friendship of my sisters-in-law. The Princesse de Lamballe had become my close friend and we chattered together as I used to with Caroline. In fact for the first time I believed I had replaced my sister.
When the snow came I could really imagine I was back in Vienna, and one day I found an old sledge in the stables at Versailles and as the Princesse was with me I told her what fun we used to have in Vienna and how Joseph had had the snow brought down from the mountains when there was none below just because he loved to ride in a sledge.
“And why should we not?” I cried.
“I see no reason why not. Here is the sledge and there is the snow.”
So I ordered the grooms to prepare the sledge and have the horses harnessed to it and the Princesse and I rode out.
We went to Paris—always Paris; and what fun it was being drawn along the road and finally reaching the Bois de Boulogne. It was bitterly cold but we were wrapped up in furs and it was glorious to feel our faces glowing.
This is just like Vienna!’ I cried.
“And you remind me of my dearest sister Caroline.”
But it was not really like Vienna, where there were many sledges and this was the only way in which one could travel. Ours was the only sledge in the Bois, and we were not travelling, we were playing a game. The people came out to watch us and they seemed very different from those who had welcomed me into their city in the summer. These had pinched blue faces; they stood and shivered, and the contrast between them in their inadequate rags and us in our furs was painful.
I was aware of this but I tried not to see it because it spoiled the fun.
Mercy came to my apartments looking stem. Your new pastime does not please the people of Paris,” j he told me.
But why not? “
“It is not a pleasure which is indulged in here.”
Oh,” I grumbled.
“Etiquette again.”
But it was more than etiquette; and I was not sorry to give it up.
That was an end to our sledge rides.
The tension in the family circle which had increased since the arrival of Artois’s wife was steadily rising. The two sisters were joined in their dislike of me, and my brothers-in-law by their ambition. Of the two brothers, Provence was by far the more ambitious. Marie Josephe had shown no signs of becoming pregnant, and it was being said that be suffered the same disability as the Dauphin.
Mercy had warned me of my elder brother-in-law’s ‘little polite trickeries,” but as he was continually warning me I paid little heed.
Now even I, bent as I was on ignoring unpleasantness and finding new amusement, could not be unaware of the growing tension between the brothers.
“Provence is ambitious and strives in every way to be the dominant member of the household,” Mercy said.
“I am writing to the Empress to tell her this. I have rarely seen one so young so ambitious.”
This ambition was working up to a hatred against my husband. The six of us were often together. Etiquette demanded that we should be.
Once, we were in Province’s apartments and my husband was standing by the fireplace and on the mantelpiece was a beautiful china vase, for Provence collected fine china things. My husband had always been fascinated by this particular piece, and I used to watch him and laughingly ask him if he was rin’nfcmg of giving up bricks and locks for china.
He gravely answered that it might be an interesting study.
As Louis’s hands were not made to handle delicate objects Provence was very concerned for the safety of his vase.
I watched him watching Louis and laughingly called attention to his anxiety. Provence was not amused; he stood, his hands behind his back to hide the fact that he was clenching them in fury.
Then . it happened. The vase crashed to the floor and was broken into several pieces. Only then did I realise Provence’s hatred for the Dauphin. He sprang at him. Louis, taken by surprise, went crashing to the floor. He was heavy and I called out in alarm as he fell, but Provence was on him;
he had his hands at my husband’s throat. Then Louis had broken free, and they were rolling on the floor, behaving as though they would kill each other. The sisters stood apart watching; but I could not remain aloof, I ran to them and pulling at my husband’s coat shouted to them to stop.
When he saw that I was in danger, my husband cried:
“Be careful) Antoinette will be hurt I’ My hands were bleeding from a scratch I had received in the scrimmage, and the sight of that blood sobered them both.
“You are hurt,” said my husband lumbering to his feet.
“It is nothing, but I beg of you do not be so foolish again.”
They were both rather sheepish, ashamed to have given way to their tempera over such a matter. My husband apologised for his clumsiness and Provence for his display of temper. But the sisters whispered together and they implied that I had only been eager to draw attention to myself by pretending to be so concerned and rushing in and getting scratched.
How difficult it was to be friendly with these girls! But I was friendly by nature and I could not believe that they really disliked me so I tried to think of a way of making them happy. After all, I reasoned with the Princesse de Lamballe, it was small wonder they were so disagreeable. How should we feel if we looked as they did? Poor ugly little creatures.
It did not make life easier because the King so obviously showed his preference for me. When my sisters-in- law knew that he visited me for breakfast and actually made the coffee they were furious I Marie Josephe did not show it, for she was sly, but her young sister could not disguise her feelings. The aunts were always trying to stir trouble between us but I refused to listen, although I’m sure my sisters-in-law did.
The King knew that I loved the theatre, and he had said that on every Tuesday and Friday comedies should be performed. I was delighted and I was always there to applaud the actors. But what I longed to do was play on a stage and I conceived the idea that we should do a play among ourselves.
“It would be forbidden if it were discovered,” said Provence.
“Then,” I retorted, ‘it must not be discovered. “
It was an excellent idea, because when we were learning our lines and planning the scenery my sisters-in- law forgot to hate me. And I was so happy to be acting that I forgot everything else.
I discovered some one-act plays, and sometimes we were ambitious enough to try Moliere. I shall always remember playing Cathos from Les Pricwuses Ridicules. How I would prance across the stage, throwing myself into the part. I loved everyone when I was on a stage. This brought out the best in my brother-in-law Provence, who could learn his lines with the utmost ease and had a real gift for playing comedy.
I would throw my arms about his neck and cry: “But you are marvelous!
You play the pan to the life. ” He would be pleased—so different from the grim young man who bore a grudge against fate which had not made him a Dauphin. Artois of course loved to act, and even my sisters-in-law enjoyed playing. They had such quaint French accents that we were often in fits of laughter in which even they joined.
Sometimes we allowed the young Princesses dothilde and Elisabeth to play. I pleaded that they should be allowed to because I remembered how I had been kept out because I was too young. They loved it of course; and I grew very fond of little Elisabeth—and Clothilde too, until her governess turned her against me. She was a good- natured girl— a trifle lazy, but then she was so fat. The King, with his penchant for nicknames, had already dubbed her Fat Lady. She did not mind. She was wonderfully good-tempered and would take the most unrewarding parts with a smile.
This was all the more fun because we had to set out our own stage,
which we made with screens; and the approach of anyone not in the secret meant that these had to be bundled into a cupboard hastily and we would all have to try to look as if our costumes were what we would naturally wear and arrange ourselves as though we were merely chatting idly.
My husband was in the secret, of course, but he would lake no part in the playacting, so he was the
