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

Upon our arrival at La Muette I was immediately taken to my own rooms, which are really quite delightful. ‘It is the custom that all royal brides spend the night before their wedding here,’ Madame de Noailles said as I looked about myself with pleasure, admiring the pale blue and gilt paneling, the pretty pink silk curtains embroidered all over with flowers and peacock feathers and the huge arrangements of flowers that stood upon every surface. Someone had put a lot of thought into making the room as pleasant as possible.

‘It is charming,’ I said to Madame de Noailles with a smile, still hopeful that I could win her over.

She remained impervious and looked coldly and unsmilingly back at me. ‘The King had the room refurbished before your arrival in the hopes that it would be to your taste.’
‘How kind of him,’ I replied, sitting on the bed and bouncing on it a little to see how comfortable it is.

‘He wanted to make sure that you were shown all proper attention,’ Madame de Noailles replied stiffly. My goodness, I do wish that she would unbend a little. I wonder if she ever smiles at anyone or is it just me that she holds in dislike? Madame de Mailly told me that apparently Madame de Noailles absolutely adored the old Queen and resents the fact that I, a mere girl have taken her place. That is hardly my fault though is it?

It was a delightful day so we went for a walk in the gardens and for the first time since coming to France I felt entirely and wholeheartedly happy and comfortable as I strolled between the Duchesse de Chaulnes and Abbé Vermond, half listening as they talked at length about gardening and invited each other to sniff particularly lovely flowers. I can tell that the Abbé very much admires Madame de Chaulnes’ soulful good looks and she in her turn simpers more than usual when she talks to him, which is a frankly nauseating amount of simpering.

After a while I fell back, hoping that the Dauphin would see me walking alone and come and join me but he remained steadfastly at his grandfather’s side and so after a while I was forced to give up and instead link arms with the Princesse de Lamballe, who is thoroughly delightful, smells like lilacs and roses and had swapped last night’s gown of mauve gauze for an exquisite ensemble in flounced pale blue silk trimmed with blue and white striped ribbons and lace. ‘You seem so much happier today,’ she remarked with a friendly squeeze of my hand. ‘I felt very sorry indeed for you yesterday.’

I looked at her in some surprise. ‘Did you? Why?’ I am so used now to thinking myself the luckiest girl in the world that it was a shock to hear someone say that they pitied me.

The Princesse hesitated. ‘The Bourbons are not an easy family to enter and you looked so very young and lost and exhausted when you walked into the salon at Compiègne.’ She gave me a sidelong smile. ‘I confess that I was longing to run up to you and give you an enormous hug. It must be quite intolerable for you at times.’

I sighed. ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ I thought of Vienna, Joseph and Mama, now all so very far away and then I remembered all the hundreds of miles and the long tedious hours sitting bored out of my mind in a carriage which had brought me here to this moment, to this garden in Paris. ‘I can hardly believe that I am here. I still sometimes feel shocked when I wake up in the morning and realize that I am no longer at home in Vienna.’

She nodded sympathetically. ‘I came from Turin in Italy to marry my husband and found it very hard.’ She gave me a rather embarrassed look and bent over a lovely pink rose in order to hide her blushes. ‘I expect that Madame de Mailly has told you all about my marriage?’

I couldn’t meet her candid gaze and looked away. ‘Um, yes, a little bit.’ Actually, Madame de Mailly told me all about it last night as she helped me prepare for bed and I know all about how Madame de Lamballe’s handsome young husband had been a dissolute wastrel who had abandoned her shortly after their wedding day and then conveniently died of some hideous disease caught in the brothels of Paris a year later leaving her mistress to an enormous fortune.

The Princesse sighed. ‘I was stupidly excited when I first learned that I was to be married to a French prince and indeed I felt very fortunate when I first met my husband and saw that he was both handsome and charming.’ She shrugged and tried to smile. ‘Of course, in his case a handsome face and a charming manner only served to disguise the libertine and horrible aspects of his personality.’

I saw that she was on the brink of tears and took her hand in a comforting clasp. ‘It must have been terrible. I am so sorry.’ I smiled at her, thinking that this poor unhappy princess badly needed someone to pay attention to her and make her feel loved again. I decided that I would be her friend and as I found that the thought of this made my own spirits rise for I too felt abandoned and out of place and in need of a friend in this strange country.

Madame de Lamballe smiled back and snapped a beautiful yellow rose from a nearby bush before handing it to me. ‘No, it is I who should apologise for talking about my own personal misfortune with you,’ she said. ‘Please, forget I said anything.’

I accepted the rose and tucked it behind my ear, which made her laugh. ‘There is no need to apologise, Madame,’ I replied shyly. ‘I am interested in knowing all about you as I want us to be friends.’

She returned my smile. ‘I should like that very much.’

At that moment there was one of those sudden delightful rain showers that are so typical of Spring and our conversation was rudely interrupted as all the ladies ran shrieking and laughing for cover, lifting their pale silk skirts and holding their fans and parasols vainly over their powdered heads as they went.