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

doused the fire and put on a frayed black greatcoat that hung on a peg by the door.
    “Very well then,” he said, squaring his shoulders, “let us go.”
    It was all so surprising to me, I am still pondering the experience. This cold, sad boy is to be my husband, and to rule France?
    May 18, 1770
    I am now dauphine. Louis and I were married yesterday by the Archbishop of Rheims, with a great crowd looking on in the chapel at Versailles.
    My heart went out to poor Louis, who was so ill at ease and restless. I held his hand as we walked through the long galleries of the palace between rows of onlookers and I could feel him trembling. He repeated his vows before the archbishop in a low voice, stumbling over the words. I said my vows clearly and did not falter. Maman would have been proud of me.
    May 24, 1770
    I am a wife—yet not a wife. Louis comes to my bed each night as he is bound to do, but turns his back to me and snores. I am lonely. I am afraid I do not please him. What am I to do?
    June 15, 1770
    Everyone has descended on me at once. I was awakened this morning not by Sophie, who usually brings me my morning chocolate, but by the Comtesse de Noailles, who told me to put on a dressing gown as Dr. Boisgilbert was coming to examine me.
    At the sound of Dr. Boisgilbert’s name Louis, who had been sleeping restlessly beside me, sat up quickly and, without waitingto summon Chambertin, who usually dressed him, quickly put on his trousers over his nightshirt and ran out of the room.
    I was spared no embarrassment. The doctor quickly determined that I was not pregnant (“The hymen is intact,” he remarked matter-of-factly to the countess), and gave his opinion that my failure to experience my monthly bleeding was due to nervousness.
    “Your royal highness,” he said to me when I had refastened my dressing gown and recovered some of my dignity, “I am informed that the prince shares your bed each night. The king has asked me to ask you whether he has attempted to consummate your marriage.”
    “We are—as friends, as brother and sister,” I told him.
    “It is as I thought. The boy is as yet too young. He must mature.”
    Soon after Dr. Boisgilbert left I received a message that the Duc de Choiseul would be calling on me. I summoned Sophie, who dressed me and hurriedly arranged my hair.
    “Monsieur,” I began when the duke was ushered in, “I am aware that everyone is disappointed that I am not yet pregnant. But it is not my fault. Louis is still a boy. He acts like a boy, not a man.”
    “I fear he may always be a boy—unless he is led in a more desirable direction. It is up to you to lead him. There must be a son. Several sons. Entice him. Seduce him. It is what I brought you here for.” Having delivered that abrupt message, he left.
    Count Mercy, who came later that afternoon, was more practical. As my mother’s representative at the French court he was used to solving problems. And unlike the duke, he was sympathetic to me.
    He bowed, then came to sit beside me, ignoring the strict rules prevailing at Versailles about who could and who could not sit in the presence of royalty.
    “Dearest Antonia,” he said, speaking in German, “how very distressing and awkward all this must be for you. In a strange place, among strangers, with so much expected of you. It is a great deal to take on, at so young an age.” He put a consoling arm around me, and I began to feel a little less alone.
    “I have spoken to Dr. Boisgilbert,” the count said, “and I think I understand what is going on. Prince Louis is unable to take the lead, as a man needs to, in the combat of love. Am I right?”
    I nodded.
    “So you, madame, must learn to take the lead for him.” He patted my hand and stood up. “I know a lady who can help you in that task. You will meet her tomorrow. Her name is Madame Solange, and she is very charming. I know you will like her. She belongs to a world you know little of, I think. The French call it the