she has had a tremendous lot of experience, but she can’t tell us yet
because we are not intimate enough. By and by she says. Perhaps she
is afraid we shall give her away. She wants to marry when she is 16 at
latest. That’s in 2 years. Of course she won’t have finished school by
then, but she will have left the third class. She has three admirers,
but she has not yet made up her mind which to choose. Hella says I
mustn’t believe all this, that the story about the three admirers at
once is certainly a cram.
October 21st. Berta Franke says that when one is dark under the eyes one
has it and that when one gets a baby then one doesn’t have it any more
until one gets another. She told us too how one gets it, but I didn’t
really believe what she said, for I thought she did not know herself
exactly. Then she got very cross and said: “All right, I won’t tell you
any more. If I don’t know myself.” But I can’t believe what she said
about husband and wife. She said it must happen every night, for if not
they don’t have a baby; if they miss a single night they don’t have a
baby. That’s why they have their beds so close together. People call
them _marriage beds!!!_ And it hurts so frightfully that one can hardly
bear it. But one has to for a husband can make his wife do it. I should
like to know how he can make her. But I didn’t dare to ask for I was
afraid she would think I was making fun of her. Men have it too, but
very seldom. We see a lot of Berta Franke now, she is an awfully nice
girl, perhaps Mother will let me invite her here next Sunday.
October 23rd. Father took Oswald away to-day. Mother cried such a lot.
When Oswald was leaving I whispered to him: I know what’s the matter
with you. But he did not understand me for he said: Silly duffer.
Perhaps he only said that because of Father who was looking on with a
fearful scowl.
October 27th. Everything seems to have gone wrong. Yesterday I got
unsatisfactory in history, and in arithmetic to-day I couldn’t get a
single sum right. I’m frightfully worried about missing that gymnastic
lesson. It will be all right if Mother gives me the money to-morrow, for
if she goes herself she will certainly find out about it.
October 28th. To-day the head mistress was present at our French lesson
and said awfully nice things about me. She said I was good enough in
French to be in the Third and then she asked me whether I was as good in
the other subjects. I didn’t want to say either Yes or No, and all the
other girls said Yes, she’s good at everything. The head patted me on
the shoulder and said: I’m glad to hear that. When she had gone I cried
like anything and Madame Arnau asked: Why, what’s the matter? and the
other girls said: In arithmetic she had Unsatisfactory but she can
really do her sums awfully well. Then Madame said: “You’ll soon wipe off
that Unsatisfactory.”
October 30th. To-day I had a frightful bother with Fraulein Vischer in
the history lesson. Yesterday when I got into the tram with Mother there
was Fraulein V. I looked the other way so that Mother shouldn’t see her
and so that she should not tell Mother about me. When she came in to-day
she said: Lainer, do you know the rules? I knew directly what she meant
and said “I did bow to you in the tram but you didn’t see me.” “That’s a
fine thing to do, first you do wrong and then try to excuse yourself by
telling a lie. Sit down!” I felt awful for all the girls looked at me.
In the 11 interval Berta Franke said to me: Don’t worry, she’s got her
knife into you and will always find something to complain of. She must
have spoken to Frau Doktor M., for in the German lesson the subject for
viva voce composition was Good Manners. And all the girls looked at me
again. She didn’t say anything more. She’s a perfect angel, my darling
E. M., her name is Elisabeth; but she does not keep her name-day because
she’s a Protestant; that’s an awful shame because November 19th is
coming soon.
October 31st. I’ve been so lucky. Nothing’s come out about the gymnastic
lesson though Mother was there herself. And in mental arithmetic to-day
I got a One. Fraulein Steiner is awfully nice too and she said: Why, L.
what was the matter with you in your sums the other day, for you’re so
good at arithmetic? I didn’t know what to do so I said: Oh I had such a
headache the other day. Then Berta Franke nearly burst out laughing,
it was horrid of her; I don’t think she’s quite to be trusted; I think
she’s rather a sneak. When the lesson was over she said she had laughed
because “headache” means something quite different.
November 1st. To-day we began to work at the tablecloth for Father’s
Christmas present. Of course Inspee bagged the right side because that’s
easier to work at and I had to take the left side and then one has
the whole caboodle on one’s hand. For Mother I’m making an embroidered
leather book cover, embroidered with silk and with a painted design;
I can do the painting part at school in Fraulein H.’s lesson, she’s
awfully nice too. But I like Frau Doktor M. best of all. I’m _not_ going
to invite Berta Franke because of the way she laughed yesterday, and
besides Mother doesn’t like having strange girls to the house. November
2nd. I don’t know all about things yet. Hella knows a lot more. We said
we were going to go over our natural history lesson together and we went
in to the drawing-room, and there she told me a lot more. Then Mali,
our new servant, came in, and she told us something horrid. Resi is in a
hospital because she’s ill. Mali told us that all the Jews when they
are quite little have to go through a very dangerous operation; it hurts
frightfully and that’s why they are so cruel. It’s done so that they can
have more children; but only little boys, not little girls. It’s horrid,
and I should not like to marry a Jew. Then we asked Mali whether it is
true that it hurts so frightfully and she laughed and said: It can’t be
so bad as all that, for if it were you wouldn’t find everyone doing it.
Then Hella asked her: But have you done it already, you haven’t got a
husband? She said: Go on, Miss! One mustn’t ask such questions it’s not
ladylike. We were in an awful funk, and begged her not to tell Mother.
She promised not to.
November 5th. Everything has come out through that stupid waist band.
Yesterday when I was tidying my drawers Mali came in to make the beds
and saw my fringed waistband. “I say, she said, that is pretty!” You
can have it if you like, I said, for I’ve given up wearing it. At dinner
yesterday I noticed that Mother was looking at Mali and I blushed
all over. After dinner Mother said, Gretel, did you give Mali that
waistband? Yes, I said, she asked me for it. She came in at that moment
to clear away and said: “No, I never asked for it, Fraulein Grete gave
it to me herself.” I don’t know what happened after that, I’d gone back
to my room when Mother came in and said: A fine lot of satisfaction one
gets out of one’s children. Mali has told me the sort of things you and
Hella talk about. I ran straight off to the kitchen and said to Mali:
How could you tell such tales of us? It was you who chipped in when we
were talking. It was frightfully mean of you. In the evening _she_ must
needs go and complain of me to Father and he scolded me like anything
and said: You’re a fine lot, you children, I must say. You are not to
see so much of Hella now, do you understand?
November 6th. A fine thing this, that I’m a silly fool now. When I gave
Hella a nudge so that she should not go on talking before Mali, she
laughed and said: What does it matter, Mali knows all about it, probably
a great deal more than we do. It was only after that that Mali told us
about the Jews. Now, if you please, I am a silly fool. All right, now
that I know what I am, a silly fool. And that’s what one’s best friend
calls one!
November 7th. Hella and I are very stand-offish. We walk together, but
we only talk of everyday things, school and lessons, nothing else. We
went skating to-day for the first time and we shall go whenever we have
time, which is not very often. Mother is working at the table cloth.
It’s very hard work but she has not got as much to do as we have.
November 8th. There was such a lovely young lady skating to-day, and
she skates so beautifully, inside and outside edge and figures of 8. I
skated along behind her. When she went to the cloak room there was such
a lovely scent. I wonder if she is going to be married soon and whether
_she_ knows all about everything. She is so lovely and she pushes back
the hair from her forehead so prettily. I wish I were as pretty as she
is. But I am dark and she is fair. I wish I could find out her name and
where she lives. I must go skating again to-morrow; do my lessons in the
evening.
November 9th. I’m so upset; _she_ didn’t come to skate. I’m afraid she
may be ill.
November 10th. She didn’t come to-day either. I waited two hours, but it
was no good.
November 11th. She came to-day, at last! Oh how pretty she is.
November 12th. She has spoken to me. I was standing near the entrance
gate and suddenly I heard some one laughing behind me and I knew
directly: That is _she!_ So it was. She came up and said: Shall we skate
together? Please, if I may, said I, and we went off together crossing
arms. My heart was beating furiously, and I wanted to say something,
but couldn’t think of anything sensible to say. When we came back to the
entrance a gentleman stood there and took off his hat and she bowed, and
she said to me: Till next time. I said quickly: When? Tomorrow?
Perhaps, she called back. . . . Only perhaps, perhaps, oh I wish it were
to-morrow already.
November 13th. Inspee declares that her name is Anastasia Klastoschek.
I’m sure it can’t be true that she has such a name, she might be called
Eugenie or Seraphine or Laura, but Anastasia, impossible. Why are there
such horrid names? Fancy if she is really called that. Klastoschek,
too, a Czech name, and she is supposed to come from Moravia and to be 26
already; 26, absurd, she’s 18 at most. I’m sure she’s not so much as
18. Dora says she lives in Phorusgasse, and that she doesn’t think her
particularly pretty. Of course that’s rank jealousy; Dora thinks no one
pretty except herself.
November 14th. I asked the woman at the pay box, her name really is
Anastasia Klastoschek and she lives in the Phorusgasse; but the woman
didn’t know how old she is. She would not tell me at first but asked why
I wanted to know and who had sent me to enquire. She wouldn’t look into
the book until I told her that it was _only for myself_ that I wanted to
know. Then she looked, for I knew the number of the cloak room locker:
36, a lovely number, I like it so much. I don’t really know why, but
when I hear anyone say that number it sounds to me like a squirrel
jumping about in the wood.
November 20th. It’s really impossible to write every day. Mother is ill
in bed and the doctor comes every day, but I don’t really know what’s
the matter with her. I’m not sure whether the doctor knows exactly.
When Mother is ill everything at home is so uncomfortable and she always
says: Whatever you do don’t get ill, for it’s such a nuisance. But
I don’t mind being ill; indeed I rather like being ill, for then
everyone’s so nice, when Father comes home he comes and sits by my bed
and even _Dora_ is rather nice and does things for me; that is she _has_
to. Besides, when she had diptheria two years ago I did everything
I could for her, she nearly died, her temperature went up to 107 and
Mother was sick with crying. Father never cries. It must look funny when
a man cries. When there was all that row about Oswald he cried, I think
Father had given him a box on the ear. He said he hadn’t but I think
he had; certainly he cried, though he said he didn’t. After all, why
shouldn’t he for he’s not really grown up yet. I cry myself when I get
frightfully annoyed. Still I shouldn’t cry for a box on the ear.
November 21st. In the religion lesson to-day Lisel Schrotter who is the
Herr Catechist’s favourite, no we’ve got to call him Herr Professor,
as she is the Herr Professor’s favourite, well she went to him with the
Bible and asked him what _with child_ meant. That’s what they say of
Mary in the Bible. The Schrotter girl does not know anything yet and the
other girls egged her on till she went and asked. The Herr Professor got
quite red and said: If you don’t know yet it does not matter. We shall
come to that later, we’re still in the Old Testament. I was so glad
that Hella does not sit next me in the religion lesson, because she’s
a Protestant; we should certainly have both burst out laughing. Some
of the girls giggled frightfully and the Herr Professor said to Lisel:
You’re a good girl, don’t bother about the others. But Lisel positively
howled. I would not have asked, even if I hadn’t really known. _With
child_ is a stupid word anyhow, it doesn’t mean anything really; only if
one knows.
November 22nd. When I was coming away from the religion lesson with
Berta Franke the other day, of course we began talking about _it_. She
says that’s why people marry, only because of _it_. I said I could not
believe that people marry only for _that_. Lots of people marry and then
have no children. That’s all right said Berta, but it’s quite true what
I tell you. Then she told me a lot more but I really can’t write it
all down. It is too horrid, but I shan’t forget. When I was sitting
on Mother’s bed to-day I suddenly realised that Father’s bed is really
quite close to Mother’s. I had never thought about it before. But it’s
not really necessary now for we are all quite big. Still I suppose
they’ve just left things as they were. Well dear, said Mother, what are
you looking round so for? Of course I didn’t let on, but said: I was
only looking round and thinking that if your bed was where the washstand
is you could see to read better when you are lying in bed. That would
not do because the wall’s all wrong said Mother. I said nothing more and
she didn’t either. I like much better to sleep on a sofa than in a bed,
because I like to snuggle up against the back. I’m so glad Mother
didn’t notice anything. One has to be so frightfully careful not to give
oneself away when one knows everything.
November 25th. I have just been reading a lovely story; it is called
_A True Heart_ and is about a girl whose betrothed has had to leave her
because he has shot a man who was spying on him. But Rosa remains true
to him till he comes back after 10 years and then they marry. It’s
simply splendid and frightfully sad at first. I do love these library
books, but when we were at the elementary school I knew all the books
they had and the mistress never knew what to give me and Hella. In the
high school we get only one book a month, for the Frau Doktor says we
have plenty of work to do, and that when we are not at work we ought to
be out in the fresh air. I can’t manage to go skating every day. I do
love the Gold Fairy, that is my name for _her_, for I hate her real
name. Inspee declares that they call her Stasi for short, but I don’t
believe that; most likely they call her Anna, but that’s so common.
Thank goodness Hella always calls me Rita, so at school I’m known as
Rita. It’s only at home that they will call me Gretl. The other day I
said to Inspee: If you want me to call you Thea you must call me Rita;
and anyhow I won’t let you call me Gretl, that’s what they call a little
girl or a peasant girl. She said: I don’t care tuppence what _you_ call
me. All right, then, she shall be Dora till the end of time.
November 27th. Father has been made Appeal Court Judge. He is awfully
glad and so is Mother. The news came yesterday evening. Now he can
become President of the Supreme Court, not directly, but in a few years.
We shall probably move to a larger house in May. Inspee said to Mother
that she hoped she would have her _own_ room where she would not be
_disturbed_. How absurd, who disturbs her, I suppose I do? Much more
like she disturbs me, always watching while I’m writing my diary. Hella
always says: “There really ought not to be any elder sisters;” she’s
jolly well right. It’s a pity we can’t alter things. Mother says we are
really too big to keep St. Nicholas, but I don’t see why one should ever
be too big for that. Last year Inspee got something from St. Nicholas
when she was 13 and I’m not 12 yet. All we get are chocolates and sweets
and dates and that sort of thing, not proper presents. The girls want to
give the Frau Doktor a great Krampus * to leave it on her desk. I think
that’s silly. It’s not a proper present for a teacher one is really fond
of, one doesn’t want to waste sweets on a teacher one doesn’t like, and
to give an empty Krampus would be rude. Mother is really right and a
Krampus is only suitable for children.
* Krampus=Ruprechtsknecht, i.e. a little Demon, who serves
St. Nicholas, and is a bogey man to carry off naughty children
An image of this Demon filled with sweets, is given as a present
on the feast of St. Nicholas which inaugurates the Christmas
season.--Translators’ Note.
December 1st. We are giving everyone of the staff a Krampus, each of
us is to subscribe a crown, I hope Father will give me the crown extra.
Perhaps he’ll give us more pocket money now, at least another crown,
that would be splendid. We are going to give big Krampuses to the ones
we like best, and: small ones to those we are not so fond of. We’re
afraid to give one to Professor J. But if he doesn’t get one perhaps
he’ll be offended.
December 2nd. To-day we went to buy Krampuses for the staff. The one for
Frau Doktor M. is the finest. When you open it the first thing you see
is little books with Schiller, Goethe, and Fairy Tales written on the
backs, and then underneath these are the sweets. That’s exactly suited
for her, for the Frau Doktor teaches German and in the Fourth in German
they are reading these poets. Last month in the Fourth they had a
Schiller festival and Frau Doktor made a splendid speech and some of
the girls gave recitations. Besides Hella has shown me an awful poem by
Schiller. There you can read: if only I could catch her in the bath, she
would cry for mercy, for I would soon show the girl that I am a man. And
then in another place: “To my mate in God’s likeness I can show _that_
which is the source of life.” But you can only find that in the _large_
editions of Schiller. I believe we’ve got some books of that sort in
our bookcase, for when Inspee was rummaging there the other day Mother
called from the next room: “Dora, what are you hunting for in the
bookcase? I can tell you where it is.” And she said: Oh, it’s nothing, I
was just looking for something, and shut the door quickly.
December 4th. The girls are so tiresome and have made such a muddle
about the Krampuses for the staff. The money didn’t come out right and
Keller said that Markus had taken some but Markus said not taken only
kept. Of course Markus complained to Frau Doktor and her father went to
the head and complained too. Frau Doktor said we know quite well that
collections are not allowed and that we must not give any one a Krampus.
Now Keller has the five Krampuses and we don’t know what to do about it.
Mother says that sort of thing never turns out well but always ends in a
quarrel.
December 5th. We are in such a funk: Hella and I and Edith Bergler have
taken the Krampus which we bought for Frau Doktor M. and put it on her
doorstep. Edith Bergler knew where she lived for she comes by there
every day on her way to school. I wonder if she’ll guess where the
Krampus comes from. I did not know that Edith Bergler was such a
nice girl, I always thought she must be deceitful because she wears
spectacles. But now I’m quite certain she is not deceitful, so one sees
how easy it is to make a mistake. To-morrow’s our German lesson.
December 6th. Frau Doktor did not say anything at first. Then she gave
out the subject for the essay: “Why once I could not go to sleep at
night.” The girls were all taken aback, and then Frau Doktor said:
Now girls that’s not so very difficult. One person cannot go to sleep
because he’s just going to be ill, another because he is excited by joy
or fear. Another has an uneasy conscience because he has done something
which he has been forbidden to do; have not all of you experienced
something of the kind? Then she looked frightfully hard at Edith Bergler
and us two. She did not say anything more, so we don’t really know if
she suspects. I couldn’t go to the ice carnival yesterday because I
had such a bad cough, and Dora couldn’t go either because she had a
headache; I don’t know whether it was a real headache or _that kind_ of
headache; but I expect it was that kind.
December 17th. I haven’t managed to write anything for a whole week.
The day before yesterday we had our Christmas reports: In history I had
satisfactory, in Natural History good, in everything else very good. In
diligence because of that stupid Vischer I had only a 2. Father was very
angry; he says everyone can get a 1 in diligence. That’s true enough,
but if one has satisfactory in anything then one can’t get a 1 for
diligence. Inspee of course had only 1’s, except a 2 in English. But
then she’s a frightful swot. Verbenowitsch is the best in our class, but
we can’t any of us bear her, she’s so frantically conceited and Berta
Franke says she’s _not to be trusted_. Berta walks to school with her
cousin who’s in the seventh; she’s nearly 14, and is awfully pretty. She
didn’t say what sort of a report she had, but I believe it was a very
bad one.
December 18th. To-day at supper Dora fainted because she found a little
chicken in her egg, not really a chicken yet, but one could make out
the wings and the head, just a sketch of a chicken Father said. Still,
I really can’t see what there was to faint about. Afterwards she said it
had made her feel quite creepy. And she’ll never be able to eat another
egg. At first Father was quite frightened and so was Mother, but then he
laughed and said: What a fuss about nothing! She had to go and lie down
at once and I stayed downstairs for a long time. When I came up to our
room she was reading, that is I saw the light through the crack in the
door; but when I opened the door it was all dark and when I asked: Ah so
you’re still reading she didn’t answer and she pretended to wake up when
I switched on the light and said: What’s the matter? I can’t stand such
humbug so I said: Shut up, you know quite well it’s 9 o-clock. That’s
all. On our way to school to-day we didn’t Speak a word to one another.
Luckily after awhile we met a girl belonging to her class.
December 19th. I’m frightfully excited to know what I’m going to get for
Christmas. What I’ve wished for is: A set of white furs, boa, muff,
and velvet cap trimmed with the same fur, acme skates because mine are
always working loose, _German_ sagas, not Greek; no thank you, hair
ribbons, openwork stockings, and if possible a gold pin like the one
Hella got for a birthday present. But Father says that our Christ Child
would find that rather too expensive. Inspee wants a corset. But I don’t
think she’ll get one because it’s unhealthy. The tablecloth for Father
is finished and is being trimmed, but Mother’s book cover is not quite
ready yet. I’m giving Dora a little manicure case. Oh, and I’d nearly
forgotten what I want more than anything else, a lock-up box in which to
keep my diary. Dora wants some openwork stockings too and three books. A
frightful thing happened to me the other day. I left one of the pages
of my diary lying about or lost one somehow or other. When I came home
Inspee said: “you’ve lost _this_, haven’t you? School notes I suppose?”
I didn’t notice what it was for a moment, but then I saw by the look
of it and said: Yes, those are school notes. Hm-m-m, said Inspee, not
exactly that are they? You can thank your stars that I’ve not shown them
to Mother. Besides people who can’t spell yet really ought not to keep
diaries. It’s not suitable for children. I was in a wax. In the closet
I took a squint to see what mistakes I had made. There was only _wenn_
with one _n_ instead of double _n_ and _dass_ with short _ss’s_, that’s
all. I was jolly glad that there was nothing about _her_ on the page.
She’d underlined the _n_ and the short _ss’s_ with red, just as if she
was a schoolmistress, infernal cheek! The best would be to have a book
with a lock to it, which one could alway keep locked, then no one could
read any of it and underline one’s mistakes in red. I often write so
fast that it’s easy to make a slip now and again. As if she never made a
mistake. The whole thing made me furious. But I can’t say anything about
it because of Mother, at least on the way to school; but no, if I say
nothing at all then she always gets more waxy than ever. If I were to
say much about it Mother might remember those 5 pages I lost in the
country and I’d rather not thank you.