October 29, 1769
All Hallows’ Eve is nearly here. We always have bonfires and games. It is so much fun. But Mama insists that these are children’s games and that I can no longer participate. I begged Mama. I asked, can’t I be a child for only two more days? I am still thirteen for three more days. On November 2, I turn fourteen.
November 3, 1769
My birthday has come and gone. Mama gave me a diamond necklace that had belonged to her grandmother Margarita Theresa of Spain, the wife of the Emperor Leopold I. Maria Luisa, my brother Leopold’s wife, is upset, I can tell. She feels that it should have come to her, for after all she is married to Leopold’s namesake. I would give it to her in a minute. To tell you the truth, what I would have much preferred would have been a letter from Louis Auguste for my birthday — but nothing has arrived, absolutely nothing.
Later: I was thinking about how much I wanted a letter or just something from Louis Auguste and I began to cry, just softly, and suddenly Lulu appeared in my chamber. She saw that I was upset. It only took one look from my dear Lulu for me to burst into a flood of tears. I told her everything. She folded me into her arms and whispered soft words to me. And then she said in another voice, “I have a plan, Antonia.” The change of the tone in her voice stopped my crying.
Now listen to this. Lulu knows one of the couriers from Versailles who makes the monthly trips. She says I should write my letter and she is sure she could sneak it into the pouch without Mama knowing. She says the courier owes her a favor. I was perplexed and said, “He does?” She nodded, and I asked, “Why?” And she said, “None of your business,” and tweaked my nose.
I am happy once more. Tomorrow I shall rewrite the letter that Mama made all the crossings out on and send it just the way I want it.
November 8, 1769
The letter is truly on its way. I would have certainly heard about it from Mama by now, I think, if she had intercepted it. But Lulu assures me she didn’t. Now I must wait.
November 9, 1769
I am enjoying very much my riding lessons with Riding Master Herr Francke. The French method is slightly different. One rides a bit more back in the saddle and, when taking low jumps, thrusts one’s feet forward. I love riding in the Riding Hall. There is nothing quite like it. The ceilings soar, and light pours in through the arched windows in the upper galleries. Then there are dozens of chandeliers. I ride my silvery horse through a shower of sun drops. And Herr Riding Master Francke is the kindest, most gentle of men. I love to hear him talk to the horses. He presses his mouth right to their ears and scratches their muzzles. And when he speaks to me, he looks straight into my eyes and he says, “Lovely Archduchess,” — he always addresses me as “Lovely Archduchess” — and then he goes on and says, “When you pull on the reins to tuck Cabriole’s head in, you do it in a steady, firm motion. Never a jerk. He is your friend. You are taking a walk, a stroll with a friend, and you are guiding him along the most beautiful path. Your good, strong, intelligent hands will make the path beautiful.”
This is what I love about the riding lessons. Everything is at one time very simple and direct, but in another way very mysterious. If you jerk your hands, the horse will toss his head and fight you. It is as if the horse reads your mind. The horse and you are absolute partners. And Herr Riding Master Francke seems to be able to explain this partnership in the loveliest and clearest language. If I had my way, I would take riding lessons every day all day long and forget the dancing, the gambling, and definitely the etiquette and the French history.
November 10, 1769
Days when I do not ride are so boring, except of course those moments when I think about my letter to Louis Auguste traveling across Austria. I wonder if it is yet approaching Munich? Maybe in another few days it will reach the Rhine River. That is exciting, for then the letter shall be practically at the French border. But I cannot think about that too much. It shall drive me mad.
November 13, 1769
Almost immediately after I rose yesterday, a message from Mama came. I was to go to her apartments and have my mouth examined by the Royal Dentist. This perplexed me for there is absolutely nothing wrong with my teeth, as far as I can tell. No toothaches, no cracked teeth. But Mama says it will not do to send a bride off with dental problems that might appear later. The dentist examined me and said my teeth were nearly perfect. They spoke briefly of filing one down but thankfully decided against it. He told the apothecary a recipe for tooth polish that will take the stain from one of my lower teeth. Mama nodded approvingly and asked if we will be rid of the stain by May 17. So I asked Mama if that is the official day that I would be married, and Mama told me that I actually would be married in April by what she calls proxy. This was a term I had never heard before. It means a substitute. In other words, someone will stand in for Louis Auguste and on his behalf repeat the marriage vows. It will be Ferdinand who does this. So I guess it doesn’t matter if this stupid tiny little yellow stain on a tooth that is hardly visible does not fade by April, because Ferdinand is not Louis and Ferdinand is used to my teeth and wouldn’t ever care anyway. Cleanliness is not one of Ferdinand’s strong points.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, a messenger has just arrived from Mama’s apartments and my presence is again required!
November 17, 1769
Elizabeth invited me down to her apartments for hot chocolate this evening after supper. We had such a cozy time. She encouraged me to talk about my riding. So I told her all my feelings and what a wonderful teacher Herr Francke is. And how I wish I could take more riding lessons than the three times a week I do now. Suddenly behind the veil I detected a sparkle in Elizabeth’s eyes. “I have an idea, Antonia. Here is what you must do, and I promise you Mama will let you have more riding lessons.” She said that I must go to Mama and tell her how much I am learning from riding. “You must tell her, Antonia, that you do not learn just about horses and riding in these lessons but indeed about statecraft and power and how to control yourself and other things that are stronger than you. You must say that horsemanship is the perfect metaphor for ruling and governing.”
And I said, “What’s a metaphor, Elizabeth?” She seemed surprised that I did not know this. She said it is a “figure of speech” in which one kind of thing, one idea, is used to explain another; thus statecraft is explained through horsemanship and controlling horses and riding them. I asked her if it was a kind of substitution. She said similar, but not exactly the same. Then I asked if it is like a proxy marriage. And she frowned and said “No” very sharply. I think I am beginning to understand.
November 20, 1769
It worked! I told Mama about my lessons with Herr Francke. I told her about reining in and how one must do it gently but firmly and know just when to give the horse its head and on and on. And she said at the end of my talk, “Well, Marie Antoinette, I see you learn more in the riding ring than in the schoolroom. I think we must increase these lessons. I shall talk to Herr Francke immediately.”
November 25, 1769
Thank heavens I have my riding lessons five days a week now. If not for that, I would be driven crazy. Every day new couriers and new diplomats arrive from Versailles. I would think that by this time my letter has reached Louis Auguste. Now I must wait. I wonder how long. The Christmas holidays are coming. So this might delay a reply. I shall ask Lulu.
November 27, 1769
I asked Lulu when she thought I might hope for a reply from Louis Auguste. Lulu sighed. She seemed distracted and said she didn’t know. Well, when is the earliest? I asked. “Oh, I don’t know!” She seemed quite impatient with me. Lulu, who is always so patient! I don’t understand.
Later: Lulu came to my apartment to apologize for her shortness with me this morning. She said I should not look for a reply to my letter before Christmas, but she thought by the end of January might be a reasonable time. Then she took my hand and gave it a squeeze and sighed. Ordinarily, I would have been
pleased by this. Lulu was her old patient self and calm and reasonable, but I am unsettled. It is the old Lulu but she is different. She has grown painfully thin and her face is drawn. “Are you feeling well, Lulu?” I suddenly asked. She smiled at me, a brittle, unnatural smile — not like Lulu at all. Then she quickly got up from the chair and made an excuse about having to run off. I am worried.
November 30, 1769
I was right! Lulu is not well. A maid of her chamber was sent and told me I would not be having my morning etiquette review with her. We were supposed to begin studying the etiquette of the card room. It all sounds so tedious. Tedious is a new word I have learned from Elizabeth. She says I say boring too much and tedious is a better word than boring although it means the same thing.
If it weren’t for the fact that I was so worried about Lulu, these days would be lovely — no etiquette lessons, and Abbé de Vermond has gone to France for the upcoming holidays, so all I really have to do is have my riding lessons. Titi came this morning and said we really had to start thinking about our Christmas play.
December 8, 1769
I do not really understand Lulu’s illness at all. She coughs, yes, but it is not pneumonia or a chest catarrh. She is just very weak and she has much pain in her hip, or it might be her leg. I am not sure but it hurts her to walk. She seems to grow grayer and thinner. When I ask what is wrong with her no one tells me. They do not seem to want to speak of it and I, of course, dare not ask Lulu herself. But I wish I knew. It is awful to just see her withering away like a flower going dry, losing its petals. Lulu was always so pretty. She had lovely sparkling gray eyes with a hint of green, but now they are dull and seem no real color and there is no light in them. The angles of her face have turned sharp. I just don’t understand. What else is there to get sick from besides pneumonia, smallpox, and childbirth?
December 10, 1769
I am so mad at Mama. I finally decided I had to ask her what was wrong with Lulu and she lied, I know it. She treated Lulu’s illness as if it were nothing, and then she said this awful thing. “Lulu has been your Grand Mistress for only two years. I never realized how attached you have grown.” As if there were something wrong with that. I told Abbé de Vermond that I was very upset with Mama. I asked him what was wrong. He looked concerned and told me not to worry, that Mama was probably trying to protect me in some way. Protect me from what? I asked.
They are treating me as if I am a child and yet they are expecting me to be a wife in less than six months’ time. I do not understand why they put me in these situations. And my love for Lulu is questioned. I am not expected to love someone I have known for such a “short” time as two years, but I am expected to marry and be wife to someone I have never met. I’ve never even seen his likeness. I purposely shut my mind now to thoughts of my letter. It is there now. But I shall not torture myself wondering whether Louis Auguste will choose to reply.
Oh, I’m feeling most depressed and vexed these days. Abbé de Vermond has required that I do more practice in sketching and painting. Normally, I would love this. It would be a diversion and so much more pleasant than the etiquette lessons and the memorizing of the endless pamphlets sent from Versailles, but now I just have no heart for sketching. I think I would never mind those silly pamphlets again if I knew Lulu would get better.
December 12, 1769
I am much heartened. I went to visit Lulu today and she seems much improved. She was sitting up in bed. She had a blush on her cheeks and a dim sparkle in her eyes, and she wanted to know all I was doing. So I told her not much, seeing as she had been too ill to teach me etiquette. Then she told me that she had heard that I was reluctant to practice my drawing. And she said she did not know why, as my handwriting had improved so much. I think people would truly be astounded with my improvement if they could read you, dear diary. It is amazing when I compare not just the shape of my letters but the ease with which the words flow compared with the first entries I wrote. I brought Schnitzel with me as Lulu always enjoys him so much. He crawled right up on the bed with her and pounced on her lap. I saw her wince a bit. Her hip must still hurt.
Later: Lulu came up with this wonderful idea. She says I should ask Abbé de Vermond if instead of the usual still-life paintings of baskets of fruit and the like which he requires, I might try my hand at drawing the horses at the riding school. Is that not a wonderful idea?
December 13, 1769
I went this morning to draw the horses. I began in the stables. I decided it might be easier at first if I focused just on the head of a horse as it eats from its manger. To draw a horse performing one of its complicated figures would be too difficult. I decided to try the stallion Mars. His head is so large and noble.
December 14, 1769
Drawing Mars is the most challenging thing I have ever done. It has taken hold of my mind, my imagination, completely.
December 17, 1769
My drawing of Mars is really improving. Titi and Ferdinand and Max have been complaining bitterly about no snow. Usually by this time we have enough to go sledding. I don’t even care, for now I have decided to do a full portrait of Mars. I stay at the school for two hours after my lesson and watch the Riding Masters exercise Mars on a long line. I have set my goal to make a picture of Mars trotting.
December 20, 1769
Mama has ordered snow brought in from the mountains so we can sled. Titi and Ferdinand and Max are ecstatic. Christmas is almost upon us. Our play is simple this year. Mostly songs, but a tableau vivant of the Nativity passage. Elizabeth plays the Virgin Mary. Ferdinand is Joseph. Mama, my brother Joseph, and I are the Three Kings. Mama says it doesn’t matter that she is an Empress or that I am to be the Dauphine. “Rulers are rulers,” she says. These are not the only liberties she takes with the Gospel text. Schnitzy and other Court dogs have been transformed into “sheep,” thanks to some fuzzy little cloaks the tailors have fashioned for them from wool.
December 21, 1769
Herr Francke says that my drawing has improved my riding. I am doing Piaffe “perfectly,” in his words. The horse does not move one bit forward but merely prances or trots in place as he is supposed to do. It seems that drawing the picture has fixed the image in my mind of the horse’s feet, and this in some mysterious way makes me sit correctly and give just the right commands at the right pace to the horse.
December 26, 1769
Lulu took part in our Christmas celebration, and although I was very happy, it was something of a shock to see her. Her dress hung on her like the clothes of a scarecrow in the fields we pass on our way to Schönbrunn. Her face seemed all hollows and perhaps worst of all she could not walk without a cane. It was as if she had become an old lady overnight. She had shrunk, and although the hairdresser had fixed many plaits and switches of hair to her head, I could see that beneath them, even her skull seemed smaller, as if its bones rattled beneath the shell of false hair. I think she had overpainted her cheeks in an effort to look like her old self. But there was this new self instead, a self that I almost did not recognize. However, she sat through the St. Nicholas Day feast and then stayed for the entire tableau of our Gospel of St. Luke nativity, and she clapped her hands very merrily when Schnitzy came out wagging his tail and scurried up to the manger to lick the doll who was the baby Jesus.
We all ate too much Christmas torte. It is the best and the most beautiful torte I have ever seen here in the palace. The pastry chef made it specially with me in mind for it was a scene from the Riding Hall. A dozen horses made from marzipan performed atop a wonderful chocolate cake. The pastry chef really outdid himself, and Mama called him out from the kitchens and we applauded and then ate more! And of course, we had already eaten goose and sauerbraten — Mama must always have sauerbraten on a feast table no matter what — and steamed cabbage and dumplings filled with cheese. She loves dumplings above all. There were the usual twelve courses for the Twelve Nights of the Christmas festival season. We shall gi
ve our performance once again on Epiphany, or Twelfth Night, the last night before the last day of the twelve. And Cook shall make yet another cake. How he can make a more beautiful one I shall never know!
January 1, 1770
We gave our New Year’s gifts this morning. I must admit that I had hoped a letter might come from Louis Auguste. What a perfect gift that would have been. Or even better, perhaps a portrait. I try to imagine what he might look like but I cannot.
I do believe that Titi got the most wonderful gift of all. It is a kind of miniature theater but with moveable parts that illustrate scenes from the Old Testament. Our favorite of course is the Flood and Noah’s ark, but most powerful is Moses coming down from the mountain with the Ten Commandments. That is certainly Mama’s favorite. She rolls the crank to bring Moses down so often that Titi and I joked that he shall become tired and throw away the Commandments. Mama scowled and called us anser inscius, which means “ignorant gosling” in Latin. This is her favorite term for silly, small girl children. Or sometimes she calls us ridiculus mus, Latin for “ridiculous mouse.”
Just when we were having so much fun playing with this, I was called away, as the French ambassador, Durfort, had arrived. I really did not want to take the time to see him, but then I decided maybe he would like to see the little mechanical theater. “So,” I said, “come with me and I shall show you something that you have perhaps never seen!” I took him directly to the nursery room where Titi plays. I think he was enchanted by the little theater.