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A Young Girl's Diary

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Title: A Young Girl's Diary

Author of introduction, etc.: Sigmund Freud

Translator: Cedar Paul
        Eden Paul


        
Release date: January 21, 2006 [eBook #752]
                Most recently updated: November 6, 2016

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/752

Credits: Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A YOUNG GIRL'S DIARY ***




Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger






A YOUNG GIRL’S DIARY

Prefaced with a Letter by Sigmund Freud

Translated by Eden and Cedar Paul


CONTENTS

     FIRST YEAR     Age 11 to 12
     SECOND YEAR    Age 12 to 13
     THIRD YEAR     Age 13 to 14
     LAST HALF-YEAR Age 14 to 14 1/2
     CONCLUSION


PREFACE


THE best preface to this journal written by a young girl belonging to
the upper middle class is a letter by Sigmund Freud dated April 27,
1915, a letter wherein the distinguished Viennese psychologist testifies
to the permanent value of the document:


“This diary is a gem. Never before, I believe, has anything been written
enabling us to see so clearly into the soul of a young girl, belonging
to our social and cultural stratum, during the years of puberal
development. We are shown how the sentiments pass from the simple egoism
of childhood to attain maturity; how the relationships to parents
and other members of the family first shape themselves, and how they
gradually become more serious and more intimate; how friendships are
formed and broken. We are shown the dawn of love, feeling out towards
its first objects. Above all, we are shown how the mystery of the sexual
life first presses itself vaguely on the attention, and then takes
entire possession of the growing intelligence, so that the child suffers
under the load of secret knowledge but gradually becomes enabled to
shoulder the burden. Of all these things we have a description at once
so charming, so serious, and so artless, that it cannot fail to be of
supreme interest to educationists and psychologists.

“It is certainly incumbent on you to publish the diary. All students of
my own writings will be grateful to you.”

In preparing these pages for the press, the editor has toned down
nothing, has added nothing, and has suppressed nothing. The only
alterations she has made have been such as were essential to conceal the
identity of the writer and of other persons mentioned in the document.
Consequently, surnames, Christian names, and names of places, have been
changed. These modifications have enabled the original author of the
diary to allow me to place it at the free disposal of serious readers.

No attempt has been made to correct trifling faults in grammar and other
inelegancies of style. For the most part, these must not be regarded
as the expression of a child’s incapacity for the control of language.
Rather must they be looked upon as manifestations of affective
trends, as errors in functioning brought about by the influence of the
Unconscious.

THE EDITOR. VIENNA, _Autumn_, 1919.




FIRST YEAR, AGE ELEVEN TO TWELVE


FIRST YEAR


July 12, 19 . . . Hella and I are writing a diary. We both agreed that
when we went to the high school we would write a diary every day. Dora
keeps a diary too, but she gets furious if I look at it. I call Helene
“Hella,” and she calls me “Rita;” Helene and Grete are so vulgar. Dora
has taken to calling herself “Thea,” but I go on calling her “Dora.” She
says that little children (she means me and Hella) ought not to keep a
diary. She says they will write such a lot of nonsense. No more than in
hers and Lizzi’s.

July 13th. Really we were not to begin writing until after the holidays,
but since we are both going away, we are beginning now. Then we shall
know what we have been doing in the holidays.

The day before yesterday we had an entrance examination, it was very
easy, in dictation I made only 1 mistake--writing _ihn_ without _h_. The
mistress said that didn’t matter, I had only made a slip. That is quite
true, for I know well enough that _ihn_ has an _h_ in it. We were both
dressed in white with rose-coloured ribbons, and everyone believed
we were sisters or at least cousins. It would be very nice to have
a cousin. But it’s still nicer to have a friend, for we can tell one
another everything.

July 14th. The mistress was very kind. Because of her Hella and I are
really sorry that we are not going to a middle school. Then every
day before lessons began we could have had a talk with her in the
class-room. But we’re awfully pleased because of the other girls. One is
more important when one goes to the high school instead of only to
the middle school. That is why the girls are in such a rage. “They are
bursting with pride” (that’s what my sister says of me and Hella, but
it is not true). “Our two students” said the mistress when we came away.
She told us to write to her from the country. I shall.

July 15th. Lizzi, Hella’s sister, is not so horrid as Dora, she
is always so nice! To-day she gave each of us at least ten
chocolate-creams. It’s true Hella often says to me: “You don’t know her,
what a beast she can be. _Your_ sister is generally very nice to me.”
 Certainly it is very funny the way in which she always speaks of us as
“the little ones” or “the children,” as if she had never been a child
herself, and indeed a much littler one than we are. Besides we’re just
the same as she is now. She is in the fourth class and we are in the
first.

To-morrow we are going to Kaltenbach in Tyrol. I’m frightfully excited.
Hella went away to-day to Hungary to her uncle and aunt with her mother
and Lizzi. Her father is at manoeuvres.

July 19th. It’s awfully hard to write every day in the holidays.
Everything is so new and one has no time to write. We are living in a
big house in the forest. Dora bagged the front veranda straight off
for her own writing. At the back of the house there are such swarms of
horrid little flies; everything is black with flies. I do hate flies and
such things. I’m not going to put up with being driven out of the
front veranda. I won’t have it. Besides, Father said: “Don’t quarrel,
children!” (_Children_ to _her_ too!!) He’s quite right. She puts
on such airs because she’ll be fourteen in October. “The verandas are
common property,” said Father. Father’s always so just. He never lets
Dora lord it over me, but Mother often makes a favourite of Dora. I’m
writing to Hella to-day. She’s not written to me yet.

July 21st. Hella has written to me, 4 pages, and such a jolly letter. I
don’t know what I should do without her! Perhaps she will come here in
August or perhaps I shall go to stay with her. I think I would rather go
to stay with her. I like paying long visits. Father said: “We’ll see,”
 and that means he’ll let me go. When Father and Mother say We’ll see it
really means Yes; but they won’t say “yes” so that if it does not come
off one can’t say that they haven’t kept their word. Father really lets
me do anything I like, but not Mother. Still, if I practice my piano
regularly perhaps she’ll let me go. I must go for a walk.

July 22nd. Hella wrote that I positively must write every day, for one
must keep a promise and we swore to write every day. I. . . .

July 23rd. It’s awful. One has no time. Yesterday when I wanted to write
the room had to be cleaned and D. was in the arbour. Before that I had
not written a _single_ word and in the front veranda all my pages blew
away. We write on loose pages. Hella thinks it’s better because then one
does not have to tear anything out. But we have promised one another to
throw nothing away and not to tear anything up. Why should we? One can
tell a friend everything. A pretty friend if one couldn’t. Yesterday
when I wanted to go into the arbour Dora glared at me savagely, saying
What do you want? As if the arbour belonged to her, just as she wanted
to bag the front veranda all for herself. She’s too sickening.

Yesterday afternoon we were on the Kolber-Kogel. It was lovely. Father
was awfully jolly and we pelted one another with pine-cones. It was
jolly. I threw one at Dora and it hit her on her padded bust. She let
out such a yell and I said out loud You couldn’t feel it _there_. As she
went by she said Pig! It doesn’t matter, for I know she understood me
and that what I said was true. I should like to know what _she_ writes
about every day to Erika and what she writes in her diary. Mother was
out of sorts and stayed at home.

July 24th. To-day is Sunday. I do love Sundays. Father says: You
children have Sundays every day. That’s quite true in the holidays, but
not at other times. The peasants and their wives and children are all
very gay, wearing Tyrolese dresses, just like those I have seen in the
theatre. We are wearing our white dresses to-day, and I have made a
great cherrystain upon mine, not on purpose, but because I sat down upon
some fallen cherries. So this afternoon when we go out walking I must
wear my pink dress. All the better, for I don’t care to be dressed
exactly the same as Dora. I don’t see why everyone should know that
we are sisters. Let people think we are cousins. She does not like it
either; I wish I knew why.

Oswald is coming in a week, and I am awfully pleased. He is older than
Dora, but I can always get on with him. Hella writes that she finds it
dull without me; so do I.

July 25th. I wrote to Fraulein Pruckl to-day. She is staying at
Achensee. I should like to see her. Every afternoon we bathe and then
go for a walk. But to-day it has been raining all day. Such a bore. I
forgot to bring my paint-box and I’m not allowed to read all day. Mother
says, if you gobble all your books up now you’ll have nothing left to
read. That’s quite true, but I can’t even go and swing.

Afternoon. I must write some more. I’ve had a frightful row with Dora.
She says I’ve been fiddling with her things. It’s all because she’s so
untidy. As if _her_ things could interest me. Yesterday she left her
letter to Erika lying about on the table, and all I read was: He’s as
handsome as a Greek god. I don’t know who “he” was for she came in at
that moment. It’s probably Krail Rudi, with whom she is everlastingly
playing tennis and carries on like anything. As for handsome--well,
there’s no accounting for tastes.

July 26th. It’s a good thing I brought my dolls’ portmanteau. Mother
said: You’ll be glad to have it on rainy days. Of course I’m much too
old to play with dolls, but even though I’m 11 I can make dolls’
clothes still. One learns something while one is doing it, and when I’ve
finished something I do enjoy it so. Mother cut me out some things and I
was tacking them together. Then Dora came into the room and said Hullo,
the child is sewing things for her dolls. What cheek, as if she had
never played with dolls. Besides, I don’t really play with dolls any
longer. When she sat down beside me I sewed so vigorously that I made a
great scratch on her hand, and said: Oh, I’m so sorry, but you came too
close. I hope she’ll know why I really did it. Of course she’ll go and
sneak to Mother. Let her. What right has she to call me child. She’s got
a fine red scratch anyhow, and on her right hand where everyone can see.

July 27th. There’s such a lot of fruit here. I eat raspberries and
gooseberries all day and Mother says that is why I have no appetite for
dinner. But Dr. Klein always says Fruit is so wholesome. But why should
it be unwholesome all at once? Hella always says that when one likes
anything awfully much one is always scolded about it until one gets
perfectly sick of it. Hella often gets in such a temper with her mother,
and then her mother says: We make such sacrifices for our children and
they reward us with ingratitude. I should like to know what sacrifices
they make. I think it’s the children who make the sacrifices. When I
want to eat gooseberries and am not allowed to, the sacrifice is _mine_
not _Mother’s_. I’ve written all this to Hella. Fraulein Pruckl has
written to me. The address on her letter to me was splendid, “Fraulein
Grete Lainer, Lyzealschulerin.” Of course Dora had to know better than
anyone else, and said that in the higher classes from the fourth
upwards (because she is in the fourth) they write “Lyzeistin.” She said:
“Anyhow, in the holidays, before a girl has attended the first class
she’s not a Lyzealschulerin at all.” Then Father chipped in, saying that
_we_ (_I_ didn’t begin it) really must stop this eternal wrangling; he
really could not stand it. He’s quite right, but what he said won’t do
any good, for Dora will go on just the same. Fraulein Pruckl wrote that
she was _delighted_ that I had written. As soon as I have time she wants
me to write to her again. Great Scott, I’ve always time for _her_. I
shall write to her again this evening after supper, so as not to keep
her waiting.

July 29th. I simply could not write yesterday. The Warths have arrived,
and I had to spend the whole day with Erna and Liesel, although it
rained all day. We had a ripping time. They know a lot of round games
and we played for sweets. I won 47, and I gave five of them to Dora.
Robert is already more than a head taller than we are, I mean than
Liesel and me; I think he is fifteen. He says Fraulein Grete and carried
my cloak which Mother sent me because of the rain and he saw me home
after supper.

To-morrow is my birthday and everyone has been invited and Mother has
made strawberry cream and waffles. How spiffing.

July 30th. To-day is my birthday. Father gave me a splendid parasol
with a flowered border and painting materials and Mother gave me a huge
postcard album for 800 cards and stories for school girls, and Dora gave
me a beautiful box of notepaper and Mother had made a chocolate-cream
cake for dinner to-day as well as the strawberry cream. The first thing
in the morning the Warths sent me three birthday cards. And Robert had
written on his: With deepest _respect your faithful R_. It is glorious
to have a birthday, everyone is so kind, even Dora. Oswald sent me a
wooden paper-knife, the handle is a dragon and the blade shoots out
of its mouth instead of flame; or perhaps the blade is its tongue, one
can’t be quite sure. It has not rained yet on my birthday. Father says I
was born under a lucky star. That suits me all right, tip top.

July 31st. Yesterday was heavenly. We laughed till our sides ached over
Consequences. I was always being coupled with Robert and oh the things
we did together, not really of course but only in writing: kissed,
hugged, lost in the forest, bathed together; but I say, I wouldn’t do
_that!_ quarrelled. That won’t happen, it’s quite impossible! Then we
drank my health clinking glasses five times and Robert wanted to drink
it in wine but Dora said that would never do! The real trouble was
this. She always gets furious if she has to play second fiddle to me and
yesterday I was certainly first fiddle.

Now I must write a word about to-day. We’ve had a splendid time. We
were in Tiefengraben with the Warths where there are such a lot of wild
strawberries. Robert picked all the best of them for me, to the great
annoyance of Dora who had to pick them for herself. Really I would
rather pick them for myself, but when some one else picks them for one
for _love_ (that’s what Robert said) then one is quite glad to have them
picked for one. Besides, I did pick some myself and gave most of them to
Father and some to Mother. At afternoon tea which we had in Flischberg
I had to sit beside Erna instead of Robert. Erna is rather dull. Mother
says she is _anemic_; that sounds frightfully interesting, but I don’t
quite know what it means. Dora is always saying that she is anemic,
but of course that is not true. And Father always says “Don’t talk such
stuff, you’re as fit as a fiddle.” That puts her in such a wax. Last
year Lizzi was really anemic, so the doctor said, she was always having
palpitation and had to take iron and drink Burgundy. I think that’s
where Dora got the idea.

August 1st. Hella is rather cross with me because I wrote and told her
that I had spent the whole day with the W’s. Still, she is really my
only friend or I should not have written and told her. Every year in the
country she has another friend too, but that doesn’t put me out. I can’t
understand why she doesn’t like Robert; she doesn’t know anything about
him except what I have written and certainly that was nothing but good.
Of course she does know him for he is a cousin of the Sernigs and she
met him once there. But one does not get to know a person from seeing
them once. Anyhow she does not know him the way I do. Yesterday I was
with the Warths all day. We played Place for the King and Robert caught
me and I had to give him a kiss. And Erna said, that doesn’t count, for
I had let myself be caught. But Robert got savage and said: Erna is a
perfect nuisance, she spoils everyone’s pleasure. He’s quite right, but
there’s some one else just as bad. But I do hope Erna has not told Dora
about the kiss. If she has everyone will know and I shouldn’t like that.
I lay in wait for Erna with the sweets which Aunt Dora sent us. Robert
and Liesel and I ate the rest. They were so good and nearly all large
ones. At first Robert wanted to take quite a little one, but I said he
must only have a big one. After that he always picked out the big ones.
When I came home in the evening with the empty box Father laughed and
said: There’s nothing mean about our Gretel. Besides, Mother still has
a great box full; I have no idea whether Dora still has a lot, but I
expect so.

August 2nd. Oswald arrived this afternoon at 5. He’s a great swell now;
he’s begun to grow a moustache. In the evening Father took him to the
hotel to introduce him to some friends. He said it would be an awful
bore, but he will certainly make a good impression especially in his new
tourist getup and leather breeches. Grandmama and Grandpapa sent love to
all. I’ve never seen them. They have sent a lot of cakes and sweets and
Oswald grumbled no end because he had to bring them. Oswald is always
smoking cigarettes and Father said to him: Come along old chap, we’ll
go to the inn and have a drink on the strength of your good report. It
seems to me rather funny; no one wants to drink anything when Dora and I
have a good report, at most they give us a present. Oswald has only Twos
and Threes and very few Ones and in Greek nothing but Satisfactory, but
I have nothing but Ones. He said something to Father in Latin and Father
laughed heartily and said something I could not understand. I don’t
think it was Latin, but it may have been Magyar or English. Father knows
nearly all languages, even Czech, but thank goodness he doesn’t talk
them unless he wants to tease us. Like that time at the station when
Dora and I were so ashamed. Czech is horrid, Mother says so too. When
Robert pretends to speak Czech it’s screamingly funny.

August 3rd. I got a chill bathing the other day so now I am not allowed
to bathe for a few days. Robert keeps me company. We are quite alone and
he tells me all sorts of tales. He swings me so high that I positively
yell. To-day he made me really angry, for he said: Oswald is a regular
noodle. I said, that’s not true, boys can never stand one another.
Besides, it is not true that he lisps. Anyhow I like Oswald much better
than Dora who always says “the children” when she is talking of me and
of Hella and even of Robert. Then he said: Dora is just as big a goose
as Erna. He’s quite right there. Robert says he is never going to smoke,
that it is so vulgar, that real gentlemen never smoke. But what about
Father, I should like to know? He says, too, that he will never grow a
beard but will shave every day and his wife will have to put everything
straight to him. But a beard suits Father and I can’t imagine him
without a beard. I know I won’t marry a man without a beard.

August 5th. We go to the tennis ground every day. When we set off
yesterday, Robert and I and Liesel and Erna and Rene, Dora called after
us: The bridal pair in spee. She had picked up the phrase from Oswald. I
think it means in a hundred years. _She_ can wait a hundred years if she
likes, we shan’t. Mother scolded her like anything and said she mustn’t
say such stupid things. A good job too; in spee, in spee. Now we always
talk of her as Inspee, but no one knows who we mean.

August 6th. Hella can’t come here, for she is going to Klausenburg with
her mother to stay with her other uncle who is district judge there or
whatever they call a district judge in Hungary. Whenever I think of a
district judge I think of District Judge T., such a hideous man. What
a nose and his wife is so lovely; but her parents forced her into the
marriage. I would not let anyone force me into such a marriage, I would
much sooner not marry at all, besides she’s awfully unhappy.

August 7th. There has been such a fearful row about Dora. Oswald told
Father that she flirted so at the tennis court and he could not stand
it. Father was in a towering rage and now we mayn’t play tennis any
more. What upset her more than anything was that Father said in front of
me: This little chit of 14 is already encouraging people to make love to
her. Her eyes were quite red and swollen and she couldn’t eat anything
at supper because she had such a _headache!!_ We know all about her
headaches. But I really can’t see why I shouldn’t go and play tennis.

August 8th. Oswald says that it wasn’t the student’s fault at all but
only Dora’s. I can quite believe that when I think of that time on the
Southern Railway. Still, they won’t let me play tennis any more, though
I begged and begged Mother to ask Father to let me. She said it would
do no good for Father was very angry and I mustn’t spend whole days
with the Warths any more. Whole days! I should like to know when I was a
whole day there. When I went there naturally I had to stay to dinner at
least. What have I got to do with Dora’s love affairs? It’s really too
absurd. But grown-ups are always like that. When one person has done
anything the others have to pay for it too.

August 9th. Thank goodness, I can play tennis once more; I begged and
begged until Father let me go. Dora declares that nothing will induce
her to ask! That’s the old story of the fox and the grapes. She has been
playing the invalid lately, won’t bathe, and stays at home when she can
instead of going for walks. I should like to know what’s the matter with
her. What I can’t make out is why Father lets her do it. As for Mother,
she always spoils Dora; Dora is Mother’s favourite, especially when
Oswald is not on hand. I can understand her making a favourite of
Oswald, but not of Dora. Father always says that parents have no
favourites, but treat all their children alike. That’s true enough as
far as Father is concerned, although Dora declares that Father makes a
favourite of me; but that’s only her fancy. At Christmas and other times
we always get the same sort of presents, and that’s the real test.
Rosa Plank always gets at least three times as much as the rest of the
family, that’s what it is to be a favourite.

August 12th. I can’t write every day for I spend most of my time
with the Warths. Oswald can’t stand Robert, he says he is a cad and
a greenhorn. What vulgar phrases. For three days I haven’t spoken to
Oswald except when I really had to. When I told Erna and Liesel about
it, they said that brothers were always rude to their sisters. I said,
I should like to know why. Besides, Robert is generally very nice to his
sisters. They said, Yes before you, because he’s on his best behaviour
with you. Yesterday we laughed like anything when he told us what fun
the boys make of their masters. That story about the cigarette ends
was screamingly funny. They have a society called T. Au. M., that is
in Latin Be Silent or Die in initial letters. No one may betray the
society’s secrets, and when they make a new member he has to strip off
all his clothes and lie down naked and every one spits on his chest and
rubs it and says: Be One of Us, but all in Latin. Then he has to go to
the eldest and biggest who gives him two or three cuts with a cane and
he has to swear that he will never betray anyone. Then everyone smokes
a cigar and touches him with the lighted end on the arm or somewhere
and says: Every act of treachery will burn you like that. And then the
eldest, who has a special name which I can’t remember, tattoos on him
the word Taum, that is Be Silent or Die, and a heart with the name of
a girl. Robert says that if he had known me sooner he would have chosen
“Gretchen.” I asked him what name he had tattooed on him, but he said
he was not allowed to tell. I shall tell Oswald to look when they
are bathing and to tell me. In this society they abuse the masters
frightfully and the one who thinks of the best tricks to play on them
is elected to the Rohon; to be a Rohon is a great distinction and the
others must always carry out his orders. He said there was a lot more
which he couldn’t tell me because it’s too tremendous. Then I had to
swear that I would never tell anyone about the society and he wanted
me to take the oath upon my knees, but I wouldn’t do that and he nearly
forced me to my knees. In the end I had to give him my hand on it and a
kiss. I didn’t mind giving him that, for a kiss is nothing, but nothing
would induce me to kneel down. Still, I was in an awful fright, for we
were quite alone in the garden and he took me by the throat and tried
to force me to my knees. All that about the _society_ he told me when
we were quite alone for he said: I can’t have your name tattooed on me
because it’s against our laws to have two names but now that you have
sworn I can let you know what I really am and think in secret.

I couldn’t sleep all night for I kept on dreaming of the society,
wondering whether there are such societies in the high school and
whether Dora is in a society and has a name tattooed on her. But it
would be horrible to have to strip naked before all one’s schoolfellows.
Perhaps in the societies of the high-school girls that part is left
out. But I shouldn’t like to say for sure whether I’d have Robert’s name
tattooed on me.

August 15th. Yesterday Robert told me that there are some schoolboy
societies where they do very improper things, but that never happened in
their society. But he didn’t say what. I said, the stripping naked seems
to me awful; but he said, Oh, that’s nothing, that must happen if
we’re to trust one another, it’s all right as long as there’s nothing
improper. I wish I knew what. I wish I knew whether Oswald knows about
it, and whether he is in such a society or in a proper one and whether
Father was in one. If I could only find out. But I can’t ask, for if I
did I should betray Robert. When he sees me he always presses my left
wrist without letting anyone see. He said that is the warning to me to
be silent. But he needn’t do that really, for I never would betray him
whatever happened. He said: The pain is to bind you to me. When he says
that his eyes grow dark, quite black, although his eyes are really grey
and they get very large. Especially in the evening when we say goodbye,
it frightens me. I’m always dreaming of him.

August 18th. Yesterday evening we had illuminations in honour of the
emperor’s birthday. We didn’t get home until half past twelve. At first
we went to a concert in the park and to the illuminations. They fired
salutes from the hills and there were beacons flaring on the hill-tops;
it was rather creepy although it was wonderful. My teeth chattered once
or twice, I don’t know whether I was afraid something would happen or
why it was. Then R. came and talked such a lot. He is set on going into
the army. For that he needn’t learn so much, and what he’s learning now
is of no use to him. He says that doesn’t matter, that knowledge will
give him a great pull. I don’t think he looks stupid, though Oswald says
so to make me angry. All at once we found ourselves quite away from the
others and so we sat on a bench to wait for them. Then I asked R. once
more about the other societies, the ones in which they do such improper
things. But he wouldn’t tell me for he said he would not rob me of my
innocence. I thought that very stupid, and I said that perhaps he didn’t
know himself and it was all put on. All that happened, he said, was that
anyone who joined the society was tickled until he couldn’t stand it any
longer. And once one of them got St. Vitus’s dance, that is frightful
convulsions and they were afraid that everything would come out. And
since then in their society no more tickling had been allowed. Shall
I tickle you a little? I don’t understand you, I said, and anyhow you
daren’t.

He gave a great laugh and suddenly he seized me and tickled me under the
arm. It made me want to laugh frightfully, but I stifled it for there
were still lots of people going by. So he gave that up and tickled my
hand. I liked it at first, but then I got angry and dragged my hand
away. Just then Inspee went by with two other girls and directly they
had passed us we followed close behind as if we had been walking like
that all the time. It saved me a wigging from Mother, for she always
wants us all to keep together. As we went along R. said: Look out,
Gretel, I’m going to tickle you some day until you scream.--How absurd,
I won’t have it, it takes two to do that.

By the way, in the raffle I won a vase with 2 turtledoves and a bag of
sweets and R. won a knife, fork and spoon. That annoyed him frightfully.
Inspee won a fountain pen, just what I want, and a mirror which makes
one look a perfect fright. A good job too, for she fancies herself such
a lot.

August 29th. O dear, such an awful thing has happened. I have lost pages
30 to 34 from my diary. I must have left them in the garden, or else on
the Louisenhohe. It’s positively fiendish. If anyone was to find them.
And I don’t know exactly what there was on those pages. I was born
to ill luck. If I hadn’t promised Hella to write my diary every day I
should like to give up the whole thing. Fancy if Mother were to get hold
of it, or even Father. And it’s raining so fearfully to-day that I can’t
even go into the garden and still less on the Louisenhohe above all not
alone. I must have lost it the day before yesterday, for I didn’t write
anything yesterday or the day before. It would be dreadful if anyone
were to find it. I am so much upset that I couldn’t eat anything at
dinner, although we had my favourite chocolate cream cake. And I’m so
unhappy for Father was quite anxious and Mother too and they both
asked what was the matter with me and I nearly burst out crying before
everyone. We had dinner in the hotel to-day because Resi had gone away
for 2 days. But I couldn’t cry in the room before Father and Mother for
that would have given the show away. My only hope is that no one will
recognise my writing, for Hella and I use upright writing for our diary,
first of all so that no one may recognise our writing and secondly
because upright writing doesn’t use up so much paper as ordinary
writing. I do hope it will be fine to-morrow so that I can hunt in the
garden very early. I have been utterly in the dumps all day so that I
didn’t even get cross when Inspee said: “Have you been quarrelling with
your future husband?”

August 30th. It’s not in the garden. I begged Mother to let us go to
Louisenhutte this afternoon. Mother was awfully nice and asked what I
was so worried about, and whether anything had happened. Then I couldn’t
keep it in any longer and burst out crying. Mother said I must have
lost something, and this gave me an awful fright. Mother thought it was
Hella’s letter, the one which came on Tuesday, so I said: No, much worse
than that, my diary. Mother said: Oh well, that’s not such a terrible
loss, and will be of no interest to anyone. Oh yes, I said, for there
are all sorts of things written in it about R. and his society. Look
here, Gretel, said Mother, I don’t like this way you talk about R.; I
really don’t like you to spend all your time with the Warths; they’re
really not our sort and R. is not a fit companion for you; now that
you are going to the high school you are not a little girl any longer.
Promise me that you’ll not be eternally with the Warths.--All right,
Mother, I will break it off gradually so that nobody will notice. She
burst out laughing and kissed me on both cheeks and promised me to
say nothing to Inspee about the diary for she needn’t know everything.
Mother is such a dear. Still 3 hours and perhaps the pages are still
there.

Evening. Thank goodness! In front of the shelter I found 2 pages all
pulped by the rain and the writing all run and one page was in the
footpath quite torn. Someone must have trodden on it with the heel of
his boot and 2 pages had been rolled into a spill and partly burned. So
no one had read anything. I am so happy. And at supper Father said: I
say, why are your eyes shining with delight? Have you won the big prize
in the lottery? and I pressed Mother’s foot with mine to remind her not
to give me away and Father laughed like anything and said: Seems to me
there’s a conspiracy against me in my own house. And I said in a great
hurry: Luckily we’re not in our own house but in a hotel, and everyone
laughed and now thank goodness it’s all over. Live and learn. I won’t
let that happen again.

August 31st. Really I’m not so much with the W’s and with R. I think
he’s offended. This afternoon, when I went there to tea, he seized me
by the wrist and said: Your father is right, you’re a witch. “You need
a castigation.” How rude of him. Besides, I didn’t know what castigation
meant. I asked Father and he told me and asked where I had picked up the
word. I said I had passed 2 gentlemen and had heard one of them use it.
What I really thought was that castigation meant tickling. But it is
really horrid to have no one to talk to. Most of the people have gone
already and we have only a week longer. About that castigation business.
I don’t like fibbing to Father, but I really had to. I couldn’t say that
R. wanted to give me a castigation when I didn’t know what it meant.
Dora tells a lot more lies than I do and I always love catching her in a
lie for her lies are so obvious. I’m never caught. It only happened once
when Frau Oberst von Stary was there. Father noticed that time, for he
said: You little rogue, you tarradiddler!

September 3rd. Such a horrid thing has happened. I shall never speak to
R. again. Oswald is quite right in calling him a cad. If I had really
fallen out of the swing I might have broken my leg 4 days before we
have to start from home. I can’t make out how it all happened. It was
frightful cheek of him to tickle me as he did, and I gave him such a
kick. I think it was on his nose or his mouth. Then he actually dared to
say: After all I’m well paid out, for what can one expect when one keeps
company with such young monkeys, with such babies. Fine talk from him
when he’s not 14 himself yet. It was all humbug about his being 15 and
he seems to be one of the idlest boys in the school, never anything but
Satisfactory in his reports, and he’s not in the fifth yet, but only in
the fourth. Anyhow, we’ve settled our accounts. Cheeky devil. I shall
never tell anyone about it, it will be my first and I hope my last
secret from Hella.

September 6th. We are going home to-morrow. The last few days have been
awfully dull. I saw R. once or twice but I always looked the other way.
Father asked what was wrong between me and the Warths and R., so that
our great friendship had been broken off. Of course I had to fib, for
it was absolutely _impossible_ to tell the truth. I said that R. found
fault with everything I did, my writing, my reading aloud. (That’s quite
true, he did that once) and Father said: Well, well, you’ll make it up
when you say goodbye to-morrow. Father makes a great mistake. I’ll never
speak a word to him again.

For her birthday, although it’s not come yet, Dora is to have a navy
blue silk dustcloak. I don’t think the colour suits her, and anyhow
she’s much too thin to wear a dustcloak.

September 14th. Hella came back the day before yesterday. She looks
splendid and she says I do too. I’m so glad that she’s back. After all I
told her about R. She was very angry and said I ought to have given
him 2 more; one for the tickling and one for the “baby” and one for the
“young monkey.” If we should happen to meet him, shan’t we just glare at
him.

September 17th. Inspee has really got the silk dustcloak but I think the
tartan hood looks rather silly. Still, I didn’t say so, but only that
the cloak fitted beautifully. She has tried it on at least five times
already. I don’t know whether Father really wants to treat her as a
grown-up lady or whether he is making fun of her. I believe he’s only
making fun. She doesn’t really look like a grown-up lady. How could
she when she’s not 14 yet? Yesterday afternoon such a lot of girls were
invited, and of course Hella was invited on my account and we had a
grand talk. But most of them bragged frightfully about the country where
they _said_ they had been. We were 9 girls. But Hella is the only one I
care about.

September 21st. School begins to-morrow. By the way, we have agreed
to call it Liz [Lyzeum = High School] and not School. I’m frightfully
curious.

September 22nd, 19--. School began to-day. Hella came to fetch me and we
went along together. Inspee peached on us to Mother, saying we ran on in
front of her. We don’t want her as governess. There are 34 of us in the
class. Our teachers are a Frau Doktor, 2 mistresses, one professor, and
I think a drawing mistress as well. The Frau Doktor teaches German and
writing. She put us together on the 3rd bench. Then she made a speech,
then she told us what books to get, but we are not to buy them till
Monday. We have 3 intervals, one long and 2 short. The long one is for
games, the short ones to go out. I usen’t to go out at the elementary
school and now I don’t need to. Mother always says that it’s only a
bad habit. Most of the girls went out, and even asked to leave the room
during lesson time. To-day we hadn’t any proper lessons. They are to
begin to-morrow, but we don’t know what. Then we came home.

September 23rd. To-day we had the mistress who teaches geography and
history, she has no degree. Inspee says that she had her last year, but
she could not stand her, she’s so ugly. Father was angry and said to
Inspee: You silly goose, don’t fill her head with such stuff. Show
what you are worth as elder sister. One can learn something from every
mistress and every master if one likes. But I can’t say, we’re really
fond of Fraulein Vischer and I don’t much care for geography and
history. Besides I’m not learning for her but for myself. Frau Dr.
Mallburg is awfully nice and pretty. We shall always write Frau Dr. M.
for short. When she laughs she has two dimples and a gold stopping. She
is new at the school. I don’t know if we are to have singing too. In
French we have Madame Arnau, she is beautifully dressed, black lace.
Hella has a lovely pen and pencil case; it’s quite soft, we must have it
soft so that it shan’t make a row when it falls down during lesson time.
I think it cost 7 crowns or 1.70 crowns, I don’t know exactly. To-day
lessons went on until 12, first German, then arithmetic, then religion
for Catholics, and then we came away. Hella waited for me, for the Herr
Pastor did not come.

September 24th. We thought the book shops would be open to-day but we
were wrong. Hella’s mother said, that’s what happens when the chicks
think themselves wiser than the hens. In the afternoon Hella came to our
house and Inspee had been invited by the Fs. I don’t go there, for it’s
so dull, they play the piano all day. I have enough piano at my lessons.
My music lessons will begin when the school time-table has been fixed
up. Perhaps on October 1st, then I must write to Frau B., she told me to
write myself. She tells all her pupils to do that. I would rather have
had Hella’s music mistress. But she has no time to spare and I think she
charges more. At least she wouldn’t always be holding me up “Fraulein
Dora” as a model. We are not all so musical as Fraulein Dora. In the
evening Inspee was reading a great fat book until 10 or 12 o clock and
she simply howled over it. She said she had not, but I heard her and she
could hardly speak. She says she had a cold, liar.

September 25th. To-day they gave us the professors’ time-table, but it
won’t work until the professors from the Gymnasium know exactly when
they can come. Our Frau Doktor might be teaching in a Gymnasium, but
since there is only one here she teaches in our school. To-morrow we are
going to have a viva voce composition: Our Holidays. We may write 8 or
10 sentences at home before we come, but we must not look at what we
have written in class. I’ve written mine already. But I’ve not said
anything about Robert. He’s not worth thinking about anyhow. I did not
even tell Hella everything.

September 25th. We had the viva voce composition and Frau Doktor said,
very good, what is your name? Grete Lainer I said and she said: And
is that your chum next you? Now she must tell us how she spent her
holidays. Hella did hers very well too and Frau Doktor said again, very
good. Then the bell rang. In the long interval Frau Doktor played dodge
with us. It was great fun. I was it six times. In the little intervals
we were quite alone for the staff has such a lot to do drawing up the
time-table. A pupil-teacher from the F. high school is in our class. She
sits on the last bench for she is very tall. As tall as Frau Doktor.

September 26th. To-day we had Professor Riegel for the first time in
natural history. He wears eye-glasses and never looks any of us in the
face. And in French Madame A. said that my accent was the best. We’ve
got an awful lot on and I don’t know whether I shall be able to write
every day. The younger girls say Professor Igel instead of Riegel and
the Weinmann girl said Nikel.

September 30th. I’ve had simply no time to write. Hella hasn’t written
anything since the 24th. But I must write to-day for I met Robert in
Schottengasse. Good morning, Miss, you needn’t be so stuck up, he said
as he went by. And when I turned round he had already passed, or I would
have given him a piece of my mind. I must go to supper.

October 1st. I can’t write, Oswald has come from S., he has sprained his
ankle, but I’m not so sure because he can get about. He is awfully pale
and doesn’t say a word about the pain.

October 4th. To-day is a holiday, the emperor’s birthday. Yesterday Resi
told me something horrid. Oswald can’t go back to S. He has been up
to something, I wish I knew what, perhaps something in the closet. He
always stays there such a long time, I noticed that when I was in the
country. Or perhaps it may have been something in his society. Inspee
pretends she knows what it is but of course it isn’t true, for she
doesn’t know any more than I do. Father is furious and Mother’s eyes are
all red with crying. At dinner nobody says a word. If I could only find
out what he’s done. Father was shouting at him yesterday and both Dora
and I heard what he said: You young scamp (then there was something we
couldn’t understand) and then he said, you attend to your school books
and leave the girls and the married women alone you pitiful scoundrel.
And Dora said. Ah, now I understand and I said: Please tell me, he is my
brother as well as yours. But she said: “You wouldn’t understand. It’s
not suitable for such young ears.” Fancy that, it’s suitable for her
ears, but not mine though she’s not quite three years older than I am,
but because she no longer wears a short skirt she gives herself the airs
of a grown-up _lady_. Such airs, and then she sneaks a great spoonful of
jam so that her mouth is stuffed with it and she can’t speak. Whenever
I see her do this, I make a point of speaking to her so that she has to
answer. She does get in such a wax.

October 9th. I know all about it now. . . That’s how babies come. And
_that_ is what Robert really meant. Not for me, thank you, I simply
won’t marry. For if one marries one has to do it; it hurts frightfully
and yet one has to. What a good thing that I know it in time. But I wish
I knew exactly how, Hella says she doesn’t know exactly herself. But
perhaps her cousin who knows everything about it will tell her. It
lasts nine months till the baby comes and then a lot of women die. It’s
horrible. Hella has known it for a long time but she didn’t like to tell
me. A girl told her last summer in the country. She wanted to talk about
it to Lizzi her sister, really she only wanted to ask if it was all true
and Lizzi ran off to her mother to tell her what Hella had said And her
mother said; “These children are awful, a corrupt generation, don’t you
dare to repeat it to any other girl, to Grete Lainer, for instance,” and
she gave her a box on the ear. As if she could help it! That is why she
didn’t write to me for such a long time. Poor thing, poor thing, but now
she can tell me all about it and we won’t betray one another. And that
deceitful cat Inspee has known all about it for ages and has never told
me. But I don’t understand why that time at the swing Robert said: You
little fool, you wont get a baby simply from that. Perhaps Hella knows.
When I go to the gymnastic lesson to-morrow I shall talk to her first
and ask her about it. My goodness how curious I am to know.

October 10th. I’m in a great funk, I missed my gymnastic lesson
yesterday. I was upstairs at Hella’s and without meaning it I was so
late I did not dare to go. And Hella said I had better stay with her
that we would say that our sum was so difficult that we had not got it
finished in time. Luckily we really had a sum to do. But I said nothing
about it at home, for to-morrow Oswald is going to G. to Herr S’s. I
thought that I knew all about it but only now has Hella really told me
everything. It’s a horrible business this . . . I really can’t write it.
She says that of course Inspee has it already, had it when I wrote
that Inspee wouldn’t bathe, did not want to bathe; really she had it.
Whatever happens one must always be anxious about it. _Streams of blood_
says Hella. But then everything gets all bl . . . That’s why in the
country Inspee always switched off the light before she was quite
undressed, so that I couldn’t see. Ugh! Catch me looking! It begins at
14 and goes on for 20 years or more. Hella says that Berta Franke in our
class knows all about it. In the arithmetic lesson she wrote a note: Do
you know what being un . . . is? Hella wrote back, of course I’ve known
it for a long time. Berta waited for her after class when the Catholics
were having their religion lesson and they went home together. I
remember quite well that I was very angry, for they’re not chums. On
Tuesday Berta came with us, for Hella had sent her a note in class
saying that I knew _everything_ and she needn’t bother about me. Inspee
suspects something, she’s always spying about and sneering, perhaps she
thinks that she’s the only person who ought to know anything.

October 16th. To-morrow is Father’s and Dora’s birthday. Every year it
annoys me that Dora should have her birthday on the same day as Father;
What annoys me most of all is that she is so cocky about it, for, as
Father always says, it’s a mere chance. Besides, I don’t think he really
likes it. Everyone wants to have their own birthday on their own day,
not to share it with someone else. And it’s always nasty to be stuck up
about a thing like that. Besides, it’s not going to be a real birthday
because of the row about Oswald. Father is still furious and had to stay
away from the office for 2 days because he had to go to G. to see about
Oswald going there.

October 17th. It was much jollier to-day than I had expected. All the
Bruckners came, so of course there was not much said about Oswald only
that he has sprained his ankle, (I know quite well now that that’s not
true) and that he is probably going to G. Colonel B. said: The best
thing for a boy is to send him to a military academy, that keeps him
in order. In the evening Oswald said: That was awful rot what Hella’s
father said, for you can be expelled from a military academy just as
easily as from the Gymnasium. That’s what happened to Edgar Groller.
Oswald gave himself away and Dora promptly said: Ah, so you have been
expelled, and we believed you had sprained your ankle. Then he got in
an awful wax and said: O you wretched flappers, I’ve gone and blabbed it
all now, and he went away slamming the door, for Mother wasn’t there.

October 19th. If we could only find out what Oswald really did. It must
have been something with a girl. But we can’t think what Father meant
about a married woman. Perhaps a married woman complained of him to the
head master or to the school committee and that’s how it all came out. I
feel awfully sorry for him, for I think how I should have felt myself if
everything had come out about Robert and me. Of course I don’t care now.
But in the summer it would have been awful. Oswald hardly says a word,
except that he has talks with Mother sometimes. He always pretends that
he wants to read, but it’s absurd, for with such a love trouble one
can’t really read. I have not told Berta Franke all about it, but only
that my brother has had an unhappy love affair and that is why he is
back in Vienna. Then she told us that this summer a cousin of hers shot
himself because of her. They said in the newspapers that it was because
of an actress, but really it was because of her. She is 14 already.

October 20th. We spend most of our time now with Berta Franke. She says
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.

December 22nd. Aunt Dora came to-day. She’s going to stay with us for a
time till Mother is quite well again. I didn’t remember her at all, for
I was only four or five when she went away from Vienna. You dear little
black beetle she said to me and gave me a kiss. I didn’t like the
_black_ much, but Hella says that suits me, that it’s _piquant_.
_Piquant_ is what the officers always say of her cousin in Krems, Father
says she is a beauty, and she’s dark like me. But I’d rather be fair,
fair with brown eyes or better still with violet eyes. Shall I grow up a
beauty? Oh I do hope I shall!

December 23rd. I am frightfully excited about to-morrow. I wonder what
I shall get? Now I must go and decorate the Christmas tree. Inspee said:
Hullo, is _Gretl_ going to help decorate this year? She’s never done it
before! I should like to know why not. But Aunt Dora took my side. “Of
course she’ll help decorate too; but please don’t stuff yourselves
with sweets.” “If Dora doesn’t eat anything I shan’t either,” said I
promptly.

Evening. Yesterday was our last day at school. The holidays are from the
23rd to January 2nd. It’s glorious. I shall be able to go skating every
day. Of course I had no time to-day and shan’t have to--morrow. I wonder
whether I should send the Gold Fairy a Christmas card. I wish she had a
prettier name. Anastasia Klastoschek; it is so ugly. All Czech names
are so ugly. Father knows a Count Wilczek, but a still worse name is
Schafgotsch. Nothing would induce me to marry anyone called Schafgotsch
or Wilczek even if he were a count and a millionaire. Yesterday we
paid our respects to the staff, Verbenowitsch and I went to Frau Doktor
because she is fondest of us, or is _said_ to be. Nobody wanted to go to
Professor Rigl, Igel, we always say Nikel, for when he has respects paid
to him he always says: “Aw ri’.” But it would have been rude to leave
him out and so the monitors had to go. When Christmas was drawing near
Frau Doktor told us that we were none of us to give presents to the
staff. “I beg you, girls, to bear in mind what I am saying, for if you
do not there will only be trouble. You remember what happened on St.
Nicholas’ day. And you must not send anything to the homes of the staff,
nor must the Christ Child leave anything on any one’s doorstep.” As she
said this she looked hard at me and Edith Bergler, so she knows who left
the Krampus. I’m so tired I can’t keep my eyes open. Hurrah, to-morrow
is Christmas Eve!!!

December 24th. Christmas Eve afternoon is horrid. One does not know what
to be at. I’m not allowed to go skating so the best thing is to write.
Oswald came home yesterday. Everyone says he’s looking splendid; I think
he’s awfully pale and he snorted when everyone said he had such a fine
colour; of course, how can he look well when he has such a _heartache_.
I wish I could tell him that I understand what he feels, but he’s too
proud to accept sympathy from me. He has wished for an army revolver for
Christmas, but I don’t think he’ll get one for boys at the middle school
are not allowed to have any firearms. Not long ago at a Gymnasium in
Galicia one of the boys shot a master out of revenge; they said it was
because the boy was getting on badly with his work, but really it was
about a girl, although the master was 36 years old. This morg. I was
in town with Oswald shopping; we met the Warths, Elli and . . . Robert.
Oswald said that Elli was quite nice-looking but that Robert was an ugly
beast. Besides, he can’t stand him he said, because he glared at me so.
If only he knew what happened in the summer! I was awfully condescending
to Robert and that made him furious. If one could only save you girls
from all the troubles which the world calls “Love,” said Oswald on the
way home. I was just going to say “I know that you’re unhappy in love
and I can feel for you,” when Inspee came round the corner of the
Bognergasse with her chum and 2 officers were following them, so none
of them saw us. “Great Scott, Frieda’s full-fledged now,” said Oswald,
“she’s a little tart.” I can’t stand that sort of vulgarity so I did
not say another word all the way home. He noticed and said to Mother:
“Gretl’s mouth has been frozen up from envy.” That’s all. But it was
really disgusting of him and now I know what line to take.

Just a moment for a word or two. The whole Christmas Eve has gone to
pot. A commissionaire came with a bouquet for Dora and Father is fuming.
I wish I knew who sent it. I wonder if it was one of those 2 officers?
Of course Inspee says she has not the ghost of an idea. What surprises
me is that Oswald has not given her away. All he said was: I say, what
a lark! But Father was down on him like anything, “You hold your jaw
and think of your own beastly conduct.” I didn’t envy him; I don’t think
much of Dora’s looks myself, but apparently she pleases _someone_. In
the bouquet there was a poem and Dora got hold of it quickly before
Father had seen it. It was awfully pretty, and it was signed: One for
whom you have made Christmas beautiful! The heading is: “The Magic
Season.” I think Dora’s splendid not to give herself away; even to me
she declares she does not know who sent it; but of course that may be
all humbug. I think it really comes from young Perathoner, with whom
she’s always skating.

December 28th. I’ve had absolutely no time to write. I got everything I
wanted. Aunt Dora gave both of us an opera glass in mother-of-pearl in
a plush case. We are going to all the school performances, Father’s
arranged it; he has subscribed to _all_ the performances during the
school year 19-- to 19--. I am so delighted for Frau Doktor M. will come
too. I do hope I shall sit next to her.

December 31st. To-day I wanted to read through all I have written, but I
could not manage it but in the new year I really must write every day.

January 1st, 19--. I must write a few sentences at least. For the
afternoon we had been invited to the Rydberg’s the Warths were there and
Edle von Wernhoff!! I was just the same as usual with Lisel but I would
not say a word to R. They left before us, and then Heddy asked me what
was wrong between me and R. He had said of me: Any one can have the
_black goose for me_. Then he said that any one could take me in. I was
so stupid that I would believe anything. I can’t think what he meant,
for he never took me in about anything. Anyhow I would not let _him_
spoil new year’s day for me. But Hella is quite right for if the
first person one meets on January 1st is a common person that’s a bad
beginning. The first thing this morning when I went out I met our old
postman who’s always so grumpy if he’s kept waiting at the door.
I looked the other way directly and across the street a fine young
gentleman was passing, but it was no good for the common postman had
really been the first.

January 12th. I am so angry. _We_ mayn’t go skating any more because
Inspee has begun to complain again of her silly old ears and Mother
imagines that she got her earache last year skating. It’s all right to
keep _her_ at home; but why shouldn’t _I_ go? How can _I_ help it when
_she_ gets a chill so easily? In most things Father is justice itself,
but I really can’t understand him this time. It’s simply absurd, only
it’s too miserable to call it absurd. I’m in a perfect fury. Still, I
don’t say anything.

February 12th. I have not written for a whole month, I’ve been working
so hard. To-day we got our reports. Although I’ve been working so
frightfully hard, again I only got a 2 in Diligence. Frau Doktor M. made
a splendid speech and said: As you sow, so you shall reap. But that’s
not always true. In Natural History I did not know my lesson twice but
I got a 1, and in History I only did not know my lesson once and I got
Satisfactory. Anyhow Fraulein V. does not like me because of that time
when I did not bow to her in the tram. That is why in January, when
Mother asked about me, she said: “She does not really put her back
into her work.” I overheard Father say: After all she’s only a kid, but
to-day he made a frightful row about the 2 in Diligence. He might have
known why she gave me that. Dora, _so she says_, has only ones, but
she has not shown me the report. I don’t believe what I don’t see. And
Mother never gives her away to me.

February 15th. Father is furious because Oswald has an Unsatisfactory in
Greek. Greek is really no use; for no one uses Greek, except the people
who live in Greece and Oswald will never go there, if he is going to be
a judge like Father. _Of course_ Dora learns Latin; but not for me thank
you. Hella’s report is not particularly good and her father was in a
_perfect fury!!!_ He says she ought to have a better report than any one
else. She does not bother much and says: One can’t have everything. But
if she doesn’t get nothing but ones in the summer term she is not
to stay at the high school and will have to go to the middle school.
That’ll make her sit up. Father’s awfully funny too: What have you got
history books for, if you don’t read them? Yesterday when I was reading
my album of stories, Father came in and said: You like a story book
better than a history book, and shut the book up and took it away from
me. I was in such a temper that I went to bed at 7 o’clock without any
supper.

February 20th. I met the Gold Fairy to-day. She spoke to me and asked
why I did not come skating any more. The fancy dress Ice Carnival on the
24th was splendid she said. I said: Would you believe it, a year ago my
_sister_ had an earache, and _for that reason_ they won’t allow
_either_ of us to skate this year. She laughed like anything and said so
exquisitely: Oh, what a wicked sister. She looked perfectly ravishing:
A red-brown coat and skirt trimmed with fur, sable I believe, and a huge
brown beaver hat with crepe-de-chine ribbons, lovely. And her eyes and
mouth. I believe she will marry the man who is always going about with
her. Next autumn, when we get new winter clothes, I shall have a fur
trimmed red-brown. We must not always be dressed alike. Hella and Lizzi
are never dressed alike.

March 8th. I shall never say another word to Berta Franker she’s utterly
false. I’ve such a frightful headache because I cried all through
the lesson. She wrote to Hella and me in the arithmetic lesson: A
_Verhaltnis_ ** means something quite different. Just at that moment the
mistress looked across and said: To whom were you nodding? She said: To
Lainer. Because she laughed at the word “Verhaltnis.” It was not true.
I had not thought about the word at all. It wasn’t till I had read the
note that it occurred to Hella and me what _Verhaltnis_ means. After the
lesson Fraulein St. called us down into the teachers’ room and told
Frau Doktor M. that Franke and I had laughed at the use of the word
“Verhaltnis.” Frau Doktor said: What was there to laugh at? Why did you
not just do your sums? Fraulein St. said: You ought to be ashamed of
yourselves, young girls in the first class shouldn’t know anything about
such things. I shall have to speak to your mothers. In the German lesson
Frau Doktor M. told us to write an essay on the proverb: Pure the
heart and true the word, clear the brow and free the eye, these are our
safeguards, or something of that sort; I must get Hella to write it for
me, for I was crying all through the lesson.

     ** The German word Verhaltnis as used in the arithmetic lesson
     means ratio, proportion. The word is in common use in
     Germany for a love intimacy or liaison.--Translators’ Note.

March 10th. To-day Berta Franke wanted to talk things out with us; but
Hella and I told her we would not speak to her again. We told her to
remember _what sort_ of things she had said to us. She denied it all
already. We shouldn’t be such humbugs. It was mean of her. Really we
didn’t know anything and _she_ told us all about it. Hella has told
me again and again she wished we didn’t know anything. She says she’s
always afraid of giving herself away and that she often thinks about
that sort of thing when she ought to be learning her lessons. So do
I. And one often dreams about such things at night when one has been
talking about them in the afternoon. Still, it’s better to know all
about it.

March 22nd. I so seldom manage to write anything, first of all our
lessons take such a lot of time, and second because I don’t care about
it any more since what Father said the other day. The last time I wrote
was on Saturday afternoon, and Father came in and said: Come along
children, we’ll go to Schonbrunn. That will do you more good than
scribbling diaries which you only go and lose when you’ve written them.
So Mother told Father all about it in the holidays. I couldn’t have
believed it of Mother for I begged her to promise not to tell anyone.
And she said: One doesn’t promise about a thing like that; but I won’t
tell anyone. And now she must have told about it, although she said she
wouldn’t. Even Franke’s deceitfulness was nothing to that for after all
we’ve only known her since last autumn, but I could never have believed
that Mother would do such a thing. I told Hella when we were having tea
at the Tivoli and she said she would not altogether trust her mother,
she’d rather trust her father. But if that had happened to _her_, her
father would have boxed her ears with the diary. I did not want to show
anything, but in the evening I only gave Mother quite a little kiss. And
she said, what’s the matter, dear? has anything happened? Then I could
not keep it in and I cried like anything and said: You’ve betrayed me.
And Mother said: “I?” Yes, you; you told Father about the diary though
you promised me you wouldn’t. At first Mother didn’t remember anything
about it, but soon she remembered and said: “But, little one, I tell
Father everything. All you meant was that Dora was not to know.” That’s
quite true, it’s all right that Dora wasn’t told; but still Father need
not have been told either. And Mother was awfully sweet and nice and I
didn’t go to bed till 10 o’clock. But whatever happens I shan’t tell
her anything again and I don’t care about the old diary any more. Hella
says: Don’t be stupid; I ought just to go on writing; but another time
I should be careful not to lose anything, and besides I should not blab
everything to Mother and Father. She says she no longer tells her mother
anything since that time in the summer when her mother gave her a box on
the ear because that other girl had told her all about everything. It’s
quite true, Hella is right, I’m just a child still in the way I run to
Mother and tell her everything. And it’s not nice of Father to tease me
about my diary; I suppose he never kept one himself.

March 27th. Hurrah we’re going to Hainfeld for Easter; I am so
delighted. Mother has a friend there whose husband is doctor there, so
she has to live there all the year round. Last year in the winter she
and Ada stayed three days with us because her eyes were bad. Ada is
really nearly as old as Dora, but Dora said, like her cheek: “Her
intellectual level makes her much more suitable company for you than for
me.” Dora thinks herself cleverer than anyone else. They have 2 boys,
but I don’t know them very well for they are only 8 and 9. Mother’s
friend was in an asylum once, for she went off her head when her 2 year
old baby died. I remember it quite well. It must have been more than 2
years ago when Father and Mother were always talking of poor Anna who
had lost her child within 3 days. And I believed she had really lost it,
and once I asked whether they had found it yet. I thought it had been
lost in the forest, because there’s such a great forest at Hainfeld. And
since then I can’t bear to hear people say lost when they mean dead, for
it is so difficult to know which they really mean.

On the 8th of April the Easter holidays will begin and we shall go on
the 11th, on Maundy Thursday.

April 6th. I don’t know what to do about writing my diary. I don’t want
to take it with me and as for remembering everything and writing it down
afterwards I know quite well I should never do that. Hella says I should
only jot it down in outline, that’s what Frau Doktor M. always says, and
write it out properly after I come back from Hainfeld. That’s what she
does. They are going to the Brioni Islands. I’ve never seen the sea.
Hella says there’s nothing so wonderful about it. She’s been there four
times. Anyway she does not think so much of it as most people do. So it
can’t be anything so frightfully grand. Rather stupid I dare say.

April 12th. We got here yesterday. Ada is a darling but the two boys
are awfully vulgar. Ernstl said to Ada: I shall give you a smack on the
a---- if you don’t give me my pistol directly. Ada is as tall as her
mother. Their speech is rather countrified Even the doctor’s. He drinks
a frightful lot of beer; quarts I believe.

April 14th. Father came to-day. He’s awfully fond of the doctor. They
kissed one another. It did make me laugh. In the morning we were in
the forest; but there are no violets yet, only a few snowdrops, but a
tremendous lot of hellebores quite red.

April 15th. We got up at 4 yesterday morning. We did not go into the
church for Mother was afraid that the smell of incense and boots would
make Dora feel bad. What rot! It was lovely. This afternoon we are going
to Ramsau, it’s lovely there.

April 16th. Father went home to-day. We go home to-morrow. At
Whitsuntide Ada’s mother is going to bring her to be confirmed. They
are all coming to stay with us. I got stuck in a bog on the bank of the
Ramsau. It was awful. But the doctor pulled me out and then we did all
laugh so when we saw what my shoes and stockings were like. Luckily I
was able to catch hold of a tree stump or I should have sunk right in.

April 18th. Hella says it was splendid at the Brioni Islands. She is
frightfully sunburned. I don’t like that, so I shall _never_ go to the
_south_. Hella says that if one marries in winter one _must_ spend one’s
honeymoon in the south. That would not suit me, I should just put off my
marriage till the summer.

Ada is only 13 not 14 like Dora, and the parish priest makes a
tremendous fuss because she’s not confirmed yet. Her mother is going to
bring her to be confirmed soon. We are not going to be confirmed because
Father and Mother don’t want to be bothered with it. Still I should like
to be confirmed, for then one _has_ to have a watch, and one can ask for
something else at Christmas.

April 21st. Our lessons are something frightful just now. The school
inspector is coming soon. It’s always very disagreeable. Mme A. says:
The inspection is for the staff not for the pupils. Still, it’s horrid
for the pupils too first of all because we get blamed at the time
and secondly because the staff makes such a frightful row about it
afterwards. Dora says that a bad inspection can make one’s report 2
degrees worse. By the way, that reminds me that I have not yet written
why Oswald did not come home at Easter. _Although his reports were not
at all good_, he was allowed to go to Aunt Alma’s at Pola, because this
year Richard comes home for the holidays for the last time. After that
he’s going away for three years in the steamship “Ozean” to the East or
Turkey or Persia, I don’t quite know where. If Oswald likes he can go
into the Navy too in two years.

May 9th. The school inspector came to-day, first of all in natural
history, thank goodness I wasn’t in for it that time, and then in
German; I was in that, reading and in the table of contents of the
Wandering Bells. Thank goodness I got through all right.

May 14th. It’s Mother’s birthday to-day. We’ve had simply no time to
work anything for her, so we got a wonderful electric lamp for her bed
table, the switch is a bunch of grapes and the stand is made of brass.
She was so pleased with it. Yesterday Frau v. R. was here. She’s a
friend of Mother’s and of Hella’s mother. I should like to have music
lessons from Frau v. R., she gives lessons since her husband who was a
major died though she is quite well off.

May 15th. That must have been true about the inspection; in the interval
to-day Professor Igel-Nikel said to the Herr Religionsprofessor: Well,
he will go on coming all through the week and then we shall be all right
for this year. _We_, of course that means the staff. But really the
staff can’t help it if the pupils are no good. Though Oswald says it’s
all the fault of the staff. I shall be glad too when the inspection is
over. The staff is always quite different when the inspector is there,
some are better, some are stricter, and Mme. A. says: I always feel
quite ill with anxiety.

May 29th. At Whitsuntide Frau Doctor Haslinger came from Hainfeld with
Ada and the two boys for the confirmation. On Whitsunday the doctor came
too and in the evening they all went home again. Ada is very pretty, but
she looks countrified. I’m not going to be confirmed anyhow. We had to
wait 3 hours, though the Friday before Whitsunday was a very fine day.
Dora did not come; only Mother and I and Ada and her mother. The
women who were selling white favours all thought that I was one of the
candidates because I wore a white dress too. Ada was rather put out
about it. On Saturday we were in town in the morning and afternoon
because Ada liked that better than the Kahlenberg; on Sunday morning we
went to Schonbrunn and in the afternoon they went home. The watch they
gave to Ada was a lovely one and Dora and I gave her a gold chain for a
locket. She enjoyed herself immensely, except that on Sunday she had a
frightful headache. Because she is not used to town noises.

May 31st. Ada knows a good deal already, but not everything. I told her
a few things. In H. last winter a girl drowned herself because she was
going to have a baby. It made a great sensation and her mother told her
a little, but not everything. Ada once saw a bitch having her pups, but
she didn’t tell her mother about it; she thought that her mother might
be very angry. Still, she could not help it, the dog belonged to their
next door neighbour and she happened to see it in the out-house. Ada
is expecting _it_ to begin every day for she is nearly 14. In H. every
grown-up girl has an admirer. Ada says she will have one as soon as she
is 14; she knows who it will be.

June 3rd. Ada wrote to-day to thank Mother about the confirmation and
she wrote to me as well. It is strange that she did not make friends
with Dora but with me. I think that Dora won’t talk about _those_
things, at least only with her friends in the high school, especially
with Frieda Ertl. That is why Ada made friends with me, though I am 2
years younger. She is really an awfully nice girl.

June 19th. One thing after another goes missing in our class, first
it was Fleischer’s galoshes, then my new gloves, three times money was
missing, and today Fraulein Steiner’s new vanity bag. There was a great
enquiry. But nothing was found out. We all think it is Schmolka. But
no one will tell. To-day we could none of us attend to our lessons
especially when Sch. left the room at half past 11.

June 20th. In our closet the school servant found some beads on the
floor but since she did not know anything she threw them into the
dustbin. Was it really Sch.? It would be a dirty trick. Frl. St. is
frightfully upset because her betrothed gave her the vanity bag for a
birthday present and his photo was in it. But I’m really sorry for
Sch. Nobody will speak to her although nothing is proved yet. She is
frightfully pale and her eyes are always full of tears. Hella thinks too
that perhaps she didn’t do it, for she is one of Frl. St.’s favourites
and she is very fond of her herself. She always carries the copybooks
home for her.

June 22nd. Our closet was stopped up and when the porter came to see
what was the matter he found the vanity bag. But what use is it to Frl.
now; she can’t possibly use it any more. We giggled all through lessons
whenever we caught one another’s eye and the staff was in a frightful
rage. Only Frau Doktor M. said: “Now please get through with your
laughing over this extremely unsavoury affair, and then have done with
it.”

June 23rd. There was a frightful row to-day. Verbenowitsch was
collecting the German copybooks and when Sch. wanted to hand up her
copybook she said: Please give up your copybook yourself; I won’t have
anything to do with (then there was a long pause) you. We were all
apalled and Sch. went as white as a sheet. At 10 o’clock she begged
permission to leave the room because she felt bad. I’m sure her mother
will come to speak about it to-morrow.

June 24th. Sch.’s mother did not come after all. Verbenowitsch said:
Of course not! Sch. did not come either. Hella says she couldn’t stand
anything like that, she would rather drown herself. I don’t know, one
wants _other_ reasons for drowning oneself. Still, I should tell Father
so that he could speak about it at school. Franke said: Yes, that’s
all very well, because _you_ didn’t do it; but _if_ one had done it one
would not dare to say anything at home. Besides, Sch.’s father is an
invalid, he’s quite paralysed, has been bedridden for two years and
can’t speak.

June 27th. To-day Hella and I walked home with Frau Doktor M. Really she
always goes home alone but Hella suddenly left me and went up to
Frau Doktor in the street and said: Please excuse me Frau Doktor for
bothering you in the street, we _must_ speak to you. She got quite red.
Then Frau Doktor said: “What’s the matter?” And Hella said: “Isn’t it
possible to find out who took the vanity bag? If it wasn’t Sch. the
way the other girls treat her will make her quite ill, and if it was we
can’t stand having her among us any longer.” Hella was really splendid
and Frau Doktor M. made us tell her everything that had happened,
including about Verbenowitsch and the copybooks; and we saw quite
clearly she had tears in her eyes and she said: “The poor child!
Children I promise I will do what I can for her.” We both kissed her
hand and my heart beat furiously. And Hella said: “You are an angel.” I
could never have managed to say a thing like that.

June 28th. To-day Sch. was there again, but Frau Doktor M. did not
say anything. Hella and I kept on looking at her and Hella cleared her
throat three times and Frau Doktor said: Bruckner, do stop clearing your
throat; it will only make your sore throat worse: But it seemed to me
her eyes twinkled as she said it. So she hasn’t forgotten. I wanted to
speak to Sch., but Hella said: Wait a bit, we must give the Frau Doktor
a chance. She’s taken the matter in hand. To-morrow before 9 we’ll walk
up and down in front of her house till she comes out.

June 30th. Unluckily yesterday was a holiday and to-day Frau Doktor’s
first lesson began at 11. But she has already had a talk with Sch. only
we don’t know when and where; certainly it was not in the interval and
she did not send for Sch. during lessons.

July 1st. To-day we walked to school with her She _is_ such a dear.
Children, she said, this is such a painful matter, and it is difficult
to find a way out. Sch. insists that she did not do it, and whether she
did it or not these days are burning themselves into her soul and Hella
asked: “Please, Frau Doktor advise us what to do, speak to her or not?”
 Then she said: Children I think that after this affair she won’t come
back to us next year; you will be doing a good work if you make these
last days bearable to her. You were never intimate with her, but to give
her a friendly word or two will do you no harm and may help her. You 2
have a high standing in the class; your example will do good. We walked
with her till we reached the school, and because we were there we could
not kiss her hand but Hella said out loud: How sweet you are! She must
have heard it. But Sch. was not at school. Father says he’s glad that
the term is nearly over, for I have been quite crazy about this affair.
Still, he thinks that Hella and I should talk to Sch. So does Mother.
But Dora said: Yes that’s all right but you must not go too far.

July 5th. Sch. was not at school to-day. To-morrow we are to get our
reports.

July 6th. We cried like anything I and Hella and Verbenowitsch because
we shan’t see Frau Doktor M. any more for nearly 3 months. I only had 2
in History and Natural History, but 1 in everything else. Franke says:
Anyone who is not in Professor Igel-Nigl’s good books can find out that
he’s cranky and stupid and _he_ could never get a one. Father is quite
pleased. Of course Dora has got only ones and Hella has three twos.
Lizzi, I think, has 3 or 4. Father has given each of us a 2 crown piece,
we can blow it, he says and Mother has given us a lace collar.

July 9th. We are going to Hainfeld this summer, its jolly, I’m awfully
pleased; but not until the 20th because Father can’t get away till
then and Mother won’t leave Father so long alone. It is only a few days
anyhow. It’s a pity Hella’s gone already, she left early this morning
for Parsch near Salzburg, what a horrid name and Hella too doesn’t like
saying it; I can’t think how anyone can give a place such a nasty name.
They have rented a house.

July 12th. It’s shockingly dull. Nearly every day I have a quarrel
with Dora because she’s so conceited Oswald came home yesterday. He’s
fearfully smart nearly as tall as Father only about a quarter head
shorter, but then Father’s tremendously tall. And his voice is quite
deep, it was not before. And he has parted his hair on one side, it
suits him very well. He says his moustache is growing already but it
isn’t; one could see it if it were; five hairs don’t make a moustache.

July 19th. Thank goodness we’re going at last the day after to-morrow.
Father wanted Mother to go away with us earlier, but she would not. It
would have been nicer if she had.

July 24th. Our house is only 3 doors away from the Hs. Ada and I spend
the whole day together. There happens to be a schoolfellow of Dora’s
here, one she gets on with quite well, Rosa Tilofsky Oswald says that
Hainfeld bores him to death and that he shall get a friend to invite him
somewhere. Nothing will induce him to spend the whole holidays here.
His name for Ada is: “Country Simplicity.” If he only knew how much she
knows. Rosa T. he calls a “Pimple Complex” because she has two or three
pimples. Oswald has some fault to find with every girl he comes across.
He says of Dora: She is a green frog, for she always looks so pale and
has cold hands, and he says of me: You can’t say anything about her yet:
“_She_ is still nothing but an unripe embryo.” Thank goodness I know
from the natural history lessons what an embryo is, a little frog; “I
got in a frightful wax and Father said: Don’t you worry, he’s still a
long way from being a man or he would be more polite to his sisters and
their lady friends.” This annoyed him frightfully, and since then he
never says a word when Ada and Rosa are with us. My birthday is coming
soon, thank goodness I shall be 12 then, only 2 years more and I shall
be 14; I am so glad. Hella wrote to me to-day for the second time. In
August she is going to Hungary to stay with her uncle, he has a great
estate and she will learn to ride there.




SECOND YEAR, AGE TWELVE TO THIRTEEN


SECOND YEAR

August 1st. It was awfully jolly on my birthday. We drove to Glashutte
where it is lovely; there we cooked our own dinner in the inn for the
landlady was ill and so was the cook. On one’s birthday everyone
is always so nice to one. What I like most of all is the Ebeseder
paint-box, and the book too. But I never have any time to read. Hella
sent me a lovely picture: Maternal Happiness, a dachshund with two
puppies, simply sweet. When I go home I shall hang it up near the door
over the bookcase. Ada gave me a silk purse which she had worked for me
herself. Aunt Dora gave me a diary, but I can’t use it because I prefer
to write upon loose sheets. Grandfather and Grandmother at B. sent me a
great piece of marzipan, splendid. Ada thinks it lovely; she didn’t know
marzipan before.

August 9th. When it’s not holidays Ada goes to school in St. Polten
staying there with her aunt and uncle, because the school in H. is
not so good as the school in St. P. Perhaps next term she is coming to
Vienna, for she has finished with the middle school and has to go on
learning. But she has no near relations in Vienna where she could stay.
She might come to live with us, Dora could have a room to herself as
she always wants, and Ada and I could share a room. I would much rather
share a room with her than with Dora who is always making such a fuss.

August 10th. I do really think! A boy can always get what he wants.
Oswald is really going for a fortnight to Znaim to stay with his chum;
only Oswald of course. I should like to see what would happen if Dora
or I wanted to go anywhere. A boy has a fine time. It’s the injustice of
the thing which makes me furious. For we know for certain that he’s had
a _bad_ report, even though he does not tell us anything about it. But
of course that doesn’t matter. They throw every 2 in our teeth and when
he gets several Satisfactories he can go wherever he likes. His chum
too; he only got to know Max Rozny this year and he’s a chum already.
Hella and I have been chums since we were in the second in the
elementary school and Dora and Frieda Ertl since they went to the
High School. We both gave him a piece of our mind about friendship. He
laughed scornfully and said: That’s all right, the friendships of _men_
become closer as the years pass, but the friendships of you girls go
up in smoke as soon as the first admirer turns up. What cheek. Whatever
happens Hella and I shall stick to one another till we’re married, for
we want to be married on the same day. Naturally she will probably
get engaged before me but she _must_ wait for me before she’s married.
That’s simply her duty as a friend.

August 12th. Oswald went away yesterday and we had another scene just
before he left because he wanted one of us to go with him to the station
and help carry his luggage. As if we were his servants. Ada wanted
to volunteer to carry it, but Dora gave her a nudge and luckily she
understood directly. Sometimes, but only sometimes, when Dora gets in
a wax she is rather like Hella. She thinks it’s better that Oswald has
gone away because otherwise there are always rows. That’s because she
always comes off second-best. For really he is cleverer than she is. And
when he wants to make her really angry he says something to her in Latin
which she can’t understand. I think that’s the real reason why she’s
learning Latin. I must say I would not bother myself so about a thing
like that. I really wouldn’t bother.

August 15th. To-day I posted the parcel to Hella, a silver-wire
watchchain; I made it in four days. I hope she’ll get it safely, one can
never be sure in Hungary.

August 17th. We are so frightfully busy with Japanese lanterns and fir
garlands. The people who have received birthday honours are illuminating
and decorating their houses. While we were at work Ada told me a _few
things_. She knows more than Hella and me, because her father is a
doctor. He tells her mother a good deal and Ada overhears a lot of
things though they generally stop talking when she comes in. Ada would
like awfully to be an actress. I never thought of such a thing though
I’ve been to the theatre often.

August 22nd. Hella is awfully pleased with the chain; she is wearing it.
She is really learning to ride at her cousin’s. It’s a pity he’s called
Lajos. But Ludwig is not any better. He seems to be awfully nice and
smart, but it’s a pity he’s 22 already.

August 25th. Ada is frightfully keen on the theatre. She has often been
to the theatre in St. Polten and she is in love with an actor with whom
all the ladies in St. Polten are in love. That is why she wants to be an
actress and so that she can live _free and unfettered_. That is why she
would like so much to come to Vienna. I wish she could come and live
with us. She says she is pining away in H. for it’s a dull hole. She
says she can’t stand these _cramping conditions_. In St. Polten she
spent all her pocket money upon flowers for _him_. She always said that
she had to buy such a lot of copybooks and things for school. That’s
where she’s lucky not to be at home, for I could not easily take in
Mother like that. It would not work. One always has too little pocket
money anyhow, and when one lives at home one’s parents know just what
copybooks one has. I should like to go away from home for a few months.
Ada says it is very good for one, for then one learns to know the world;
at home, she says, one only grows _musty_ and _fusty_. When she talks
like that she really looks like an actress and she certainly has talent;
her German master at school says so too. She can recite long poems and
the girls are always asking the master to let her recite.

August 30th. To-day Ada recited Geibel’s poem, The Death of Tiberius, it
was splendid; she is a born actress and it’s a horrid shame she can’t go
on the stage; she is to teach French or sewing. But she says she’s going
on the stage; I expect she will get her way somehow.

August 31st. Oswald’s having a fine long fortnight; he’s still there
and can stay till September 4th!! If it had been Dora or me. There would
have been a frightful hulabaloo. But Oswald may do _anything_. Ada says:
We girls must take for ourselves what the world won’t give us of its own
free will.

September 5th. In the forest the other day I promised Ada to ask Mother
to let her come and stay with us so that she could be trained for the
stage. I asked Mother to-day, but she said it was quite out of the
question. Ada’s parents simply could not afford it. If she has talent,
the thing comes of itself and she need only go to a school of Dramatic
Art so that she could more easily get a good Theatre says Ada. So I
don’t see why it should be so frightfully expensive. I’m awfully sorry
for Ada.

September 10th. Oh we have all been so excited. I’ve got to pack up my
diary because we’re going home to-morrow. I must write as quickly as I
can. There have been some gypsies here for three days, and yesterday one
of the women came into the garden through the back gate and looked at
our hands and told our fortunes, mine and Ada’s and Dora’s. Of course we
don’t believe it, but she told Ada that she would have a great but short
career after many difficult struggles. That fits in perfectly. But she
made a frightful mess of it with me: Great happiness awaits me when I am
_as old again as I am now_; a great passion and great wealth. Of course
that must mean that I am to marry at 24. At 24! How absurd! Dora says
that I look much younger than 12 so that she meant 20 or even 18. But
that’s just as silly, for Dr. H., who is a doctor and knows so many
girls, says I look _older_ than my age. So that it’s impossible that
the old gypsy woman could have thought I was only 10 or even 9. Dora’s
fortune was that in a _few_ years she was to have much trouble and then
happiness. And she told Ada that her line of life was broken!!

September 14th. Oswald left early this morning, Father kissed him on
both cheeks and said: For God’s sake be a good chap this last year at
school. He has to matriculate this year, it’s frightfully difficult. But
he says that anyone who has cheek enough can get through all right. He
says that cheek is often more help than a lot of swoting and grinding.
I know he’s right; but unfortunately at the moment it never occurs to
me what I ought to do. I often think afterwards, you ought to have said
this or that. Hella is really wonderful; and Franke too, though she’s
not particularly clever, can always make a smart answer. If only half
of what Oswald says he says to the professors is true, then I can’t
understand why he is not expelled from every Gym. says Mother. Oswald
says: If one only puts it in the right way no one can say anything. But
that doesn’t hold always.

September 16th. Hella is coming back to-day. That’s why I’m writing in
the morning, because she’s coming here in the afternoon. I’m awfully
glad. I have begged Mother to buy a lovely cake, one of the kind Hella
and I are both so fond of.

September 20th. Only a word or two. School began again to-day. Thank
goodness Frau Doktor M. still takes our class. Frl. Steiner took her
doctor’s degree at the end of the school year. In history we have a new
Frau Doktor, but we don’t know her name yet. The Vischer woman has been
_married_ in the holidays!!! It’s enough to make one split with laughing
that anyone should marry _her!!!_ Dora says she wouldn’t like to be her
husband; but most likely he will soon get a divorce. Besides, spectacles
in a woman are awful. I can put up with a pincenez for one does not
wear them all the time. But spectacles! Dora says too that she can’t
understand how a man can marry a woman with spectacles. Hella often
says it makes her feel quite sick when Vischer glares at her through her
spectacles. We have a new natural history professor. I’m awfully glad
that three of our mistresses have doctors degrees and that we have one
or really 2 professors, for we have the Religionsprofessor too. In the
Third they are frightfully annoyed because only one of their mistresses
has a doctor’s degree. Dora has 2 doctors and three professors.

September 25th. All the girls are madly in love with Professor Wilke the
natural history professor. Hella and I walked behind him to-day all the
way home. He is a splendid looking man, so tall that his head nearly
touches the lamp when he stands up quickly, and a splendid fair beard
like fire when the sun shines on it; a Sun God! we call him S. G., but
no one knows what it means and who we are talking about.

September 29th. Schmolka has left, I suppose because of Frl. St.’s
vanity bag. Two other girls have left and three new one’s have come, but
neither I nor Hella like them.

October 1st. It was my turn in Natural History to-day I worked
frightfully hard and _He_ was splendid. We are to look after the
pictures and the animals _all through the term_. How jolly. Hella and I
always wear the same coloured hair ribbons and in the Nat. Hist. lesson
we always put tissue paper of the same colour on the desk. He wants us
to keep notebooks, observations on Nature. We have bound ours in lilac
paper, exactly the same shade as his necktie. On Tuesdays and Fridays we
have to come to school at half past 8 to get things ready. Oh how happy
I am.

October 9th. _He_ is a cousin of our gymnastic master, splendid! This
is how we found it out. We, Hella and I, are always going past the Cafe
Sick because he always has his afternoon coffee there. And on Thursday
when we passed by there before the gymnastic lesson there was the
gymnastic master sitting with him. Of course we bowed to them as we
passed and in the gymnastic lesson Herr Baar said to us: So you two are
tormented and pestered by my cousin in natural history? “Pestered” we
said, o no, it’s the most delightful lesson in the whole week. “Is that
so?” said he, “I won’t forget to let him know.” Of course we begged and
prayed him not to give us away, saying it would be awful. But we do hope
he will.

October 20th. Frau Doktor Steiner’s mother is dead. We are so sorry for
her. Some of us are going to the funeral, I mayn’t go, Mother says it
is not suitable, and Hella is not allowed to go either, I wonder if _He_
will go? I’m sure he will, for really he _has_ to.

October 23rd. Frau Doktor St. looks frightfully pale. Franke says she
will certainly get married soon now that both her parents are dead. Her
fiance often fetches her from the Lyz, I mean he waits for her in L.
Street. Hella thinks an awful lot of him of course, because he’s an
officer. I don’t think much of him myself, he’s too short and too fat.
He’s only a very little taller than Frl. St. I think a husband should be
nearly a head taller than his wife, or at least half a head taller, like
our Father and Mother.

October 29th. We have such a frightful lot of work to do that we’re not
taking season tickets this winter, but are going to pay each time when
we go skating. I wish we knew whether _He_ skates, and where. Hella
thinks that with great caution we might find out from his cousin during
the gymnastic lesson. They are often together in the Cafe. I should
like to know what they talk about, they are always laughing such a lot,
especially when we go by.

October 31st. Ada has written to me. She is _awfully_ unhappy. She is
back in St. P., in a continuation school. But the actor is not there any
more. She writes that she yearns to throw off her chains which lie heavy
on her soul. Poor darling. No one can help her. That is, her Mother
could help her but she won’t. It must be awful. Hella thinks that her
parents will not allow her to go on the stage until she has tried to do
herself a mischief; then things may be better. It’s quite true, what can
her mother be thinking of when she knows how fearfully unhappy Ada is.
After all, why on earth shouldn’t she go on the stage when she has so
much talent? All her mistresses and masters at the middle school praised
her reciting tremendously and one of them said in so many words that she
had _great dramatic talent_. Masters don’t flatter one; except . . .;
first of all _He_ is not just an ordinary master but a professor, and
secondly _He_ is quite, quite different from all others When he strokes
his beard I become quite hot and cold with extasy. And the way he lifts
up his coat tails as he sits down. It’s lovely, I do want to kiss him.
Hella and I take turns to put our penholder on his desk so that _he_
can hallow it with his hand as he writes. Afterwards in the arithmetic
lesson when I write with it, I keep looking at Hella and she looks back
at me and we both know what the other is thinking of.

November 15th. It’s a holiday to-day so at last I can write once more.
We have such a frightful lot to do that I simply can’t manage to write.
Besides Mother is often ill. She has been laid up again for the last 4
days. It’s awfully dull and dreary. Of course I had time to write those
days, but then I didn’t want to write. As soon as Mother is well again
she’s going to the Lyz to ask how we are getting on I’m awfully glad
because of S.G.

November 28th. Mother came to school to-day and saw him too. I took
her to him and he was heavenly. He said: I am very pleased with your
daughter; she’s very keen and clever. Then he turned over the pages of
his notebook as if to look at his notes. But really he knows by heart
how we all work. That is not _all_ of course. That would be impossible
with so many girls; and he teaches in the science school as well where
there are even more boys than we are.

December 5th. Skating to-day I saw the Gold Fairy. She is awfully
pretty, but I really don’t think her so lovely as I did last year. Hella
says she never could think what had happened to my eyes. “You were madly
in love with her and you never noticed that she has a typical Bohemian
nose,” said Hella. Of course that’s not true, but now my taste is _quite
different_. Still, I said how d’you do to her and she was very
nice. When she speaks she is really charming, and I do love her gold
stoppings. Frau Doktor M. has two too and when she laughs its heavenly.

December 8th. I do wish Dora would keep her silly jokes to herself. When
the Trobisch’s were all here to-day they were talking about the school
and she said: “Gretl has a fresh enthusiasm each year; last year it
was Frau Doktor Malburg and this year it’s Professor Wilke. Frau Doktor
Malburg has fallen from grace now.” If I had wanted to I could have
begun about the two students on the ice. But I’m not like that so I
merely looked at her with contempt and gave her a kick under the table.
And she had the cheek to say: “What’s the matter? Oh, of course these
tender secrets of the heart must not be disclosed. Never mind Gretl,
it does not matter at your age, for things don’t cut deep.” But she was
rightly paid out: Frau von Tr. and Father roared with laughter and Frau
v. Tr. said: “Why, grandmother, have you been looking at your white hair
in the glass?” Oh, how I did laugh, and she was so frightfully put out
that she blushed like fire, and in the evening _she_ said to _me_ that
I was an ill-mannered pig. That’s why I did not tell her that she’d left
her composition book on the table and to-morrow she has to give it in.
It’s all the same to _me_, for I’m an ill-mannered pig.

December 9th. It’s awful. At 2 o’clock this afternoon Hella was taken to
the Low sanatorium and was operated on at once. Appendicitis. Her mother
has just telephoned that the operation has been successful. But the
doctors said that 2 hours later it would have been too late. My knees
are trembling and my hand shakes as I write. She has not slept off the
anisthetic yet.

December 10th. Hella is frightfully weak; no one can see her except her
father and mother, not even Lizzi. On St. Nicholas Day we had such a
jolly time and ate such a lot of sweets that we almost made ourselves
sick. But its impossible that she got appendicitis from that. On Monday
evening, when we were going home after the gym lesson, she said she
did not feel at all well. The night before last she had a rigor and the
first thing in the morning the doctor said that she must go to hospital
at once for an operation.

December 11th. All the girls at school are frightfully excited about
Hella, and Frau Dr. St. was awfully nice and put off mathematics till
next Tuesday. On Sunday I am going to see Hella. She does want to see me
so and so do I want to see her.

December 12th. She is still very weak and doesn’t care about anything; I
got her mother to take some roses and violets from me, she did like them
so much.

December 14th. This afternoon I was with Hella from two until a quarter
to 4. She is so pale and when I came in we both cried such a lot. I
brought her some more flowers and I told her directly that when he sees
me Prof. W. always asks after her. So do the other members of the staff
especially Frau Doktor M. The girls want to visit her but her mother
won’t let them. When anyone is lying in bed they look quite different,
like strangers. I said so to Hella, and she said: We can never be
strangers to one another, not even in death. Then I burst out crying
again and both our mothers said I must go away because it was too
exciting for Hella.

December 15th. I was with Hella again to-day. She passed me a little
note asking me to get from her locker the parcel with the blotting-book
for her father and the key basket for her mother and bring it to her
because the things are not ready yet for Christmas.

December 16th. Hella’s better to-day. I’ve got to paint the
blotting-book for her father. Thank goodness I can. She’ll be able to
finish the key basket herself, that’s nothing.

December 18th. The Bruckners are all frightfully unhappy for it won’t
be a real Christmas if Hella has to stay in hospital over Christmas.
But perhaps she will for since yesterday she has not been so well, the
doctors can’t make out why she suddenly had fever once more. For she
didn’t let on that I had brought her some burnt almonds because she’s
so awfully fond of them. But now I’m so terribly frightened that she’ll
have to have another operation.

December 19th. Directly after school I went to see Hella again for I
had been so anxious I could not sleep all night. Thank goodness she’s
better. One of the doctors said that if she’d been in a private house
he would have felt sure it was an error in diet, but since she was in
hospital that could be excluded. So it was from the burnt almonds and
the two sticks of marzipan. Hella thinks it was the marzipan, for
they were large ones at 20 hellers each because nuts lie heavy on
the stomach. She had a pain already while I was still there, but she
wouldn’t say anything about it because it was her fault that I’d brought
her the sweets. She can beg as much as she likes now, I shan’t bring her
anything but flowers, and they can’t make her ill. Of course it would be
different if it were true about the “Vengeance of Flowers.” But that’s
all nonsense, and besides I don’t bring any strong-scented flowers.

December 20th. I am so glad, to-morrow or Tuesday Hella can come home,
in time for the Christmas tree. Now I know what to give her, a long
chair, Father will let me, for I have not enough money myself but Father
will give me as much as I want. Oh there’s no one like Father! To-morrow
he’s going to take me to the Wahringerstrasse to buy one.

December 21st. I was only a very short time with Hella to-day because
Father came to fetch me soon. At first she was a little hurt, but then
she saw that we had important business so she said: All right as long as
it is not anything made of marzipan. That nearly gave us both away. For
when we were in the street Father asked me: Why did Hella say that about
marzipan? So I said quickly: Since she’s been ill she has a perfect
loathing for sweets. Thank goodness Father didn’t notice anything. But
I do hate having to tell fibs to Father. First of all I always feel that
he’ll see through it, and secondly anyhow I don’t like telling fibs to
him. The couch is lovely, a Turkish pattern with long tassels on the
round bolster. Father wanted to pay for it altogether, but I said: No,
then it would not be my present, and so I paid five crowns and Father
37. To-morrow early it will be sent to the Bruckners.

December 22nd. Hella is going home to-morrow. She has already been up
a little, but she is still so weak that she has to lean on someone when
she walks. She is awfully glad she is going home, for she says in a
hospital one always feels as if one was going to die. She’s quite
right. The first time I went to see her I nearly burst out crying on the
stairs. And afterwards we both really did cry frightfully. Her mother
knows about the couch, but it has not been sent yet. I do hope they
won’t forget about it at the shop.

December 23rd. Hella went home to-day. Her father carried her upstairs
while I held her hand. The two tenants in the mezzanin came out to
congratulate her and the old privy councillor on the second story and
his wife sent down a great pot of lilac. She was so tired that I came
away at 5 o’clock so that she could rest. To-morrow I’m going to their
Christmas tree first and then to ours. Because of Hella the Br’s are
going to have the present giving at 5 o’clock, we shall have ours as
usual at 7.

December 26th. Yesterday and the day before I simply could not write
a word. It was lovely here and at Hella’s. I shan’t write down all the
things I got, because I’ve no time, and besides I know anyhow. Hella was
awfully pleased with the couch, her father carried her into the room and
laid her on the sofa. Her mother cried. It was touching. It’s certainly
awfully nice to have got through a bad illness, when everyone takes care
of one, and when no one denies you the first place. I don’t grudge it
to Hella. She’s such a darling. Yesterday I was there all day, and after
dinner, when she had to go to sleep, she said: Open the drawer of my
writing-table, the lowest one on the right, and you’ll find my diary
there if you want to read it. I shall never forget it! It’s true that we
agreed we would let one another read our diaries, but we’ve never done
it yet; after all we’re a little shy of one another, and besides after
a long time one can’t remember exactly what one has written. What she
writes is always quite short, never more than half a page, but what she
writes is always important. Of course she couldn’t sleep but instead
I had to read her a lot of things out of her diary, especially the
holidays when she was in Hungary. She was made much of there. By two
cadets and her two cousins. We laughed so madly over some things that it
hurt Hella’s wound and I had to stop reading.

December 29th. We were put in such a frightful rage yesterday. This is
how it happened. It is a long time since we both gave up playing with
dolls and things of that sort but when I was rummaging in Hella’s box I
came across the dolls’ things; they were quite at the bottom where Hella
never looked at them. I took out the little Paris model and she said:
Give it here and bring all the things that belong to it. I arranged them
all on her bed and we were trying all sorts of things. Then Mother and
Dora came. When they came in Dora gave such a spiteful look and said:
Ah, at their favourite occupation: look, Lizzi, their cheeks are quite
red with excitement over their play. Wasn’t it impertinent. We playing
with dolls! Even if we had been, what business was it of hers to make
fun of us? Hella was in a frightful rage and to-day she said: “One is
never safe from spies; please put all those things away in the box
so that I shan’t see them any more.” It really is too stupid that
one should always be reproached about dolls as if it was something
disgraceful. After all, one doesn’t really understand until later how
all the things are made; when one is 7 or 8 or still more when one is
quite a little girl and one first gets dolls, one does not understand
whether they are pretty and nicely dressed or not. Still, to-day we’ve
done with dolls for ever. A good day to turn over a new leaf, for the
day after to-morrow is New Year’s Day.

But what annoys me most of all was this piece of cheek of Dora’s; she
says that Lizzi said: “We used to delight in those things at one time,”
 but I was in such a rage that I did not hear it. But to eat all the best
things off the Christmas tree on the sly!!! I saw it myself, _that_ is
nothing. _That’s_ quite fit and proper for a girl of 15. After supper
yesterday I asked: But what’s become of the second marzipan sandwich,
I’m sure there were two on the tree. And I looked at her steadily till
she got quite red. And after a time I said: the big basket of vegetables
is gone too. Then she said. Yes, I took it, I don’t need to ask your
permission. As for the sandwich, Oswald took that. I was in such a
temper, and then Father said: Come, come, you little witch, cool your
wrath with the second sandwich and wash it down with a sip of liqueur.
For Grandfather sent Father a bottle of liqueur.

December 30th. This is a fine ending to the year. I’ve no interest in
the school any longer. We’re silly little fools, love-sick and forward
minxes. That’s all the thanks we get for having gone every Tuesday
and Friday to the school at half past 8 to arrange everything and dust
everything and then he can say a thing like that. I shall never write
_he_ with a big h again; he is not worthy of it. And I had to swallow
it all, choke it down, for I simply must not excite Hella. It made me
frightfully angry when Mother told me, but still I’m glad for I know
what line to take now. Mother was paying a call yesterday and the sister
of our gymnastic master, who is at the ---- High School, happened to
be there, and she told Mother that her cousin Dr. W. is so much annoyed
because the girls in the high school are so forward. Such silly little
fools, and the little minxes begin it already in the First Class. _For
that reason he prefers to teach_ boys, they are fond of him too but they
don’t make themselves such an _infernal nuisance_. Well, now that I know
_I_ shant make myself a nuisance to him any more. On Friday, when the
next lesson is, I shall go there 2 minutes before nine and take the
things into the class-room without saying a word. And I shall tell
Kalinsky too that we’re such an _infernal nuisance_ to him. Just fancy,
as if _we_ were in the First Class!

January 1st, 19--. This business with Prof. W. makes me perfectly
furious. Hella kept on asking yesterday what was the matter, said I
seemed different somehow. But thank goodness I was able to keep it in.
I must keep it in for the sake of her health, even if it makes me ill.
Anyway what use is life now. Since people are so falsehearted. He always
looked so awfully nice and charming; when I think of the way in which
he asked how Hella was and all the time he was so false!!! If Hella only
knew. Aha, to-morrow!

January 2nd. I treated him _abominably_. Knocked at the
door--Good-morning, Herr Prof. please what do we want for the lesson
to-day? He very civilly: Nothing particular to-day. Well, what sort of
a Christmas did you have--I: Thank you, much as usual.--He turned round
and stared at me: It does not seem to have been; to judge from your
manner. --I: There are quite other reasons for that. He: O-o-h? He may
well say O-o-h! For he has not the least idea that I know the way in
which he speaks of us.

January 6th. To-day Hella was able to go out for her first drive. She’s
much better now and will come back to school by the middle of the month.
I _must_ tell her before that or she’ll get a shock. Yesterday she
asked: Does not S. C. ask about me any more?--Oh yes, I fibbed, but not
so often as before. And she said: That’s the way it goes, out of sight
out of mind. What will happen when she learns the truth. Anyhow I shan’t
tell her until she’s quite strong.

January 10th. I’ve had to tell Hella already. She was talking so
enthusiastically about S. G. At first I said nothing. And then she said:
What are you making such a face for? Are not you allowed to arrange the
things any more?--I: _Allowed_? Of course I’m _allowed_, but I don’t
_want_ to any more. I did not tell Hella _how_ bad I feel about it; for
I really _was_ madly in love with him.

January 12th. Hella must have been madly in love with him too or rather
must be in love with him still. On Sunday evening she was so much upset
that her mother believed she was going to have a relapse. She had pains
and diarrea at the same time. Thank goodness she’s got over it like
me. She said to-day: Don’t let’s bother ourselves about it any more. We
wasted our feelings (not love!!) on an unworthy object. At such moments
she is magnificent, especially now when she is still so pale. Besides in
the holidays and now since she has been ill she has grown tremendously.
Before I was a little taller and now she is a quarter head taller than
me. Dora is frightfully annoyed because I am nearly as tall as she is.
Thank goodness it makes me look older than 12 1/2.

Hella is not to come to school on January 15th, for her mother is going
to take her to Tyrol for 2 or 3 weeks.

January 18th. It’s horridly dull with Hella away. Only now do I realise,
since her illness. I am always feeling as if she had fallen ill again.
Her mother has taken her to Meran, they are coming back in the beginning
of February.

January 24th. Since Hella has been ill, that is really since, she went
away, I spend most of my time with Fritzi Hubner. She’s awfully nice,
though I did not know it last year. Till Hella comes back she and I sit
together. For it’s horrid to sit alone on a bench Fritzi knows a good
deal already. She would not talk about it at first because it so often
leads to trouble. Her brother has told her everything. He’s rather a
swell and is called Paul.

January 29th. Yesterday was the ice carnival and Dora and I were allowed
to go. I skated with Fritzi and Paul most of the time and won 2 prizes,
one of them with Paul. And one of them skating in a race with 5 other
girls. Paul is awfully clever, he says he’s going into the army, the
flying corps. That’s even more select than being on the general staff.
Her father is a major and he, I mean Paul, ought to have gone to the
military academy, but his grandfather would not allow it. He is to
choose for himself. But of course he will become an officer. Most boys
want to be what their father is. But Oswald is perhaps going into the
Navy. I wish I knew what Father meant once when he said to Mother: Good
God, I’m not doing it on my own account. I’m only doing it because of
Oswald. The two girls won’t get much out of it.

February 3rd. I’ve just been reading what I wrote about Father. I am
wondering what it can be. I think that Father either wants to win the
great prize in the lottery or is perhaps going to buy a house. But Dora
and I would get something out of that, for it would not belong to Oswald
only.

February 4th. Yesterday I asked Mother about it. But she said she didn’t
know; if it was anything which concerned us, Father would tell us.
But it must be something, or Mother would not have told Father in the
evening that I had asked. I can’t endure these secrets. Why shouldn’t
we know that Father’s going to buy a house. Fritzi’s grandfather has a
house in Brunn and another in Iglau. But Fritzi is very simply dressed
and her mother too.

February 9th. Thank goodness Hella is coming back to-morrow, just before
her birthday. Luckily she can eat everything again so I am giving her a
huge bag of Viktor Schmid’s sweets with a silver sugar tongs. Mother and
I are going to meet Hella at the station. They are coming by the 8.20.

February 10th. I am so glad Hella is coming to-day. I nearly could not
meet her because Mother is not very well to-day. But Father’s going to
take me. Fritzi wanted to come and see Hella to-morrow afternoon, but
she can’t. She’s an awfully nice girl and her brother is too, but on the
first day Hella is back we must be alone together. She said so too in
the last letter she wrote me. She’s been away more than 3 weeks. It’s a
frightfully long time when you are fond of one another.

February 15th. I simply can’t write my diary because Hella and I spend
all our free time together. Yesterday we got our reports. Of course
Hella has not got one. Except in Geography and History I have nothing
but Ones, even in Natural History although since New Year I have not
done any work in that subject. I detest Natural History. When Hella
comes back to school we are going to ask the _sometime_ S. G. to relieve
us from the labours of looking after the things. Hella is still too
weak to do it. Hella is 13 already and Father says she is going to
be wonderfully pretty. _Going to be_, Father says; but she’s lovely
already. She’s been burned as brown as a berry by the warm southern sun,
and it really suits _her_, though only her. I can’t stand other people
when they are sun-burned. But really everything suits Hella; when she
was so pale in hospital, she was lovely; and now she is just as lovely,
only in quite a different way. Oswald is quite right when he says:
You can measure a girl’s beauty by the degree in which she bears being
sunburned without losing her good looks. He really used to say that in
the holidays simply to annoy Dora and me, but he’s quite right all the
same.

February 20th. The second half-year began yesterday. They were all
awfully nice to Hella, and Frau Doktor M. stroked her cheeks and put her
arm round her so affectionately. Now for the chief thing. Today was the
Natural History lesson. We knocked at the door and when we went in Prof.
W. said: Ah I’m glad to see you Bruckner; take care that you don’t give
us all another fright. How are you? Hella said: “Quite well, thank you,
Herr Prof.” And as I looked at her she put on a frightfully serious
face and he said: It seems to me that you’ve caught your friend’s ill
humour.--Hella: “Herr Prof., you are really too kind, but we don’t want
to trouble you. What things have we to take to the class-room? And then
we beg leave to resign our posts, for I don’t feel strong enough for the
work.” She said this in quite a soldierly way, the way she is used to
hear her father speak. It sounded most distinguished. He looked at us
and said: “All right, two of the other pupils will take it over.” We
don’t know whether he really noticed nothing or simply did not wish
to show that he had noticed. But as we shut the door I felt so awfully
sorry; for it was the last time, the very last time.

February 27th. In Natural History to-day I got _Unsatisfactory_. I
was not being questioned, but when Klaiber could not answer anything I
laughed, and he said: Very well, Lainer, you correct her mistake. But
since I had been thinking of something quite different I did not know
what it was all about, and so I got an Unsatisfactory. _Before_ of
course that would not have mattered; but now since . . . Hella and
Franke did all they could to console me and said: “That does not matter,
it wasn’t an examination; he’ll _have_ to examine you properly later.”
 Anyhow Franke thinks that however hard I learn, I shall be well off if
he gives me a Satisfactory. She says no professor can forget _such a
defeat_. For we told her about the silly little fools. She said, indeed,
that we had made it too obvious. That’s not really true. But now she
takes our side, for she sees that we were in the right. Verbenowitsch
and Bennari bring in the things now. They are much better suited for it.
Hella’s father did not like her doing it anyhow; he says: The porter
or the maidservant are there for that--we never see them all the year
round, that’s a fine thing.

March 8th. Easter does not come this year until April 16th. I am going
with the Bruckners to Cilli, outside the town there they have a vineyard
with a country house. Hella needs a change. I am awfully glad. All the
flowers begin to come out there at the end of March or beginning of
April.

March 12th. Hella is not straightforward. We met a gentleman to-day,
very fashionably dressed with gold-rimmed eyeglasses and a fair
moustache. Hella blushed furiously, and the gentleman took off his hat
and said: Ah, Fraulein Helenchen, you are looking very well. How are
you? He never looked at me, and when he had gone she said: “That was Dr.
Fekete, who assisted at my operation.”--“And you tell me _that_ now for
the first time?” Then she put on an innocent air and said: “Of course,
we’ve never met him before,” but I said: “I don’t mean _that_. If you
knew how red you got you would not tell me a lie.” Then she said: “What
am I telling you a lie about? Do you think I’m in love with him? Not in
the very least.”--But when one is _not_ in love one does not blush like
that. Anyhow I shan’t tell everything now either; I can hold my tongue
too.

March 14th. Yesterday we did not talk to one another so much as usual; I
especially was very silent. When the bell rang at 5 and I had just been
doing the translation Hella came and begged my pardon and brought me
some lovely violets, so of course I forgave her. This is really the
first time we’ve ever quarrelled. First she wanted to bring me some
sweets, but then she decided upon violets, and I think that was much
more graceful. One gives sweets to a little child when it has hurt
itself or been in a temper. But flowers are not for a child.

March 19th. Frieda Belay is dead. We are all terribly upset. None of us
were very intimate with her, but now that she is dead we all remember
that she was a schoolfellow. She died of heart failure following
rheumatic fever. We all attended her funeral, except Hella who was not
allowed to come. Her mother cried like anything and her grandmother
still more; her father cried too. We sent a wreath of white roses with
a lovely inscription: Death has snatched you away in the flower of your
youth--Your Schoolfellows.

I have no pleasure in anything to-day. I did not see Frieda Belay after
she was dead, but Franke was there yesterday and saw her in her coffin.
She says she will never forget it, it gave her such a pang. In the
church Lampl had a fit of hysterics, for her mother was buried only a
month ago and now she was reminded of it all and was frightfully upset.
I cried a lot too when I was with Hella. She fancied it was because I
was thinking she might have died last Dec. But that wasn’t it, I don’t
think about that sort of thing. But when anyone dies it is so awfully
sad.

March 24th. I never heard of such a thing. I can’t go to Cilli with
Hella. Her mother was at her cousin’s, and when she heard that she was
going to Cilli at Easter she asked her to take Melanie with her. That
is, she didn’t ask straight out, but kept on hinting until Hella’s
mother said: Let Melanie come with us, it will help to set her up after
her illness. In the winter she had congestion of the lung. Hella and
I can’t bear her because she’s always spying on us and is so utterly
false. So of course I can’t go. Hella says too she’s frightfully sorry,
but when _she_ is about we could never say a word about anything, it
would drive us crazy. She quite agrees that I had better not come. But
oh I’m so annoyed for first of all I do so like going away with Hella
and secondly I should like to go away in the holidays anyhow for nearly
all the girls in our class are going away. Still, there’s nothing to be
done. Hella’s mother says she can’t see why we can’t all 3 go though
it simply would not work. But we can’t explain it to her. Hella is so
poetical and she says “A beautiful dream vanished.”

In Hella’s mouth such fine words sound magnificent, but when Dora uses
such expressions they annoy me frightfully because they don’t come from
her heart.

March 26th. The school performances finish today with Waves of the Sea
and Waves of Love. I’m awfully fond of the theatre, but I never write
anything about that. For anyhow the play is written by a poet and one
can read it if one wants to, and one just sees the rest anyhow. I can’t
make out what Dora finds such a lot to scribble about always the day
after we’ve been to the theatre. I expect she’s in love with one of the
actors and that’s why she writes such a lot. Besides we in the second
class did not get tickets for all the performances, but only the girls
from the Fourth upwards. Still, it did not matter much to me anyhow for
we often go in the evening and on Sunday afternoons. But unfortunately I
mayn’t go in the evening as a rule.

March 29th. To-day something horrible happened to Dora and me. I simply
can’t write it down. She was awfully nice and said: Two years ago on the
Metropolitan Railway the same thing had happened when she was travelling
with Mother on February 15th, she can never forget the date, to Hietzing
to see Frau v. Martini. Besides her and Mother there was only one
gentleman in the carriage, Mother always travels second class. She and
Mother were sitting together and the gentleman was standing farther down
the carriage where Mother could not see him but Dora could. And as Dora
was looking he opened his cloak and -- -- --! just what the man did
to-day at the house door. And when they got out of the train Dora’s boa
got stuck in the door and she had to turn round though she did not want
to, and then she saw again -- -- --! She simply could not sleep for a
whole month afterwards. I remember that time when she could not sleep
but I did not know why it was. She never told anyone except Erika and
the same thing happened to her once. Dora says that happens at least
once to nearly every girl; and that such men are “_abnormal_.” I don’t
really know what that means, but I did not like to ask. Perhaps Hella
will know. Of course I did not really look, but Dora shivered and said:
“And _that_ is what one has to endure.” And then, when we were talking it
over she said to me that _that_ was why Mother was ill and because she
has had five children; Then I was very silly and said: “But how from
_that_? one does not get children from that?” “Of course,” she said,
“I thought you knew that already. That time there was such a row with
Mali about the waistband, I thought you and Hella had heard all about
everything.” Then I was silly again, really frightfully stupid; for
instead of telling her what I really knew I said: “Oh, yes, I knew all
about it except just that.” Then she burst out laughing and said: “After
all, what you and Hella know doesn’t amount to much.” And in the end she
told me a _little_. If it’s really as Dora says, then she is right when
she says it is better not to marry. One can fall in love, one must fall
in love, but one can just break off the engagement. Well, that’s the
best way out of the difficulty for then no one can say that you’ve never
had a man in love with you. We walked up and down in front of the school
for such a long time that we were very nearly late and only got in just
as the bell rang. On the way home I told Hella the awful thing we’d seen
the man do. She does not know either what “abnormal” really means _as
far as this is concerned_. But now we shall use it as an expression for
something horrible. Of course no one will understand us. And then Hella
told me about a drunken man who in Nagy K. . . . was walking through the
streets _like that_ and was arrested. She says _too_ that one can never
forget seeing anything like _that_. Perhaps the man this morning was
drunk too. But he didn’t look as if he were drunk. And if he hadn’t done
_that_ one would really have taken him for a fine gentleman. Hella knows
too that it is from _that_ that one gets children. She explained it
all to me and now I can quite understand that _that_ must make one ill.
Yesterday it was after 11 at night and so I’m finishing to-day. Hella
says: _That_ is the original sin, and _that_ is the sin which Adam
and Eve committed. Before I had always believed the original sin was
something quite different. But that--that. Since yesterday I’ve been so
upset I always seem to be seeing _that_; really I did not look at all,
but I must have seen it all the same.

March 30th. I don’t know why, but in the history lesson to-day it all
came into my head once more what Dora had said of Father. But I really
can’t believe it. Because of Father I’m really sorry that I know it.
Perhaps it does not all happen the way Dora and Hella say. Generally I
can trust Hella, but of course she may be mistaken.

April 1st. To-day Dora told me a lot more. She is quite different now
from what she used to be. One does not say P[eriod], but M[enstruation].
Only common people say P--. Or one can say one’s _like that_. Dora
has had M-- since August before last, and it is horribly disagreeable,
because men always know. That is why at the High School we have only
three men professors and all the other teachers are women. Now Dora
often does not have M-- and then sometimes it’s awfully bad, and that’s
why she’s anemic. That men always know, that’s frightfully interesting.

April 4th. We talk a lot about such things now. Dora certainly knows
more than I do, that is not more but better. But she isn’t quite
straightforward all the same. When I asked her how she got to know about
it all, whether Erika told her or Frieda, she said: “Oh, I don’t know;
one finds it all out somehow; one need only use one’s eyes and one’s
ears, and then one can reason things out a little.” But seeing and
hearing don’t take one very far. I’ve always kept my eyes open and I’m
not so stupid as all that. One must be told by some one, one _can’t_
just happen upon it by oneself.

April 6th. I don’t care about paying visits now. We used always to like
going to see the Richters, but to-day I found it dull. Now I know why
Dora hates going second class on the Metropolitan. I always thought it
was only to spite me because I like travelling second. She never likes
going second since _that_ happened. It seems one is often unjust to
people who never meant what one thought. But why did she not tell me the
truth? She says because I was still a child then. That’s all right, but
what about this winter when I was cross because we went Third class to
Schonbrunn; I really believed she did it to annoy me, for I could not
believe she was afraid that in the second class, where one is often
alone, somebody would suddenly attack her with a knife. But now I
understand quite well, for of course she could not tell Mother the truth
and Father still less. And in winter and spring there are really often
no passengers to speak of on the Metropolitan, especially on the Outer
Circle.

April 7th. Mother said to-day that at the Richters yesterday we,
especially I, had been frightfully dull and stupid. Why had we kept on
exchanging glances? We had been most unmannerly. If she had only known
what we were thinking of when Frau Richter said, the weather to-day is
_certainly quite abnormal_; we have not had such _abnormal_ heat for
years. And then when Herr Richter came home and spoke about his brother
who had spent the whole winter at Hochschneeberg and said: Oh, my
brother is a little _abnormal_, I think he’s got a tile loose in the
upper storey, I really thought I should burst. Luckily Frau R. helped
us once more to a tremendous lot of cake and I was able to lean well
forward over my plate. And Mother said that I ate like a little glutton
and just as if I never had any cake at home. So Mother was _very_ unjust
to me, for the cake had nothing at all to do with it. Dora says too that
I must learn to control myself better, that if I only watch her I’ll
soon learn. That’s all very well, but why should one have to bother? If
people did not use words that really mean something quite different then
other people would not have to control themselves. Still, I must learn
to do it somehow.

April 8th. We were terribly alarmed to-day; quite early, at half past 8,
they telephoned from the school that Dora had suddenly been taken ill
in the Latin lesson and must be fetched in a carriage. Mother drove down
directly in a taxi and I went with her because anyhow my lessons began
at 9 and we found Dora on the sofa in the office with the head sitting
by her and the head’s friend, Frau Doktor Preisky, who is a medical
doctor, and they had loosened her dress and put a cold compress on her
head for she had suddenly fainted in the Latin lesson. That’s the third
time this year, so she must really have anemia. I wanted to drive home
with her, but Mother and Frau Dr. P. said I’d better just go to my
lessons. And as I went out I heard Frau Dr. P. say: “That’s a fine
healthy girl, a jolly little fellow.” Really one should only use that
word of boys and men, but I suppose she has got into the way of using it
through being with men so much. If one studies medicine one has to learn
all about _that_ and to look at everything. It must be really horrid.

Dora is kept in bed to-day and our Doctor says too that she’s anemic.
To-morrow or the day after Mother is going to take her to see a
specialist. Dora says it’s a lovely feeling to faint. Suddenly one can’t
hear what people are saying and one feels quite weak and then one does
not know anything more. I wonder if I shall ever faint? Very likely when
-- -- -- We talked a lot about everything we are interested in. In the
afternoon Hella came to ask after Dora, and she thinks she looks
awfully pretty in bed, an interesting invalid and at the same time so
distinguished looking. It’s quite true, we all look distinguished.

April 9th. To-day is Father and Mother’s _wedding day_. Now I know
_what_ that really means. Dora says it can’t really be true that it is
the most lovely day in one’s life, as everyone says it is, especially
the poets. She thinks that one must feel frightfully embarrassed because
after all everyone knows. . . . That’s quite true, but after all one
need not tell anyone which one’s wedding day is. Dora says she will
never tell her children which her wedding day is. But it would be a
great pity if parents always did that for then in every family there
would be one anniversary the less. And the more anniversaries there are,
the jollier it is.

April 10th. To-morrow I’m going with Father to Salzburg. Dora can’t
come, for they think she might faint in the train. I’m rather glad
really, though I’ve nothing against her and I’m sorry for her, but it’s
much nicer to go with Father alone. It’s a long time since I was in
Salzburg. I’m so awfully glad to go. Our spring coats and skirts are so
pretty, dark green with a silk lining striped green and gold-brown, and
light brown straw hats with daisies for the spring and later we
shall have cherries or roses. I’m taking my diary so that I can write
everything which _interests_ me.

April 12th. I slept all the way in the train. Father says I ground my
teeth frightfully and was very restless: but I did not know anything
about it. We had a compartment by ourselves, except just at first when
there was a gentleman there. Hella did not come with us, because her
aunt, who has just been married, is coming to visit them. Really I’m
quite glad, for I like so much being with Father quite alone. This
afternoon we were in Hellbrunn and at the Rock Theatre. It is wonderful.

April 13th. Father always calls me: Little Witch! But I don’t much like
it when other people are there. To-day we went up the Gaisberg. The
weather was lovely and the view magnificent. When I see so extensive a
view it always makes me feel sad. Because there are so many people one
does not know who perhaps are very nice. I should like to be always
travelling. It would be splendid.

April 14th. I nearly got lost to-day. Father was writing a letter to
Mother and he let me go to see the salt works; I don’t know how it
happened, but suddenly I found myself a long way from anywhere, in a
place I did not know. Then an old gentleman asked me what I was looking
for; because I had walked past the same place 3 times and I said we were
staying in the “Zur Post Hotel” and I did not know how to find my way
back. So he came with me to show me and as we were talking it came out
that he had known Father at the university. So he came in with me and
Father was awfully glad to see him. He is a barrister in Salzburg but he
has a grey beard already. As he was going away he said in an undertone
to Father: “I congratulate you old chap on your daughter; she’ll be
something quite out of the ordinary!” He whispered it really, but
I heard all the same. We spent all the afternoon with him at the
Kapuzinerberg. There was a splendid military band; two young officers
in the Yagers who were sitting at the next table to ours kept on looking
our way; one was particularly handsome. My new summer coat and skirt is
awfully becoming everyone says. Father says too: “I say, you’ll soon be
a young lady! But don’t grow up too quickly!” I can’t make out why he
said that; I should like to be quite grown up; but it will be a long
time yet.

April 14th. It’s been raining all day. How horrid. One can’t go
anywhere. All the morning we were walking about the town and saw several
churches. Then we were at the pastrycook’s, where I ate 4 chocolate
eclairs and 2 tartlets. So I had no appetite for dinner.

April 15th. Just as I was writing yesterday Dr. Gratzl sent up the hotel
clerk to ask us to dinner. We went, they live in the Hellbrunnerstrasse.
He has 4 daughters and 2 sons and the mother died three years ago. One
of the sons is a student in Graz and the other is a lieutenant in the
army; he is engaged to be married. The daughters are quite old already;
one of them is 27 and is engaged. I think that is horrid. The youngest
(!!!) is 24. It is so funny to say “the youngest” and then she is 24.
Father says she is very pretty and will certainly get married At 24!!
when she’s not even engaged yet; I don’t believe she will. They have a
large garden, 3 dogs and 2 cats, which get on very well together. There
are steps leading up and down from room to room, it is lovely, and all
the windows are bow-windows. Everything is so old-fashioned, even
the furniture I do think it’s all so pretty. The hall is round like a
church. After tea we had candied fruits, stewed fruit, and pastries. I
had a huge go of stewed fruit. They have a gramaphone and then Leni and
I played the piano. Just as we were going away Fritz, the student, came
in; he got quite red and in the hall Dr. Gratzl said to me: “You’ve made
a conquest to-day.” I don’t really believe I have, but I do like hearing
it said. I’m sorry to say we are going away to-morrow, for we are going
to stay 2 days in Linz with Uncle Theodor whom I don’t know.

April 17th. Uncle Theodor is 60 already and Aunt Lina is old too. Still,
they are both awfully nice. I did not know them before. We are staying
with them. In the evening their son and his wife came. They are my
cousins, and they brought their little girl with them; I am really a
sort of aunt of hers. It’s awfully funny to be an aunt when one is only
12 and 3/4 and when one’s niece is 9. To-day we went walking along the
Danube. It only rained very gently and not all the time.

April 18th. We are going home to-day. Of course we have sent a lot of
picture postcards to Mother and Dora and Hella; we sent one to Oswald
too. He came home for Easter. I don’t know whether he will still be
there to-morrow.

April 22nd. We’ve begun school again. Dora and I generally walk to
school together since she does not go to the Latin lesson now because
it was too great a strain for her. The specialist Mother took her to see
wanted her to give up studying altogether, but she absolutely refuses to
do that. But I’m very furious with her; she’s learning Latin in secret.
When I came into the room the day before yesterday she was writing
out words and she shut her book quickly instead of saying openly and
honestly: Rita, don’t tell Father and Mother that I’m still studying
in the evening: “I trust your word.” She could trust me perfectly well.
There are plenty of things I could tell if I liked! Perhaps she fancies
that I don’t see that the tall fair man always follows us to school in
the morning. Hella has noticed him too, besides he is frightfully bald
and must be at least 30. And I’m certain she would not talk as much as
she does to Hella and me if it were not that she wants to talk about
_that_. But this deceitfulness annoys me frightfully. Otherwise we are
now quite intimate with one another.

April 24th. We went to confession and communion to-day. I do hate
confession; though it’s never happened to me what many girls have told
me, even girls in the Fifth. No priest has ever asked me about the 6th
commandment; all they’ve asked is: In thought, word, or deed? Still, I
do hate going to confession, and so does Dora. It’s much nicer for Hella
as a Protestant for they have no confession. And at communion I’m always
terrified that the host might drop out of my mouth. That would be awful.
I expect one would be immediately excommunicated as a heretic. Dora was
not allowed to come to confession and com., Father would not let her.
She must not go out without her breakfast.

April 26th. In the Third there really is a girl who dropped the host out
of her mouth. There was a frightful row about it. She said it was not
her fault the priest’s hand shook so. It’s quite true, he was very old,
and that is why I’m always afraid it will happen to me. It’s much better
when the priest is young, because then that can never happen. Father
says that the girl won’t be excommunicated for this, and luckily one of
her uncles is a distinguished prelate. He is her guardian too. That will
help her out.

April 27th. To-day we got to know this girl in the interval. She is
awfully nice and she says she really did not do it on purpose for she is
frightfully pious and perhaps she’s going to be a nun. I am pious too,
we go to church nearly every Sunday, but I would not go into a convent,
not I. Dora says people generally do that when they’ve been crossed
in love, because then the world seems empty and hateful. She looked so
frightfully sentimental that I said: Seems to me you’ve a fancy that way
yourself? Then she said: “No, thank goodness, I’ve no reason for that.”
 Of course what she meant was that she was not crossed in love but the
other way. No doubt the tall man in the mornings. I looked hard at her
for a long time and said: “I congratulate you on your good fortune. But
Hella and I wish he was not bald,” then she said with an astonished air:
“Bald? What are you talking about, he has the lofty brow of a thinker.”

27th. To-day Mademoiselle came for the first time. I have forgotten to
say that Dora has to go out every day for two hours to sit and walk in
the sunshine. Since Mother is not very well and can’t walk much, we’ve
engaged the Mad. Father says that when I have time I must go too “as
a precautionary measure.” I don’t like the idea at all, it’s much too
dull; besides I have simply no time. Mad. is coming 3 times a week,
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and on Mondays, Thursdays, and
Saturdays I have my music lesson, so I can’t go; so Finis and
Jubilation! That’s what Oswald always says at the end of the year and
at the end of term. Still, she’s very pretty, has fair curly hair, huge
grey eyes with black lashes and eyebrows, but she speaks so fast that I
can’t understand all she says. On the other 3 days an Englishwoman is
to come, but we have not got one yet, they are all so expensive. It does
seem funny to me to get a salary for going out with _grown up girls_,
that’s only an amusement. With regular tomboys, such as we saw last year
in Rathaus Park, it would be different. As for the French or English
conversation! If they did not want to talk what would it matter? And
besides why should one want to talk either French or English, it’s so
stupid.

April 28th. The Richters were here to-day, and the eldest son came too,
the lieutenant from Lemberg; he is awfully handsome and made hot love
to Dora; Walter is very nice too, he is at the School of Forestry
in Modling; to-morrow the lieutenant is going to bring Dora one of
Tolstoi’s books to read. Then they will do some music together, she
piano and he violin; it’s a pity I can’t play as well as Dora yet. At
Whitsuntide Walter is coming too and Viktor (that means conqueror) is
on furlough for 6 months, because he’s ill, or because he is said to be
ill; for one does not look like _that_ when one is really ill.

May 4th. Lieutenant R. is always coming here, he must be frightfully
smitten with Dora. But Father won’t have it at any price. He said to
Dora to-day:

“You get this gay young spark out of your head; he is no good. But at
sight of a uniform there is no holding you girls. I’ve no objection to
you doing music together for an hour or two; but this perpetual running
to and fro with books and notes is all humbug.”

May 6th. Lieutenant R. walks with us, that is with Dora, to school every
day. He is supposed to lie in bed late every morning, for he is really
ill but for Dora’s sake he gets up frightfully early and comes over from
Heitzing and waits in ---- Street. Of course I go on alone with Hella
and we all meet In ---- Street, so that no one shall notice anything at
school.

May 13th. To-morrow is Mother’s birthday and Viktor (when I am talking
about him to Dora I always speak of him as V.) brought her some lovely
roses and invited us all to go there next Sunday. In the hall he called
me “the Guardian Angel of our Love.” Yes, that is what I am and always
shall be; for he really deserves it and Dora too is quite different
from what she used to be. Hella says one can see for oneself that love
ennobles; up till now she has always thought that to be mere poetical
fiction.

May 15th. Father said: I don’t care much about these visits to the
Richters as long as that _young jackanapes_ is still there, but Mother
can’t very well refuse. We shall wear our green coats and skirts with
the white blouses with the little green silk leaves for Dora does not
like to wear all white except in summer. And because the leaves on the
blouses are _clover leaves_, that is because of their meaning. We are
looking forward to it tremendously. I do hope Mother will be all right,
for she is in bed to-day. It’s horrid being ill anyhow, but when being
ill interferes with other people’s pleasure it’s simply frightful.

May 16th. The day before yesterday was Mother’s birthday; but it was not
so jolly as usual because Mother is so often ill; for a birthday present
I painted her a box with a spray of clematis, which looks awfully
chic. Dora gave her a book cover embroidered with a spray of Japanese
cherries, I don’t know what Father gave her, money I think, because on
her birthday and name day he always hands her an envelope. But since
Mother is not well we were not very cheerful, and when we drank her
health at dinner she wiped her eyes when she thought we were not
looking. Still, it’s not so dangerous as all that; she is able to go out
and doesn’t look bad. I think Mother’s awfully smart, she looks just as
well in her dressing gown as when she’s dressed up to go out. Dora says
that if she had been made ill by her husband she would hate him and
would never let her daughters marry. That’s all very well, but one ought
to be quite _sure_ that _that_ is why one has become ill. They say that
is why Aunt Dora doesn’t like Father. Certainly Father is not so nice to
her as to other relations or to the ladies who some to see Mother. But
after all, Aunt Dora has no right to make _scenes_ about it to Father,
as Dora says she does. Mother’s the only person with any right to do
that. Dora says she is afraid that it will come to Mother’s having to
have an operation. Nothing would ever induce me to undergo an operation,
it must be horrible, I know because of Hella and the appendicitis. But
Dora says: “Anyone who’s had five children must be used to that sort
of thing.” I shall pray every night that Mother may get well without an
operation. I expect we shan’t all go away together at Whitsuntide this
year, for Mother and Dora are to go to a health resort, most likely to
Franzensbad.

May 18th. It was lovely at the Richters; Walter was there from Modling,
he was awfully nice, and said I was so like my sister that it was
difficult to tell us apart. That’s a frightful cram, but I know what
he really meant. He plays the flute splendidly, and the three played
a trio, so that I was frightfully annoyed with myself for not having
worked harder at my music. From to-morrow on I shall practice 2 hours
every day, if I can possibly find time. Next winter Viktor is going to
found a private dramatic club, so he must be going to stay more than six
months in Vienna. Walter thinks Dora awfully charming, and when I said:
“The great pity is that she’s got such frightful anemia,” he said: In a
man’s eyes that is no drawback whatever, as you can see in my brother.
Moreover, that illness is not a real illness, but often makes a girl
more charming than ever, as you can see in your sister.

Day before yesterday Miss Maggie Lundy came for the first time; anybody
can have her for me. She wears false hair, flaxen. She says she is
engaged, but Dora says, has been. I simply don’t believe it. V. says
Mad. is awfully pretty. When I asked Dora if she was not jealous, she
said she didn’t care, she was quite sure of his love. He means to leave
the army and go into the civil service, and then he will be able
to marry. But Dora said, there’s plenty of time for that, a secret
engagement is much nicer. Then she noticed she’d given herself away, and
she blushed like anything and said: You naturally must be engaged before
you are married, mustn’t you?--of course she _is_ secretly engaged, but
she won’t tell me about it. What’s the good of my being the “Guardian
Angel of their Love?” If he only knew.

May 19th. I really ought to practice to-day, but I simply have no
time, first of all I had my lesson anyhow, and secondly something awful
happened to Dora. She left her diary lying about in the school; and
because we have our religion lesson in the Fifth I saw a green bound
book lying under the third bench. Great Scott, I thought, that looks
like Dora’s diary. I went up as quickly as I could and put my satchel
over it. Later in the lesson I picked it up. When I got home
at 1 o’clock I did not say anything at first. After dinner
she began rummaging all over the place, but without saying
anything to me, and then I said quite quietly: “Do you hap--pen
to be look--ing for your di--ar--y? Here it is; you--left--it
in--the--fifth--class--un--der--the--third--bench.” (I kept her on
tenter hooks that way.) She got as white as a sheet and said: “You _are_
an angel. If any one else had found it, I should have been expelled
and Mad. would have had to drown herself.” “Oh, it can’t be as bad as all
that,” I said, for what she said about Mad. was frightfully exciting. In
class I had looked chiefly at what she had written about V. But I could
not read it there, because it was written very small and close together
and was several pages, but I had not looked much at what she had written
about Mad. “Did you read it?” “No, only where it happened to come open
because there’s a page torn out.” “About V. or about Mad?” “A little about
Mad; but tell me all about it; I shan’t tell anyone. For if I’d wanted
to betray you, you know quite well. . . .” And then she told me all
about Mad. But first I had to promise that I would not even tell Hella.
Mad. is secretly engaged to a man to whom she has given “the utmost
gifts of love,” that is to say she has . . . . She is madly in love with
him, and they would marry directly but he is a lieutenant too, and they
have not enough money for the security. She says that when one really
loves a man one can bear everything for his sake. She has often been to
his rooms, but she has to be frightfully careful for her father would
kill her if he found out. Dora has seen the lieutenant and says he is
very handsome, but that V. is much handsomer. Mad. says that you can’t
trust men as a rule, but that her lover is quite different, that he is
true as steel. I am sure V. is too.

May 21st. When Mad. came to-day I simply could not look at her while
Mother was there and Dora says I made an awful fool of myself. For
I went out walking with them to-day, and when we met a smart-looking
officer I hemmed and looked at Dora. But she didn’t know why. Mad. is
the daughter of a high official in the French military service and she
only took her teacher’s degree in order to get free from her Mother’s
“_tyranny_;” she nagged at her frightfully and until she began to give
lessons she was never allowed to go out alone. Dora says she is very
refined in her speech, especially when she is talking about _these_
things. Of course about _them_ she always speaks German, for it’s
much more difficult to say it in French, and probably Dora would not
understand it and then Mad. would only have to translate it. She is
called Sylvia and he calls her Sylvette. Mad. says that if one is madly
in love with a man one does whatever he asks. But I don’t see that one
need do that, for he might ask the most idiotic things; he might ask you
to get the moon out of the skies, or to pull out a tooth for his sake.
Dora says she can understand it quite well; that I still lack _the true
inwardness of thought and feeling_. It looks like utter nonsense. But
since it sounds fine I’ve written it down, and perhaps I shall find
a use for it some day when I’m talking to Walter. Mad. is always
frightfully anxious lest she should get a baby. If she did she’s sure
her father would kill her. The lieutenant is in the flying corps. He
hopes he’s going to invent a new aeroplane, and that he will make a lot
of money out of it. Then he will be able to marry Mad. But it would be
awful if _something happened_ and she got a baby already.

May 22nd. Dora asked me to-day how it was I knew all about these things,
whether Hella had told me. I did not want to give Hella away, so I said
quite casually: “Oh, one can read all about that in the encyclopedia.”
 But Dora laughed and said: “You are quite on the wrong scent; you can’t
find a tenth of all those things in the encyclopedia, and what you do
find is no good. In _these_ matters it is _absolutely no good_ depending
on books.” First of all she would not tell me any more, but after a
time she told me a good deal, especially the names of certain parts, and
about _fertilisation_, and about the microscopic baby which really comes
from the husband, and not as Hella and I had thought, from the wife.
And how one knows whether a woman is _fruitful_. That is really an awful
word. In fact almost every word has a second meaning of _that_ sort, and
what Dora says is quite true, one must be fearfully careful when one is
talking. Dora thinks it would be best to make a list of all such words,
but there are such a frightful lot of them that one never could. The
only thing one can do is to be awfully careful; but one soon gets used
to it. Still it happened to Dora the other day that she said to V.: I
don’t want any _intercourse_. And that really means “the utmost gifts
of love,” so Mad. told her. But V. was so well-mannered that he did
not show that he noticed anything; and it did not occur to Dora until
afterwards what she had said. It’s really awfully stupid that every
ordinary word should have such a meaning. I shall be so frightfully
careful what I say now, so that I shan’t use any word with two meanings.
Mad. says it’s just the same in French. We don’t know whether it is the
same in English and we could never dream of asking that awful fright,
Miss Lundy. Very likely she does not know the first thing about it
anyhow. I know a great deal more than Hella now, but I can’t tell her
because of betraying Dora and Mad. Perhaps I can give her a hint to
be more careful in what she says, so as not to use any word with two
meanings. That is really my duty as a friend.

May 23rd. I quite forgot. Last week Oswald had his written matriculation
exam, he wrote a postcard every day and Mother was frightfully annoyed
because he made such silly jokes all the time that we could not really
tell how he got on. Dora and I are awfully excited because next Monday
we are going to the aerodome with Frau Richter and her niece who is at
the conservatoire. Lieutenant Streinz is going to fly too. Of course
we’ll motor out because the railway is not convenient. Of course Viktor
will be there, but he is motoring over with some other officers. It’s
a great pity, for it would have been lovely if he’d been in our car. By
the way, I saved the class to-day, the school inspector has been this
week and examined our class first in History and then in German, and I
was the only one who knew all that Frau Doktor M. had told us about the
Origin of Fable. The insp. was very complimentary and afterwards Frau
Doktor M. said: its quite true one can always depend upon Lainer; she’s
got a trustworthy memory. When we were walking home she was awfully
nice: “Do you know, Lainer, I feel that I really must ask your pardon.”
 I was quite puzzled and Hella asked: But why? She said: “It seemed to me
this year that you were not taking quite so much interest in your German
lessons as you did last year; but now you’ve _reinstated_ yourself in my
good opinion.” Afterwards Hella said: I say you know, Frau Doktor M. is
not so far wrong when I think of all that we used to read last year so
that we might know everything when the lesson came, and when I think of
what we do this year!!! You know very well -- -- -- --. Hella is quite
right, but still one can learn in spite of _those things_, one can’t be
_always_ talking about them. And then it’s quite easy to learn for such
an angel as Frau Doktor M. Hella says that I got as red as a turkey cock
from pride because I could say it all in the very words of Frau Doktor
M., but it was not so, for first of all I was not a bit puffed up about
it, and secondly I really don’t know myself how I managed to say it
all. I only felt that Frau Doktor M. is so annoyed when no one offers to
answer a question, and so I took it on.

May 25th. Confound it, I could slap myself a hundred times. How could I
be so stupid! Now we’re not allowed to go to the aerodome. Father only
let us go because Viktor is in Linz and Father believed he was going
to stay there another fortnight. And at dinner to-day I made a slip and
said: “It is a pity there’s no room for five in our car. If Fraulein
Else were not coming Lieutenant Richter could come with us.” Dora kicked
me under the table and I tried to brazen it out, but Father was so angry
and said. “Hullo, is the flying man coming? No, no, children, nothing
doing. I shall make your excuses to Frau Richter directly. I’m not
having any, did not I tell you you weren’t to see the fellow any more?”
 Of course this last was to Dora. Dora did not say anything but she did
not eat any pudding or fruit, and as soon as we were back in our room
she gave it me hot, saying: You did that on purpose, you little beast,
but really you are only a child whom I never ought to have trusted, and
so on. It’s really too bad to say I did it _on purpose_, as if I envied
her. Besides it’s bad for me as well as for her, for I like him very
much too, for he makes no difference between us and treats me exactly
like Dora. Of course we are not on speaking terms now, and what
infuriated me more than anything was that she said she grudged every
word she had said to me in _this_ connection: “Pearls before Swine.”
 What a rude thing to say. So I am an S. But I should like to know who
told most. I forsooth? Anyhow I’m quite sure that I shall never talk to
her again about _anything of that sort_. Thank goodness I have a friend
in Hella. She would never say or think anything of the kind of me.

May 26th. Neither of us could sleep a wink all night; Dora cried
frightfully, I heard her though she tried to stifle it, and I cried too,
for I was thinking all the time what I could do to prevent Viktor
from thinking unkindly of me. That would be awful. Then I thought of
something, and chance or I ought to say luck helped me. Viktor does not
walk to school with us any longer, because the girls of the Fifth have
seen us several times, but he comes to meet Dora when she comes away at
1 o’clock. So quite early I telephoned to him at a public telephone call
office, for I did not dare to do it at home. Dora was so bad that she
could not go to school so I was going alone with Hella. I telephoned
saying a friend was ringing him up, that was when the maid answered the
telephone, and then she called him. I told him: that whatever happened
he was not to think unkindly of me and I must see him at 1 o’clock
because Dora was ill. He must wait at the corner of ---- Street. All
through lessons I was so upset that I don’t in the least know what we
did. And at 1 o’clock he was there all right, and I told him all about
it and he was so awfully kind and he consoled me; _he_ consoled _me_.
That’s quite different from the way Dora behaved. I was so much upset
that I nearly cried, and then he drew me into a doorway and _put his arm
round me_ and with his _own_ handkerchief wiped away my tears. I shall
never tell Dora about that. Then he asked me to be awfully kind to Dora
because she had such a _lot_ to bear. I don’t really know _what_ she has
to bear, but still, for his sake, because it’s really worth doing it for
that, after dinner I put a note upon her desk, saying: V. sends oceans
of love to you and hopes you will be all right again by Monday. At the
same time his best thanks for the book. I put the note in Heidepeter’s
Gabriel, which she had lent to me to read and put it down very
significantly. When she read it she flushed up, swallowed a few times
and said: “Have you seen him? Where was it and when?” Then I told her
all about it and she was frightfully touched and said: “You really are
a good girl, only frightfully undependable.” What do you mean,
undependable? She said: Yes undependable, for one simply must not blurt
out things in that way; never mind, I will try to forget. Have you
finished Heidepeter’s Gabriel yet? “No,” I said, “I’m not going to read
anyone’s book with whom I’m angry.” In the end we made it up, but of
course we did not talk any more about it and I did not say a word about
that business with the handkerchief.

May 29th. On June 10th or 12th, Mother and Dora are going to Frazensbad,
because they both have to take mud baths. Besides, Father says that a
change will give Dora new thoughts, so that she won’t go about hanging
her head like a sick chicken. To-day Dora told me something very
interesting. Unmarried men have little books and with these they can go
to visit women “of a certain kind” in Graben and in the Karntnerstrasse.
There, Dora says, they have to pay 10 florins or 10 crowns. In Dora’s
class there is a girl whose father is police surgeon, and they have all
to be examined every month to see if they are healthy, and if not they
can’t visit these “ladies,” and that’s why the Preusses can never keep a
servant. In my bath yesterday I noticed that I had a certain line, so
I must be fr--. But I shan’t have more than 1 or 2 children at most for
the line is very faint. When I’m studying I often think of such things,
and then I read a whole page and turn over and have not the remotest
idea what I’ve been reading. It’s very tiresome, for soon the other
school insp. for maths. and the other subjects is coming, and I should
not like to make a fool of myself; especially not because perhaps the
inspectors talk us over with one another about who is clever and who
stupid.

May 30th. The concert was glorious. When I hear such grand music I
always have to keep myself well in hand for I fear I should cry. It’s
very stupid, of course, but at such times I can only think of sad
things, even if it’s just a small piece. Dora can play Brahms’ Hungarian
Dances, too, but that never makes me want to cry. I only get annoyed
because I can’t play them myself. I could all right, but I have not got
patience to practice long enough. I never tell anyone that I want to
cry when I am listening to music, not even Hella, though I tell her
everything, except of course about Mad. Yesterday I made a fool of
myself; at least so Dora says. I don’t know how it happened, we were
talking about books at supper, and I said: “What’s the use of books,
one can’t learn anything out of them; everything is quite different from
what they say in books.” Then Father got in a wax and said: “You little
duffer, you can thank your stars there are books from which you can
learn something. Anyone who can’t understand a book always says it is no
good.” Dora gave me a look, but I didn’t know what she meant, and I
went on: “Yes, but there’s an awful lot that the encyclopedia puts all
wrong.” “What have you been ferreting in the encyclopedia for; we shall
have to keep the key of the bookcase in a safer place.” Thank goodness
Dora came to my help and said: “Gretel wanted to look up something
about the age of elephants and mammoths, but it’s quite different in the
encyclopedia from what Prof. Rigl told her last year.” I was saved. Dora
can act splendidly; I’ve noticed it before. In the evening she rowed me,
and said: “You little goose, will you never learn caution; first that
stupidity about Viktor and to-day this new blunder! I’ve helped you out
of a hole once but I shan’t do it again.” And then she spent all the
time writing a letter, to him of course--! Hella and I have just been
reading a lot of things in the encycl., about _Birth_ and _Pregnancy_,
and I on my own about abor--; we came across the words Embyro
and Foetus, and I said nothing at the time but tied 2 knots in my
handkerchief to remind me, and yesterday I looked them up. Mad. need
not be anxious even if she _really_ did get like that. But every doctor
knows about it and one often dies of it. I wonder if Mad. knows anything
about it. We were talking about the _differences_ between men and women,
and it came out that when Hella has her bath she is still washed by Anna
who has been with them for 12 years. Nothing would induce me to allow
that, I would not let anyone wash me, except Mother; certainly not Dora,
for I don’t want her to know what _I_ look like. The nurse in the hosp.
told Hella that she is developed just like a little nymph, so lovely and
symetrical. Hella says that is nothing unusual, that every girl looks
like that, that the female body is _Nature’s Work of Art_. Of course
she’s read that somewhere, for it does not really mean anything.
_Nature’s_ work of art; it ought to be: a work of art made by husband
and wife!!!

May 30th. Dora and Mother are going to Franzensbad on June 6th, directly
after Whitsuntide. Dora has got another new coat and skirt, grey with
blue stripes; yesterday our white straw hats came, it suits me very well
says Hella and everyone, with white ribbons and wild roses. There might
have been a fearful row about what’s just happened. When I went to
telephone I had my Christmas umbrella with the rose-quartz handle and
I left it in the telephone box; the girl in the tobacco shop found it
there, and as she knows me she brought it here and gave it to the porter
who brought it upstairs. Thank goodness it occurred to me at once to say
that I went into the tobacco shop to buy stamps and I must have left it
in the _shop_. No one noticed anything.

May 31st. They wanted me to go and stay with Hella for the month when
Mother and Dora are away. It would be awfully nice, but I’m not going
to, for I want to stay with Father. What would he do all alone at meal
times, and whom would he have to talk to in the evenings? Father was
really quite touched when I said this and he stroked my hair as he can
and no one else, not even Mother. So I’m going to stay at home whatever
happens. Flowers are very cheap now, so I shall put _different_ flowers
on the table every day, I shall go to the Market every day to buy a
little posy, so that they can always be fresh. It would be stupid for me
to go to the Brs., why should I, Resi has been with us for such a long
time, she knows how to do everything even if Mother is not there and
everything else I can arrange. Father won’t want for anything.

June 1st. We’ve had such an experience to-day! It’s awful; it’s quite
true then that one takes off _every stitch_ when one is madly fond of
anyone. I never really believed it, and I’m sure Dora did not, although
Mad. hinted it to her; but _it’s true_. We’ve seen it _with our own
eyes_. I was just sitting and reading Storm’s The Rider of the Grey
Horse and Dora was arranging some writing paper to take to Franzensbad
when Resi came and said: Fraulein Dora, please come here a moment, I
want you to look at something! From the tone of her voice I saw there
was something up so I went too. At first Resi would not say what it
was but Dora was generous and said: “It’s all right, you can say
_everything_ before her.” Then we went into Resi’s room and from behind
the curtain peeped into the mezzanin. A young _married couple_ live
there!!! At least Resi says people say they are _not_ really married,
but simply live together!!!! And what we saw was awful. She was
absolutely naked lying in bed without any of the clothes on, and he
was kneeling by the bedside quite n-- too, and he kissed her all over,
_everywhere!!!_ Dora said afterwards it made her feel quite sick. And
then he stood up--no, I can’t write it, it’s too awful, I shall never
forget it. So _that’s_ the way of it, it’s simply frightful. I could
never have believed it. Dora went as white as a sheet and trembled so
that Resi was terribly frightened. I nearly cried with horror, and yet
I could not help laughing too. I was really afraid he would stifle her
because he’s so big and she’s so small. And Resi says he is certainly
much too big for her, and that he nearly tears her. I don’t know why
he should tear her but certainly he might have crushed her. Dora was
so terrified she had to sit down and Resi hurried to get her a glass of
water, because she believed she was going to faint. I had not imagined
it was anything like _that_, and Dora certainly had not either. Or she
would never have trembled so. Still I really don’t see why she should
tremble like that. There is no reason to be frightened, one simply need
not marry, and then one need never strip off every stitch, and oh dear,
poor Mademoiselle who is so small and the lieutenant is very tall.
But just think if anyone is as fat as Herr Richter or our landlord. Of
course Herr Richter is at least 50, but last January the landlord had
another little girl, so something _must have happened_. No, I’m sure
it’s best not to marry, for _it_ is really too awful. We did not look
any more for then came the worst, suddenly Dora began to be actually
sick, so that she could hardly get back to our room. If she had not
been able to, everything would have come out. Mother sent for the doctor
directly and he said that Dora was very much overworked; that it was a
good thing she was going away from Vienna in a few days. No girl ought
to study, it does not pay. Then he said to me: “You don’t look up to
much either. What are you so hollow-eyed for?” “I’m so frightened about
Dora,” I said. “Fiddlededee,” said the doctor, “that does not give
anyone black rings round the eyes.” So it must be true that one gets to
look ill when one always has to think about _such_ things. But how can
one help it, and Hella says: It’s awfully interesting to have black
rings under the eyes and men _like_ it.

We were going to make an excursion to-morrow to Kahlenberg and
Hermannskogel, but probably it won’t come off. Its 11 already and I’m
fearfully tired from writing so much; I must go to bed. I do hope I
Shall be able to sleep, but -- -- -- --

June 3rd. Father took Hella and me to Kahlenberg; we enjoyed ourselves
tremendously. After dinner, when Father was reading the paper in the
hotel, we went to pick flowers, and I told Hella all about what we’d
seen on Friday. She was simply speechless, all the more since she had
never heard what Mad. told us about taking off everything. She won’t
marry either, for it’s too disagreeable, indeed too horrid.--The doctor
said too: This perpetual learning is poisonous for young girls _in the
years of development_. If he only knew _what_ we had seen. Hella is
frightfully annoyed that she was not there. She can be jolly glad, I
don’t want to see it a second time, and I shall never forget it all my
life long; what I saw at the front door was nothing to this. Then
Hella went on making jokes and said: “I say, just think if it had
been Viktor.” “Oh, do shut up,” I screamed, and Father thought we were
quarrelling and called out: “You two seem to be having a dispute in the
grand style.” If he’d only known what we were talking about!!! Oswald
has been home since Friday evening; he did not arrive till half past 10.
But he did not come on the excursion with us yesterday, although Father
would have liked him to; he said he would find it much too dull to spend
the day with two “flappers;” that means that we’re not grown up enough
for him and is a piece of infernal cheek especially as regards Hella.
She says she will simply ignore him in future. Since I am his sister
I can’t very well do that, but I shan’t fetch and carry for him as he
would like me to. He’s no right to insult even his sister.

Dora has just said to me: It’s horrible that one has to endure that (you
know what!!! -- -- -- --) when one is married. Resi had told her about
those two before, and that only the Jews do it just like _that_. She
said that other people did not strip quite naked and that perhaps it’s
different in some other ways!! -- -- -- But Mad. implied that it was
just _that_ way, only she did not say anything about the crushing; but
I suppose that’s because of the cruelty of the Jews -- -- --. I’m afraid
every night that I’m going to dream about it, and Dora has dreamed about
it already. She says that whenever she closes her eyes she sees it all
as if it were actually before her.

June 4th. We understand now _what_ Father meant the other day when he
was speaking about Dr. Diller and his wife and said: “But they don’t
suit one another at all.” I thought at the time he only meant that it
looks so absurd for so tiny a woman to go about with a big strong
man. But that’s only a minor thing; the main point is something quite
different!!!! Hella and I look at all couples now who go by arm in arm,
thinking about them from _that_ point of view, and it amuses us so much
as we are going home that we can hardly keep from laughing. But really
it’s no laughing matter, especially for the woman.

June 5th. This morning Mother took Dora with her to pay a farewell call
at the Richter’s. But there was no one at home, that is Frau R. was
certainly at home, but said she was not because they are very much
offended with Father. In the afternoon Dora and I had a lot of things to
get, and we met Viktor, by arrangement of course. Dora cried a lot; they
went into the Minorite church while I went for a walk in Kohlmarkt and
Herrengasse. He is going to America in the beginning of July, before
Dora comes home. He has given her some exquisite notepaper stamped with
his regimental arms, specially for her to write to him on, and a locket
with his portrait. To-morr

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