Free The Hidden Diary of Marie Antoinette by Carolly Erickson Page A

especially when we entered a small white-painted kiosk and sat side by side.
    Without a word being spoken we kissed, long and thirstily, and when the kiss ended Eric took my hand and held it between both of his. I felt too happy to speak, overjoyed simply to be with him, and once again to feel his lips on mine.
    How long we sat like that, without speaking, I cannot say. He kissed my hand and pressed it to his bowed head.
    “How I wish we were still in Vienna,” he said eventually, his voice rough with feeling.
    “I often wish it too. I long to be happy with Louis, but it is no use. You are the one I think of, every day and every night.”
    “Amélie is envious of you. She had a dream that I left her for you. In a way her dream was right. I will never abandon her or our child, but in my heart I left a long time ago.”
    “Does she love you?”
    “She wants very much to possess me. To make certain no one else possesses me.”
    “That isn’t love, it’s greed.”
    “Amélie is greedy. And spiteful.”
    “Louis is only greedy when he eats,” I said, laughing. “And I have never seen him be spiteful. He really means to be kind, but he can’t seem to learn how to show kindness. He frightens people, he is so odd.”
    “Does he frighten you?”
    “No, we are friends. But he cannot give me the love I need. For that I dream of you.”
    “Dearest Antonia.”
    For a while we did not speak, and he kissed me again. I felt myself opening to him, as a flower opens trustingly to the sun. I am his, that is all.
    “I need to know that your love is there, for me to think of, and to rely on,” I told him.
    “I will be your loving friend for life.” He spoke these words with such solemnity, like a pledge or a vow. I can hear the sound of his voice, saying them now, as I write this.
    From a distance came the noise of people approaching, along the forest path.
    “If we are seen together there is sure to be gossip,” Eric said, kissing my hand once more and standing up.
    “I will be sure to walk this way again,” I told him. “To this pavilion.”
    With a final glance and a smile he was gone, and I took out of the pocket of my gown the book I had brought along, so that when the passers-by saw me I was reading, and they did not disturb me.
    I was not actually reading, of course. I could not read, or think, or do anything but sit, letting the memory of all we had said wash through me again and again.
    After half an hour of this most delicious confusion I left and returned to the palace to dine with Louis and his aunts. I was far too elated to eat much, though, and Aunt Adelaide scolded me for picking at my food.
    July 1, 1771
    A few days ago Louis brought a dairymaid to court. She was a sweet, fresh-faced girl, plump and pink-cheeked, her hands rough and chapped from pulling on the cows’ udders. She blushed and looked down at the marble floor, hardly ever raising her eyes to look at any of us, very ill at ease to find herself in a palace. It was not long before members of my household began gathering around to gawk at her. Most of them had never seen a dairymaid at such close range before.
    “She has brought her cow,” Louis told me. “It is out in thecourtyard. I want you to go out there with her and let her teach you how to milk it and churn butter.”
    I laughed.
    “But I know perfectly well how to milk a cow already! Mother taught us all how to do it when we were children, and I’ve watched the dairymaids at Schönbrunn many times. As for churning butter, I’ve helped to churn it—it takes hours and hours, you know. But why should I spend my time on such tasks when there are plenty of servants to do them?”
    “Because it would be good for you,” Louis said in a voice I rarely heard him use, a sort of fatherly voice, only more like a stern father than a kindly one.
    “You spend far too much time on frivolous pastimes, pastimes that do nothing to improve your character. I see the dressmakers come and go, nearly