The Hidden Diary of Marie Antoinette Read Online Free PDF Page A

court condemns her because she is not yet pregnant. On that subject she writes guardedly, probably she fears that her letters will be read by spies. Yet it is clear from what she writes that her wedding night was horrifying, and she hates being married almost as much as she hates being away from Vienna.
    At least the Bay of Naples is beautiful, she says, and it issunny and warm there all winter long. She has a lovely place to be wretched in.
    February 25, 1770
    Finally I have learned about what happens between husband and wife when they are in bed together.
    My brother Joseph came to me and said that he heard I had been asking the servants about what to expect on my wedding night.
    “Asking such things of servants is not proper,” he said. “On matters of sex you must speak only to your husband or your relatives, your doctor or your priest.”
    “But priests know nothing of sex. It is forbidden to them.”
    “If only that were true,” Joseph said ruefully, raising his eyebrows in disapproval. “But don’t let us become distracted. Here is what you need to know. It is all about the sword and the scabbard.”
    He touched the elaborate gold handle of the ceremonial sword he wore at his waist and slowly drew it from the long thin leather scabbard that held it.
    “You see how perfectly the sword fits in its scabbard, how easily it can be put in and drawn out?” He illustrated his point by taking the sword out completely and then replacing it, several times.
    “Now, men and women are made just like that. Men have swords and women have scabbards. They fit perfectly—well, usually they do.”
    “The very first time the sword is put into its scabbard there is a slight hindrance, and a little blood. But that is soon over, and the entire operation goes smoothly.”
    He smiled with satisfaction at his own cleverness in expounding the mystery of sex with such dispatch.
    “Oh, and there is much pleasure to be had from the entire experience,” he added. “And babies are made.”
    “If it all goes so well, why is Carlotta miserable?” I showed Joseph our sister’s letter. He read it, then shrugged.
    “You must keep in mind, Antonia, that Carlotta is ugly, and very disagreeable. No doubt Ferdinand dislikes her. I was afraid this would happen when we arranged the match. Josepha would have been much more to his taste—to any man’s taste. When a husband dislikes his wife the sword is not strong and firm but limp and weak. It cannot be put into the scabbard.”
    “And will Prince Louis like me, do you think?”
    “I have no doubt that he will. Any man would.”
    I asked my brother about the gold box Prince Louis sent me with its puzzling contents of dried mushrooms.
    “Maybe it’s an aphrodisiac,” he said, half to himself.
    “What’s that?”
    “Never mind. You can ask the prince when you see him. It won’t be long now.”
    March 5, 1770
    Goose-Droppings. That is the color of my new gown for the welcoming supper we are giving for the French from Versailles.
    It is the latest fashion craze at the French court, I am told, to wear gowns in the colors of animal droppings. Imagine! One of last season’s colors was Squashed Toad.
    March 14, 1770
    All Vienna is decorated with torches and colored lanterns. Lit candles make the windows gleam, and there are fireworks atnight and music and dancing. Night and day the palace kitchens are busy with baking and roasting, pastry-making and stewing. Chickens, lambs, pigs and geese turn on dozens of spits over high-banked fires, and the air is full of the rich scent of cooked meat.
    There are banquets nearly every night and during the day I am brought before the judges and notaries to sign the documents that are turning me from a subject of my mother into a subject of my future husband’s grandfather, the king of the French, King Louis XV.
    Six months ago I barely knew the name of the King of France. Today, thanks to my studies with Abbé Vermond, I can recite the lineage of King