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

looked under the eaves for the nests of starlings and heard the tiny cries of the baby birds. It made me very sad to realize I would not be there to watch them grow and see them fledge as I always had before.
    Now it is I who am the fledgling.

TWO
    April 23, 1770
    I can hardly write, the coach is shaking so violently back and forth.
    We are in the third day of our long journey. I miss my family. I have Sophie with me, and Mufti, and Eric, who as Lysander’s groom was included in my traveling party. When I lean out the window of the coach I can see him, at the far end of the long procession of coaches and wagons, riding with the other stable servants. Every time I hug Mufti I think of Eric—though I am trying now to think of Prince Louis, since I am married to him and will be with him before long.
    Last night we stayed with the monks of Himmelsgau Abbey, a place too small for all of us. Most of the servants had to sleep under wagons and tents in the courtyard, and it rained, and everyone was uncomfortable. The abbot was very unfriendly to the French dignitaries and they took offense. We were given very little to eat and I am hungry.
    April 30, 1770
    We have been traveling for ten days and it is very tiring. At night I fall into bed, my muscles aching from the constant jolting of the coach along the rough roads. Sometimes wehave to get out and walk, as the roads are so muddy our coach cannot take the extra weight of passengers without becoming bogged down.
    We broke an axle two days ago and had to wait for several hours while it was repaired.
    The countryside through which we are journeying is very beautiful, with good dark rich farmland and stands of fine trees. The farmers are ploughing and sowing new seed. They stop to watch us pass, staring in wonderment at the painted coaches and servants in their blue velvet livery—dirtied by the rain and mud, but elegant nonetheless.
    We are still in German-speaking lands but the villagers here speak differently and I have trouble understanding them. We are almost in France now.
    May 15, 1770
    It is evening now, and I am here in the chateau of Compiègne. I have an hour to myself. I must set down what happened yesterday while it is still fresh in my mind, because it was all so strange. So very different from what I had expected.
    Yesterday I met Louis.
    My traveling party arrived at the edge of a great forest. It was late in the afternoon, and we had been on the road since early morning. As usual I was sore and bruised from the punishing rocking and heaving of the coach.
    We stopped at a bridge and I could see that there were a number of coaches and riders already there, waiting for us. I got out of the coach and one of the French officials approached me, making a low bow.
    “Madame, I am to take you to the prince.”
    “Just as I am? So bedraggled from riding all day?”
    “He prefers to meet you informally. He dislikes ceremony.”
    I remembered what my mother had said, do as the French do, no matter how odd—or did she say outrageous? Tucking Mufti into the sleeve of my gown, where she customarily rode when I went out, I went with my escort over the bridge and into the forest, leaving behind the others, who were watching us while pretending not to.
    All around us was silence and dimness. The immense old oaks and chestnuts spread their branches to make a canopy over our heads, while at our feet spread new green shoots and the first spring flowers. I was charmed, it was like something out of a storybook.
    “The prince comes here,” my guide explained, “when he desires to be away from the cares and burdens of court life. He has built himself a small house. A retreat, if you like.”
    I could see, among the trees, a low wooden hut with a thatched roof. Gray smoke curled upward from the chimney.
    “I must caution you, your highness,” the Frenchman said to me as we approached the dwelling, “that the prince, who is of a retiring disposition, is somewhat wary of