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Antonia of Austria

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Thursday, April 17th, 2008
12:42 pm
Mon Dieu! If they only knew!

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12:15 pm - And so,
here we are again.

Much has changed; my typist is now living in a city called Oakland with her paramour. This seems to make her very happy; she is near many of her friends and does not have to drive over an hour to see them. (I remind her by times how long a trip of 20 miles used to take. She ignores me.)

Still, she seems happy and this in turn makes me happy.

Now if only I could find my own friends again.

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Tuesday, May 16th, 2006
12:38 pm - It could make one slightly mad,
to post in the journal of one's own typist, and yet the time seemed so very ripe to do so. I hope that she will forgive me.


Part of the comment, however, struck a very deep chord and I wanted to post it here as well:

"Mr. Franklin, Mr. Adams, and Mr. Jefferson would weep to see what has become of their hard work.".

In point of fact, it should have been "... what has been done to the house they so lovingly and painstakingly built", but one way or another, the resonance of that comment stays with us both, making my typist angry, and me a little melancholy.

I enjoyed my visit with Dr. Franklin so much; he was charming, he was intelligent, and something of a rake! His hopes for his new country were so sincere, however, one couldn't help respecting him - even just a little.


How I wish this Mr. Bush could be made to truly experience what he's done to America.

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Monday, September 26th, 2005
4:46 pm
September winds its dreary down and October approaches again.

I don't mind being a martyr (as it were) but those months leading up to... it... were hard. I can say that, now, for all that I tried to be strong then.

And all of the dear people who lost their lives in support of us - esepcially my beloved Lamballe. To put in in a light that the younger people today understand, she was Samwise to my Frodo: simple, loving, and supportive. How I still miss her, and Campan, and even Gabrielle - who truly loved me but allowed herself to be the tool of her grasping family. More fool I for not seeing that when it could have helped me - instead of regretting it two hundred years after the fact.

These days make me melancholy; each month, it seems, there is some reminder of a past joy or a past sorrow that digs at the flesh of my soul, poisoning the sweet joys of today.

Perhaps I can persuade Axel to join me on a little vacation trip to a location these Northern Californians call "The Wine County". We can stay at a "Bed and Breakfast" and take the waters there, I understand. Truly, it sounds quite refreshing, to be away from anything that could remind me...

But I decieve myself I know. I carry the wounds within and no matter how far I fly, the sorrow flies with me.

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Monday, June 20th, 2005
10:31 pm
Oh dear... I fear that I may have spoken hastily again.

When WILL I learn to be less impulsive? No wonder my father called me his little featherhead.

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Tuesday, June 7th, 2005
1:08 pm - Finally,
My typist has let me out for a breath of fresh air.

She's working on a production called "Equus", in a town almost 50 miles away from her own home. Tell me, someone, please, why anyone would do such a thing? It seems quite ridiculous to me.

She is working on this show, as I was saying, and she is so tired from driving her "car" (how I love/am terrified of these machines) and "emoting" and working all day that she barely has time to say hello to me, let alone allowing me to come out and get some recreation and social interaction on my own.

I miss Axel, woman.

Still, there was a free moment today, and for that, I am grateful.

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Wednesday, May 18th, 2005
6:58 pm
::chagrined blushing little smile, reading this and its origin here.
Axel and Byron are behaving like perfect gentlemen of course but I could just shred Her face.

How dare She let her sordid little fantasies intrude upon my life?

and She's not even a very good typist, come to that.

I know: I'll make her watch The Sound of Music as punishment.

current mood: aggravated

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Wednesday, April 13th, 2005
9:12 pm - Oh!
Sophie's here!

(I'm all in a flutter, I fear...)
I do hope she'll like me!)

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Monday, March 21st, 2005
6:58 pm
This might explain my fear of teeter-totters.

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Thursday, March 17th, 2005
8:05 pm - A new skill learned:
I ♥ Louis-Charles.

I ♥ Axel.

::giggles like a schoolgirl::

current mood: amused

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Sunday, March 13th, 2005
10:18 pm - A journal is a good place for reflection, I said...
I find it difficult to believe that just a week or two ago I felt as lighthearted as the former Dauphine of France I once was.

No - by all that's sacred I do not want anyone's pity for this mood of melancholy that has settled over me! I am who I am, neither more - nor less.

Some thoughts:

Louis. I think of you, often. I miss you, frequently; I wish you well, constantly. E'er did I act before I thought; even now. It is a hard lesson to learn.

Axel. My woman's heart's joy - how happy I am to have found you here!

My children. Louis-Joseph, Sophie Beatrix... how lucky you were to have died when you did. Marie-Therese, the only one of us to survive the Terror. You married Artois' son; I hope that it was... friendly, at least. I never really knew the boy. And Louis-Charles, made to suffer for our sins and used later as a weapon against me, after Louis had been murdereddied. Forgive me that I could not save you from that horror, I beg you! Would you rather that I, like Medea, had killed you myself, to spare you that abuse? No, I could not have done that. I hoped that, like your sister, you might have survived those terrifying years and managed to live into the new century - not as King, perhaps, just as "Citizen Charles", maybe.

I do not know what I think or feel right now. My thoughts whorl and whip about so; one moment I am happy to be here even in this half-life and the next, I rather wish that I were, again, quietly partaking of that long sleep.

I think that I need to consider this thing called "a list of things to accomplish" - a "to do list". I was partially in jest when I mentioned this a week or so ago, but now I think that I must be in earnest, My former life is symbolic of profligate waste to many minds today; and while I cannot change that, I can make certain that this life - or unlife - isn't marked by the same wastefulness.

I guess - to use the vernacular - that I need to "re-invent myself".

How does one go about accomplishing such a thing, though, I wonder?

current mood: anxious

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Friday, March 11th, 2005
6:13 pm - There are a good many people at Versailles today!
On how I stormed and raged at having to speak those banal little words to Madame du Barry. How offended I was with her, believing her to have been a prostitute before becoming Gran'pere's favorite. The self-righteousness of the young...

How it comes back to haunt me today...

He ignores me, mon chou d'amour - but would it be worse if he were to call me such names, hurl such accusations to my face?

The filthy revolutionaries taught him well, I fear.

Vain hope, a night without a tear-dampened pillow for company.

*****************

These days, there is a musical group called "Queen". I don't always understand them; the music at times, is somewhat loud and discordant to my Mozart and Gluck-trained ears. Sometimes, however, when they sing a slow song... my heart remembers other times, other places; and I find that I enjoy them, the way one enjoys a glass of lemonade - or, truth be told, the way one enjoys pulling a scab off a sore place. And a line from one of their songs chases itself 'round and about in my head this afternoon: "And bad mistakes - I've made a few. I've my share of sand kicked in my face."


I knew, in the Temple, what they'd taught him to say. I heard, regurgitated from his own mouth, the foul lies of Simon and his friends. Did they beat you, my son? Did they starve you to make you say these things, make you go without sleep until you remembered the words they forced into your mouth?

And do you remember, the women who fainted in the courtroom at the sound of these same foul, unnatural accusations? For as much as they hated me, they were mothers too and in that, at least, we were the same, they and I and they knew it. They knew how they would feel if their own sons would say such things about them - and for just a moment, they understood me.

And you will note, pretended Louis-Charles or not, that after those women fainted, those specific charges were never brought up again. The "court" stuck to its story that I was sent to France to weaken it so that Austria could take it over for itself, add France to its Empire. They accused me of wastefullness - and that, at least, is true. I wasted my adopted county's resources, my adopted people's goodwill. For that, I am ashamed and offer no excuse.

*************

You are the son of Louis XVI, mon chou d'amour, no one else. Your father and I, after the birth of Sophie, stopped sleeping together; and while he found some solace in his work at the forge (rarely in the work of running the country I'm afraid; neither of your parents was truly fit to rule and well I know it now), I found solace in the company of Axel. Your father knew Axel, liked him, to a degree - as he liked his valet or his footman. Detached, familiar, someone who did not bother him. He hated to be bothered, my Louis. I fear that I often bothered him with my constant chatter, my restlessness, my need to be constantly doing something: planning a masque in the palace, attending a ball in Paris, designing the Hameau. We were terribly unfit for each other, dear Louis and I. Louis I loved as a brother; Axel I loved as a husband. There were no others, my son.

**********

Lonely ramblings for a lonely night; which few will now, probably, believe.

Is life always like this: sweet, with such a bitter aftertaste?

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Monday, March 7th, 2005
10:43 am - ::le sigh::
Madame Antonia von Fersen.

Mme le Marshalle.

Axel & Marie von Fersen.

Mais non, I must not daydream my life away in such a fashion. There is much to be done: there are "movies" to watch, and a new land to learn about with its language and culture and music!

Thankfully my dear Wolfie's music still survives, but... perhaps he could write me a light opera? My "Rosine" was quite well recieved at the theatre Trianon after all...

current mood: good

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