we did not keep it at all. I was in a terrible fright that Mother was
seriously ill, or even that -- -- -- -- -- No, I won’t even think it;
one simply must not write it down even if one is not superstitious. Aunt
Dora came last week to keep house for Mother. We are not going skating,
for we are always afraid that Mother might get worse just when we are
away. As soon as she is able to get up for long enough Father is going
to take her to see a specialist in the _diseases of women_; so it must
be true that Mother’s illness comes from _that_.
November 16th. Oh it’s horrible, Mother has to have an operation; I’m so
miserable that I can’t write.
November 19th. Mother is so good and dear; she wants us to go skating to
take our thoughts off the operation. But Dora says too that it would be
brutal to go skating when Mother is going to have an operation in a few
days. Father said to us yesterday evening: “Pull yourselves together
children, set your teeth and don’t make things harder for your poor
Mother.” But I can’t help it, I cry whenever I look at Mother.
November 23rd. It is so dismal at home since Mother went away; we had
to go to school and we believed she would not leave until the afternoon,
but the carriage came in the morning. Dora says that Father had arranged
all that because I could not control myself. Well, who could? Dora cries
all day; and at school I cried a lot and so did Hella.
November 28th. Thank goodness, it’s all safely over, Mother will be
home again in a fortnight. I’m so happy and only now can I realise how
_horribly_ anxious I have been. We go every day to see Mother at the
hospital; I wish I could go alone, but we always go all together, that
is either with Father or with Aunt Dora. But I suspect that Dora does
go to see Mother quite alone, she gave herself away to-day about the
flowers, she behaves as if Mother were only _her_ mother. On Thursday,
the first time we saw Mother, we all whispered, and Mother cried,
although the operation had made her quite well again. Unfortunately
yesterday, Aunt Alma was there when we were, and Father said that seeing
so many people at once was too exciting for Mother, and we must go away.
Of course he really meant that Aunt Alma and Marina had better go away,
but Aunt did not understand or would not. Why on earth did Aunt come?
We hardly ever meet since the trouble about Marina and that jackanapes
Erwin; only when there is a family party; Oswald says it’s not a family
gathering but a family dispersal because nearly always some one takes
offence.
November 30th. To-day I managed to be _alone_ with Mother. At school I
said I had an awfully bad headache and asked if I might go home before
the French lesson; I really had. What I told Mother was that Frau Doktor
Dunker was ill, so we had no lesson. Really one ought not to tell lies
to an invalid, but this was a _pious fraud_ as Hella’s mother always
calls anything of the sort, and no one will find out, because Frau
Doktor Dunker has nothing to do with the Fourth, so Dora won’t hear
anything about it. Mother said she was _awfully pleased_ to be able to
see _me_ alone for once. That absolutely proves that Dora does go alone.
Mother was so sweet, and Sister Klara said she was a perfect angel in
goodness and patience. Then I burst out crying and Mother had to soothe
me. At first, after I got home, I did not want to say anything about it,
but when we were putting on our things after dinner to go and see Mother
I said en passant as it were: “This is the second time I shall be seeing
Mother to-day.” And when Dora said: What do you mean? I said quite
curtly: “One of our lessons did not come off, and so I took the chance
_too_ of being able to see Mother _alone_.” Then she said: Did the
porter let you in without any trouble? It surprises me very much that
such _very_ young girls, who are almost children still, are allowed to
go in alone. Luckily Aunt came in at that moment and said: “Oh well,
nobody thinks Gretl quite a child now, and _both of you_ can go alone to
the hospital all right.” On the way we did not speak to one another.
December 5th. For St. Nicholas day we took Mother a big flower pot, and
tied to the stick was a label on which Father had written; “Being ill
is punishable as an unpermissible offence in the sense of Section 7 the
Mothers’ and Housewives’ Act.” Mother was frightfully amused. The doctor
says she is going on nicely, and that she will be able to come home in a
few days.
December 6th. It was awful to-day. In the evening when we were leaving
the dining-room Father said: “Gretl you have forgotten something.” And
when I came back he took me by the hand and said: “Why didn’t you tell
me that you want so much to see Mother _alone_? You need not make such
a secret of it.” And then I burst out crying and said: “Yes, I need not
keep it secret from you, but I don’t like Dora to know all about it.
Did she tell you what happened the other day?” But Father does not know
anything about my pretended headache, but only that I wanted so much to
see Mother alone. He was awfully kind and kissed and petted me, saying:
“You are a dear little thing, little witch, I hope you always will be.”
But I got away as quick as I could, for I felt so ashamed because of my
fibbing. If it were not for Dora I’m sure I should never tell any lies.
December 6th. Father is an angel. He and I went to see Mother in the
morning, and Aunt and Dora went in the afternoon. And since Father had
to go into the Cafe where he had an appointment with a friend, I went on
alone to see Mother and he came in afterwards. Mother asked me about my
Christmas wishes; but I told her I had only one wish, that she should
get well and live for ever. I was awfully glad that Dora was not there,
for I could never have got that out before her. Still, she made me
tell her my wishes after all, so I said I wanted handerkerchiefs with
“monogram and coronet,” visiting cards with _von_, a satchel like that
which most of the girls in the _higher_ classes have, and the novel
Elizabeth Kott. But I am not to have the novel, for Mother was horrified
and said: My darling child, that’s not the sort of book for you; who on
earth put that into your head; Ada, I suppose? From what I know of your
tastes, it really would not suit you at all. So I had to give that up,
but I’m certain I should not find the book stupid.
December 11th. Mother came home again to-day; we did not know what time
she was coming, but only that it was to be to-day. And because I was
so glad that Mother is quite well again, I sang two or three songs, and
Mother said: That is a good omen when one is greeted with a song.
Then Dora was annoyed because _she_ had not thought of singing. We had
decorated the whole house with flowers.
December 15th. I am embroidering a cushion for Mother and Dora is
making her a footstool so that she can sit quite comfortably when she is
reading. For Father we have bought a new brief bag because his own is so
shabby that it makes us quite ashamed; but he always says: “It will do
for a good while yet.” For a long time I did not know what to get for
Aunt Dora, and at length we have decided upon a lace fichu; for she is
awfully fond of lace. I am giving Hella a sketch book and a pencil case;
she draws beautifully and will perhaps become an artist, for Dora I am
getting a vanity bag and for Oswald a cigarette case with a horse’s head
on it, for he is frightfully taken up with racing and the turf.
December 16th. Owing to Mother’s illness I’ve had simply no time to
write anything about the school, although there has been a _great
deal_ to write about, for example that Prof. W. is very friendly again,
although he no longer gives us lessons, and that most of the girls can’t
bear the Nutling because she makes such favourites of the Jewish girls.
It’s quite true that she does, for example Franke, who is never any
good, will probably get a Praiseworthy in Maths and Physics; and she
lets Weinberger do anything she likes. I always get Excellent both
for school work and prep.; so it really does not matter to me, but
Berbenowitsch is frightfully put out because she is no longer the
favourite as she was with Frau Doktor St. The other day it was quite
unpleasant in the Maths lesson. In the answer to a sum there happened
to be 1-3, and then the Nutling asked what 1-3 would be as a decimal
fraction; so we went on talking about recurring [periodic] decimals and
every time she used the word _period_, some of the girls giggled, but
luckily some of them were Jews, and she got perfectly savage and simply
screamed at us. In Frau Doktor St’s lesson in the First, some of the
girls giggled at the same thing and she went on just as if she had not
noticed it, but afterwards she always spoke of _periodic places_, and
then one does not think of the real meaning so much. Frau Doktor F. said
she should complain to Frau Doktor M. about our unseemly behaviour.
But really all the girls had not giggled, for ex. Hella and I simply
exchanged glances and understood one another at once. I can’t endure
that idiotic giggling.
December 20th. Oswald came home to-day; he’s fine. It’s quite true that
he has really had a moustache for a long time, but was not allowed to
grow it at the Gymnasium; in boarding schools the barber comes every
Saturday, and they _have_ to be shaved. He always says that at the
Gymnasium everything manly is simply suppressed. I am so glad I am not
a man and need not go to Gymnasium. Anyhow he has a splendid moustache
now. Hella did not recognise him at first and drew back in alarm, she
only knew him after a moment by his voice. We have reckoned it up, and
find that she has not seen him since the Easter before last. At first
he called her Fraulein, but her mother said: Don’t be silly. It did not
seem silly to me, but most polite!!!
December 23rd. Mother is so delighted that Oswald is home again and he
really is awfully nice; he is giving her a wonderful flowers-of-iron
group representing a mountain scene with a forest, and in the foreground
some roe deer as if in a pasture.
December 25th. Only time for a few words. Mother was very well
yesterday, and it has not done her any harm to stay up so long. I am so
happy. We both got a tie pin with a sapphire and 3 little diamonds, they
have been made out of some earrings which Mother never wears now. But
the nice thing about it is that they are made from her earrings.
The satchel and Stifter’s Tales are awfully nice and so are the
handkerchiefs with the coronet and everything else. Hella gave me a
reticule with my monogram and the coronet as well. Oswald has given Dora
and me small paperweights and Father a big one, bronze groups. We really
need two writing tables, but there is no room for two. So I am going
to arrange the little corner table as my writing table and have all my
things there.
December 27th. At the Bruckners yesterday it was really awful. Hella’s
mother is perfectly right; when anyone looks like _that_ she ought not
to pay visits when she knows that other people may be there. Hella told
me the day before yesterday how frightfully noticeable it is in her
cousin that she is in an i-- c--! Her mother was very much put out on
her account and she wanted to prevent Emmy’s standing up. We were simply
disgusted and horrified. But her husband is awfully gentle with her; She
is certainly not pretty and especially the puffiness under her eyes is
horrid. They say that many women look like that when they are pr. She
was wearing a _maternity dress_, and that gives the whole show away!
Hella says that some women look awfully pretty when they are in an i--
c--, but that some look hideous. I do hope I shall be one of the first
kind, if I ever . . . No, it is really horrible, even if it makes one
pretty; when I think of Frau von Baldner and what she looked like last
summer, yet Father has always said she is a a perfect beauty. Really no
one is pretty in an i-- c--. Soon after tea Hella and I went up to her
room, and she said it had really been too much for her and that she
could not have stood it much longer. And we went on talking about it for
such a long time, that it really made both of us nearly ill. On Sunday
Emmy and her husband are coming to dine with the Brs., and Hella begged
me to ask her to dinner with us, or she would be quite upset. So of
course she is coming here and thank goodness that will save her from
feeling ill. And then she said that I must not think she wanted to come
to us because of Oswald, but only for that _other_ reason. I understand
that perfectly well, and she does not need to make any excuses to me.
29th. Hella came to dinner to-day, she was wearing a new dress, a light
strawberry colour, and it suited her admirably. In the evening Oswald
said: “two or three years more, and Hella will look ripping.” It does
annoy me so this continual _will_. Hella’s father simply said of me
that I _was_ charming,, and not that idiotic: I _was going to become_
charming. I do hate the way people always talk out into the future.
However, Oswald paid Hella a great deal of attention. In the afternoon,
when Hella and I were talking about him, I wanted to turn the
conversation to Lajos, but she flushed up and said he was utterly false,
for since October he had only been to see them once, on a Sunday, just
when they were going to the theatre. Of course he says he does not care
a jot about the visits unless he can see her alone. She can’t realise
that that shows the greatness of his love. I understand it perfectly.
But it is really monstrous that Jeno has asked after me only once, quite
casually. And he really might have sent me a card at Christmas. But
that’s what young men are like. The proverb really applies to them: Out
of sight out of mind.
December 30th. Frau Richter called to-day, but only in the morning for a
quarter of an hour. Not a word was said about Viktor, though I stayed in
the drawing-room on purpose. Dora did not put in an appearance, though
I’m sure she was at home. He is extraordinarily like his mother, he has
the same lovely straight nose, and the small mouth and well-cut lips;
but he is very tall and she is quite small half a head shorter than
Mother. We owe them a call, but I don’t much think that we shall go.
December 31st. I really have no time, since this is New Year’s Eve, but
I simply _must_ write. Dora and I went skating this morning, and we met
Viktor on the ice; he went frightfully pale, saluted, and spoke to us;
Dora wished to pass on, but he detained her and said that she must allow
him to have a talk, so he came skating with us since she would not go to
a confectioner’s with him. She was certainly quite right not to go to
a confectioner’s. Of course I don’t know what they talked about, but in
the afternoon Dora cried frightfully, and Viktor never said good-bye to
me; it’s impossible that he can have forgotten, so either I must have
been too far away at the time, or else Dora did not want him to; most
likely the latter. I’m frantically sorry for him, for he is passionately
in love with her. But she won’t come to her senses until it is too
late. I don’t think she has said a word to Mother either. But all the
afternoon she was playing melancholy music, and that shows how much she
had felt it.
January 2nd. Yesterday I had no time to write because we had callers,
pretty dull for the most part, the Listes and the Trobisches; Julie Tr.
is such a stupid creature, and I don’t believe she knows the first thing
about _those matters_; Annie is not quite all there, Lotte is the only
tolerable one. Still, since we played round games for prizes, it was not
as dull as it might have been, and Fritz and Rudl are quite nice boys.
In the evening Mother was so tired out that Father said he really must
put a stop to all this calling; I can’t say I care much myself for
_that_ sort of visits, especially since Dora always will talk about
_books_. People always talk about such frightfully dull books whenever
they have nothing else to say. School began again to-day, with a German
lesson thank goodness. Though I’m not superstitious in general, I must
say I do like a good beginning. Besides, first thing in the morning we
met two chimneysweeps, and without our having tried to arrange it in any
way they passed us on our _left_. That ought to bring good luck.
January 5th. Most important, Hella since yesterday evening -- -- -- --!
She did not come to school yesterday, for the day before she felt
frightfully bad, and her mother really began to think she was going to
have another attack of appendicitis. Instead of that!!! She looks so ill
and interesting, I spent the whole afternoon and evening with her; and
at first she did not want to tell me what was the matter. But when I
said I should go away if she did not tell me, she said: “All right, but
you must not make such idiotic faces, and above all you must not look
at me.” “Very well,” I said, “I won’t look, but tell me everything about
it.” So then she told me that she had felt frantically bad, as if she
was being cut in two, much worse than after the appendicitis operation,
and then she had frantically high fever and shivered at the same time,
all Friday, and yesterday -- -- -- tableau!! And then her mother told
her the chief things, though she knew them already. Earlier on Friday
the doctor had said: “Don’t let us be in a hurry to think about a
relapse, there may be _other!!_ causes.” And then he whispered to her
mother, but Hella caught the word _enlighten_. Then she knew directly
what time of day it was. She acted the innocent to her mother, as if she
knew nothing at all, and her mother kissed her and said, now you are not
a child any more, now you belong among the grown-ups. How absurd, so
_I_ am still a child! After all, on July 30th I shall be 14 too, and at
least one month before I shall have it too, so I shan’t be a _child_ for
more than six months more. Hella and I laughed frightfully, but she is
really a little puffed up about it; she won’t admit that she is, but I
noticed it quite clearly. The only girl I know who did not put on airs
when that happened was Ada. Because of the school Hella is awfully shy,
and before her father too. But her mother has promised her not to tell
him. If only one can trust her!!!
January 7th. Hella came to school to-day _in spite of everything_. I
kept on looking at her, and in the interval she said: “I have told you
already that you must not stare at me in that idiotic way, and this is
the second time I’ve had to speak to you about it. One must not make
a joke about such things.” I was not going to stand that. One must not
look at her; very well, in the third lesson I sat turning away from her;
then suddenly she hooked one of my feet with hers so that I nearly
burst out laughing, and she said: “Do look round, for that way is even
stupider.” Of course Dunker promptly called us to order, that is, she
told Hella to go on reading, but Hella said promptly that she felt very
unwell, and that what she had said to me was, she would have to go
home at 12. All the girls looked at one another, for they all know
what _unwell_ means, and Frau Doktor Dunker said Hella had better leave
directly, but she answered in French--that pleases Dunker awfully--that
she would rather stay till the end of the lesson. It was simply
splendid!
January 12th. We went to the People’s Theatre to-day to the matinee of
The Fourth Commandment. The parting from the grandmother was lovely;
almost everyone was in tears. I managed to keep from crying because Dora
was only two places from me, and so did Hella, probably for the same
reason. Anyway she was not paying much attention to the play for in the
main interval Lajos, who had been in the stalls, came up and said how
d’you do to Hella and her mother. He wanted to go home with them after
the performance. Jeno has mumps, it is a horrid sort of illness and if I
had it I should never admit it. Those illnesses in which one is swelled
up are the nastiest of all. The Sunday after next Lajos and Jeno have
been invited to the Brs. and of course they asked me too, I am so glad.
January 18th. I have not written for a whole week, we have such a
frantic lot of work, especially in French in which we are very backward,
at least Dunker says so!! She can’t stand Madame Arnau, that’s obvious.
For my part I liked Mad. Arnau a great deal better, if only because she
had no pimples. And Prof. Jordan’s History class is awfully difficult,
because he always makes one find out the causes for oneself; one has to
learn _intelligently!_, but that is very difficult in History. No one
ever gets an Excellent from him, except Verbenowitsch sometimes, but
she learns out of a book, not our class book, but the one on which Herr
Prof. J. bases his lectures. And because she reads it all up
beforehand, naturally she always knows all the causes of the war and the
_consequences_. Really _consequences_ means something quite different,
and so Hella and I never dare look at one another when he is examining
us and asks: What were the consequences of this event? Of course the
Herr Prof. imagined that Franke was laughing at _him_ when she was only
laughing at _consequences_; and it was impossible for her to explain,
especially to a gentleman!!!!
January 20th. When Dora and I were coming home from skating to-day we
met Mademoiselle, and I said how d’you do to her at once, and I was
asking her how _she_ (much emphasised) was getting on, when suddenly I
noticed that Dora had gone on, and Mademoiselle said: “Your sister seems
in a great hurry, I don’t want to detain her.” When I caught Dora up and
asked her: “Why did you run away?” she tossed her head and said: “That
sort of company does not suit me.” “What on earth do you mean, you were
so awfully fond of Mad., and besides she is really lovely.” That’s true
enough, she said; but it was awfully tactless of her to tell me of all
that--you know what. Such an intimacy behind her parents’ backs _cannot
possibly lead to_ happiness. Then I got in such a fearful temper and
said: “Oh do shut up. Father and Mother did not know anything about
Viktor either, and you were happy enough then. It is just the secrecy
that makes one so happy.” Then she said very softly: “Dear Grete, you
too will change your views,” and then we did not say another word. But I
was awfully angry over her meanness; for first of all she wanted to hear
the whole story, although Mad. never offered to tell her, and now she
pretends that _she_ did not wish it. If I only knew where to find Mad. I
would warn her. Anyhow, this day week at 7 I shall take care to be in
W. Street, and perhaps I may meet her, for she probably has a private
lesson somewhere in that neighborhood.
January 24th. Mother is very ill again to-day, _in spite of_ the
operation. I have decided that I won’t go on Sunday to the Brs. although
Jeno will be there, and that I won’t wait about for Mademoiselle on
Monday. I have not told Hella anything about this for she would probably
say it was very stupid of me, but I would rather not; not because Dora
has twice spoken to me pointedly about a _clear conscience_, but because
I don’t enjoy anything when Mother is ill.
January 26th. Mother is an angel. Yesterday she asked Aunt Dora: “By the
way, Dora, has Grete put a fresh lace tucker in her blue frock, ready
for the Brs. to-morrow?” Then I said: “I’m not going Mother,” and Mother
asked: “But why not, surely not on my account?” Then I rushed up to her
and said: “I can’t enjoy anything when you are ill.” And then Mother was
so awfully sweet, and she wept and said: “_Such moments_ make one forget
all pains and troubles. But really you _must_ go, besides I’m a good
deal better to-day, and to-morrow I shall be quite well again.” So I
answered: “All right, I’ll go, but only if you are _really_ well.
But you must tell me _honestly_.” But in any case I shan’t go to meet
Mademoiselle on Monday.