Authors: Kathryn Lasky
P.S. Forgot to mention that Mama received a letter from the French Court saying a dentist will be coming to examine my teeth. Mama takes this as a very good sign. It means they are still interested in me.
She also beamed today when Abbé de Vermond told her of my remarkable progress in reading and writing.
February 5, 1769
We go to the Opera tonight at the Burgtheater. Although I do love the Opera, I am nervous because one time when we went, nearly two years ago, the most embarrassing thing happened and I have never forgotten. I blush still when I think of it. Mama had not come with us, but Josepha and Caroline and Ferdinand and I were all sitting in the Imperial box when suddenly Mama rushed in, and right in the middle of the performance during the soprano’s aria, Mama cried out to the audience, “My Leopold has a son!” Our brother Leopold is the Grand Duke of Tuscany. His first son, Francis, named for our father, had been born, and Mama was so excited with this first grandson that she had to interrupt the performance. I nearly crawled under the seat. I turned as red as the velvet cushions in our box. I still cannot think of it without cringing. I doubt if there was ever a girl in the Empire so embarrassed by her mother. But at least tonight there are no babies expected.
February 6, 1769
The Opera was wonderful, although Lulu felt that the tenor might have had a cold. Lulu has a very good ear for these things. There was, however, one discomforting thing about going to the Opera this year — no, no birth announcements, but I was made to sit in the front row of the Imperial box. Usually this is reserved for the Empress and my eldest brother, Joseph, and his wife, though of course now she is dead. But this time I was made to sit there and I could feel the stares of the people. I was on display and Mama had given me to wear her own diamond necklace with the star sapphire pendant, and they had corseted me to within a centimeter of my life. I could scarcely breathe through the first act until my stays loosened themselves. I know why this is now. Lulu explained. They want to show me to the people as the future Queen of France, but also there was a large French delegation there, in particular the Duc de Choiseul, the French ambassador, and our own Prince Kaunitz, our most important diplomat, was by his side. He and Choiseul were the two men who drafted the Versailles Treaty in 1756, and they are the ones who thought up the idea of my marrying the Dauphin, I think even before Mama thought of it. That, knowing Mama, seems almost impossible. Well, anyhow, they are the ones who must make the marriage contract and tend to all the details. So that was why I was on display.
February 8, 1769
If I thought I was on display at the Opera it was nothing compared to the ball tonight. I had to spend four hours with Monsieur Larseneur. He insisted on doing my hair in the latest Court style. You might wonder how all this took four hours. Well, here is what they did to my hair. They first divided much of it into skinny little bunches and then twisted them tightly and pinned them to my head so it looked as if at least a hundred snails had crawled up and settled on my skull. Then they pinned pads of horsehair atop those snails. To these pads they attached false braids. Then they caked with pomatum, a kind of spicy-smelling ointment, the rest of my own hair that was loose, sprinkled on powder, and finally they piled it up very high. So high you would not believe it. Into this structure Monsieur Larseneur twined silk roses and toy birds with real feathers. I tucked one away in my pocket to give to Titi, for I knew she would love it. All that took four hours.
The dress I wore was beautiful, made of a violet-blue satin with the French lace sleeve ruffles called
engageantes
that quiver with your every movement. But this was the strangest of all. Beneath all the flounces, and attached to the whalebones of the hoops, were half a dozen or more small glass vials the shape of teardrops with stoppers in them, and in the bottom of each vial was a drop of honey. Even Mama was confused when she saw them attaching these to my hoops. “What is this?” she asked.
“Ah, Madame Empress,” the French seamstress said. “This is for the fleas.”
“What?” exclaimed Mama. “My daughter is not a dog. She has not fleas.”
“Ah,
non
!
Non
, Madame Empress. ’Tis not your daughter who draws the fleas. It is the pomade in her hair and the wheat flour paste that draws them.”
“Seems impractical,” Mama sniffed and walked away.
But impractical or not, if this is what it takes to make a marriage with a man who will be the King of France, then, why, of course!
February 9, 1769
I’ll tell you what impractical is — having to sleep with one’s head on a wooden block. Yes, that is what I had to do in order to preserve this hairdo that took four hours to build. I had to preserve it because there is yet another ball tonight and I am on display again. So my hair shall be perfect but my eyes will be red.
February 10, 1769
The best thing about the ball last night was watching Lulu dance. And then for the last dance Master Noverre and Lulu did the Scottish reel. Everyone loved it. Mama insisted they do it again.
February 11, 1769
Today in my dance lesson I complimented Master Noverre on his dancing last night and said I hoped that by the time I was married to the Dauphin, I could do the Scottish reel well enough to teach my future husband. Master Noverre’s face creased with great concern. “No! No, Your Highness. The Scottish reel is not permitted at the Court of Versailles.” I was astounded and asked whyever not. He just said they had their rules, their etiquette, and it would be considered too savage for the court. I never heard of such a silly thing in all my life. The dance is fun and lively. Some of those stupid Court dances are so slow and boring, I nearly fall asleep on my feet doing them.
February 12, 1769
I think that my days of privacy are numbered. I have many odd thoughts about this marriage. It is hard to explain. It is not that I don’t want it. I want to meet, and I am sure that I shall love, the Dauphin, but there is so much more. The Court of Versailles, I think, is quite different from our Imperial Court in Vienna. Versailles is a very complicated place. They have many complicated games. That is why I must learn gambling. But that is not all. Lulu says that they have special ways of doing everything. Only certain people can pour the Royal Family’s wine at the dining table, and getting dressed is also very complicated. Here I just have Liesel or Brunhilda to help me into my petticoats, and sometimes Lulu oversees the lacing of the corset, but in France at the Court of Versailles, it is not a simple chambermaid who ever touches the Dauphine’s or the Queen’s undergarments. No, it is the
Femme d’Honneur
, or Lady of Honor — a highborn lady only is allowed to help with petticoats and camisoles and the “body linen.” Yes, that is what they call it there. Caroline and I call such garments “underprivates.” We made up the word ourselves. Well, Caroline did. She is so clever with things like that.
Now Lulu tells me only the Lady of Honor helps with the body linen, but it is the tirewoman, a kind of chambermaid, who carries away the soiled linens after the Queen or Dauphine has worn them. And to assist the tirewoman there is an undertirewoman who does something else, and it is a grave error to ask the wrong person to take the wrong garment at the wrong time. How shall I ever learn all this? Lulu says she will make me a chart showing who does what. But how can I commit such a chart to memory right now when I also have to learn that stupid pluperfect tense in French that I don’t even think we have in German, or if we do I have never heard of it. This is all too much!
February 14, 1769
The balls were fine and Mama was most pleased with the impression I made. And last night was the first night that I could sleep with my head on a pillow and not on a block. It took Lulu and Liesel forever to scrub the pomatum and powder from my hair. Did I mention that I wore the Ruby of India diamond necklace? They had wanted to tint the hair powder pink, for they thought it would set off the ruby better, but I disagreed. I said blue was the only color, pale blue to go with my dress, and then the red of the ruby would really stand out. Mama complimented me on this decision and also my improving French. Still, Mama’s French is so much better. Sometimes I think it would be easiest if Mama married King Louis XV, seeing that she is already an Empress and he is King. I suppose there would be a problem as to which country and palace they would live in. But Mama is so skillful with all these things. She loves speaking French and in particular she loves calling King Frederick of Prussia a monster in French. You should see how she pronounces and accents the word when she is speaking to the Duc de Choiseul or others from the French Court. “Le Monnnnnnstre!” and she drags out the word so that her face drops into a perfect oval shape and her eyes nearly pop out.
February 18, 1769
I mentioned to Lulu, in jest, or so I thought, my idea of Mama marrying King Louis XV, and Lulu gave me a very dark look. I said, “What’s wrong? He’s a widower. Mama is a widow. Why not?” And she looked even darker and crimped her mouth shut. “Tell me!” I demanded.
So she said that the King has a very close woman friend, a mistress named du Barry, Madame du Barry, and it is building to a scandal, for she might be coming to Court. So I said “Oh,” very quietly. Then Lulu added, “She is quite coarse. Very common.”
Well, that is terrible
, I thought. Then Lulu muttered “from the streets.” I nearly gasped. No, not nearly. I did gasp.
Now I am really confused. How can there be a Court where a royal person has “street friends” and yet at the same time in this Court there are countless rules of etiquette about who can pour the King’s wine and who can hand a Queen her chemise? I think I shall be completely lost when I get there.
February 27, 1769
I know it has been a whole week since I have written, but I have been most upset. For almost a year now, ever since Caroline went away to marry the King of Naples, I have wondered why she has sent so few letters and they seemed to be in a voice that I did not recognize as Caroline’s. Well, now I know. The answer was right under my own nose the whole time. In my closet is a trunk with my old dolls and their clothes. I had not played with them for a while, but when Titi was in my apartments today, I thought what fun to bring them out so we could dress them and perhaps even pomade and powder their hair in the latest Parisian fashions. Caroline and I used to spend hours playing with the dolls in the trunk, and she must have known that sooner or later I would look there. And what did I find tucked under the chemise of our favorite doll but a letter, not in Caroline’s hand but in Mama’s to Caroline. And here is what it says, for I will copy it into this diary. It was written on August 19, 1767, right after Mama told Caroline that she was to marry Ferdinand of Naples, right after Caroline went screaming through the halls and I went running to Mama to beg her to send Ferdinand away.
Dear Caroline:
It is time for you to grow up. I shall not tolerate fits and scenes from your little sister Antonia about this marriage. I warn you now that you will be totally separated from your sister Antonia, for I see that she is constantly discouraging you from the marriage and telling you all sorts of bad things about Ferdinand. It does not matter if a man is fat or thin, handsome or ugly. He will make you a good husband. He has territory and brings strength to our Empire against the monster Frederick. Little Antonia does a disservice to you, to me, and to the Empire by her unruly behavior. I therefore forbid any secret contact with her. You shall be watched carefully, so dare not violate my command by seeking solace or communication with your silly little sister. You must do your duty to me and the Empire and you shall do it by marrying Ferdinand, King of Naples. Remember, it is more important to become a Queen than remain a sister and a spinster.
Sincerely, your mother, Maria Theresa,
Empress of the Holy Roman Empire
So there it is. That is why Caroline’s letters, which hardly ever come, sound so unlike her when they do come! Both of us, Caroline in Naples and I here in Vienna, are spied on constantly. I am so angry with Mama for this, I hope I do not have to see her for at least a week. I do not know how I could ever hide my anger. I realize that there is probably no one I can trust. Not even Lulu, for Lulu’s life depends on pleasing Mama. Of course, Titi did not know what was wrong with me and I couldn’t exactly tell her. So I had to hold back my tears and go on playing dolls with her as if nothing had happened.
Titi found some little tiny bauble in the bottom of the trunk and fashioned a necklace from it for the doll she was playing with. She then powdered her hair and tinted it blue. “Look, Auntie. It’s you. The most beautiful lady in the Empire. It’s you, the Queen of France.
C’est magnifique!
” Titi exclaimed and I laughed gaily at her French and said how clever she was, and then suddenly in the midst of my laughter, I had this odd thought and tears spilled out. Titi kept asking what was wrong and I kept saying, “Nothing, nothing at all.” But my thought was, of course I must be magnificent, for when one is either on display or being spied upon it will not do to look dingy. I must sparkle. I must always sparkle whether I laugh or cry. I must dazzle and then no one will see the real me. I shall just be this bright and shining thing. Oh, Diary, I am so thankful that I have you. But now I think that I must start hiding you, even though you have a key, for yes, there are spies all around.