yesterday. We had a heavenly time on Sunday. We laughed till our sides
ached and Hella was nearly suffocated with laughing. Lajos is enough to
give one fits; it was absolutely ripping the way he imitated the wife of
Major Zoltan in the Academy and Captain Riffl. I can hardly write about
it, for my hand shakes so with laughing when I think of it. And then,
while Hella and Lajos were singing songs together, Jeno told me that
every student in the Neustadt has an inamorata, a _real_ one. Mostly in
Vienna, but some in Wiener Neustadt though that is dangerous because of
being caught. All the officers know about it, but no one must be found
out. Then I told him about Oswald’s affair and he said: “Oswald was a
great donkey, you’ll excuse me for saying so since he’s your brother;
but really he made a fool of himself. He was only a civilian; it’s quite
different in the army.” Then I got cross and said: “That’s all very
well, Jeno, but you are not an officer yourself, so I don’t see how you
can know anything about it.” Then he said to Hella: “I say, Ilonka,
you must keep your friend in better order, she is rather inclined to
be insubordinate.” She is to make a written note of every act of
_insubordination_, and then he will administer _exemplary_ punishment.
All very fine, but it will take two to that.
January 30th. I wish I knew whether Mademoiselle really passed through
W. Street again at 7 o’clock on Monday, for she certainly said very
distinctly: “Au revoir, ma cherie!” She is so pretty and so pale;
perhaps she is really ill, and she must be awfully nervous about
-- -- -- That would be terrible. We wonder whether she knows about
certain means, but one simply can’t tell her.
February 2nd. I’ve had a wonderful idea and Hella thinks it a positive
inspiration. We are going to write anonymously to Mademoiselle about
those means, and Hella will write, so that no one can recognise
my writing. We think something of that sort must have happened to
Mademoiselle, for the other day I heard Mother say to Aunt Dora: “If we
had known that, we should never have engaged her for the children; it
will be a terrible thing for her parents.” And Aunt Dora said: “Yes,
those are the sort of people who hide their disgrace under the water.”
It seems quite clear, for _disgrace_ means an _illegitimate_ child. And
the worst of it is, that they know that she has done _that_. We must
help the poor thing. And _that_ is why Dora is so indignant all of
a sudden. But how can she know? there is nothing to notice yet in
Mademoiselle; if there had been I should certainly have seen it, for
Hella often says I’ve a keen eye for it. That is quite true, I was the
first person to notice it in the maid at Prof. Hofer’s, when even Father
had not noticed it.
February 4th. Well, we have written to her, at least Hella has, saying
there are _such_ means, and that she will find all the details in the
encyclopedia. We have addressed it to F. M. and signed it “Someone
who understands you.” Unfortunately we shall never be able to find out
whether she got the letter, but the main thing is that she _should_.
February 7th. What a frightful lot of anxiety a letter can give one! In
the interval to-day the school servant came up to me and said: Please
are you Fraulein Lainer of the Third. “There is a letter for you.” I
blushed furiously, for I thought, it must be from Mademoiselle, but my
blushing made Frau Berger think it must be from a young man: “Really I
ought to give it to the head mistress; I am not allowed to deliver any
letters to the pupils, but in your case I will make an exception. But
please remember if it happens again I shall have to hand it in to the
office.” Then I said: “Frau Berger, I am quite certain it is not from
a gentleman, but from a young lady,” and when she gave it to me I saw
directly that it really was not from a gentleman but only from Ada!
It really is too stupid of her! At the New Year she reproached me for
having broken my word, and now she begs me to enquire at the Raimund
Theatre or at the People’s Theatre whether Herr G. is there; she says
she can’t live without him in St. P. But in the holidays she told me
that she was not in love with him, that for her he was only _a means to
an end_. I’m absolutely certain she said that. Nothing will induce me
to go to enquire at a theatre _office_, and Hella says too that to make
_such_ a suggestion is a piece of impudence. I shall just write her an
ordinary letter, telling her what a row she might have got me into at
school. I really think Ada has a bee in her bonnet, as Father always
says.
February 10th. I never heard of such a thing! I was sent for to the
office to-day because the school servant had complained that on two
occasions I had thrown down some orange peel at the entrance. It’s quite
true that I did drop one piece there yesterday, but I pushed it out of
the way with my foot into the corner, and as for any other time I know
nothing about it. But I see which way the wind is blowing. Frau Berger
thought I would give her some money for that letter; just fancy, how
absurd, money for a letter like that, I wouldn’t give 20 kreuzer for
such a letter. But since then she’s been in a frightfully bad temper, I
noticed it on Wednesday when we were wiping our shoes at the door. What
I said to the head was: “It happened only once, and I kicked the peel
into the corner where no one could tread on it, but I certainly did not
do it twice, and Bruckner can confirm what I say.” Then the head said:
“Oh well, we need not make a state affair of it, but the next time you
drop something, please pick it up.” Frau Berger is furious, and all we
girls in our class have decided that while we won’t make more mess than
we need, still, we shan’t be too particular. If any one of us happens to
drop a piece of paper she will just let it lie. Such cheek, one really
can’t stand it!
February 12th. We got our reports to-day. I have not got any
Satisfactories, only Praiseworthy and Excellent. Father and Mother are
awfully pleased and they have given each of us 2 crowns. Indeed Dora has
practically nothing but Excellents, only three Praiseworthies; but she
studies frantically hard, and she is learning Latin again with Frau
Doktor M. If she is still teaching the lower classes next year, I shall
go too, for that way we shall have her for 3 hours longer each week.
By the way, Franke has actually got Praiseworthy in Maths. and Physics,
though she’s hardly any good. The Nutling seems to give extraordinarily
good reports, for twice in the Maths. schoolwork Hella has had an
Unsatisfactory, and yet now in her report she has Praiseworthy. With
Frau Doktor M. one has really to deserve one’s report, and it was just
the same last year with Fr. Dr. St. The worst of all is with Herr
Prof. Jordan. Not a single one of us has got an Excellent except that
deceitful cat Verbenowitsch. To-morrow the Brs. are giving a great
birthday party because of Hella’s 14th birthday. Lajos and Jeno are
coming and the two Ehrenfelds, because Hella is very fond of them,
especially Trude, the elder, that is she is 2 days older than Kitty, for
they are _twins!!_ How awful!!! They only came to the Lyz this year, and
Hella meets them skating every day, I don’t because we have no season
tickets this year but only take day tickets when we can go, because
of Mother’s illness. I am giving Hella an electric torch with a very
powerful reflector, so that it really lights up the whole room, and an
amber necklace.
February 14th. It’s a good thing that we have the half-term holiday
to-day and to-morrow for that gives me time to write all about
yesterday. It was simply phenomenal! I went to wish Hella many happy
returns quite early, and I stayed to dinner and Lajos and Jeno had been
invited to dinner too in the afternoon the 2 Ehrenfelds came and brought
a box of sweets, and 3 of Hella’s girl cousins and two boys, one of whom
is frightfully stupid and never speaks a word, and several aunts and
other ladies, for the grown-ups had their friends too. But we did not
bother about them, for the dining-room, Lizzi’s room, and Hella’s room
had been arranged for us. Hella had been sent such a lot of flowers
that they nearly gave us a headache. At dinner Lajos proposed a toast
to Hella and another at tea. Hella was splendid, and in the evening she
said to me: “At 14 one really does become a different being.” For in
proposing his toast Lajos had said that every 7 years a human being
is completely changed, and Hella thinks that is perfectly true. Thank
goodness, _in 6 1/2 months I shall change my whole being too_. There
really did seem to be something different about her, and when we all had
to blow to extinguish the candles on her birthday cake, all except the
life-light in the middle, as a sign that the other years have passed,
she really got quite pale, for she was afraid that in joke or through
awkwardness some one would blow out her life-light. Thank goodness it
was all right. I don’t much care for such things myself, for I’m always
afraid that something might happen. Of course I know that it’s only a
superstition, but it would have been horribly unpleasant if anyone
had blown out the life-light. _Openly!!_ Lajos gave Hella an enormous
_square_ box of sweets, and _secretly!!_ a silver ring with a heart
pendant. He wanted her to wear this until it is replaced by a _gold_
one--the _wedding_ ring. But she can’t because of her parents, so she
begged me to allow her to say that I had given it her, but that would
not do either because of Father and Mother. _These_ things are such a
nuisance, and that is why no young man will ever go on living at home
where one is continually being questioned about everything one has,
and does, and wears. After tea we sang: “Had I but stayed on my lonely
Hearth” and other sad songs, because they are the prettiest, and in the
evening we danced while Hella’s Father played for us; and then Elwira,
the tall cousin, danced the czardas with Lajos, it was wonderful. I’ve
never known such a birthday party as yesterday’s. It’s only possible in
winter; you can never have anything like it on my birthday, July 30th,
for the people one is fondest of are never all together at that time.
Really no one ought to have a birthday in the holiday months, but always
sometime between the end of September and June. I do wish I were 14, I
simply can’t wait. Hella’s mother said to Hella, You are not a child any
longer, but a grown-up; I do wish I were too!!!
February 16th. We have a new schoolfellow. All the girls and all the
staff are delighted with her. She is so small she might be only 10, but
awfully pretty. She has brown curls (Hella says foxy red, but I don’t
agree) hanging down to her shoulders, large brown eyes, a lovely mouth,
and a complexion like milk and roses. She is the daughter of a bank
manager in Hamburg; he shot himself, I don’t know why. Of course she is
in mourning and it suits her wonderfully. She has a strong North German
accent. Frau Doktor Fuchs is simply infatuated with her and the head is
awfully fond of her too.
February 19th. Hella and I walked home to-day with Anneliese. She is
called Anneliese von Zerkwitz. Her mother has been so frightfully
upset by her father’s death that she’ll probably have to be sent to a
sanatorium; that is why Anneliese has come to Vienna to stay with her
uncle. He is a professor and they live in Wiedner Hauptstrasse. Dora
thinks her charming too, the whole school is in love with her, she is
going to gym. with us; I am so glad. Of course she won’t stand near
Hella and me because she’s so small; but we can always keep an eye on
her, show her everything, and help her with the apparatus. Hella is a
trifle jealous and says: “It seems to me that Anneliese has quite taken
my place in your affections.” I said that was not a bit true, but did
she not think Anneliese awfully loveable? “Yes,” said Hella, “but one
must not neglect old friends on that account.” “I certainly shan’t do
anything of the kind; but Anneliese really needs some one who will show
her everything and explain everything.” Besides, the head mistress and
Frau Doktor M. placed her in front of me and said to us: “Give her a
helping hand.”
February 20th. It’s such a pity that I can’t ask Anneliese here, for
Mother has been in bed for the last week. But she is going to Hella’s
on Sunday, and since I am going too of course I am frightfully glad.
Naturally I would much rather have her here; but unfortunately it’s
impossible because of Mother. Dora thinks that Mother will have to have
another operation, but I don’t believe it, for _such_ an operation can
only be done _once_. What I can’t understand is why there should be
anything wrong with Mother if the operation was successful. Dora is
afraid that Mother has cancer, that would be horrible; but I don’t
believe she has, because if one has cancer one can’t recover.
February 23rd. It was heavenly at the Bruckners! Anneliese did not
come until 4, for they don’t have dinner until 3. She wore a white
embroidered frock with black silk ribbons. Hella’s mother kissed her
with tears in her eyes. For her mother really is in a sanatorium because
is suffering from _nervous_ disease. Anneliese is living with her uncle
and aunt. But she often cries because of her father and mother. Still,
she enjoyed herself immensely in the round games, winning all the best
prizes, a pocket comb and mirror, a box of sweets, a toy elephant, a
negro with a vase, and other things as well. I won a pen-wiper, a double
vase, a pencil holder, a lot of sweets, and a note book, Hella won a lot
of things too, and so did her two cousins and Jenny.
Then we had some music and Anneliese sang the Wacht am Rhein and a lot
of folk songs; her voice is as sweet as herself. She was fetched at 7, I
stayed till 8.
March 1st. To-morrow Hella and I have been in vised to Anneliese’s. I am
so awfully glad. I shall ask Mother to let me wear my new theatre blouse
and the green spring coat and skirt. The temperature went up to 54
degrees to-day.
March 3rd. Yesterday we went to Anneliese’s. She shares a room with her
cousin; she is only 11 and goes to the middle school, but she is a
nice girl I expected to find everything frightfully smart at Professor
Arndt’s, but it was not so at all. They have only 3 rooms not
particularly well furnished. He has retired on a pension, Emmy is their
granddaughter, she lives with them because her father is in Galicia, a
captain or major I think. It was not so amusing as at Hella’s. We played
games without prizes, and that is dull; it is not that one plays for the
sake of the prizes, but what’s the use of playing if one does not win
anything? Then they read aloud to us out of a story book. But what Hella
and I found exasperating was that Anneliese’s uncle said “Du” to us
both. For Hella is 14, and I shall be 14 in a few months. But Hella
was quite right; in conversation she said: “At the High School only
the mistresses say Du to us, the professors _have_ to say Sie.”
Unfortunately he went away soon after, so we don’t know whether he took
the hint. Hella says too that it was not particularly entertaining.
March 9th. Oh dear, Mother really has got cancer; of course Father has
not told us so, but she has to have another operation. Dora has cried
her eyes out and my knees are trembling. She’s going to hospital on
Friday. Aunt Dora is coming back on Thursday and will stay here till
Mother is well again. I do so dread the operation, and still more
Mother’s going away. It’s horrible, but still lots of people have cancer
and don’t die of it.
March 22nd. Mother is coming home again tomorrow. Oh I am so glad!
Everything is so quiet in the hospital and one hardly dares speak in the
passages. Mother said: “I don’t want to stay here any longer, let me go
back to my children.” We went to see Mother in hospital every day and
took her violets and other flowers, for she was not allowed to eat
anything during the first few days after the operation. But it’s quite
different now that she’s home again. I should have liked to stay away
from school to-day, but Mother said: “No, children, go to school, do it
to please me.” So of course we went, but I simply could not attend to my
lessons.
March 24th. Mother is asleep now. She looks frightfully ill and still
has a lot of pain. I’m sure the doctors can’t really understand her
case; for if they had operated properly she would not still have pain
after the _second_ operation. I should like to know _what_ Mother has
been talking to Dora about, for they both cried. Although Dora and I
are on good terms now, she would not tell me, but said she had promised
Mother not to speak about it. I can’t believe that Mother has told Dora
a _secret_, but perhaps it was something about marrying. For Dora only
said: “Besides, Mother did not need to say that to me, for my mind was
quite made up in any case.” I do hate such hints, it’s better to say
nothing at all. As soon as Mother can get up she is going to Abbazia for
a change, and most likely Dora will go with her.
March 26th. Mother and Dora are going to Abbazzia next week. Dora thinks
I envy her the journey, and she said: “I would _willingly_ renounce the
journey and the seaside if only Mother would get well. And this year when
I have to matriculate, I certainly should not go for pleasure.” I’m
so awfully miserable that I simply can’t wear a red ribbon in my hair,
though red suits me best. I generally wear a black one now, but since
yesterday a brown one, for Mother said: “Oh, Gretel, do give up that
black ribbon; it looks so gloomy and does not suit you at all.” Of course
I could not tell Mother _how_ I was feeling, so I took the brown one and
said the red ribbon was quite worn out.
April 12th. I never get my diary written. It’s so gloomy at home for
Mother is very bad. Oswald is coming home to-morrow for the Easter
holidays and Mother is looking forward so to seeing him. I was to have
gone with Hella and her father to Maria-Zell, for this year they
are probably going to take a house for the summer in Mitterbach or
Mitterberg near Maria-Zell. But I am not going after all, for I don’t
feel inclined, and I think Mother is better pleased that I should not;
for she said: “So I shall have all my three darlings together here at
Easter.” When she said that I wanted to cry, and I ran quickly out of
the room so that she might not see me. But she must have seen, for after
dinner she said: “Gretel, if you really _want_ to go with the Bruckners,
I should like you to; I should be so glad for you to have a little
pleasure, you have not had much enjoyment all the winter.” And then I
could not stop myself, and I burst out crying and said: “No, Mother, I
won’t go on any account. All I want is that you should get quite well
again.” And then Mother cried too and said: “Darling, I’m afraid I shall
never be quite well again, but I should like to stay until you are all
grown up; after that you won’t need me so much.” Then Dora came in and
when she saw that Mother was crying she said that Father had sent
for me. He hadn’t really but in the evening she told me that Mother’s
illness was hopeless, but that I must not do anything to upset her
or let her see what I was feeling. And then we both cried a lot and
promised one another that we would always stay with Father.
May 16th. Mother died on April 24th, the Sunday after Easter. We are all
so awfully unhappy. Hardly anyone says a word at mealtimes, only Father
speaks to us so lovingly. Most likely Aunt Dora will stay here for good.
It’s not three weeks yet since Mother was buried, but in one way we feel
as if she had already been dead three years, and in another way one is
always suddenly wanting to go into her room, to ask her something or
tell her something. And when we go to bed we talk about her for such a
long time, and then I dream about her all night. Why should people die?
Or at least only quite old people, who no longer have anyone to care
about it. But a mother and a father ought never to die. The night after
Mother died Hella wanted me to come and stay with them, but I preferred
to stay at home; but late in the evening I did not dare to go into the
hall alone, so Dora went with me. Father had locked the door into the
drawing-room, where Mother was laid out, but all the same it was awfully
creepy. They did not call me on the 24th until after Mother was dead; I
should have so liked to see her once more. Good God, why should one die?
If only I had been called Berta after her; but she did not wish that
either of us should be called after her, nor did Father wish it in
Oswald’s case.
May 19th. When Mother was buried, one thing made me frightfully angry
with Dora, at least not really angry but hurt, that _she_ should have
gone into church and come out of church with Father. For _I_ have always
gone with Father and Dora has always gone with Mother. And while poor
Mother was in hospital, Dora went with Aunt. But at the funeral Father
went with her, and I had to go with Aunt Dora. A few days later I spoke
to her about it, and she said it was quite natural because she is the
elder. She said that Oswald ought to have gone with me, that that would
have been the proper thing. But he went alone. Another thing that annoys
me is this; when Aunt Dora came here in the autumn, Dora and I sat on
the same side of the table at dinner and supper, and Aunt sat opposite
Mother, and when Mother took to her bed her place was left vacant. After
she died Oswald sat on the fourth side, and now for about a week Dora
has been sitting in Mother’s place. I can’t understand how Father can
allow it!
May 19th. At dinner to-day no one could eat anything. For we had breast
of veal, and we had had the same thing on the day of poor Mother’s
funeral, and when the joint was brought in I happened to look at Dora
and saw that she was quite red and was sobbing frightfully. Then I could
not contain myself any more and said: “I can’t eat any breast of veal,
for on Mother’s burial day -- -- --,” then I could not say any more, and
Father stood up and came round to me, and Dora and Aunt Dora burst out
crying too. And after dinner Aunt promised us that we should never have
breast of veal again. For tea, Aunt Dora ordered an Ulm cake because we
had eaten hardly anything at dinner.
May 26th. To-day is the first day of Dora’s written matriculation.
Father wanted her to withdraw because she looks so ill, but she would
not for she said it would be a distraction for her and that she would
like to finish with the High School. Next year she is to go to a
preparatory school for the Gymnasium. She ought really to go to a
dancing class, for she is nearly 17, but since she is in mourning it is
quite impossible and of course she does not want to go anyhow. The head
thought too that Dora would withdraw from the examination because she
is so overwrought, but she did not want to withdraw. The staff were so
awfully sweet to us after Mother’s death, at least the women teachers
were. The professors don’t bother themselves about our private concerns,
for they only see us for 1 or 2 hours a week. Frau Doktor Steiner, from
whom we don’t have any lessons this year, was awfully sympathetic; I saw
plainly that she had tears in her eyes, and Frau Doktor M. was an angel
as she always is! We did not go to the spring festival on May 20th,
though Father said we could go if we liked. Hella and Anneliese were
awfully anxious that I should go; but I would not, and indeed I shall
never go to any more amusements. No doubt the others enjoyed themselves
immensely, but for Dora and me it would have been horrible. In the
evenings I often fancy to myself that it is not really true, that Mother
has simply gone to Franzensbad and will be back soon. And then I cry
until my head aches or until Dora says: “Oh Gretel, I do wish you’d
stop, it’s awful.” She often cries herself, I can hear her quite well,
but _I_ never say anything.
June 4th. So Dora looks upon Mother’s death as _a sign of God’s
displeasure against Father!_ But what could _we_ have done to prevent
it? She said, Oh, yes, we did a lot of things we ought not to have done,
and above all we had secrets from Mother. That is why God has punished
us. It’s horrible, and now that she is always speaking of the eye of God
and the finger of God it makes me so terribly afraid to go into a dark
room, because I always feel there is some one there who is eying me and
wants to seize me.
June 8th. Father is in a frightful rage with Dora; yesterday evening,
when I opened the drawing-room door and there was Father coming out,
quite unintentionally I gave a yell, and when Father asked what was the
matter I told him about God’s displeasure; only I did not tell him
it was against him, but only against Dora and me. And then Father was
frightfully angry for the first time since Mother’s death, and he told
Dora she was not to upset me with her ill-conditioned fancies, and Dora
nearly had an attack of palpitation so that the doctor had to be sent
for. Aunt came to sleep in our room and we both had to take bromide.
To-day Father was awfully kind to us and said: “Girls, you’ve no reason
to reproach yourselves, you have always been good children, and I hope
you always will be good.” Yes, I will be, for Mother’s eye watches over
us. Hella thinks I look very poorly, and she asked me to-day whether
perhaps . . . . ?? But I told her that I would not talk about such
things any more, that it would be an offence to my Mother’s memory. She
wanted to say something more, but I said: “No, Hella, I simply won’t
talk about _that_ any more. You can’t understand, because your mother is
still alive.”