No, she would not hear of a large entourage. She would only allow two equerries to accompany us and Trautie. And you will not believe this, but she got her way. She told them simply and directly that the meadow was a place of peace and beauty, where indeed if one came to it in a quiet manner, the animals would not be disturbed, for there are lovely birds, and little squirrels and field mice, and sometimes deer. She told them that she wanted me to see all these things for they were simple, good things blessed by God, and I would have precious little occasion to enjoy the natural world once I got to the Court. She would not allow fifty grenadiers and equerries with their horses and clanging swords to come tromping across God’s meadow.
So we went. Just the five of us with two picnic hampers and small spades to dig the asparagus. And I saw everything — the deer, the titmouse, a meadowlark, a red-tailed hawk flying over the field, and yes, a doe at the forest’s edge with her mother.
We dug the asparagus, and tonight Aunt Charlotte cooked it for me herself with butter and melted cheese. I ate a whole plateful and drank half the brown jug of sweet milk. Then I had two slices of the thick coarse-grain bread that Aunt and the nuns make fresh every day.
I said to Trautie tonight that I now understand why a woman would choose to be religious and seek a cloistered life. You submit to just one person, Jesus Christ. He is your husband, your protector. To be a true bride of Christ is to be more powerful than to be Queen of an Empire.
May 3, 1770
We are all unfortunately getting over our colds. I fear we shall be leaving within two days. I shall be so sad.
May 4, 1770
We leave tomorrow. I tried to make Aunt Charlotte promise me that she would visit at Versailles. And she began to say, “Oh no, my dear, Versailles . . .” But then she realized what she was saying and very quietly said to me, “One does not have to be near someone to know where they are or how they feel. It is possible, dear Antonia, to commune over great distances.” I think what she says might be true, but what she did not say is possibly true as well, and that was what she began to say but never finished: “Versailles is no place to be for one who dwells within the spirit of Christ.”
This leave-taking tomorrow might be the hardest good-bye.
May 5, 1770
Riedlingen, Duchy of Württemberg, Germany
We are at the town of Riedlingen, just beside the Danube. The river smells horribly. I try only to remember the taste of the asparagus that Aunt Charlotte cooked for me.
May 6, 1770
Schuttern Abbey, near Strasbourg
We arrived tonight at the abbey, our last resting stop before the border between the Empire and France. We are all very tired. In a few minutes I shall meet my new Lady-in-Waiting, the first Lady of Honor or the Dame d’Honneur, and her husband, the Count and the Countess de Noailles. The Count is another high-ranking ambassador of the French king.
P.S.: It is late. I have met the Count and the Countess. I like them not. They are full of self-importance. The Count barely acknowledged me. He was consumed with some wording in a document that he considered insulting to the Court at Versailles. There was a bit of a to-do between him and Count Mercy over this. I was completely ignored. I feel that the Count’s behavior toward me was more of an insult than anything written on a paper. I was, after all, right there in the room. The Countess seemed more concerned with the Count than with me. And so tomorrow I must say good-bye to the good, sensible Trautie and have in her stead this woman who seems to sneer constantly.
May 7, 1770
I could not sleep. I write now in the dimmest light of dawn. Today is the ceremony of the remise , or the delivery. The delivery of me. It is to take place on neither Austrian nor French soil, but as close as one can come to neutral ground, an island in the middle of the Rhine River. There is a building that has been especially
So we went. Just the five of us with two picnic hampers and small spades to dig the asparagus. And I saw everything — the deer, the titmouse, a meadowlark, a red-tailed hawk flying over the field, and yes, a doe at the forest’s edge with her mother.
We dug the asparagus, and tonight Aunt Charlotte cooked it for me herself with butter and melted cheese. I ate a whole plateful and drank half the brown jug of sweet milk. Then I had two slices of the thick coarse-grain bread that Aunt and the nuns make fresh every day.
I said to Trautie tonight that I now understand why a woman would choose to be religious and seek a cloistered life. You submit to just one person, Jesus Christ. He is your husband, your protector. To be a true bride of Christ is to be more powerful than to be Queen of an Empire.
May 3, 1770
We are all unfortunately getting over our colds. I fear we shall be leaving within two days. I shall be so sad.
May 4, 1770
We leave tomorrow. I tried to make Aunt Charlotte promise me that she would visit at Versailles. And she began to say, “Oh no, my dear, Versailles . . .” But then she realized what she was saying and very quietly said to me, “One does not have to be near someone to know where they are or how they feel. It is possible, dear Antonia, to commune over great distances.” I think what she says might be true, but what she did not say is possibly true as well, and that was what she began to say but never finished: “Versailles is no place to be for one who dwells within the spirit of Christ.”
This leave-taking tomorrow might be the hardest good-bye.
May 5, 1770
Riedlingen, Duchy of Württemberg, Germany
We are at the town of Riedlingen, just beside the Danube. The river smells horribly. I try only to remember the taste of the asparagus that Aunt Charlotte cooked for me.
May 6, 1770
Schuttern Abbey, near Strasbourg
We arrived tonight at the abbey, our last resting stop before the border between the Empire and France. We are all very tired. In a few minutes I shall meet my new Lady-in-Waiting, the first Lady of Honor or the Dame d’Honneur, and her husband, the Count and the Countess de Noailles. The Count is another high-ranking ambassador of the French king.
P.S.: It is late. I have met the Count and the Countess. I like them not. They are full of self-importance. The Count barely acknowledged me. He was consumed with some wording in a document that he considered insulting to the Court at Versailles. There was a bit of a to-do between him and Count Mercy over this. I was completely ignored. I feel that the Count’s behavior toward me was more of an insult than anything written on a paper. I was, after all, right there in the room. The Countess seemed more concerned with the Count than with me. And so tomorrow I must say good-bye to the good, sensible Trautie and have in her stead this woman who seems to sneer constantly.
May 7, 1770
I could not sleep. I write now in the dimmest light of dawn. Today is the ceremony of the remise , or the delivery. The delivery of me. It is to take place on neither Austrian nor French soil, but as close as one can come to neutral ground, an island in the middle of the Rhine River. There is a building that has been especially
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