hear more about Josephina’s glamorous cousin, the French Dauphine, but decided to leave this for another day.
It was I who put the mouse in Countess Brandeis’ shoe.
I do not know what to write. I am not witty like my sister Christina or funny like Elizabeth or interesting like Amalia or clever like our eldest sister Marianna or sweet like Josepha. I am just me, the youngest and some might say, most insignificant daughter of the Empress Maria Theresa, the most powerful female monarch in the world. One might well think that the youngest daughter would also be the most pretty and the most loved but life here in Vienna is not so very fairy tale like and I am not only the youngest but also the least important, which is very unfair but there, as Mama would say, it is and we must make the best of it. Besides, Christina is Mama’s favourite and Elizabeth is the beauty of the family which means that I must find some other way to make my mark. Amalia says that I could always aspire to be the naughtiest of Mama’s daughters but I rather fear that Carolina takes that particular crown, if not Amalia herself for we have all seen the way that she flirts with the Swiss Guards at the Hofburg.
Oh, how I wish that I were beautiful too. In fact, secretly I would much rather be beautiful than clever anyway. Mama says that I will be a very pretty little lady when I am fully grown but that is such a long time away and I would like the young men of the court to look at me as they look at beautiful Elizabeth with her perfect complexion and bright blue eyes or to flirt with me as they flirt with Amalia. It is so very hard sometimes to be the youngest and smallest of so many sisters and to always be looked at last. If it were not for Papa then I am sure no one would remember me at all. One of my earliest memories is being brought in to one of the big court galas in the enormous lilac and beeswax scented, yellow and gold ballroom at the Hofburg and losing hold of of my governess’ hand in the midst of all the hundreds of people who pressed close to stare at me. ‘It is the youngest girl,’ I heard them whisper to each other. ‘What a pretty little child she is.’ I was surrounded by a sea of musk and Jasmine scented, brightly coloured silk and brocade skirts and the spindly legs and high heeled shoes of the court gentlemen and was just about to scream with panic when all of a sudden my handsome Papa appeared in his red velvet coat and swung me up up up into his arms high above the crowd before carrying me to my mother, whose diamond encrusted yellow brocade gown blazed and glimmered in the candlelight. I remember pressing my face into his broad shoulder, breathing in his Papa like smell of rosemary, ambergris, wine and horses and thinking that I loved my Papa more than anyone else on earth. I think that I still do. I love Mama of course, but I fear her too whereas with Papa it is all love and nothing else. It would be impossible to fear him, to be in awe of someone so honest and kind hearted, who thinks only of the happiness of the people around him.
I must think of more pleasant things and this is such a pretty book (it is blue silk and embroidered with pink flowers) that I have promised myself that I will only ever write pretty thoughts within it.
Today was very splendid. It started with breakfast in Papa’s private breakfast pavilion in the very centre of his menagerie, where we can watch the giraffes and elephants stroll about as we eat our pastries, delicious crescent shaped vanillekipferl and drink steaming cinnamon flavoured hot chocolate with cream and curls of chocolate scattered on top. My actual birthday is in November but it is considered far less important than the feast day of my very own saint, Saint Anthony, which I much prefer because it means that I have a party at our yellow stone Summer palace of Schönbrunn instead of at the gloomy old Hofburg, where I was born almost ten years ago. But I digress. My presents this year included this book (which I think I do love after all, although I was not so sure when I first saw it as I thought it was a very boring present indeed), a very pretty doll all the way from London from Mama, a new harp from Papa, some small things like books (boring!), games (much better) and chocolates (best of all!) from my brothers and sisters (which amounted to quite a large pile as there are so many of us) and best of all my very own pearl bracelet with a cameo clasp from my godparents, the King and Queen of Portugal. How very kind of them. Carolina is terribly jealous about this, which I hardly think very fair for her godfather is King Louis of France and every year he sends her something lovely from Paris. I once heard Mama say to Christina that she thought Madame de Pompadour must have chosen the gift (a very pretty silk parasol with brightly coloured flowers painted on the shade and dragons twisting up the carved handle) which she clearly disapproved of very much for she looked annoyed and pouted her rouged lips a little. I do not know who this Madame de Pompadour is but she obviously has very good taste. I wish she would choose a present for me.
I always feel very guilty about my godparents though because I have been told so many times about the terrible earthquake that struck their capital of Lisbon on the day before I was born. The poor king and queen had been forced to flee their capital (I have heard that the poor king was so frightened by the earthquake that he has never set foot in a building since that day and instead chooses to reside in a very large and opulent tent) and Mama was very afraid that they would not want to be my godparents after all or worse, that the disaster was an omen of impending doom for myself. Mama can be very superstitious like that and we all know that she likes to secretly consult with fortune tellers and soothsayers. I do not know what they had to say about me when I was newly born and I do not think that I wish to know either.
After breakfast and a walk with Papa to pat the rough, grey trunks of the elephants and feed them the apples he keeps in his coat pockets for this purpose, we proceeded in a procession of coaches to a Te Deum in the Church of the Minorities in Vienna, which is always very long winded and gloomy but I must sit up straight on the hard wooden bench beside Carolina and look like I am paying attention because it is being said in my honour. It always makes us giggle though to think that a Mass is being said in thanksgiving for my continued existence. It seems terribly conceited somehow doesn’t it? Carolina and I were very good today and hardly giggled at all but even so I think we must have made some noise because when I looked up at the end, Mama was watching us both with a terrible frown on her face, which softened when Papa leaned towards her and whispered something in her ear. I ought not to mind that though as we are always doing something wrong. It is almost a daily occurrence, although it is only my brother Leopold who dares to suggest that only Christina (or Mimi as Mama calls her, which always makes me feel a little sick with envy because I would love a pretty little pet name like that but instead am always plain old ‘Maria Antonia’ which isn’t very pretty at all is it?) never does any wrong here. Marianna does not have to endure any criticism or harsh remarks either but that is because she is the eldest of us all and is an invalid and so must never be upset. She is twenty seven now and has always lived at home with us. Imagine being twenty seven! I think it sounds very old indeed.
I haven’t explained Carolina yet have I? She is my favourite sister, my best friend in all of the world and my closest ally as she is only three years older than me. They say that we are very similar but sadly an attempt to confuse our governess, the Countess of Brandeis, by swapping clothes like the Princesses in a fairy tale backfired totally and we found that we are not so very alike after all for she recognised us both immediately. It would have been wonderful though to be able to swap clothes and pretend to be each other for a while, not that it would make so much difference perhaps as we are so seldom apart although Mama often threatens to separate us because she believes that we provoke each other into bad behaviour. Which, I am sad to report, is probably quite true.
‘You are a pair of exceedingly naughty and disobedient little girls,’ Mama is fond of saying to us, her big blue eyes very cold indeed. ‘You are an ill behaved and disgraceful rabble and I am ashamed of you both.’ Christina can smirk as much as she likes at this, but I am sure that I can hear pride in Mama’s tone as well as censure. I have heard her tell people that Carolina’s high spirits remind her of herself in her own youth and that my own ‘freshness, levity and disregard for etiquette’ bring to mind our darling Papa. This is praise indeed so pooh to you, Christina. I am sure that I would much rather be just like Papa than like anyone else in the whole world.
I am afraid that Carolina and I were not at all well behaved at my party this afternoon in the gardens of Schönbrunn. I was very conscious at first of the fact that it was a gala in my honour and that the eyes of all the court were therefore upon me, which was very nice at first because my maids had dressed me in a new and very pretty blue silk dress with a blue ribbon in my hair but even that soon became very dreary indeed and so I relinquished all elegance of manner and appearance in favour of running about the wide parterres with Carolina, my friends and Mama’s yappy little dogs and then dancing for a long time with my elder brothers Joseph, Leopold and Ferdinand. I always love to dance with my eldest brother Joseph because he is so very tall and handsome with twinkling blue eyes and a shy smile. He tells jokes as well and makes me laugh so much although I often do not quite understand what he means. All of the girls at the court stare at him when he walks past but he barely seems to notice them because of course he is the heir and so is already married to a princess, Josephina who is a cousin of ours from Bavaria. She does not much like to dance and I do not think that Joseph likes her very much for he was married before to the King of France’s grand daughter, Isabella and fell madly in love with her, as did we all for she was so very pretty and was always so sweet and kind if a little melancholy. Isabella died though, while having a baby and Joseph has looked really quite sad ever since. I feel sorry for his new little wife though – it must be very hard to be married to someone who is in love with a dead girl. How can one compete with that? Poor Josephina, she has only been here for six months and already she looks thoroughly miserable and like she would very much like to go home, but of course even I know that this would be quite impossible and really, who would rather be in boring old Bavaria than here in Vienna?
When my feet began to hurt in their blue silk slippers because of all the dancing, Carolina and I hid some cakes in our skirts and sat underneath one of the trees lining the great parterre to eat our spoils and talk about boys. I am not so very interested in that sort of thing but Carolina is thirteen and ‘boy mad’ in the opinion of our governess. I find boys fun to run about with but can’t even imagine the sorts of things that Carolina would like to do with them. Kissing, I suppose, and silly stuff like that. I ought not to know about such matters of course, but perhaps the only advantage of having seven elder sisters, all sighing about boys and daydreaming about weddings and princes and babies, is that somehow information does tend to filter down through the ranks although it is, as yet, mostly incomprehensible to me. One day though, I will know what they are talking about.
‘Just think,’ she said to me, her blue eyes as wide as saucers. ‘Just think, you are now almost ten and so they will be thinking about finding a husband for you soon.’
‘How disgusting!’ I exclaimed, although really, just like every other girl, I am desperate to be married, to be a bride and have everyone look at me as I walk down the aisle in a gown of ivory and cloth of gold with orange blossom in my hair. I try not to consider the possibility that I will end up as miserable as poor Josephina though. No. I will be married to a man just like Papa and live in a castle and have dozens of children and be very happy indeed.
Carolina looked thoughtful as she munched on an iced pastry. ‘I wonder who they have in mind for us,’ she said presently. ‘I do not think that there are enough kings to go around so I imagine that our sisters will get all the best princes and we will be left with the boring electors and dukes.’
‘That would not be so very bad,’ I pointed out, still thinking of my imaginary castle and vast brood of children. ‘At least then we might be able to stay near Vienna and Mama and Papa.’
Carolina laughed. ‘Do you not want to travel, Antonia?’ she asked, flinging herself back on to the narrow strip of grass beneath the trees and squinting up at the sky with one hand thrown over her eyes. It was starting to get dark and I was beginning to shiver a little. ‘Imagine. There is a whole world out there and we are stuck here in Vienna waiting for our princes to come along and set us free.’ She sighed. ‘One day I will travel and see the world.’
‘We could run away and become explorers,’ I said with a giggle. ‘Mama would be furious at first but we would soon cheer her up again when we sent her back lots of gold and jewels and precious things.’ I finished my last cake and dusted sugar from my fingertips. ‘We could become pirates!’
‘Pirates!’ Carolina sat up and grinned. She had grass in her long blonde hair, which she had carelessly tied back with a black velvet ribbon and I leaned over to pluck it off. ‘Oh, how much fun that would be!’
‘It would be fun but frightening at the same time,’ I said, standing up and shaking the grass out of my blue silk skirts. One of the dogs had left a large and rather ugly paw print on my pearl embroidered bodice and I wet my finger to rub it off, hoping that Mama would not notice the telltale damp patch.
‘Just like all of the best things in life,’ Carolina said with a smirk. ‘I like to be scared sometimes, don’t you?’
I shook my head. ‘No. No I do not.’ I remembered the time our brother Leopold put a sheet over his head and hid behind a statue in one of the dozens of long and gloomy corridors of the Hofburg. I had cried for a long time when he jumped out on me but Carolina had merely laughed and then asked him to do it again.
‘There you are!’ Our little brother Max, who is the youngest of us all and the pampered pet of the court, who have nicknamed him ‘Fat Max’ in tribute to his plump sturdiness (I am being charitable here), appeared beside us, with a trio of Mama’s fat, spoiled little pugs at his heels. ‘They are about to start the firework display and Mama is wondering where you are!’ He hopped from foot to foot with excitement as he absolutely loves fireworks. ‘Come on! They can’t start without you!’
We ran back to everyone else, where they had assembled on the stone terrace and steps leading down to the gardens and Mama said that as it was my party then I should be the one to give the signal for the fireworks to begin; it was quite dark by that point and so I do not think that she saw the stain on my bodice, or if she did then she pretended not to. Watched by everyone, I danced forward and lit the fuse of the very first rocket, before springing back as it streaked up into the sky, trailing glittering sparks behind it. With a great crackling and fizzing which set all of the palace dogs barking noisily, the other fireworks followed and I forgot everything as I linked arms with Carolina and we stared up into the wide, navy blue sky, now lit up with flashes of blue, green, yellow and pink. It was all so very beautiful and I thought that perhaps I must be the luckiest girl on earth.
Dearest little sister, I hope that you will enjoy using this book to write down your most secret thoughts. I know that you do not like to write but may I suggest that as you are very fond of conversation then perhaps you might consider writing as you speak and allowing your words to flow in your own particular and delightful way? I am sure that if you did so then you would soon fill these pages. Imagine what a joy it will be to look back through this book in years to come and remember how happy you were as a child.
Much love to you on the occasion of your name day.
Your fond sister, Maria Amalia.