The Journal of Marie-Antoinette The secret thoughts, hopes and dreams of a princess.

Snow! Amalia, Carolina and I all went sledging yesterday evening at Schönbrunn, which was just the most delightful thing imaginable. The gardens were lit up with hundreds of torches and the whole scene was quite magical as the light flickered across the yellow brick of the palace, the glittering, snow covered gardens and the icicle covered statues, which seemed to shiver and tremble in the torchlight. I wore my new fur lined blue velvet coat with matching gloves and big fur hat.  One of Joseph’s friends said that I looked just like a snow princess out of a fairy tale, which made me feel even more warm inside. Finally, some compliments!

Karl of Zweibrücken was there as well. He and Amalia skated together on the pond, while Joseph watched them with the most ferocious scowl on his face. He and Amalia had a row later on and are still not on speaking terms. She called him a ‘bullying prig’ and he went very red and looked like he wanted to slap her.

Poor Amalia. Her rooms are next to mine and I can hear her weeping. Perhaps I should go to her.

Christmas has come so quickly this year, I can hardly believe that it is here again.

Tonight, after dinner, Josepha lit the first candle on the Adventkrantz and we all sang carols again as outside the snow swirled through the air and settled on the stone windowsills. Joseph was in a very good mood and made us all a special spiced punch, which made me feel very warm inside and rather jolly. I danced with Ferdinand and Maximilian and also with one of the Swiss guards while Joseph took Josepha’s hands and spun her, laughing madly, around the room while the footmen and ladies in waiting all laughed and clapped their hands.

I asked the Christkindl for a puppy and also that Amalia be allowed to marry Karl.

One of Carolina’s maids, Klara offered to share some of the special fortune telling rituals from her village with us. I was wary at first, remembering what a disaster St Thomas’ Eve was but Amalia was enthusiastic about the idea and promised that if it was as horrible as last time she would put a stop to it.

‘Although, you do know that it is all just harmless fun don’t you, Antonia?’ she asked, looking unusually serious just for a moment. ‘It doesn’t mean anything at all.’

I tried to shrug nonchalantly. ‘Oh, I know that. Yes.’

In the end it wasn’t so bad although Josepha decided not to take part. Klara had told Carolina to write as many male names as she could think of on pieces of paper and then place them carefully around the edges of a bowl of water, which had a candle stump floating in it. ‘The first name to start to burn will be the name of your future husband,’ she said with a wide grin. ‘It never fails.’
Amalia went first and we all watched with bated breath as the candle bobbed around the bowl, looking at one moment as though it would burn a piece of paper before suddenly floating away again until finally it singed the very edge of one of them.

Amalia fished it out. ‘Urgh, Ferdinand! I hope he isn’t as annoying as our brother, Ferdinand!’

Carolina was next: ‘Oh drat, Ferdinand again! Maybe it is the same one and we will end up sharing him?’ she joked to Amalia, who burst out laughing.

‘I do not think that Catholic princes are in such short supply as all that!’ she said. ‘Mama would be quite undone if that was the case.’

I went up to the bowl and watched as the candle floated this way and that, illuminating the names on the pieces of paper: Henry, Rupert, Fritz, Karl, George, Ludwig, Maximilian, Wolfgang, Augustus, Joseph. ‘Oh, please let me not get Wolfgang,’ I silently prayed as I watched the candle come perilously close. I did not think I could bear any more teasing about poor Wolferl Mozart and his alleged fancy for me.

‘Aha!’ One of the pieces of paper began to slowly burn and Amalia swiftly plucked it out of the water and held it between her fingertips so that she could read it. ‘Ludwig!’ she announced with a flourish. ‘Oh dear. I was hoping for Wolfgang.’ She winked. ‘Poor Wolferl will be quite heartbroken when he hears that you are not his little fiancée after all.’

Happy birthday to me. I am now eleven years old which amounts to four thousand and eighteen days or five hundred and forty two weeks. Imagine that. Five hundred and forty two weeks of being me. How very dull.

No beautiful dolls for me from my godfather, the King of Portugal, only an illustrated  book of psalms. I wish that Carolina and I could swap. Not that she would rather have a book of psalms, you understand.

It was I who put salt in the Countess Brandeis’ hot chocolate. I am very sorry.

Carolina’s birthday. We were all extremely jealous of the exquisitely dressed doll that arrived all the way from her godfather in France. A tiny note in her pink silk reticule informed us that she is dressed exactly like one of the Queen’s ladies in waiting at Versailles. Carolina considers herself to be too old for dolls now but even she was rendered speechless as she stared at the doll’s magnificence and it now has pride of place in her bedroom.

I came upon Mama and Josephina walking together in one of the arbours in the gardens and immediately sprang back and pressed myself against the hedge so that I would not be seen by either of them. It is not my practice to eavesdrop on my family – I leave that sort of thing to Carolina, who seems to be more adept at it than I and never seems to get caught.

‘I try and try but nothing happens,’ Josephina was saying. It sounded like she had been crying. ‘He does not wish to be near me. I have given up all hope.’

‘Try harder,’ came Mama’s voice, sounding colder than I had ever heard her before. ‘Joseph must have a son. Austria must have an heir. The empire must have a heir.’

‘It is not my fault!’ Poor Josephina sounded quite distraught. ‘I am trying my best so it cannot be my fault.’

‘There is the Archduchess Theresia,’ Mama pointed out, and I heard her black silk skirts swish angrily as she spoke. ‘It cannot be Joseph’s fault as he has already fathered one child and we have no such problems in our family. Therefore the blame must lie with you.’

Josephina began to noisily cry and I could not bear to hear any more, so I silently tiptoed back the way that I had come.

Leopold’s wife is already expecting a baby! I am going to be an aunt again, which is rather thrilling.

Joseph was rather less impressed by the news and looked like he was going to be sick. In the end he went for a very long walk in the rain instead and came back looking very grumpy and with a ruined hat.

I feel sorry for Josephina, who looks even more pale and unhappy now, if such a thing is possible.

It seems like such a long time since I last wrote in this book and so much has happened. Where to begin?

Christina is married now to her prince and is installed in her vast white castle at Pressburg. The wedding was rather splendid and Christina looked radiant in a gown of cloth of silver embroidered all over with pearls and silver ribbons. The court is still in mourning for Papa and so she really stood out amongst the shimmering black, grey and violet silks, brocades and taffetas worn by everyone else at the wedding. I think she really loves her Prince, even if he is a dead bore and has bushy eyebrows. I can’t imagine anyone falling in love with him but I am not Christina and perhaps he is more interesting when one gets to know him better. I really doubt it though.

Mama had planned the most wonderful gala for after the ceremony, which included a huge banquet followed by dancing in the great mirror lined gallery, which was lit up with thousands of candles for the occasion, and then fireworks in the grounds of the palace. Carolina and I had new dresses, which were black of course but still very pretty with ruffles and a multitude of diamonds on the stomachers. We are so used to wearing mourning now that it is hard to remember a time when we wore anything other than black. Luckily it suits us both a great deal and makes us look even more pale and fair, which is apparently very becoming. I should not like to wear black all the time though.

Mama cried a great deal to be losing her precious ‘Mimi’ and insisted upon embracing her several times over the course of the day, becoming progressively more lachrymose as the evening went on, much to Joseph’s obvious annoyance. The only thing that annoyed him more than Mama’s tears was the sight of Amalia dancing with Karl of Zweibrücken with the most blissful expression on her face as she looked deeply into his eyes across the candlelit gallery.

‘I wonder if I will ever love someone as much as Amalia loves Karl?’ Carolina asked me, as we enviously watched our sister and her suitor dancing together, spinning in intricate circles on the highly polished parquet. We are too young to dance with anyone other than our brothers and this is just too dull for words now. We are quickly becoming young ladies, it would seem, yawning behind our fans at how tedious it is to be led out by Ferdinand and Max yet again.

‘I hope not,’ I replied. Falling in love only ever seems to lead to unhappiness. We are not all as fortunate as Christina after all.

‘You never know, Antonia, we might fall in love with our husbands.’ Carolina gave a little sigh and I could tell from her expression that she was thinking about a handsome prince sweeping her off her feet and showering her with diamonds. ‘It happened to Mama and Papa and to Joseph and Isabella.’

‘I think that they were all very lucky,’ I said, unfurling my fan, which was also new and painted with a design of Chinese dragons and birds. ‘Just think of Josephina.’ We both looked at our sister in law, who was sitting alone on the dais, watching the dancing with a sad expression on her face. Her maid is still pulling her hair back too tightly and black really isn’t her colour as it makes her look sallow and unhealthy. She looked like she would rather be anywhere else in the world than there in that chair, watching everyone else have fun. I wonder if she has any friends here in Vienna? I have never heard of any. I think that anything is bearable so long as one has good company to share it with.

Carolina shuddered. ‘Imagine being married to Joseph. It is a fate worse than death.’

We came to Laxenburg shortly after the wedding, which is a great treat as it is my absolute favourite of all of Mama’s palaces. It isn’t really a palace at all though, but used to be a hunting lodge and is now more of a large mansion set in the midst of thickly planted woods and parkland. Papa loved it here and insisted that the entire court wear crimson and gold as a sort of uniform whenever they came here, which always looked absolutely splendid; even Carolina and I were allowed to have special scarlet velvet dresses with gold buttons for the occasion.

Mama was crying as her carriage pulled up outside, no doubt thinking that she will never come here again with him at her side. It could be worse though. Amalia told me last night about one of our Spanish ancestresses, who was called Johanna the Mad. Apparently she was so distraught about the death of her handsome husband, the Duke of Burgundy that she went quite insane, refused to have him buried and insisted upon taking his corpse with her wherever she went. How very strange. ‘And just thank your lucky stars that Mama isn’t doing the same thing,’ Amalia whispered with a wink. ‘I am sure that she has thought about it quite often.’ I found it very difficult to sleep after that.

‘Everything must be endured anew,’ Mama remarked to Elizabeth and Marianna as she swept into the wood paneled entrance hall with her pugs and spaniels all tumbling and wriggling excitedly at her heels, meaning I suppose that she must get on with life and that each thing she does without Papa is its own little milestone. I think again of Johanna the Mad and shudder. It could always be worse.

I am glad though as I was scared that we would never come to Laxenburg again and that would have been a shame as it is so lovely here. Our rooms are high up in the building and my bedroom here has a pretty trompe l’oeil fresco of lattice work, trees, flowers and birds painted all around the walls so that I can lie in bed at night and imagine that I am in the most wonderful garden. My room was decorated as a special treat when I was much younger and recovering from the smallpox. Mama has since offered to have it redecorated in a more ‘grown up’ style but I refuse to allow it because I still love my garden room and have beautiful dreams whenever I sleep in it.

I wish that Papa were here though. I remember him teaching me how to ride in the park here at Laxenburg. He himself led me by the bridle until I was proficient enough to be allowed to ride alone at his side on my little white pony. How I loved those crisp, sweetly scented Summer mornings spent trotting slowly underneath the trees of the Laxenburg forest beside my dearest Papa.

The fast is at an end. We went to hear Mass at St Augustine’s church and then came home to gorge ourselves on delicious thick hot chocolate, gingerbread biscuits and soft, fragrant sweet bread studded with currants and cherries. I feel rather sick now but, oh, it was worth it.

Carolina told me at dinner (very plain and dull and involving a lot of fish, which I detest, as we are still fasting) that Christina is to receive a huge dowry (‘To compensate for marrying a pauper younger son,’ she said with an arch look) and that Albert has not only been made Duke of Teschen but also been granted the Governorship of Pressburg in Hungary, which has a huge castle attached to it. They have also been given a pretty little house near to our Summer palace at Laxenburg, which is a huge honour.

I looked down the candlelit table at Christina and saw that she almost seemed to glow with triumph as she laughed and chattered with Marianna and Elizabeth. She had never been the prettiest of Mama’s daughters but now she is certainly the most impressive of us all, not least because she will be the very first to marry and discover what the Countess coyly refers to as ‘the mysteries of the boudoir’. I can’t imagine anything worse than discovering the mysteries of the boudoir with her fiancé, Albert who only ever wants to talk about art and horses and who always hastily shovels food into his mouth as though he has just been told that there is about to be a famine in the land. I looked further down the table to Amalia, who looked pale and heavy eyed and was pushing her dinner around her plate with an air of miserable disinterest. As I watched I saw Joseph lean across with a look of irritation and whisper something into her ear that made her colour up and then pretend to smile and join in the conversation.

‘It is said that Mama is determined that one of us will marry the King of Naples, one will marry the Duke of Parma and one will marry the French King’s heir,’ Carolina whispered urgently beside me. Where does she hear these things? ‘I heard Mama tell Joseph about it,’ she said, as if reading my thoughts. ‘He is very enthusiastic about the idea.’ I bet he is.

‘Three husbands,’ I whispered, thinking this over and trying to imagine these hazy, faceless foreign princes. ‘I wonder who they have in mind for them?’

Carolina shrugged and took a sip of water. ‘Elizabeth for one, Amalia for the other and Josepha for the third,’ she guessed. ‘Which means that we are safe for a bit longer.’ She sighed. ‘Although I must admit that it would be nice to be in demand for once.’

I nodded, heartily agreeing with this statement.

Amalia is twenty today, which seems incredibly old to me. She is still not betrothed and Carolina whispered to me at breakfast that she is in love with the Duke of Zweibrücken’s eldest son, Karl who is very handsome indeed with a shock of sandy hair, freckles across his nose and bright hazel eyes. He is everything that we think a young man should be – clever, kind hearted, fond of a joke, an energetic dancer and fearless with horses. He is not rich enough or important enough to please Mama though and so Amalia hardly dares even to look at him when there are other people present. Karl is less careful however and the look on his face whenever he looks at her makes me tremble. I do not think that anyone will ever look at me in such a way and I both fear and long for it with all of my being.

Albert of Saxony isn’t rich or important either and isn’t nearly so handsome as Karl and yet Mama gave her permission to Christina’s marriage, reasoning that if she marries Albert then she will always stay near to her in Vienna instead of going far away to marry a foreign prince like all the rest of us.

I think I begin to see why Amalia looks so mutinous all of the time nowadays.