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maybe not. They probably have secretaries who write for you. But maybe I shall be like Mama and write my own letters.
June 14, 1769
People now regard me differently. And most certainly Maria Luisa does. I think she is slightly disappointed. She among others, I believe, never thought the marriage would come to be. But now they all know and their behavior tells the difference. They stop speaking when I come near, just as they do when my mother passes. They take a step back not just in the narrow corridors of Schönbrunn but in the very widest ones. And my teachers, like Noverre and, yes, the Abbé, too, act differently. All except for Lulu. She is still the same dear old Lulu.
June 15, 1769
Mama says we must make a pilgrimage to Mariazell, a village some miles away. There is a statue of the Virgin in wood and it is believed she brings luck and many children to young married couples. We leave tomorrow and shall stay there in a monastery for a week in retreat where we shall do nothing but pray and fast lightly, which means no meat but fish. No pastries. Just “simple food,” as Mama keeps saying. This means thin broths, ass’s milk (Mama’s favorite for everything), cheeses, and, of course, bread. Perhaps a pear from the monastery orchards.
I think it shall be very boring, as I am not even permitted to write. But that perhaps is good, for if I brought you, dear diary, and Mama and I share a room, well, she might discover you. Even in a monastery my mother could not resist poking her nose into a private diary!
But in all honesty I do not mind going. If this is what Mama wants and she wants it only for my happiness in marriage, then this is the least I can do.
July 5, 1769
Back from Mariazell. It was not as boring as I thought. Each day we spent many hours praying to the Virgin. Her lovely face has been nearly worn smooth of paint and her expression seems dim. Each day as I looked at her and prayed, I seemed to see her in a new light, and finally in the last days I realized that she indeed did remind me of my sister Elizabeth, for it was as if the years of wear, the thinning of the paint, the smoothing of the wood, dropped a veil of sorts across her face — a veil of tranquility and complete acceptance.
When we were not praying, we helped the nuns with their embroidery. We took walks in the nearby hills, which were sprigged with field flowers, and we drank lots of ass’s milk. It was quiet. It was simple and it rests in a corner of my mind like a calm little island.
July 7, 1769
I am being taught a new card game that is becoming very popular at Versailles. Abbé de Vermond says it is a favorite now of King Louis’s daughters Adelaide, Victoire, and Sophie. I am told that the King was much impressed with the pastel Ducreux sent of me. Now I hope they shall send one of the Dauphin. I am so eager to see what my future husband looks like. I know so little about him. However, I do know that his birthday is coming up. He shall be fifteen on August 23. I think I should make a gift for him. Perhaps an embroidered vest. Oh, I could never finish it by then. Maybe something smaller. An embroidered cover for his prayer book. The Dauphin is almost fifteen months older than I am. I shall turn fourteen on November 2. I think this is a nice age difference. Ferdinand of Naples is much older than Caroline. He has a vast amount of wrinkles and many gray hairs, some sticking straight out of his ears. It’s rather disgusting.
July 12, 1769
The poupées from France arrived today. They are the little fashion dolls that show how the various dresses look when worn. They are absolutely charming and stand about one foot high. One is just for undergarments — chemises, shifts, underpetticoats, petticoats, corsets, and hoops. But the dresses themselves are what are the most amazing. The modiste , or designer, for these new fashions is a young woman named Rose Bertin, and she has made the most extraordinary creations. I love them all. I want them all,