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

Carolina is being made to work even harder at her Italian and a special tutor has been hired to give her extra lessons.  She is furious about this but can do nothing but obey. The wedding is to be in April and Mama says that she must be fluent by the time she leaves for Naples.

Mama has also decreed that Carolina should now always wear her fair hair powdered and up all the time instead of loose about her shoulders or pulled back with a plain ribbon hair band like mine. She looks like a grown up young lady now and I feel all the more childish and left behind.

We looked Naples up in Joseph’s map books again and Carolina burst into tears when she saw how far away it is from Vienna.

‘I wish that you could come with me,’ she whispered as I hugged her close.

‘I will visit as often as I can,’ I promised, meaning every word but knowing that it might never be permitted.

It was I who hid a frog amongst the books on Countess Lerchenfeld’s desk. I do not think that I have ever heard anyone scream so loudly or for so long. Was it worth it? I like to think so, yes.

It is already that time of year again, but how sad we must seem in comparison to previous years. Amalia played the harpsichord while we sang the usual carols and Carolina lit the first candle of the Adventkranz, while we could not help but remember that it was Josepha who performed the same happy duty last year and then giggled and blushed rosily as Joseph danced her around the room.

Seeing my sad face, Amalia gave me a hug. ‘It is all over now,’ she whispered, kissing my cheek. ‘We will never, ever forget her but she wouldn’t want us to be unhappy either.’

Later on Carolina and I crept downstairs to look at a portrait of Josepha and I together, which hangs in one of the many white and gold paneled drawing rooms. It was painted about four years ago and depicts Josepha as Diana and myself as Minerva, which is rather ironic when one thinks about it. I reached out and traced her face with my finger as Carolina held the candle stick close and sobbed into her red cashmere shawl.

It was not long before Carolina returned to the drawing room. She looked very pale but there was something halting and stately about her walk and the tilt of her chin that told us everything. ‘My dearest girl!’ Amalia put her book down and half rose from the sofa.

‘I am to be Queen of Naples,’ Carolina announced, pausing dramatically in the doorway.  ‘It is a great honour apparently.’ She tried to smile but then her fragile facade shattered and she burst into tears. ‘I do not want to leave home and never see Antonia again!’ she sobbed as we all ran forward to hug her. ‘I do not want to get married at all!’

Amalia sighed and kissed Carolina’s forehead. ‘Did Joseph say when you are to go?’

‘Early next year. King of Spain is apparently impatient to see his son married as soon as possible.’ She looked at me. ‘Josepha’s trousseau is to be adapted for me. Do you remember all of those dresses?’ I nodded, remembering them very well and recalling also Carolina’s jealous expression when we had come upon Josepha being measured up all those months ago. ‘They will be mine now.’

‘And the crypt?’ I shivered, remembering Josepha’s tears as she left us that night to go to the Kapuzinergruft. I have heard the servants telling each other that poor Josephina’s coffin wasn’t sealed properly and so the poisonous smallpox gasses had escaped and infected our sister as she innocently knelt beside the tomb and prayed. ‘Will you have to go as well?’

Carolina shook her head. ‘Joseph promised that I would not be made to do anything of the sort.’ She gave a grim smile. ‘You can be sure that it was the first thing that I asked about when he told me.’

Amalia laughed. ‘Really? Before the dresses? I don’t believe you!’

A footman just came to ask for Carolina while we were sitting in the drawing room with Amalia, Theresia and Max. We are still in mourning clothes and the Countess Lerchenfeld watches us all closely to make sure that there is no suggestion of frivolity about our behaviour, thus Amalia reads from an improving book of sermons, while I work on my hated French and Carolina labours at embroidering a suitably dour passage from the Bible on her sampler. There was a small buzz of excitement when the footman entered to tell us that Joseph is here at Laxenburg and asking to see Carolina. I wonder what is happening. Could it be that she is to go to Naples after all? I hope not but then I do not want to go myself. It is all very unfair.

Amalia stopped reading and gave me a knowing look as our sister left the room but did not say anything. Max, however, is less discreet and asks us every few minutes if  ‘Carlotta is going away to be married’. I cannot bear it.

Mama has decided that Countess Brandeis is too lenient with Carolina and I and now she is no longer our governess! Instead we have to put up with horrible Countess Lerchenfeld, who hates us and actually thinks that we should learn things. I was made to learn French verbs all afternoon until my head hurt and I started to cry. It was torture.

Carolina thinks that Mama must have found out that the Countess wrote my letters and essays in pencil and let me write over the top in ink in an attempt to deceive Mama. ‘And you know how much Mama hates to be deceived,’ she whispered as we sat together sewing beside the big white painted stove in our schoolroom. ‘I think that the Countess is lucky not to have been sent away from court altogether as she must surely be in disgrace now.’

Oh poor Brandeis, I shall miss you so much.

It is my birthday and I am now twelve years old. There was a small family party (we are still in mourning) and I had too much chocolate cake. Joseph danced with me twice and said that I am the prettiest of all of his sisters. I hope that Elizabeth did not hear him.

I was woken up last night by Carolina climbing into my bed with me. Her feet were freezing and I instinctively jerked mine away.

‘Are you awake, Antonia?’ She whispered, her face very close to mine so that I could smell the cinnamon sweetness of her breath. ‘Antonia?’

‘Ssh! Yes!’ I turned towards her and reluctantly opened my eyes. The heavy blue curtains were drawn and it was gloomy in the bedroom but I could make out her face and her expression, which was unusually sombre. ‘What is wrong?’

I felt her shrug. ‘I just wanted to come and give you a hug. Do you mind if I sleep here with you tonight?’

‘No, of course not.’ I reached out and gathered her to me, kissing her cheeks and rubbing her feet with my own, in an attempt to warm them. ‘Are you sure that there isn’t anything wrong?’

‘I hope that they do not break us up,’ my sister whispered, her voice muffled by my shoulder. ‘What if one of us is really sent to Naples? I do not think that I could bear it if we were never to see each other again.’

‘That won’t happen,’ I replied, giving her another kiss. ‘We could visit each other and there are always letters.’

‘Letters aren’t the same,’ Carolina said. ‘And I can’t count on getting any from you anyway.’ I felt her grin in the darkness. She doesn’t know about this book. Sometimes I think about telling her but then decide that it is too risky as she would instantly demand to see what I had written about her. Besides it is private and I like being able to say exactly what I like within these pages. It would all feel different if Carolina knew about it.

We have returned from Josepha’s funeral. It was really horrible to walk into the church and see her small coffin lying just in front of us, underneath its pall of heavy purple velvet while all around us the voices of the choristers swirled and moaned in the chill, incense scented air. It was awful and yet strangely beautiful at the same time.

Mama walked ahead of us, head bowed, swathed in heavy black velvets and furs and leaning heavily on Joseph’s arm. Behind her came Marianna, Amalia and Elizabeth, her face covered with black veils and probably counting her blessings as she surveyed Josepha’s coffin in the centre of the church. Last of all there was Carolina, Theresia and I in matching black silk dresses with our eyes fixed demurely on the floor.

The courtiers watch us all closely. Waiting to see who is next. Next to die and next to wed. I blush beneath their scrutiny.

I can’t stop thinking about Josepha. She should have been married and on her way to Naples by now but instead she is lying dead in the crypt of the Kapuzinergruft. It is so unfair. They expected her to survive the infection and so some of the wedding celebrations carried on anyway but then on the very morning that she should have been getting into her new grey and gold coach and driving off to her husband she had become terribly hot and feverish and then quickly died soon afterwards.

‘There was no struggle and no distress,’ Joseph told us when he came to Laxenburg to break the terrible news. He was dressed in heavy black and his eyes red and raw from weeping. ‘She slipped away from us peacefully.’ I think that he is lying.

So much death. I lie awake in bed at night wondering who will be snatched away from us next.

‘If Mama had not forced that poor child down into that ghastly crypt then none of this would have happened,’ Amalia observed earlier today as we all sat together in our plain black silk mourning dresses, embroidering tiny shirts for Leopold’s baby (he and his ugly wife had a daughter in January and now they are expecting another child, much to Mama’s delight) in her yellow paneled bedchamber, which is deliciously cosy and smells of lilies and vanilla. ‘It is entirely her fault.’

Carolina and I exchanged looks but said nothing. Amalia has become very outspoken since Christina got married and went away from court. We pretend to be shocked of course but secretly we love it as no one else in the family dares to say the things that Amalia does.

‘And now I suppose they will be deciding which one of us to send to Naples instead,’ Amalia continued, ignoring her little gold handled scissors and angrily biting the end off her white silken thread.

Carolina and I stopped sewing and exchanged another look, this time of pure horror. Of course. Of course. We had been so upset about Josepha’s death that it had not occurred to us that Mama and Joseph would have to send another one of us to Naples in our sister’s place. Maria Amalia has already been dismissed as too old for his son by the King of Spain, which leaves only Carolina and I to make the long, long journey south. I feel sick just thinking about it.

‘It is too soon,’ Carolina stammered, wide eyed with dread. ‘Josepha has only just died. They can’t possibly be thinking of another marriage already.’

Amalia laughed and picked up her embroidery again. ‘Do not be fooled, Carlotta,’ she said, not unkindly. ‘Mama, Joseph and the King of Spain will already have sorted it all out between them. Mark my words.’