A Young Girl's Diary, and Letter of Sigmund Freud
by Unknown
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman

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 Satis-
factory, 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[1] 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.

[1] 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 under-
lined 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_[2] 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.

[2] 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 in-
spection 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 hap-
pened 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-morrow she is going to send him her photo,
through me, I shall be awfully glad to take it. Dora
has been much nicer to me lately.

June 6th. Mother and Dora left early this morning.
Mother has never gone away from us before for
long at a time, so I cried a lot and so did she. Dora
cried too, but I know on whose account. Father and
I are alone now. At dinner he said to me: "My
little housewife." It was so lovely. But it's frightfully
quiet in the house, for 2 people don't talk so
much as 4. It made me feel quite uncomfortable.
To-day I talked several things over with Resi. What
I think worst of all is that one saw the whole of his
behind, it was really disgusting. Dora said the other
day she thought it was positively infamous. Resi
said they might at least have pulled down the blind
so that nobody could see in, that's what respectable
people would do. But _respectable_ people simply
would not strip, or at least they'd cover themselves
respectably with the bedclothes. Then Resi told me
some more about the bank clerk and his wife, that is
_not_-wife. She does not know if her parents know
about it, and what excuse she makes for not living
at home. She is not a Jewess, though he is a Jew.
Resi absolutely curled up with laughing because I
said: Ah, that is why he insists that they shall _both_
strip though ordinarily only the wife has to strip."
But she herself said a little while ago that only Jews
do it _that way_, and to-day she laughed as if I were
talking utter nonsense. Really she does not know
exactly herself, and she cloaks it with laughter because
she's annoyed, first because _she_ does not know, and
then also I'm sure because she really began to talk
about the matter. One thing that puzzles me is that
I never dream about _it_. I should like to know whether
perhaps Dora never really dreamed of it, though she
pretended she did. As for Hella saying she dreamed
of it the day before yesterday, I'm sure that was pure
invention, for she was not there at all. She says it's
a good thing she was not for if she had been she
would have burst out laughing. But I fancy if she'd
seen what we saw she would have found there was
nothing to laugh at.

June 7th. It's frightfully dull after dinner and
in the evening before bed time, especially because
this year, since the affair at the front door, Dora
and I have always had plenty to talk about. I miss
it. I wish Hella would come and stay with us for
the 4 weeks. But she does not want to. Father
had work to do to-day, so I'm quite alone and feel as
if I'd like to cry.

June 9th. Yesterday, when I was feeling so melancholy,
Resi came to make my bed, and we talked
about the married couple opposite, and then she told
me awful things about a young married couple where
she was once. She left because they always went
into the bath together; she says she's certain that
_something happened_ there. And then she told me
about an old gentleman who made _advances_ to her;
but of course she would not have anything to do
with him; besides he was married, and anyhow he
would never have married a servant for he was a
privy councillor. Yesterday Father said: Poor little
witch, it's very lonely for you now; but look here,
Resi is no fit company for you; when your little
tongue wants to wag, come to my room. And I was
awfully stupid, I began to cry like anything and
said. "Father, please don't be angry, I'll never think
and never talk of such things any more." Father
did not know at first what I meant, but afterwards
it must have struck him, for he was so kind and gentle,
and said: "No, no, Gretel, don't corrupt your youth
with such matters, and when there's anything that
bothers you, ask Mother, but not the servants. A girl
of good family must not be too familiar with servants.
Promise me." And then, though I'm so big he took
me on his knee like a child and petted me because I
was crying so. "It's all right, little Mouse, don't
worry, you must not get so nervous as Dora. Give
me a nice kiss, and then I'll come with you to your
room and stay with you till you go to sleep. Of
course I stayed awake on purpose as long as I could,
till a quarter to 11.

And then I dreamed that Father was lying in Dora's
bed so that when I woke up early in the morning I
really looked across to see if he had not gone to bed
there. But of course I'd only dreamed it.

June 12th. To-morrow there's a great school excursion;
I am so glad, a whole day with Frau Doktor
M. and without any lessons. We are going up Eisernes
Tor. Last year there was no outing, because the
Fourth did not want to go to the Anninger, but to
the Hochschneeberg, and the Head did not want to
go there.

June 13th. We had a lovely outing. Hella and
I spent the whole day with Frau Doktor M.; in the
afternoon Franke said: I say, why do you stick to
Frau Doktor like that? One can't get a word with
you. So then we went for a good walk through the
forest with Franke and she told us about a student
who is in the Eighth now and who is madly in love
with her. For all students are in love with her, _so
she says_. We were not much interested in that, but
then she told us that Frau Doktor M. is secretly
engaged to a professor in Leipzig or some other town
in Germany. Her cousin is Frau Doktor's dressmaker,
and she is quite certain of it. Her parents
are opposed to it because he is a _Jew_ but they are
frantically in love with one another and they intend
to marry. And then we asked Franke, since she is
a Jewess too whether it was all true what Mali, who
was here when Resi was in hospital, had told us
about the Jews. And Franke said: Oh yes, it is true
I can confirm it in every point. But it's not so bad
about the cruelty, every man is cruel, especially in
this matter." No doubt she's right, but it's horrible
to think that our lovely and refined Frau Doktor M
is going to have a cruel husband. Hella says that if
_she_ is satisfied, I don't need to get excited about it.
But perhaps she does not know that-- -- --. When
we came out of the wood the Herr Religionsprofessor
who is awfully fond of Frau Doktor M. called out:
"Frau Doktor, you have lost your two satellites!"
And everybody laughed because we'd come back.
Father came to fetch Hella and me, and since it was
nearly 11 o'clock Hella stayed the night with us. It
was awfully nice, but at the same time I was sorry
because I could not have any more talk with Father.
When we were getting up in the morning we splashed
one another and played the fool generally, so that
we were nearly late for school. The staff was still
in high spirits, including Professor Wilke, about
whom we had not bothered ourselves all day; that is
he did not come until the afternoon when he came to
meet us on our way. We believe he is in love with
Frau Doktor M. too, for he went about with her all
the time, and it was probably on her account that
he came. None of the other professors were there,
for they were all taking their classes in the different
Gymnasiums.

June 14th. I am so excited. We were going to
school to-day at 9 and suddenly we heard a tremendous
rattling with a sword; that is Hella heard it,
for she always notices that sort of thing before I do,
and she said: "Hullo, that's an o-- in a frightful
hurry, and looked round; "I say, there's Viktor behind
us" and he really was, he was saluting us and
he said: Fraulein Rita, can you give me a moment;
you'll excuse me won't you, Fraulein Hella? He
always calls me Rita, and it shows what a nice refined
kind of a man he is that he should know my friend's
name. Hella said directly: "Don't mention it, Herr
Oberleutenant, don't let me be in your way if it's
anything important," and she went over to the other
side of the street. He looked after her and said:
"What a lovely, well-mannered young lady your
friend is." Then he came back to the main point
He has already had 2 letters from Dora, but not an
answer to his letter, because she can't fetch it from
the post office, _poste restante_. Then he implored me
to enclose a letter from him in mine to Dora. But
since Mother naturally reads my letters, I told him
it was not so simple as all that; but I knew of a
splendid way out of the difficulty; I would write to
Mother and Dora _at the same time_, so that Dora
could get hold of _his letter_ while Mother was not
noticing. Viktor was awfully pleased and said:
You're a genius and a first-class little schemer, and
kissed my hand. Still, he might have left out the
"little." If one's is so _little_, one can't very well be a
schemer. From the other side of the street Hella
saw him kiss my hand. She says I did not try to draw
it away, but held it out to him like a grand lady and
even dropped it at the wrist. She says we girls of
good family do that sort of thing by instinct. It may
be so, for I certainly did not do it intentionally.
In the afternoon I wrote the two letters, just the
ordinary one to Mother and a short one to Dora
with the enclosure, and took it to the post _myself_.

June 16th. I've already got so used to being alone
with Father that I take it as a matter of course. We
often drive in the Prater, or go in the evening to have
supper in one of the parks, and of course Hella comes
with us. I am frightfully excited to know what Dora
will write. I forgot to write in my diary the other
day that I asked Viktor if he was really going to
New York. He said he had no idea of doing anything
of the kind, that had only been a false alarm
on the part of the Old Man. That's what he calls
his father. I don't think it's very nice of him, a
little vulgar, and perhaps that is why Father can't
stand him. In fact Father does not like any officers
very much, except Hella's father, but then he's fairly
old already. I say, Hella mustn't read that, it would
put her in an awful wax; but her father really is at
least 4 or 5 years older than Father.

June 17th. Frau Doktor M. is ill, but we don't
know what's the matter with her. We were all
frightfuly dull at school. The head took her classes
and we were left to ourselves in the interval. I do hope
she has not got appendicitis, that would be awful.

June 18th. _She_ isn't back yet. Frau Doktor
Steiner says she has very bad tonsillitis and won't
be able to come for at least a week.

June 19th. There was a letter from Dora to-day.
I'm furious. Not a word about my sisterly affection,
but only: "Many thanks for your trouble." It's
really too bad; _he_ is quite different!! I shan't forget
this in a hurry. Hella says that she only hinted
at it like that to be on the safe side. But it's not
true, for she knows _perfectly well_ that Father never
reads our letters. She simply takes it as a matter of
course. Yesterday was the first time I stayed away
from school since I went to the High School. Early
in the morning I had such a bad sore throat and a
headache, so Father would not let me go. I got better
as the day went on, but this morning I was worse
again. Most likely I shall have to stay at home for
2 or 3 days. Father wanted to send for the doctor,
but it really was not necessary.

June 20th. When Resi was doing our room to day
she wanted to begin talking once more about _various
things_, but I said I did not particularly care to hear
about such matters, and then she implored me never
to tell Mother and Father anything about what she
had said to us about the young married couple; she
said she would lose her place and she would be awfully
sorry to do that.

June 21st. My knees are still trembling; there
might have been a frightful row; luckily Father was
out. At half past 6, when Hella and I were having a
talk, the telephone bell rang. Luckily Resi had gone
out too to fetch something so I answered the telephone,
and it was Viktor! "I must see you to-morrow
morning early or at 1 o'clock; I waited for you _in
vain_ at 1 to-day." Of course, for I was still ill, that
is still am ill. But well or ill I must go to school
to-morrow. If Father had been at home; or even
Resi, she might have noticed something. It would
have been very disagreeable if I had had to ask her
not to give me away. Hella was frightfully cheeky,
she took the receiver out of my hand and said:
"Please don't do this again, it's frightfully risky for
my friend." I was rather annoyed with her, but Hella
said he certainly deserved a lecture.

To-morrow we are going to a concert and I shall
wear my new white dress. It does look rather nice
after all for sisters to be dressed alike. I've taken
to wearing snails,"[3] Father calls them "cow-pats;"
but everyone else says it's exceedingly becoming.

[3] Flat rolls of hair-plait covering the ears.--Translators'
Note.

June 22nd. He was awfully charming when he
came up to us and said: "Can a repentant sinner
be received back into grace?" And he gave each of
us a lovely rose. Then he handed me a letter and
said: "I don't think we need make any secret before
your energetic friend." Really I did not want to
forward any more letters but I did not know how
to say so without offending him, for Dora's cheek
is not his fault, and I did not want to say anything
to-day, 1 because of the roses, and 2 because Hella
was there. There can't be more than 2 or 3 times
more, so I shan't bother. But _Dora_ doesn't deserve
it, really. Franke is a vulgar girl. She saw us together
the other day, and the next day she asked:
Where did you pick up that handsome son of Mars?
Hella retorted: "Don't use such common expressions
when you are speaking of Rita's cousin." "Oh, a
cousin, that's why he kisses her hand I suppose?"
Since then we only speak to Franke when we are
positively obliged. Not to speak to her at all would
be too dangerous, you never can tell; but if we speak
only a little, she can't take offence.

June 23rd. The school insp. came yesterday, the
old one who always comes for Maths. He is so kind
and gentle that all the girls can answer everything;
we like him better than the one who comes for
languages. Verbenowitsch was awfully puffed up
because he praised her. Good Lord, I've been praised
often enough, but that does not make _me_ conceited.
Anyhow he did not call on me yesterday because I'd
been absent 4 days. Frau Doktor M. came back
to-day. She looks awfully pale and wretched, I don't
know why; it's such a pity that she does not let us
walk home with her, except last year when there was
all that fuss about Fraulein St.'s bead bag. She bows
to us all very politely when we salute her, but she
won't walk with any of the pupils, though Verbenowitsch
is horribly pushing and is always hanging
about on the chance.

June 26th. It's really stupid how anxious I am
now at Communion lest the host should drop out of
my mouth. I was so anxious I was very nearly sick.
Hella says there must be some reason for it, but I
don't know of any, except that the accident which that
girl Lutter in the Third had made me even more
anxious that I was before. Hella says I'd better turn
Protestant, but nothing would induce me to do that;
for after Com. one feels so pure and so much better
than one was before. But I'm sorry to say it does not
last so long as it ought to.

June 27th. Mother is _really_ ill. Father told me
about it. He was awfully nice and said: If only
your Mother is spared to us. She is far from well.
Then I asked: Father, what is really wrong with
Mother? And Father said: "Well, dear, it's a hidden
trouble, which has really been going on for a long
time and has now suddenly broken out." "Will she
have to have an operation?" "We hope we shall be
able to avoid that. But it's a terrible thing that
Mother should be so ill." Father looked so miserable
when he said this that I did my best to console him
and said: But _surely_ the mud baths will make her all
right, or why should she take them?" And Father
said: "Well, darling, we'll hope for the best." We
went on talking for a long time, saying that Mother
must take all possible care of herself, and that perhaps
in the autumn Aunt Dora would come here to
keep house. I asked Father, "Is it true that you don't
like Aunt Dora?" Father said: "Not a bit of it,
what put that idea into your head?" So I said:
"But you do like Mother much better, don't you?"
Father laughed and said: "You little goose, of course
I do, or I should have married Aunt Dora and not
Mother." I should have liked awfully to ask Father
a lot more, but I did not dare. I really do miss
Dora, especially in the evenings.

July 2nd. I was in a tremendous rage at school
to-day. Professor W., the traitor, did not come
because he had confession and communion in the
Gymnasium, and the matron did not know anything
about the subject so there was no one to take his
class. Then the Herr Religionsprofessor took it, he
had come earlier than usual to write up the reports.
But since the Jewish girls were there too, of course
there was no religion lesson. But the H. Rel. Prof.
had a chat with us. He asked each of us where we
were going to spend the summer, and when I said I
was going to Rodaun, Weinberger said: I say, _only_
to Rodaun! and several of the other girls chimed in:
_Only_ to Rodaun; why that's only a drive on the steam
tram. I was frightfully annoyed, for we generally
go to Tyrol or Styria; I said so directly, and then
Franke said: Last year too, I think, you went somewhere
quite close to Vienna, where was it, Hain--,
and then she stopped and made as if she had never
heard of Hainfeld. Of course that was all put on,
but she's very angry because we won't speak to her
since that business about the _cousin!_ But now I was
to learn what true friendship is. While I was getting
still more angry, Hella said: Rita's Mother is now in
_Franzensbad, the world-famous health resort_; she is
ill, and Prof. Sch. has to go and see her at least once
a week. The Herr Rel. Prof. was awfully nice and
said: Rodaun is a lovely place. The air there is
very fine and will certainly do your Mother a lot of
good. That's the chief thing, isn't it children? I
hope that God will spare all your parents for many
years. When the Herr Rel. Prof. said that, Lampel,
whose Mother died last winter, burst out crying, and
I cried too, for I thought of my talk with Father.
Weinberger and Franke thought I was crying because
I was annoyed because we were only going to Rodaun.
In the interval Franke said: After all, there's no
harm in going to Rodaun, that's no reason for crying.
But Hella said: "Excuse me, the Lainers can go
anywhere they please, they are so well off that many
people might envy them. Besides, her Mother and her
sister are in Franzensbad now, where everything is
frightfully expensive, and in Rodaun they have rented
a house all for themselves. Rita is crying because she
is anxious about her Mother, not because of anything
you said." Of course we don't speak a word to Franke
now. Mother does not want us to anyhow, she did
not like her at all when she met her last year. Mother
has a fine instinct in such matters.

July 6th. We broke up to-day. I have nothing but
Very Goods, except of course in ---- Natural History!
That was to be expected. What -- -- (I can't bring
myself to write the name) said was perfectly right.
Nearly all the girls who were still there brought Frau
Doktor M. and Frau Doktor St. flowers as farewell
tokens. This time, Hella and I were allowed to go
with Frau Doktor M. to the metropolitan. When we
kiss her hand she always blushes, and we love doing
it. This summer holidays she is going to -- -- --
_Germany_, of course; really Hella need not have asked;
it's obvious!!!

July 8th. Mother and Dora are coming home today.
We are going to meet them at the station. By
the way, I'd quite forgotten. The other day Father
hid a new 5 crown piece in my table napkin, and
when I lifted up my table napkin it fell out, and
Father said: In part payment of your outlay on
flowers for the table. Father is such a darling, the
flowers did not cost anything like 5 crowns, 3 at most,
for though they were lovely ones, I only bought fresh
ones every other day. Now I shall be able to buy
Mother lots of roses, and I shall either take them to
the station or put them on her table. On the one
hand I'm awfully glad Mother is coming home, but
on the other hand I did like being alone with Father
for he always talked to me about everything just as
he does to Mother; that will come to an end now.

July 10th. Mother and Dora look splendid; I'm
especially glad about Mother; for one can see that
she is quite well again. If we had not taken the
house in Rodaun, we might just as well go to Tyrol,
for one can't deny it would be much nicer. Dora
looks quite a stranger. It's absurd, for one can't
alter in 1 month, still, she really looks quite different;
she does her hair differently, parted over the ears.
I have had no chance yet to say anything about the
"trouble," and she has not alluded to it. In the
autumn she will have to have a special exam. for
the Sixth because she went away a month before the
end of term. Father says that is only pro forma
and that she must not take any lesson books to the
country. Hella went away yesterday, she and her
Mother and Lizzi are going first to Gastein and then
to stay with their uncle in Hungary. Life is dull
without Hella, much worse than without Dora; without
her I was simply bored sometimes in the evening,
at bedtime. Dora gives it out that in Franzensbad
people treated her as a grown-up lady. I'm sure
that's not true for anyone can see that she's a long
way from being a grown-up lady yet.

July 11th. I can't think what's happened to Dora.
When she goes out she goes alone. She doesn't tell
me when she is going or where, and she hasn't said
a word about Viktor. But he must know that she is
back. To-morrow we are going to Rodaun, by train
of course, not by the steam tram. The day after
to-morrow, the 13th, Oswald has the viva voce exam
for his matriculation. He says that in every class
there are at least 1 or several _swotters_, like Verbenowitsch
in ours, he says they spoil the pitch for the
others, for, because of the swotters, the professors
expect so much more of the others and sit upon them.
This may be so in the Gymnasium, but certainly not
at the High School. For though Verb. is always
sucking up to the staff, they can't stand her; they
give her good reports, but none of them really like
her. Mother says the 13th is an unlucky day, and it
makes her anxious about Oswald. Because of that she
went to High Mass yesterday instead of the 9 o'clock
Mass as usual. I never thought of praying for Oswald,
and anyhow I think he'll get through all right.

July 13th. Thank goodness Oswald has wired he
is through, that is he has wired his favourite phrase:
Finis with Jubilation. At any rate that did not worry
Mother as he did over the written exam., when he
made silly jokes all the time. He won't be home
until the 17th, for the matriculation dinner is on the
15th. Father is awfully pleased too. It's lovely here;
of course we have not really got a whole house to
ourselves, as Hella pretended at school, but a flat on
the first story; in the mezzanin a young married
woman lives, that is to say a _newly married couple!!_
Whenever I hear that phrase it makes me shake
with horror and laughter combined. Resi must have
thought of it too, for she looked hard at Dora and
me when she told us. But they have a baby already,
so they are not really a newly married couple any
more. The landlord, who lives on the same floor as
us, is having a swing put up for me in the garden
for it is horrid not to have a swing in the country.

July 16th. At last Dora has said something to
me about Viktor, but she spoke very coldly; there
must be something up; she might just as well tell
me; she really ought to seeing all that I've done.
I have not seen him since that last letter of June 27th;
that time something must have hap-- no that word
means something quite different, there must be something
up, but I do wonder what. Hella is delighted
with Gastein, she writes that the only thing wanting
is _me_. I can quite understand that, for what I want
here is _her_. Before the end of term Ada wrote to
ask whether we were not coming to H. this year; she
said she had such a frightful lot to tell me, and _she
wants my advice_. I shall be very glad to advise her,
but I don't know what it is about.

July 18th. Something splendid, we are -- -- --
But no, I must write it all out in proper order. Oswald
came home yesterday, he is in great form and said
jokingly to Dora that she is so pretty he thinks he
would fall in love with her if she were not his sister.
Just before it was time to go to supper, Mother called
us in, and I was rather annoyed when I saw that it
was only a quarter to 8. Then Father came in with a paper
in his hand as he often does when he comes back from
the office, and said: "Dear Oswald and you two girls,
I wanted to give you and especially Oswald a little
treat because of the matriculation." Aha, I thought,
the great prize after all! Then Father opened the
paper and said: "You have often wondered as children
why we have no title of nobility like the other
Lainers. My grandfather dropped it, but I have got
it back again for you Oswald, and also for you two
girls. Henceforward we shall call ourselves Lanier
von Lainsheim like Aunt Anna and your uncles."
Oswald was simply speechless and I was the first to
pull myself together and give Father a great hug.
But first of all he said: "Do credit to the name."
Oswald went on clearing his throat for a frightfully
long time, and then he said: Thank you, Father, I
shall always hold the name in trust, and then they
kissed one another. We were on our best behaviour
all through the evening, although Mother had ordered
roast chicken and Father had provided a bottle of
champagne. I am frightfully happy; it's so splendid
and noble. Think of what the girls will say, and the
staff! I'm frantically delighted. To-morrow I must
write and tell Hella all about it.

July 19th. I've managed it beautifully. I did not
want to write just: We are now noble, so I put it
all in the signature, simply writing Always your loving
friend Rita Lainer von Lainsheim. I told Resi
about it first thing this morning, but Father scolded
me about that at dinner time and said it was quite
unnecessary; it seems the nobility has gone to your
head. Nothing of the sort, but it's natural that I
should be frightfully glad and Dora too has covered
a whole sheet of paper writing her new name. Father
says it does not really make us any different from
what we were before, but that is not true, for if it were
he would not have bothered to revive the title. He
says it will make it easier for Oswald to get on, but
I'm sure there's more in it than that. Resi told the
landlord about it and in the afternoon he and his
wife called to congratulate us.

July 20th. Oswald says he won't stay here, it's
much too dull, he is going for a walking tour through
the Alps, to Grossglockner, and then to the Karawanken.
He will talk of Father as the "Old Man," and
I do think it is so vulgar. Dora says it is absolutely
_flippant_.

July 24th. Hella's answer came to-day; she congratulates
me most heartily, and then goes on to write
that at first she was struck dumb and thought I'd gone
crazy or was trying to take her in. But her mother had
already heard of it from her father for it had been published
in the Official Gazette. Now we are both noble,
and that is awfully nice. For I have often been
annoyed that she was noble when I was not.

July 25th. Oswald left to-day. Father gave him
300 crowns for his walking tour, because of the matriculation.
I said: "In that case I shall matriculate
as soon as I can" and Oswald said: "For that one
wants rather more brains in one's head than you
girls have." What cheek, Frau Doktor M. passed the
Gymnasium matriculation and Frau Doktor Steiner
passed it too as an extra. Dora said quietly: Maybe
I shall show you that your sister can matriculate
too; anyhow you have always said yourself that
the chief thing you need to get through the matriculation
is cheek. Then I had a splendid idea and said:
"But we girls have not got cheek, we _study_ when we
have to pass an examination!" Mother wanted us
to make it up with him, but we would not. In the
evening Dora said to me: Oswald is frantically
arrogant, though he has had such a lot of Satisfactories
and has only just scraped through his exam. By the
way here's another sample of Oswald's stupidity;
directly after the wire: "Finis with Jubilation"
came another which ought to have arrived first, for
it had been handed in 4 hours earlier, with nothing
but the word "Through" [Durch]. Mother was frightfully
upset by it for she was afraid it really meant _failed_
[durchgefallen], and that the other telegram had been
only an idiotic joke. Dora and I would never condescend
to such horseplay. Father always says Oswald
will sow all his wild oats at the university, but he said
to-day that he was not going to the university, but
would study mining, and then perhaps law.

July 29th. It's sickeningly dull here, I simply
don't know what to do; I really can't read and swing
the whole day long, and Dora has become as dull as
she used to be; that is, even duller, for not only does
she not quarrel, but she won't talk, that is she won't
talk about _certain things_. She is perfectly crazy
about the baby of the young couple in the mezzanin;
he's 10 months old, and I can't see what she sees to
please her in such a little pig; she's always carrying
him about and yesterday he made her all wet, I
wished her joy of it. It made her pretty sick, and
I hope it will cure her infatuation.

Thank goodness to-morrow is my birthday, that
will be a bit of a change. To-morrow we are going
to the Parapluie Berg, but I hope we shan't want
our umbrellas. Father is coming back at 1 so that
we can get away at 2 or half past. Hella has sent me
to-day a lock-up box for letters, etc.!!! of course
filled with sweets and a tremendously long letter to
tell me how _she_ is getting on in Gastein. But they
are only going to stay a month because it is frantically
expensive, a roll 5 krenzer and a bottle of beer 1 crown.
And the rolls are so small that one simply has to eat 3
for breakfast and for afternoon tea. But it's awfully
smart in the hotel, several grooms; then there are
masses of Americans and English and even a consul's
family from Sydney in Australia.--I spend most of
the day playing with two dachshund puppies. They
are called Max and Moritz, though of course one of
them is a bitch. That is really a word which one
ought not to write, for it means something, at least
in its other meaning.

THIRD YEAR

AGE THIRTEEN TO FOURTEEN

THIRD YEAR

July 31st. Yesterday was my birthday, the
thirteenth. Mother gave me a clock with a luminous
dial which I wanted for my night-table. Of course
that is chiefly of use during the long winter nights;
embroidered collars; from Father, A Bad Boy's Diary,
which one of the nurses lent Hella when she was in
hospital; it's such a delightfully funny book, but
Father says it's stupid because no boy could have
written all that, a new racquet with a leather case,
an awfully fine one, a Sirk, and tennis balls from
Dora. Correspondence cards, blue-grey with silver
edge. Grandfather and Grandmother sent a basket
of cherries, red ones, and a basket of currants and
strawberries; the strawberries are only for me for my
birthday. Aunt Dora sent three neckties from Berlin
for winter blouses. In the afternoon we went to the
Par.-Berg. It would have been awfully jolly if only
Mother could have gone too or if Hella had been there.

August 1st. I got a letter from Ada to-day. She
sends me many happy returns, for she thinks it is
on the 1st of August, and then comes the chief thing.
She is frightfully unhappy. She writes that she wants
to escape from the cramping environment of her family,
she simply can't endure _the stifling atmosphere of
home_. She has been to St. P. to see the actor for
whom she has such an admiration, he heard her recite
something and said she had real dramatic talent; he
would be willing to train her for the stage, but only
with her parents' consent. But of course they will
never give it. She writes that this has made her _so
nervous_ she feels like crying or raving all day long,
in fact she can't stand so dismal a life any longer. _I_
am her last hope. She would like me to come to stay
with them, or still better if she could come and stay
with us for two or 3 weeks, then she would tell
Mother about everything, and perhaps it might be
possible to arrange for her to live with us in Vienna
for a year; in the autumn Herr G., the actor, is coming
to the Raimund Theatre and she could begin her
training there. At the end of her letter she says that
it rests with my discretion and my tact to make her
the happiest creature in the world! I don't really
know what I shall be able to do. Still, I've made a
beginning; I said I found it so frightfully dull--if
only Hella were here, or at least Ada, or even Marina.
Then Mother said: But Marina is away in the
country, in Carinthia, and it's not likely that Ada will
be able to come. Father, too, is awfully sorry that
I find it so dull, and so at supper he said: Would
you really like Ada to come here? Certainly her age
makes her a better companion for you than Dora.
You seemed to get on better together last year. And
then he said to Mother: Do you think it would
bother you, Berta, to have Ada here? and Mother
said, "Not a bit; if Gretel would like it; it's really
her turn now, Dora came with me to Franzensbad,
Oswald is having his walking tour, and only our
little pet has not had anything for herself; would
you like it Gretel?" "Oh yes, Mother, I should like
it awfully, I'll write directly; it's no fun to me to
carry about that little brat the way Dora does, and
jolly as the Bad Boy's Diary is I can't read it all
day." So I am writing to Ada directly, just as if _I_
had thought of it and wanted her to come. I shall
be so frightfully happy if it all comes off and if Ada
really becomes a great actress, like Wolter whom
Mother is always talking of, then I shall have done
something towards helping Vienna to have a great
actress and towards making Ada the happiest creature
in the world instead of the unhappiest.

August 2nd. In my letter I did not say anything
to Ada about our having been ennobled, or as Dora
says _re-ennobled_, since the family has been noble for
generations; she will find out about it soon enough
when she comes here. Mother keeps on saying:
Don't put on such airs, especially about a thing which
we have not done anything particular to deserve.
But that's not quite fair, for unless Father had done
such splendid service in connection with the laws or
the constitution or something two years ago, sometimes
sitting up writing all night, perhaps he would
never have been re-ennobled. Besides, I really can't
see why Father and Mother should have made such a
secret about it last winter. They might just as well
have let us know. But I suppose Father wanted to
give us a real surprise. And he did too; Dora's face
and the way Oswald cleared his throat!! As far as I
can make out no one seems to have noticed what sort
of a face I was making.

August 3rd. I've found out now why Dora is so
different, that is why she is again just as she was
some time ago, before last winter. During the 4
weeks in Fr. she has _found a real friend in Mother!_
To-day I turned the conversation to Viktor, and all
she said at first was: Oh, I don't correspond with
him any more. And when I asked: "Have you had
a quarrel, and whose fault was it?" she said: "Oh,
no, I just _bade him farewell_." "What do you mean,
bade him farewell; but he's not really going to Amer-
ica, is he?" And then she said: "My dear _Rita_,
we had better clear this matter up; I parted from him
upon the well-justified wish of our _dear Mother_."
I must say that though I'm _awfully, awfully_ fond of
Mother, I really can't imagine having her as a _friend_.
How can one have a true friendship with one's own
mother? Dora really can't have the least idea _what_ a
_true friendship_ means. There are some things it's
impossible for a girl to speak about to her mother,
I could not possibly ask her: Do you know what,
_something has happened_, really means? Besides, I'm
not quite sure if she does know, for when she was 13
or 15 or 16, people may have used quite different
expressions, and the modern phrases very likely did not
then mean what they mean now. And what sort of a
friendship is it when Mother says to Dora: You
must not go out now, the storm may break at any
moment, and just the other evening: Dora you _must_
take your shawl with you. Friendship between
mother and daughter is just as impossible as friendship
between father and son. For between friends
there can be no orders and forbiddings, and what's
even more important is that one really can't talk about
all the things that one would like to talk of. All I
said last night was: "Of course Mother has forbidden
you to talk to me about _certain things_; do you call
that a friendship? Then she said very gently: "No,
Rita, Mother has not forbidden me, but I recognise
now that it was thoughtless of me to talk to you about
those things; one learns the seriousness of life quite
soon enough." I burst out laughing and said: "Is
_that_ what you call the seriousness of life? Have you
really forgotten how screamingly funny we found it
all? It seemed to me that your memory has been
affected by the mud baths." She did not answer that.
I do hope Ada will come. For _I_ need _her_ now just
as much as _she_ needs _me_.

August 4th. Glory be to God, Ada's coming, but
not directly because they begin their family washing
on the 5th and no one can be spared to come over
with her till the 8th. I am so glad, the only thing
I'm sorry about is that _she_ will sleep in the dressing-
room and not Dora. But Mother says that Dora and
I must stay together and that Ada can leave the door
into the dining-room open so that she won't feel lonely.

August 7th. The days are so frightfully long.
Dora is as mild and gentle as a nun, but she talks
to me just as little as a nun, and she's eternally with
Mother. The two dachshunds have been sold to some
one in Neulengbach and so it is so horribly dull.
Thank goodness Ada is coming to-morrow. Father
and I are going to meet her at the station at 6.

August 8th. Only time for a word or two. Ada
is more than a head taller than I am; Father said:
Hullo you longshanks, how you have shot up. I
suppose I must treat you as a grown-up young lady
now? And Ada said: Please, Herr Oberlandesgerichtsrat;
please treat me just as you used to; I
am so happy to have come to stay with you." And
her mother said: Yes, unfortunately she is happy
anywhere but at home; "_that is the way with young
people to-day_." Father helped Ada out and said:
Frau Haslinger, the sap of life was rising in us once,
but it's so long ago that we have forgotten." And
then Frau Dr. H. heaved a tremendous sigh as if
she were suffocating, and Ada took me by the arm
and said under her breath: Can you imagine what
my life is like _now_? Her mother is staying the night
here, and she spent the whole evening lamenting about
everything under the sun (that's what Ada told me
just before we went to bed); but I did not pay much
attention to what Frau H. was doing, for I'm positively
burning with curiosity as to what Ada is going to
talk to me about. To-morrow morning, directly after
breakfast!

August 12th. For 3 days I've had no time to
write, Ada and I have had such a lot to say to one
another. She _can't_ and _won't_ live any longer without
art, she would _rather die than give up her plans_. She
still has to spend a year at a continuation school
and must then either take the French course for the
state examination or else the needlecraft course.
But she wants to do all this in Vienna, so that in
her spare time she can study for the stage under Herr
G. She says she is not in love with him any longer,
that he is only a _means to an end_. She would sacrifice
_anything_ to reach her goal. At first I did not understand
what she meant by anything, but she explained
to me. She has read Bartsch's novel Elisabeth Kott,
the book Mother has too, and a lot of other novels
about artistic life, and they all say the same thing,
that _a woman cannot become a true artist until she
has experienced a great love_. There may be something
in it. For certainly a _great love_ does make one
_different_; I saw that clearly in Dora; when she was
madly in love with Viktor, and the way she's relapsed
now!! She is learning Latin again, to make up for
lost time! Ada does not speak to her about her plans
because Dora _lacks true insight!_ Only to-day she
mentioned before Dora that whatever happened she
wanted to come to Vienna in the autumn so that
she could often go to the theatre. And Dora said:
You are making a mistake, even people who live in
Vienna don't go to the theatre often; for first of all
one has very little time to spare, and secondly one
often can't get a seat; people who live in the country
often fancy that everything is much nicer in Vienna
than it really is.

August 14th. Just a word, quickly. To-day when
Ada was having a bath Mother said to _us two_: "Girls,
I've something to tell you; I don't want you to get
a fright in the night. Ada's mother told me that
Ada is very nervous, and often walks in her sleep."
"I say," said I, "that's frightfully interesting, she
must be _moonstruck_; I suppose it always happens
when the moon is full." Then Mother said: "Tell
me, Gretel, how do you know about all these things?
Has Ada talked to you about them?" "No," said I,
"but the Frankes had a maid who walked in her sleep
and Berta Franke told Hella and me about it." It
has just struck me that Mother said: how do you
know about all _these_ things? So it must have something
to do with _that_. I wonder whether I dare ask
Ada, or whether she would be offended. I'm frightfully
curious to see whether she will walk in her sleep
while she is staying here.

August 15th. Hella's answer came to-day to what
I had written her about the _friendship_ between
Mother and Dora. Of course she does not believe
either that _that_ is why Dora _bade farewell_ to Viktor,
for it is no reason at all. Lizzi has never had any
particular friendship with her mother, and Hella
could never dream of anything of the sort; she thinks
I'm perfectly right, one may be _awfully_ fond of one's
parents, but there simply can't be any question of
a friendship. She would not stand it if I were so
changeable in my friendships. She thinks Dora can
never have had a true friendship, and that is why
she has taken up with Mother now. The Bruckners
are coming back on the 19th because everything is so
frightfully expensive in Gastein. After that most
likely they will go to stay with their uncle in Hungary,
or else to Fieberbrunn in Tyrol. For Hella's name
day I have sent her A Bad Boy's Diary because she
wanted to read it again. Now we have both got it,
and can write to one another which are the best bits
so that we can read them at the same time.

August 20th. _Last night Ada really did walk in
her sleep_, probably we should never have noticed it,
but she began to recite Joan of Arc's speech from
The Maid of Orleans, and Dora recognised it at once
and said: "I say, _Rita_, Ada really is walking in her
sleep." We did not stir, and she went into the dining-
room, but the dining-room door was locked and the
key taken away, for it opens directly into the passage,
and then she knocked up against Mother's sofa and
that woke her up. It was horrible. And then she
lost her way and came into our room instead of going
into her own; but she was already awake and begged
our pardon and said she'd been looking for the W.
Then she went back to her own room. Dora said we
had better pretend that we had not noticed it, for
otherwise we should upset Ada. Not a bit of it, after
breakfast she said: "I suppose I gave you an awful
fright last night; don't be vexed with me, I often
get up and walk about at night, I simply can't stay
in bed. Mother says I always recite when I am
walking like that; do I? Did I say anything?"
"Yes," I said, "you recited Joan of Arc's speech."
"Did I really," said she, "that is because they won't
let me go on the stage; I'm certain I shall go off my
head; if I do, you will know the real reason at any
rate." This sleep-walking is certainly very interesting,
but it makes me feel a little creepy towards Ada,
and it's perfectly true what Dora has always said:
One never knows what Ada is really looking at. It
would be awful if she were really to go off her head.
I've just remembered that her mother was once in an
asylum. I do hope she won't go mad while she is
staying here.

August 21st. Mother heard it too the night before
last. She is so glad that she had warned us, and
Dora says that if she had not known it beforehand
she would probably have had an attack of palpitation.
Father said: "Ada is thoroughly histerical, she has
inherited it from her mother." In the autumn Lizzi
is going to England to finish her education and will
stay there a whole year. Fond as I am of Ada and
sorry as I am for her, she makes me feel uneasy now,
and I'm really glad that she's going home again on
Tuesday. She told me something terrible to-day:
Alexander, he is the actor, has _venereal disease_, because
he was once an officer in the army; she says
that all officers have venereal disease, as a matter of
course. At first I did not want to show that I did not
understand exactly what she meant, but then I asked
her and Ada told me that what was really amiss was
that _that_ part of the body either gets continually
smaller and smaller and is quite eaten away, or else
gets continually larger because it is so frightfully
swollen; the last kind is much better than the other,
for then an operation can help; a retired colonel who
lives in H. was operated upon in Vienna for _this_; but
it did not cure him. There is only one real cure for
a man with a venereal disease, that a young girl should
_give herself_ to a man suffering from it! (Mad. often
said that too), then she gets the disease and he is
cured. That made Ada understand that she did not
really love A., but only wanted him to train her; for
she could never have done that for him, and she did
not know how she could propose _that_ to him even _if_
she had been willing to. Besides, it is generally the
man concerned who asks it of the girl. And when I
said: "But just imagine, what would you do if you
got a baby that way," and she said: "That does not
come into the question, for when a man has venereal
disease it is _impossible_ to have a child by him. But
after all, only a woman who has had a baby can become
a true artist." Franke, who has a cousin on
the stage said something of the same sort to Hella
and me; but we thought, Franke's cousin is only in
the Wiener Theatre, and that might be true there; but
it may be quite different in the Burg Theatre and in
the Opera and even in the People's Theatre. I told
Ada about this, and she said: Oh, well, I'm only a
girl from the provinces, but I have known for ages
that _every_ actress has a child.

23rd. Ada really is a born artist, to-day she read
us a passage from a splendid novel, but oh, how wonderfully,
even Dora said: "Ada, you are really phenominal!"
Then she flung the book away and wept
and sobbed frightfully and said: "My parents are
sinning against their own flesh and blood; but they
will rue it. Do you remember what the old gypsy
woman foretold of me last year: "A _great_ but _short_
career after many difficult struggles; and my line of
life is broken!" That will all happen as predicted,
and my mother can recite that lovely poem of Freiligrath's
or Anastasius Grun's, or whosever it is "Love
as long as thou canst, love as long as thou mayst.
The hour draws on, the hour draws on, when thou
shalt stand beside the grave and make thy moan."
Then Ada recited the whole poem, and when I went to
bed I kept on thinking of it and could not go to sleep.

August 24th. To-day I ventured to ask Ada about
the sleep-walking, and she said that it was really so,
when she walked in her sleep it was always at _that
time_ and when the moon is full. The first time, it was
last year, she did it on purpose in order to frighten
her mother, when her mother had first told her she
would not be allowed to go on the stage. It does not
seem to me a very clever idea, or that she is likely to
gain anything by it. The day after to-morrow someone
is coming to fetch her home, and for that reason
she was crying all the morning.

August 25th. Hella was here to-day with her
mother and Lizzi. Hella had a splendid time in
Gastein. She wanted to have a private talk with
me, to tell me something important. That made it
rather inconvenient that Ada was still there. Hella
never gets on with Ada, and she says too that one
never really knows what she is looking at, she always
looks right through one. We could not get a
_single minute_ alone together for a talk. I do hope
Hella will be able to come over once more before she
goes to Hungary. Last week they went to Fieberbrunn
in Tyrol because an old friend of her mother's from
Berlin is staying there.

August 26th. Ada went home to-day, her father
came to fetch her. He says she has a screw loose,
because she wants to go on the stage.

August 28th. Hella came over to-day; she was
alone and I met her at the steam tram. At first she
did not want to tell me what the important thing was
because it was _not flattering_ to me, but at last she
got it out. The Warths were in Gastein, and since
Hella knows Lisel because they used to go to gym.
together, they had a talk, and that cheeky Robert said:
Is your friend still such a baby as she was that time
in er . . . er . . ., and then he pretended he could
not remember where it was; and he spoke of _that time_
as if it had been 10 years ago. But the most impudent
thing of all was this; he said that I had not
wanted to call him Bob, because that always made me
think of a certain part of the body; I never said anything
of the kind, but only that I thought Bob silly
and vulgar, and then he said (it was before we got
intimate): "Indeed, Fraulein Grete, I really prefer
that you should use my full name." I remember it as
well as if it had happened this morning, and I know
exactly where he said it, on the way to the Red Cross.
Hella took him up sharply: That may be all quite
true, we have never discussed such trifles, and, at that
time we were "all, _every one of us_, still nothing but
children." Of course she meant to include ----. I
won't even write his name. Another thing that made
me frightfully angry is that he said: I dare say your
friend is more like you now, but at that time she was
still quite undeveloped. Hella answered him curtly:
"That's not the sort of phrase that it's seemly to use
to a young lady," and she would not speak to him any
more. I never heard of such a thing, what business is
it of his whether I am _developed_ or not! Hella thinks
that I was not quite particular enough in my choice
of companions. She says that Bob is still nothing but
a Bub [young cub]. That suits him perfectly, Bob--
Bub; now we shall never call him anything but Bub;
that is if we ever speak of him at all. When we don't
like some one we shall call him simply Bob, or better
still B., for we really find it disagreeable to say Bob.

August 31st. The holidays are so dull this year,
Hella has gone to Hungary, and I hardly ever talk
to Dora, at least about anything _interesting_. Ada's
letters are full of nothing but my promises about
Vienna. It's really too absurd, I never promised any-
thing, I merely said I would speak to Mother about
it when I had a chance. I have done so already, but
Mother said: There can be no question of anything
of the kind.

September 1st. Hullo, Hurrah! To-morrow Hella's
father is going to take me to K-- M--in Hungary
to stay with Hella. I am so awfully delighted. Hella
is an angel. When she was ill last Christmas her
father said: She can ask for anything she likes.
But she did not think of anything in particular, and
had her Christmas wishes anyhow, so she saved up
this wish. And after she had been here she wrote to
her father in Cracow, where he is at manoeuvres,
saying that if he would like to grant her her chief
wish, then, when he came back to Vienna, he was to
take me with him to K-- M--; this was really the
_greatest wish_ she had ever had in her life! So Colonel
Bruckner called at Father's office to-day and showed
him Hella's letter. To-morrow at 3 I must be at the
State Railway terminus. Unfortunately that's a horrid
railway. The Western Railway is much nicer, and
I like the Southern Railway better still.

September 2nd. I am awfully excited; I'm going
to Vienna alone and I have to change at Liesing, I
do hope I shall get into the right train. I got a letter
from Hella first thing this morning, in which she
wrote: "Perhaps we shall be together again in a few
days." That's all she said about that; I suppose she
did not know yet whether I was really coming. Mother
will have to send my white blouses after me, because
all but one are dirty. I'm going to wear my coat
and skirt and the pink blouse. I'm going to take
twenty pages for my diary, that will be enough; for
I'm going to write whatever happens, in the mornings
I expect, because in the holidays I'm sure Hella
will never get up before 9; on Sundays in Vienna she
would always like to lie in bed late, but her father
won't let her.

But whatever happens I won't learn to ride, for it
must be awful to tumble off before a strange man.
It was different for Hella, for Jeno, Lajos, and
Erno are her cousins, and one of them always rode
close beside her with his arm round her waist: but
that would not quite do in my case.

September 6th. Oh it is so glorious here. I like
Jeno best, he goes about with me everywhere and
shows me everything; Hella is fondest of Lajos and
of Erno next. But Erno has still a great deal to learn,
for he was nearly flunked in his exam. Next year
Lajos will be a lieutenant, and this autumn Jeno is
going to the military academy, Erno has a slight limp,
nothing bad, but he can't go into the army; he is
going to be a civil engineer, not here, he is to go to
America some day.

I have time to write to-day, for all 4 of them have
gone to S. on their cycles and I have never learned.

It was lovely on the journey! It's so splendid to
travel with an officer, and still more when he is a
colonel. All the stationmasters saluted him and the
guards could not do enough to show their respect.
Of course everyone thought I was his daughter, for
he has always said "Du" to me since I was quite
a little girl. But to Ada Father always says "Sie."
We left the train at Forgacs or Farkas, or whatever
it is called, and Hella's father hired a carriage and
it took us 2 hours to drive to K-- M--. He was
awfully jolly. We had our supper in F., though it
was only half past 6. It was a joke to see all the waiters
tumbling over each other to serve him. It s just
the same with Father, except that the stationmasters
don't all salute. Father looks frightfully distinguished
too, but he is not in uniform.

Here is something awfully interesting: Herr von
Kraics came yesterday from Radufalva, his best friend
left him the Radufalva estate out of gratitude, because
8 years ago he gave up his fiancee with whom the
friend was in love. It's true, Colonel Bruckner says
that K. is a wretched milksop; but I don't think so
at all; he has such fiery eyes, and looks a real Hungarian
nobleman. Hella says that he used to run
himself frantically into debt, because every six months
he had an _intimacy_ with some new woman; and all
the presents he gave _reduced him almost to beggary_.
Still, it's difficult to believe that, for however fond a
woman may be of flowers and sweets, one does not
quite see why that should reduce anyone to beggary.
Before we went to sleep last night Hella told me that
Lajos had already been "infected" more or less; she
says there is not an officer who has not got venereal
disease and that is really what makes them so frightfully
interesting. Then I told her what Ada had told
me about the actor in St. P. But Hella said: I doubt
if that's all true; of course it is more likely since he
was an actor, and especially since he was in the army
at one time, but generally speaking civilians are
_wonderfully_ healthy!!! And she could not stand that in
her husband. Every officer has _lived_ frantically;
that's a polite phrase for having had venereal disease,
and she would never marry a man who had not _lived_.
Most girls, especially when they get a little older;
want the very opposite! and then it suddenly occurred
to me that _that_ was probably the _real_ reason why
Dora _bade farewell_ to _Lieutenant R_., and not the
_friendship with Mother_; it is really awfully funny,
and no one would have thought it of her. Hella's
father thinks me _charming_; he is really awfully nice.
Hella's uncle hardly ever says anything, and when he
does speak he is difficult to understand; Hella's father
says that his sister-in-law wears the breeches. That
would never do for me; the man must be the _master_.
"But not too much so" says Hella. She always gets
cross when her father says that about wearing breeches.
I got an awful start yesterday; we went out on the
veranda because we heard the boys talking, and found
Hella's great uncle lying there on an invalid couch.
She told me about him once, that he's quite off his
head, not really paralysed but only pretends to be.
Hella is terribly afraid of him, because long ago, when
she was only 9 or 10 years old, he wanted to give her
a thrashing. But her uncle came in, and then he let
her go. She says he was only humbugging, but she is
awfully afraid of him all the same. He keeps his
room, and he has a male attendant, because no nurse
can manage him. He ought really to be in an asylum
but there is no high class asylum in Hungary.

September 9th. There was a frightful rumpus
this morning; the great uncle, the people here call
him "kutya mog" or however they spell it, and it
means _mad dog_, well, the great uncle _spied in on us_.
He can walk with a stick, our room is on the ground
floor, and he came and planted himself in front of
the window when Hella was washing and I was just
getting out of bed. Then Hella's father came and
made a tremendous row and the uncle swore horribly
in Hungarian. Before dinner we overheard Hella's
father say to Aunt Olga: "They would be dainty
morsels for that old swine, those innocent children."
We did laugh so, _we_ and _innocent children!!!_
What our fathers really think of us; we innocent!!!
At dinner we did not dare look at one another or
we should have exploded. Afterwards Hella said to
me: I say, do you know that we have the same name
day?" And when I said: "What do you mean, it
seems to me you must have gone dotty this morning,"
she laughed like anything and said: "Don't you see,
December 27th, Holy Innocents' Day!" Oh it did
tickle me. She knew that date although she's a
Protestant because December 27th is Marina's birthday,
and in our letters we used to speak of that deceitful
cat as "The Innocent."

The three boys and I have begun to use "Du" to
one another, at supper yesterday Hella's father said
to Erno: "You seem frightfully ceremonious still,
can't you make up your minds to drop the "Sie?"
So we clinked glasses, and afterwards when Jeno and
I were standing at the window admiring the moon,
he said: You Margot, that was not a real pledge of
good-fellowship, we must kiss one another for that;
hurry up, before anyone comes, and before I could
say No he had given me a kiss. After all it was all
right as it was Jeno, but it would not have done with
Lajos, for it would have been horrid because of Hella,
or Ilonka as they call her here.

Hella has just told me that they saw us kissing
one another, and Lajos said: "Look Ilonka, they
are setting us a good example." We are so awfully
happy here. It's such a pity that on the 16th Jeno and
Lajos have got to leave for the Academy, where
Jeno is to enter and Lajos is in his third year: Erno,
the least interesting of the three, is staying till October.
But that is always the way of life, beautiful
things pass and the dull ones remain. We go out
boating every day, yesterday and to-day by moonlight.
The boys make the boat rock so frightfully that we
are always terrified that it will upset. And then they
say: "You have your fate in your own hands; buy
your freedom and you will be as safe as in Abraham's
bosom."

September 12th. The great uncle _hates us_ since
what happened the other day; whenever he sees us
he threatens us with his stick, and though we are
not really afraid, because he can't do anything to us,
still it's rather creepy. One thinks of all sorts of
things, stories and sagas one has read. That is the
only thing I don't quite like here. But we are leaving
on the 18th. Of course Lajos and Jeno will often
come to see the Bruckners; I'm awfully glad. I
don't know why, I always fancied that they could
only speak Magyar; but that is not so at all, though
they always speak it at home when they are alone.
Hella told me to-day for the first time that all the
flowers on the table by her bed one Sunday in hospital
had been sent by Lajos; and she did not wish to tell
me at that time because he wished her to keep it a
secret. This has made me rather angry, for I see
that I have been much franker with her than she has
been with me.

September 16th. The boys left to-day, and we
stayed up till midnight last night. We had been to
N-- K--, I don't know how to spell these Hungarian
names, and we did not get back till half past 11. It
was lovely. But it seems all the sadder to-day, especially
as it is raining as well. It's the first time it's
rained since I came. Partings are horrid, especially
for the ones left behind; the others are going to new
scenes anyhow. But for the people left behind everything
is hatefully dull and quiet. In the afternoon
Hella and I went into Jeno's and Lajos' room, it had
not been tidied up yet and was in a frightful mess.
Then Hella suddenly began sobbing violently, and
she flung herself on Lajos' bed and kissed the pillow.
_That_ is how she loves him! I'm sure _that_ is the way
Mad. loves the lieutenant, but Dora is simply incapable
of _such_ love, and then she can talk of her _true and
intimate friendship with Mother_. Hella says she has
always been in love with Lajos, but that _her eyes were
first opened_ when she saw Jeno and me going about
together and talking to one another. Now she will
love Lajos for evermore. Next year they will probably
get engaged, she can't be engaged till she is 14 for her
parents would not allow it. It is for her sake that
he is going into the Hussars because she likes the Hussars
best. They all _live frightfully hard_, and are
tremendously smart.

September 21st. Since Saturday we have been back
In Vienna, and Father, Mother, and Dora came back
from Rodaun on Thursday. Dora really is too funny;
since Ada stayed with us and walked in her sleep
Dora is afraid she has been _infected_. She does not
seem to know what the word really means! And while
I was away she slept with Mother, and Father slept
in our room, because she was afraid to sleep alone.
Of course no one takes to walking in their sleep simply
from sleeping alone, but that was only a pretext; Dora
has never been very courageous, in fact she is rather a
coward, and she was simply afraid to sleep alone. If
Father had been afraid too, I suppose I should have
had to come back post-haste, and if I had been afraid
to travel alone, and there had been no one to come with
me, that would have been a pretty state of affairs. I
told them so. Father laughed like anything at my
"_combinations_," and Dora got in a frightful wax.
She is just as stupid and conceited as she was _before_
she fell in love. So Hella is right when she says: Love
enobles [veredelt]. Erno made a rotten joke about
that when he heard Hella say it once. He said:
You've made a slip of the tongue, you meant to say:
Love makes fools of people [vereseltl. Of course
that's because he's not in love with anyone.

September 22nd. School began again to-day. Frau
Doktor M. is perfectly fascinating, she looks splendid
and she said the same to both of us. Thank goodness
she's the head of our class again. In French we have
a new mistress Frau Doktor Dunker, she is perfectly
hideous, covered with pimples, a thing I simply can't
stand in any one; Hella says we must be careful never
to let her handle our books; if she does we might catch
them. In Maths and Physics we have another new
mistress, she is a Doktor too, and she speaks so fast
that none of us can understand her; but she looks
frightfully clever, although she is very small. We
call her "_Nutling_" because she has such a tiny little
head and such lovely light-brown eyes. Otherwise the
staff is the same as last year, and there are a few new
girls and some have left, but only ones we did not
know intimately. This is Franke's last year at the
Lyz., she will be 16 in April and has a splendid figure.
Her worst enemy must admit that. Dora is having
English lessons from the matron, and she is _awfully
pleased_ about it, for she is one of her favourites and
it will help her too in her matriculation.

September 25th. Yesterday and the day before
Mother was so ill that the doctor had to be sent for
at half past 10 at night. Thank goodness she is better
now. But on such days I simply can't write a word
in my diary; I feel as if I oughtn't to. And the days
seem everlasting, for nobody talks much, and it's awful
at mealtimes. Mother was up again to-day, lying on
the sofa.

September 29th. I've had such an awful toothache
since the day before yesterday. Dora says it's only
an ache for a gold filling like Frau Doktor M.'s. Of
course that's absurd; for first of all, surely I ought
to know whether my own tooth hurts or not, and
secondly the dentist says that the tooth really is decayed.
I have to go every other day and I can't say
I enjoy it. At the same time, this year we have such
a frightful lot to learn at school. The Nutling is
really very nice, if one could only understand better
what she says, but she talks at such a rate that in the
Fifth, where she teaches too, they call her Waterfall.
Nobody has ever given Frau Doktor M. a nickname,
not even an endearing one. The only one that could
possibly be given to her is Angel, and that could not
be a real name, it's quite unmeaning. In the drawing
class we are going to draw from still life, and, best
of all, animal studies too, I am so delighted.

October 4th. Goodness, to-day when we were
coming home from the Imperial Festival, we met
Viktor in M. Street, but unfortunately he did not see
us. He was in full-dress uniform and was walking
with 3 other officers whom neither I nor Hella know.
We were frightfully angry because he did not recognise
us; Hella thinks it can only be because we were
both wearing our big new autumn hats, which shade
our faces very much.

October 11th. There was a frightful row in the
drawing lesson to-day. Borovsky had written a note
to one of her friends: The little Jewess, F. (that
means the Nutling) is newly imported from Scandalavia
with her horsehair pate with or without inhabitants."
Something of that sort was what she had
written and as she was throwing it across to Fellner,
Fraulein Scholl turned round at that very moment
and seized the note. "Who is F.?", she asked, but
no one answered. That made her furious and she put
the note in her pocket. At 1 o'clock, when the lesson
was over, Borovsky went up to her and asked her for
the note. Then she asked once more: "Who is F.?"
And Fellner, thinking I suppose that she would help
Borovsky out, said: "She forgot to write Frau Doktor
Fuchs." Then the row began. I can't write it all
down, it would take too long; of course Borovsky will
be expelled. She cried like anything and begged and
prayed, and said she did not mean it, but Fraulein
Scholl says she is going to give the letter to the head.

October 12th. Continuation; the head is laid up
with a chill, so Frl. Scholl gave the note to Frau
Doktor M.; that was both good and bad. Good because
Borovsky will perhaps be able to stay after all,
and bad because Frau Doktor M. was frightfully
angry. She gave us a fine lecture about True Good
Manners, simply splendid. I was so glad that I was
not mixed up in the business, for she did give Borovsky
and Fellner a rating. It's probably true, then,
that her own fiance is a Jew. Its horrible that _she_
above all should be going to have a cruel husband;
at least if all that Resi told us is true; and I expect
there is some truth in it. We are frightfully curious
to know whether the Nutling has heard anything
about it and if so what she will do.

October 13th. I don't think the Nutling can have
heard anything for she seemed just as usual; but
Hella thinks and so do I that she would not show
anything even if Frl. Scholl had told her; anyhow
it was horridly vulgar; one is not likely to pass it
on to the person concerned. Why we think she does
not know anything is that neither Borovsky nor Fellner
were called up.

October 14th. To-day the needlewoman brought
Dora's handkerchiefs with her monogram and the
coronet, lovely; I want some like them for Christmas.
And for Mother she has embroidered six pillow-cases,
these have a coronet too; by degrees we shall have the
coronet upon everything. By the way, here is something
I'd forgotten to write: In one of the first days
of term Father gave each of us one of his new visiting
cards with the new title, I was to give mine to Frau
Doktor M. and Dora hers to Frau Prof. Kreidl, to
have the names properly entered in the class lists.
Frau Prof. Kreidl did not say anything, but Frau
Doktor M. was awfully sweet. She said: "Well,
Lainer, I suppose you are greatly pleased at this rise
in rank?" And I said: "Oh yes, I'm awfully delighted,
but only inside," then she said: That's right;
"Religion, name, and money do not make the man."
Was not that charming! I write the v before my name
awfully small; but anyone who knows can see it.
What a shame that she is not noble! _She_ would be
worthy of it!!

October 15th. Oswald has gone to Leoben to-day,
he is to study mining, but _against_ Father's will. But
Father says that no one must be forced into a profession,
for if he is he will always say throughout life
that he only became this or that on compulsion. The
other evening Dora said that Oswald had only chosen
mining in order to get away from home; if he were to
study law or agricultural chemistry he could not get
away from Vienna, and that is the chief thing to him.
Besides, he is a bit of a humbug; for when he came
home from Graz after matriculation he said in so many
words: "How delightful to have one's legs under one's
own table again and to breathe the _family atmosphere_."
Dora promptly said to him: "Hm, you don't seem
to care so very much about home, for always when
you come home for the holidays the first thing you
do is to make plans for getting away." For she is
annoyed too that Oswald can travel about wherever
he likes. And yet he goes on talking about being
"_subjected to intolerable supervision"!!_ What about
us? He can stay out until 10 at night and _never_
comes to afternoon tea, and in fact does just what he
likes. If I go to supper with Hella and am just ever
so little late, there's a fine row. As for the lectures
poor Dora had to endure when Viktor was waiting for
her, I shall never forget them. Of course she denies
it all now, but I was present at some of them so I
know; otherwise he would not have called me "the
Guardian Angel." She behaves now as if she had
forgotten all about that, so I often remind her of it
on purpose when we are alone together. The other
day she said: "I do beg you, Grete (not Rita), don't
speak any more of that matter; I have buried the
affair for ever." And when I said: "Buried, what
do you mean? A true love can't simply be _buried_
like that," she said: "It was not a true love, and that's
all there is to say about it."

October 16th. I had a frantically anxious time in
the arithmetic lesson to-day. All of a sudden Hella
flushed dark red and I thought to myself: Aha, that's
it! And I wrote to her on my black-line paper: Has
it begun??? for we had agreed that she would tell me
directly, she will be 14 in February and _it_ will
certainly begin soon. Frau Doktor F. said: Lainer,
what was that you pushed over to Br.? and she came
up to the desk and took the black-line paper. "What
does that mean: Has it begun???" Perhaps she
really did not know what I meant, but several of the
girls who knew about it too laughed, and I was in
a terrible fright. But Hella was simply splendid.
"Excuse me, Frau Doktor, Rita asked whether the
frost had begun yet." "And that's the way you spend
your time in the mathematics lesson?" But thank
goodness that made things all right. Only in the
interval Hella said that really I am inconceivably
stupid sometimes. What on earth did I want to write
a thing like that for? _When_ it begins, _of course_
she will let me know directly. As a matter of fact it
has _not_ begun yet. We have agreed now that it will
be better to say "Endt," a sort of portmanteau word
of _developed_ [entwickelt] and _at last_ [endlich] . That
will really be splendid and Hella says that I happened
upon it in a lucid interval. It's really rather cheeky
of her, but after all one can forgive anything to one's
friend. She absolutely insists that I must never again
put her in such a fix in class. Of course it happened
because I am always thinking: Now then, this is the
day.

November 8th. On Father's and Dora's birthday
Mother was so ill that we did not keep it at all. I
was in a terrible fright that Mother was seriously
ill, or even that -- -- -- -- -- No, I won't even
think it; one simply must not write it down even
if one is not superstitious. Aunt Dora came last week
to keep house for Mother. We are not going skating,
for we are always afraid that Mother might get worse
just when we are away. As soon as she is able to
get up for long enough Father is going to take her to
see a specialist in the _diseases of women_; so it must
be true that Mother's illness comes from _that_.

November 16th. Oh it's horrible, Mother has to
have an operation; I'm so miserable that I can't
write.

November 19th. Mother is so good and dear; she
wants us to go skating to take our thoughts off the
operation. But Dora says too that it would be brutal
to go skating when Mother is going to have an operation
in a few days. Father said to us yesterday
evening: "Pull yourselves together children, set your
teeth and don't make things harder for your poor
Mother." But I can't help it, I cry whenever I look
at Mother.

November 23rd. It is so dismal at home since
Mother went away; we had to go to school and we
believed she would not leave until the afternoon, but
the carriage came in the morning. Dora says that
Father had arranged all that because I could not control
myself. Well, who could? Dora cries all day;
and at school I cried a lot and so did Hella.

November 28th. Thank goodness, it's all safely
over, Mother will be home again in a fortnight. I'm
so happy and only now can I realise how _horribly_
anxious I have been. We go every day to see Mother
at the hospital; I wish I could go alone, but we always
go all together, that is either with Father or with
Aunt Dora. But I suspect that Dora does go to see
Mother quite alone, she gave herself away to-day
about the flowers, she behaves as if Mother were only
_her_ mother. On Thursday, the first time we saw
Mother, we all whispered, and Mother cried, although
the operation had made her quite well again. Unfortunately
yesterday, Aunt Alma was there when we
were, and Father said that seeing so many people
at once was too exciting for Mother, and we must
go away. Of course he really meant that Aunt Alma
and Marina had better go away, but Aunt did not
understand or would not. Why on earth did Aunt
come? We hardly ever meet since the trouble about
Marina and that jackanapes Erwin; only when there
is a family party; Oswald says it's not a family
gathering but a family dispersal because nearly always
some one takes offence.

November 30th. To-day I managed to be _alone_
with Mother. At school I said I had an awfully bad
headache and asked if I might go home before the
French lesson; I really had. What I told Mother
was that Frau Doktor Dunker was ill, so we had no
lesson. Really one ought not to tell lies to an invalid,
but this was a _pious fraud_ as Hella's mother always
calls anything of the sort, and no one will find out,
because Frau Doktor Dunker has nothing to do with
the Fourth, so Dora won't hear anything about it.
Mother said she was _awfully pleased_ to be able to see
_me_ alone for once. That absolutely proves that Dora
does go alone. Mother was so sweet, and Sister Klara
said she was a perfect angel in goodness and patience.
Then I burst out crying and Mother had to soothe me.
At first, after I got home, I did not want to say anything
about it, but when we were putting on our things
after dinner to go and see Mother I said en passant
as it were: "This is the second time I shall be seeing
Mother to-day." And when Dora said: What do
you mean? I said quite curtly: "One of our lessons
did not come off, and so I took the chance _too_ of being
able to see Mother _alone_." Then she said: Did the
porter let you in without any trouble? It surprises
me very much that such _very_ young girls, who are
almost children still, are allowed to go in alone.
Luckily Aunt came in at that moment and said: "Oh
well, nobody thinks Gretl quite a child now, and _both
of you_ can go alone to the hospital all right." On the
way we did not speak to one another.

December 5th. For St. Nicholas day we took
Mother a big flower pot, and tied to the stick was a
label on which Father had written; "Being ill is
punishable as an unpermissible offence in the sense
of Section 7 the Mothers' and Housewives' Act." Mother
was frightfully amused. The doctor says she is going
on nicely, and that she will be able to come home in
a few days.

December 6th. It was awful to-day. In the
evening when we were leaving the dining-room Father
said: "Gretl you have forgotten something. And
when I came back he took me by the hand and said:
"Why didn't you tell me that you want so much to
see Mother _alone_? You need not make such a secret
of it." And then I burst out crying and said: "Yes,
I need not keep it secret from you, but I don't like
Dora to know all about it. Did she tell you what
happened the other day?" But Father does not know
anything about my pretended headache, but only that
I wanted so much to see Mother alone. He was
awfully kind and kissed and petted me, saying:
"You are a dear little thing, little witch, I hope you
always will be." But I got away as quick as I could,
for I felt so ashamed because of my fibbing. If it
were not for Dora I'm sure I should never tell any
lies.

December 6th. Father is an angel. He and I went
to see Mother in the morning, and Aunt and Dora
went in the afternoon. And since Father had to go
into the Cafe where he had an appointment with a
friend, I went on alone to see Mother and he came in
afterwards. Mother asked me about my Christmas
wishes; but I told her I had only one wish, that she
should get well and live for ever. I was awfully glad
that Dora was not there, for I could never have got
that out before her. Still, she made me tell her my
wishes after all, so I said I wanted handerkerchiefs
with "monogram and coronet," visiting cards with _von_,
a satchel like that which most of the girls in the _higher_
classes have, and the novel Elizabeth Kott. But I am
not to have the novel, for Mother was horrified and
said: My darling child, that's not the sort of book for
you; who on earth put that into your head; Ada, I
suppose? From what I know of your tastes, it really
would not suit you at all. So I had to give that up,
but I'm certain I should not find the book stupid.

December 11th. Mother came home again to-day;
we did not know what time she was coming, but only
that it was to be to-day. And because I was so glad
that Mother is quite well again, I sang two or three
songs, and Mother said: That is a good omen when
one is greeted with a song. Then Dora was annoyed
because _she_ had not thought of singing. We had
decorated the whole house with flowers.

December 15th. I am embroidering a cushion for
Mother and Dora is making her a footstool so that
she can sit quite comfortably when she is reading.
For Father we have bought a new brief bag because
his own is so shabby that it makes us quite ashamed;
but he always says: "It will do for a good while yet."
For a long time I did not know what to get for Aunt
Dora, and at length we have decided upon a lace
fichu; for she is awfully fond of lace. I am giving
Hella a sketch book and a pencil case; she draws
beautifully and will perhaps become an artist, for Dora
I am getting a vanity bag and for Oswald a cigarette
case with a horse's head on it, for he is frightfully
taken up with racing and the turf.

December 16th. Owing to Mother's illness I've
had simply no time to write anything about the school,
although there has been a _great deal_ to write about,
for example that Prof. W. is very friendly again,
although he no longer gives us lessons, and that most
of the girls can't bear the Nutling because she makes
such favourites of the Jewish girls. It's quite true
that she does, for example Franke, who is never any
good, will probably get a Praiseworthy in Maths and
Physics; and she lets Weinberger do anything she
likes. I always get Excellent both for school work
and prep.; so it really does not matter to me, but
Berbenowitsch is frightfully put out because she is
no longer the favourite as she was with Frau Doktor
St. The other day it was quite unpleasant in the
Maths lesson. In the answer to a sum there happened
to be 1-3, and then the Nutling asked what 1-3 would
be as a decimal fraction; so we went on talking about
recurring [periodic] decimals and every time she used
the word _period_, some of the girls giggled, but luckily
some of them were Jews, and she got perfectly savage
and simply screamed at us. In Frau Doktor St's
lesson in the First, some of the girls giggled at the
same thing and she went on just as if she had not
noticed it, but afterwards she always spoke of _periodic
places_, and then one does not think of the real meaning
so much. Frau Doktor F. said she should complain
to Frau Doktor M. about our unseemly behaviour.
But really all the girls had not giggled, for ex. Hella
and I simply exchanged glances and understood one
another at once. I can't endure that idiotic giggling.

December 20th. Oswald came home to-day; he's
fine. It's quite true that he has really had a moustache
for a long time, but was not allowed to grow it at the
Gymnasium; in boarding schools the barber comes
every Saturday, and they _have_ to be shaved. He
always says that at the Gymnasium everything manly
is simply suppressed. I am so glad I am not a man
and need not go to Gymnasium. Anyhow he has a
splendid moustache now. Hella did not recognise
him at first and drew back in alarm, she only knew
him after a moment by his voice. We have reckoned
it up, and find that she has not seen him since the
Easter before last. At first he called her Fraulein,
but her mother said: Don't be silly. It did not seem
silly to me, but most polite!!!

December 23rd. Mother is so delighted that Oswald
is home again and he really is awfully nice; he is
giving her a wonderful flowers-of-iron group representing
a mountain scene with a forest, and in the foreground
some roe deer as if in a pasture.

December 25th. Only time for a few words. Mother
was very well yesterday, and it has not done her any
harm to stay up so long. I am so happy. We both
got a tie pin with a sapphire and 3 little diamonds,
they have been made out of some earrings which
Mother never wears now. But the nice thing about
it is that they are made from her earrings. The satchel
and Stifter's Tales are awfully nice and so are the
handkerchiefs with the coronet and everything else.
Hella gave me a reticule with my monogram and the
coronet as well. Oswald has given Dora and me
small paperweights and Father a big one, bronze
groups. We really need two writing tables, but there
is no room for two. So I am going to arrange the
little corner table as my writing table and have all
my things there.

December 27th. At the Bruckners yesterday it
was really awful. Hella's mother is perfectly right;
when anyone looks like _that_ she ought not to pay
visits when she knows that other people may be there.
Hella told me the day before yesterday how frightfully
noticeable it is in her cousin that she is in an i-- c--!
Her mother was very much put out on her account
and she wanted to prevent Emmy's standing up. We
were simply disgusted and horrified. But her husband
is awfully gentle with her; She is certainly not pretty
and especially the puffiness under her eyes is horrid.
They say that many women look like that when they
are pr. She was wearing a _maternity dress_, and that
gives the whole show away! Hella says that some
women look awfully pretty when they are in an
i-- c--, but that some look hideous. I do hope I
shall be one of the first kind, if I ever . . . No, it
is really horrible, even if it makes one pretty; when I
think of Frau von Baldner and what she looked like
last summer, yet Father has always said she is a
a perfect beauty. Really no one is pretty in an
i-- c--. Soon after tea Hella and I went up to
her room, and she said it had really been too much
for her and that she could not have stood it much
longer. And we went on talking about it for such a
long time, that it really made both of us nearly ill.
On Sunday Emmy and her husband are coming to
dine with the Brs., and Hella begged me to ask her to
dinner with us, or she would be quite upset. So of
course she is coming here and thank goodness that
will save her from feeling ill. And then she said that
I must not think she wanted to come to us because of
Oswald, but only for that _other_ reason. I understand
that perfectly well, and she does not need to make any
excuses to me.

29th. Hella came to dinner to-day, she was wearing
a new dress, a light strawberry colour, and it suited
her admirably. In the evening Oswald said: "two
or three years more, and Hella will look ripping."
It does annoy me so this continual _will_. Hella's
father simply said of me that I _was_ charming,, and not
that idiotic: I _was going to become_ charming. I do
hate the way people always talk out into the future.
However, Oswald paid Hella a great deal of attention.
In the afternoon, when Hella and I were talking about
him, I wanted to turn the conversation to Lajos, but
she flushed up and said he was utterly false, for since
October he had only been to see them once, on a Sunday,
just when they were going to the theatre. Of
course he says he does not care a jot about the visits
unless he can see her alone. She can't realise that
that shows the greatness of his love. I understand it
perfectly. But it is really monstrous that Jeno has
asked after me only once, quite casually. And he
really might have sent me a card at Christmas. But
that's what young men are like. The proverb really
applies to them: Out of sight out of mind.

December 30th. Frau Richter called to-day, but
only in the morning for a quarter of an hour. Not
a word was said about Viktor, though I stayed in
the drawing-room on purpose. Dora did not put in
an appearance, though I'm sure she was at home.
He is extraordinarily like his mother, he has the same
lovely straight nose, and the small mouth and well-
cut lips; but he is very tall and she is quite small
half a head shorter than Mother. We owe them a
call, but I don't much think that we shall go.

December 31st. I really have no time, since this is
New Year's Eve, but I simply _must_ write. Dora and
I went skating this morning, and we met Viktor on
the ice; he went frightfully pale, saluted, and spoke
to us; Dora wished to pass on, but he detained her
and said that she must allow him to have a talk, so
he came skating with us since she would not go to
a confectioner's with him. She was certainly quite
right not to go to a confectioner's. Of course I don't
know what they talked about, but in the afternoon
Dora cried frightfully, and Viktor never said good-bye
to me; it's impossible that he can have forgotten, so
either I must have been too far away at the time, or
else Dora did not want him to; most likely the latter.
I'm frantically sorry for him, for he is passionately
in love with her. But she won't come to her senses
until it is too late. I don't think she has said a word
to Mother either. But all the afternoon she was playing
melancholy music, and that shows how much she
had felt it.

January 2nd. Yesterday I had no time to write
because we had callers, pretty dull for the most part,
the Listes and the Trobisches; Julie Tr. is such a
stupid creature, and I don't believe she knows the
first thing about _those matters_; Annie is not quite
all there, Lotte is the only tolerable one. Still, since
we played round games for prizes, it was not as dull
as it might have been, and Fritz and Rudl are quite
nice boys. In the evening Mother was so tired out
that Father said he really must put a stop to all this
calling; I can't say I care much myself for _that_ sort
of visits, especially since Dora always will talk about
_books_. People always talk about such frightfully dull
books whenever they have nothing else to say. School
began again to-day, with a German lesson thank goodness.
Though I'm not superstitious in general, I must
say I do like a good beginning. Besides, first thing
in the morning we met two chimneysweeps, and without
our having tried to arrange it in any way they
passed us on our _left_. That ought to bring good luck.

January 5th. Most important, Hella since yesterday
evening -- -- -- --! She did not come to school
yesterday, for the day before she felt frightfully bad,
and her mother really began to think she was going
to have another attack of appendicitis. Instead of
that!!! She looks so ill and interesting, I spent the
whole afternoon and evening with her; and at first
she did not want to tell me what was the matter.
But when I said I should go away if she did not tell
me, she said: "All right, but you must not make
such idiotic faces, and above all you must not look
at me." "Very well," I said, "I won't look, but tell
me everything about it." So then she told me that she
had felt frantically bad, as if she was being cut in
two, much worse than after the appendicitis operation,
and then she had frantically high fever and shivered
at the same time, all Friday, and yesterday -- -- --
tableau!! And then her mother told her the chief
things, though she knew them already. Earlier on
Friday the doctor had said: "Don't let us be in a
hurry to think about a relapse, there may be _other!!_
causes." And then he whispered to her mother,
but Hella caught the word _enlighten_. Then she knew
directly what time of day it was. She acted the innocent
to her mother, as if she knew nothing at all, and
her mother kissed her and said, now you are not a
child any more, now you belong among the grown-ups.
How absurd, so _I_ am still a child! After all, on July
30th I shall be 14 too, and at least one month before I
shall have it too, so I shan't be a _child_ for more than
six months more. Hella and I laughed frightfully,
but she is really a little puffed up about it; she won't
admit that she is, but I noticed it quite clearly. The
only girl I know who did not put on airs when that
happened was Ada. Because of the school Hella is
awfully shy, and before her father too. But her
mother has promised her not to tell him. If only one
can trust her!!!

January 7th. Hella came to school to-day _in spite
of everything_. I kept on looking at her, and in the
interval she said: "I have told you already that you
must not stare at me in that idiotic way, and this is
the second time I've had to speak to you about it.
One must not make a joke about such things." I was
not going to stand that. One must not look at her;
very well, in the third lesson I sat turning away from
her; then suddenly she hooked one of my feet with
hers so that I nearly burst out laughing, and she said:
"Do look round, for that way is even stupider." Of
course Dunker promptly called us to order, that is, she
told Hella to go on reading, but Hella said promptly
that she felt very unwell, and that what she had said
to me was, she would have to go home at 12. All
the girls looked at one another, for they all know what
_unwell_ means, and Frau Doktor Dunker said Hella
had better leave directly, but she answered in French
--that pleases Dunker awfully--that she would
rather stay till the end of the lesson. It was simply
splendid!

January 12th. We went to the People's Theatre
to-day to the matinee of The Fourth Commandment.
The parting from the grandmother was lovely; almost
everyone was in tears. I managed to keep from crying
because Dora was only two places from me, and
so did Hella, probably for the same reason. Anyway
she was not paying much attention to the play for in
the main interval Lajos, who had been in the stalls,
came up and said how d'you do to Hella and her
mother. He wanted to go home with them after the
performance. Jeno has mumps, it is a horrid sort of
illness and if I had it I should never admit it. Those
illnesses in which one is swelled up are the nastiest
of all. The Sunday after next Lajos and Jeno have
been invited to the Brs. and of course they asked me
too, I am so glad.

January 18th. I have not written for a whole week,
we have such a frantic lot of work, especially in
French in which we are very backward, at least
Dunker says so!! She can't stand Madame Arnau,
that's obvious. For my part I liked Mad. Arnau a
great deal better, if only because she had no pimples.
And Prof. Jordan's History class is awfully difficult,
because he always makes one find out the causes
for oneself; one has to learn _intelligently!_, but that
is very difficult in History. No one ever gets an
Excellent from him, except Verbenowitsch sometimes,
but she learns out of a book, not our class book, but
the one on which Herr Prof. J. bases his lectures.
And because she reads it all up beforehand, naturally
she always knows all the causes of the war and the
_consequences_. Really _consequences_ means something
quite different, and so Hella and I never dare look
at one another when he is examining us and asks:
What were the consequences of this event? Of
course the Herr Prof. imagined that Franke was
laughing at _him_ when she was only laughing at
_consequences_; and it was impossible for her to explain,
especially to a gentleman!!!!

January 20th. When Dora and I were coming
home from skating to-day we met Mademoiselle, and
I said how d'you do to her at once, and I was asking
her how _she_ (much emphasised) was getting on, when
suddenly I noticed that Dora had gone on, and
Mademoiselle said: "Your sister seems in a great
hurry, I don't want to detain her." When I caught
Dora up and asked her: "Why did you run away?"
she tossed her head and said: "That sort of company
does not suit me." "What on earth do you mean,
you were so awfully fond of Mad., and besides she
is really lovely." That's true enough, she said; but
it was awfully tactless of her to tell me of all that--
you know what. Such an intimacy behind her parents'
backs _cannot possibly lead to_ happiness. Then I got
in such a fearful temper and said: "Oh do shut up.
Father and Mother did not know anything about
Viktor either, and you were happy enough then. It
is just the secrecy that makes one so happy." Then
she said very softly: "Dear Grete, you too will
change your views," and then we did not say another
word. But I was awfully angry over her meanness;
for first of all she wanted to hear the whole story,
although Mad. never offered to tell her, and now she
pretends that _she_ did not wish it. If I only knew
where to find Mad. I would warn her. Anyhow, this
day week at 7 I shall take care to be in W. Street,
and perhaps I may meet her, for she probably has
a private lesson somewhere in that neighborhood.

January 24th. Mother is very ill again to-day,
_in spite of_ the operation. I have decided that I
won't go on Sunday to the Brs. although Jeno will
be there, and that I won't wait about for Mademoiselle
on Monday. I have not told Hella anything about
this for she would probably say it was very stupid
of me, but I would rather not; not because Dora
has twice spoken to me pointedly about a _clear
conscience_, but because I don't enjoy anything when
Mother is ill.

January 26th. Mother is an angel. Yesterday she
asked Aunt Dora: "By the way, Dora, has Grete put
a fresh lace tucker in her blue frock, ready for the
Brs. to-morrow?" Then I said: "I'm not going
Mother," and Mother asked: "But why not, surely
not on my account?" Then I rushed up to her and
said: "I can't enjoy anything when you are ill."
And then Mother was so awfully sweet, and she wept
and said: "_Such moments_ make one forget all pains
and troubles. But really you _must_ go, besides I'm
a good deal better to-day, and to-morrow I shall be
quite well again." So I answered: "All right, I'll go,
but only if you are _really_ well. But you must tell
me _honestly_." But in any case I shan't go to meet
Mademoiselle on Monday.

January 28th. It was Mathematics to-day at
school, so I could not write yesterday. We had a
heavenly time on Sunday. We laughed till our sides
ached and Hella was nearly suffocated with laughing.
Lajos is enough to give one fits; it was absolutely
ripping the way he imitated the wife of Major Zoltan
in the Academy and Captain Riffl. I can hardly
write about it, for my hand shakes so with laughing
when I think of it. And then, while Hella and Lajos
were singing songs together, Jeno told me that every
student in the Neustadt has an inamorata, a _real_ one.
Mostly in Vienna, but some in Wiener Neustadt
though that is dangerous because of being caught.
All the officers know about it, but no one must be
found out. Then I told him about Oswald's affair
and he said: "Oswald was a great donkey, you'll
excuse me for saying so since he's your brother; but
really he made a fool of himself. He was only a
civilian; it's quite different in the army." Then I got
cross and said: "That's all very well, Jeno, but you
are not an officer yourself, so I don't see how you can
know anything about it." Then he said to Hella:
"I say, Ilonka, you must keep your friend in better
order, she is rather inclined to be insubordinate."
She is to make a written note of every act of
_insubordination_, and then he will administer _exemplary_
punishment. All very fine, but it will take two to that.

January 30th. I wish I knew whether Mademoiselle
really passed through W. Street again at 7 o'clock
on Monday, for she certainly said very distinctly:
"Au revoir, ma cherie!" She is so pretty and so pale;
perhaps she is really ill, and she must be awfully nervous
about -- -- -- That would be terrible. We wonder
whether she knows about certain means, but one
simply can't tell her.

February 2nd. I've had a wonderful idea and
Hella thinks it a positive inspiration. We are going
to write anonymously to Mademoiselle about those
means, and Hella will write, so that no one can recognise
my writing. We think something of that sort
must have happened to Mademoiselle, for the other
day I heard Mother say to Aunt Dora: "If we had
known that, we should never have engaged her for
the children; it will be a terrible thing for her parents."
And Aunt Dora said: "Yes, those are the sort of
people who hide their disgrace under the water." It
seems quite clear, for _disgrace_ means an _illegitimate_
child. And the worst of it is, that they know that she
has done _that_. We must help the poor thing. And
_that_ is why Dora is so indignant all of a sudden. But
how can she know? there is nothing to notice yet in
Mademoiselle; if there had been I should certainly
have seen it, for Hella often says I've a keen eye for
it. That is quite true, I was the first person to notice
it in the maid at Prof. Hofer's, when even Father had
not noticed it.

February 4th. Well, we nave written to her, at
least Hella has, saying there are _such_ means, and that
she will find all the details in the encyclopedia. We
have addressed it to F. M. and signed it "Someone
who understands you." Unfortunately we shall never
be able to find out whether she got the letter, but the
main thing is that she _should_.

February 7th. What a frightful lot of anxiety a
letter can give one! In the interval to-day the school
servant came up to me and said: Please are you
Fraulein Lainer of the Third. "There is a letter for
you." I blushed furiously, for I thought, it must
be from Mademoiselle, but my blushing made Frau
Berger think it must be from a young man: "Really
I ought to give it to the head mistress; I am not
allowed to deliver any letters to the pupils, but in
your case I will make an exception. But please remember
if it happens again I shall have to hand it
in to the office." Then I said: "Frau Berger, I am
quite certain it is not from a gentleman, but from a
young lady," and when she gave it to me I saw directly
that it really was not from a gentleman but only from
Ada! It really is too stupid of her! At the New
Year she reproached me for having broken my word,
and now she begs me to enquire at the Raimund
Theatre or at the People's Theatre whether Herr G.
is there; she says she can't live without him in St. P.
But in the holidays she told me that she was not
in love with him, that for her he was only _a means
to an end_. I'm absolutely certain she said that.
Nothing will induce me to go to enquire at a theatre
_office_, and Hella says too that to make _such_ a suggestion
is a piece of impudence. I shall just write her an
ordinary letter, telling her what a row she might have
got me into at school. I really think Ada has a bee
in her bonnet, as Father always says.

February 10th. I never heard of such a thing!
I was sent for to the office to-day because the school
servant had complained that on two occasions I had
thrown down some orange peel at the entrance. It's
quite true that I did drop one piece there yesterday,
but I pushed it out of the way with my foot into the
corner, and as for any other time I know nothing
about it. But I see which way the wind is blowing.
Frau Berger thought I would give her some money
for that letter; just fancy, how absurd, money for a
letter like that, I wouldn't give 20 kreuzer for such
a letter. But since then she's been in a frightfully
bad temper, I noticed it on Wednesday when we were
wiping our shoes at the door. What I said to the
head was: It happened only once, and I kicked the
peel into the corner where no one could tread on it,
but I certainly did not do it twice, and Bruckner can
confirm what I say." Then the head said: "Oh
well, we need not make a state affair of it, but the
next time you drop something, please pick it up."
Frau Berger is furious, and all we girls in our class
have decided that while we won't make more mess
than we need, still, we shan't be too particular. If
any one of us happens to drop a piece of paper she will
just let it lie. Such cheek, one really can't stand it!

February 12th. We got our reports to-day. I have
not got any Satisfactories, only Praiseworthy and
Excellent. Father and Mother are awfully pleased
and they have given each of us 2 crowns. Indeed
Dora has practically nothing but Excellents, only
three Praiseworthies; but she studies frantically hard,
and she is learning Latin again with Frau Doktor M.
If she is still teaching the lower classes next year,
I shall go too, for that way we shall have her for
3 hours longer each week. By the way, Franke has
actually got Praiseworthy in Maths. and Physics,
though she's hardly any good. The Nutling seems to
give extraordinarily good reports, for twice in the
Maths. schoolwork Hella has had an Unsatisfactory,
and yet now in her report she has Praiseworthy.
With Frau Doktor M. one has really to deserve one's
report, and it was just the same last year with Fr.
Dr. St. The worst of all is with Herr Prof. Jordan.
Not a single one of us has got an Excellent except
that deceitful cat Verbenowitsch. To-morrow the Brs.
are giving a great birthday party because of Hella's
14th birthday. Lajos and Jeno are coming and the
two Ehrenfelds, because Hella is very fond of them,
especially Trude, the elder, that is she is 2 days older
than Kitty, for they are _twins!!_ How awful!!!
They only came to the Lyz this year, and Hella meets
them skating every day, I don't because we have no
season tickets this year but only take day tickets when
we can go, because of Mother's illness. I am giving
Hella an electric torch with a very powerful reflector,
so that it really lights up the whole room, and an
amber necklace.

February 14th. It's a good thing that we have
the half-term holiday to-day and to-morrow for that
gives me time to write all about yesterday. It was
simply phenomenal! I went to wish Hella many
happy returns quite early, and I stayed to dinner
and Lajos and Jeno had been invited to dinner too
in the afternoon the 2 Ehrenfelds came and brought
a box of sweets, and 3 of Hella's girl cousins and two
boys, one of whom is frightfully stupid and never
speaks a word, and several aunts and other ladies,
for the grown-ups had their friends too. But we did
not bother about them, for the dining-room, Lizzi's
room, and Hella's room had been arranged for us.
Hella had been sent such a lot of flowers that
they nearly gave us a headache. At dinner Lajos
proposed a toast to Hella and another at tea. Hella
was splendid, and in the evening she said to me: "At
14 one really does become a different being." For
in proposing his toast Lajos had said that every 7
years a human being is completely changed, and Hella
thinks that is perfectly true. Thank goodness, _in 6 1/2
months I shall change my whole being too_. There
really did seem to be something different about her,
and when we all had to blow to extinguish the candles
on her birthday cake, all except the life-light in the
middle, as a sign that the other years have passed,
she really got quite pale, for she was afraid that in
joke or through awkwardness some one would blow
out her life-light. Thank goodness it was all right.
I don't much care for such things myself, for I'm
always afraid that something might happen. Of
course I know that it's only a superstition, but it
would have been horribly unpleasant if anyone had
blown out the life-light. _Openly!!_ Lajos gave Hella
an enormous _square_ box of sweets, and _secretly!!_ a
silver ring with a heart pendant. He wanted her
to wear this until it is replaced by a _gold_ one--the
_wedding_ ring. But she can't because of her parents,
so she begged me to allow her to say that I had given
it her, but that would not do either because of Father
and Mother. _These_ things are such a nuisance, and
that is why no young man will ever go on living at
home where one is continually being questioned about
everything one has, and does, and wears. After tea
we sang: "Had I but stayed on my lonely Hearth"
and other sad songs, because they are the prettiest,
and in the evening we danced while Hella's Father
played for us; and then Elwira, the tall cousin,
danced the czardas with Lajos, it was wonderful.
I've never known such a birthday party as yesterday's.
It's only possible in winter; you can never have anything
like it on my birthday, July 30th, for the people
one is fondest of are never all together at that time.
Really no one ought to have a birthday in the holiday
months, but always sometime between the end of Sep-
tember and June. I do wish I were 14, I simply
can't wait. Hella's mother said to Hella, You are
not a child any longer, but a grown-up; I do wish
I were too!!!

February 16th. We have a new schoolfellow. All
the girls and all the staff are delighted with her. She
is so small she might be only 10, but awfully pretty.
She has brown curls (Hella says foxy red, but I don't
agree) hanging down to her shoulders, large brown
eyes, a lovely mouth, and a complexion like milk and
roses. She is the daughter of a bank manager in
Hamburg; he shot himself, I don't know why. Of
course she is in mourning and it suits her wonderfully.
She has a strong North German accent. Frau Doktor
Fuchs is simply infatuated with her and the head is
awfully fond of her too.

February 19th. Hella and I walked home to-day
with Anneliese. She is called Anneliese von Zerkwitz.
Her mother has been so frightfully upset by her
father's death that she'll probably have to be sent to a
sanatorium; that is why Anneliese has come to Vienna
to stay with her uncle. He is a professor and they
live in Wiedner Hauptstrasse. Dora thinks her
charming too, the whole school is in love with her,
she is going to gym. with us; I am so glad. Of
course she won't stand near Hella and me because
she's so small; but we can always keep an eye on her,
show her everything, and help her with the apparatus.
Hella is a trifle jealous and says: "It seems to me
that Anneliese has quite taken my place in your
affections." I said that was not a bit true, but did she
not think Anneliese awfully loveable? "Yes," said
Hella, "but one must not neglect old friends on that
account." "I certainly shan't do anything of the
kind; but Anneliese really needs some one who will
show her everything and explain everything." Besides,
the head mistress and Frau Doktor M. placed
her in front of me and said to us: "Give her a
helping hand."

February 20th. It's such a pity that I can't ask
Anneliese here, for Mother has been in bed for the
last week. But she is going to Hella's on Sunday,
and since I am going too of course I am frightfully
glad. Naturally I would much rather have her here;
but unfortunately it's impossible because of Mother.
Dora thinks that Mother will have to have another
operation, but I don't believe it, for _such_ an operation
can only be done _once_. What I can't understand
is why there should be anything wrong with Mother
if the operation was successful. Dora is afraid that
Mother has cancer, that would be horrible; but I
don't believe she has, because if one has cancer one
can't recover.

February 23rd. It was heavenly at the Bruckners!
Anneliese did not come until 4, for they don't have
dinner until 3. She wore a white embroidered frock
with black silk ribbons. Hella's mother kissed her
with tears in her eyes. For her mother really is in
a sanatorium because is suffering from _nervous_
disease. Anneliese is living with her uncle and aunt.
But she often cries because of her father and mother.
Still, she enjoyed herself immensely in the round
games, winning all the best prizes, a pocket comb
and mirror, a box of sweets, a toy elephant, a negro
with a vase, and other things as well. I won a pen-
wiper, a double vase, a pencil holder, a lot of sweets,
and a note book, Hella won a lot of things too, and so
did her two cousins and Jenny.

Then we had some music and Anneliese sang the
Wacht am Rhein and a lot of folk songs; her voice is
as sweet as herself. She was fetched at 7, I stayed till 8.

March 1st. To-morrow Hella and I have been in
vised to Anneliese's. I am so awfully glad. I shall
ask Mother to let me wear my new theatre blouse
and the green spring coat and skirt. The temperature
went up to 54 degrees to-day.

March 3rd. Yesterday we went to Anneliese's.
She shares a room with her cousin; she is only 11
and goes to the middle school, but she is a nice girl
I expected to find everything frightfully smart at
Professor Arndt's, but it was not so at all. They
have only 3 rooms not particularly well furnished.
He has retired on a pension, Emmy is their granddaughter,
she lives with them because her father is
in Galicia, a captain or major I think. It was not
so amusing as at Hella's. We played games without
prizes, and that is dull; it is not that one plays for
the sake of the prizes, but what's the use of playing
if one does not win anything? Then they read aloud
to us out of a story book. But what Hella and I
found exasperating was that Anneliese's uncle said
"Du" to us both. For Hella is 14, and I shall be
14 in a few months. But Hella was quite right; in
conversation she said: "At the High School only
the mistresses say Du to us, the professors _have_ to
say Sie." Unfortunately he went away soon after,
so we don't know whether he took the hint. Hella
says too that it was not particularly entertaining.

March 9th. Oh dear, Mother really has got cancer;
of course Father has not told us so, but she has to
have another operation. Dora has cried her eyes out
and my knees are trembling. She's going to hospital
on Friday. Aunt Dora is coming back on Thursday
and will stay here till Mother is well again. I do
so dread the operation, and still more Mother's going
away. It's horrible, but still lots of people have
cancer and don't die of it.

March 22nd. Mother is coming home again tomorrow.
Oh I am so glad! Everything is so quiet
in the hospital and one hardly dares speak in the
passages. Mother said: "I don't want to stay here
any longer, let me go back to my children." We
went to see Mother in hospital every day and took
her violets and other flowers, for she was not allowed
to eat anything during the first few days after the
operation. But it's quite different now that she's
home again. I should have liked to stay away from
school to-day, but Mother said: "No, children, go
to school, do it to please me." So of course we went,
but I simply could not attend to my lessons.

March 24th. Mother is asleep now. She looks
frightfully ill and still has a lot of pain. I'm sure the
doctors can't really understand her case; for if they
had operated properly she would not still have pain
after the _second_ operation. I should like to know
_what_ Mother has been talking to Dora about, for they
both cried. Although Dora and I are on good terms
now, she would not tell me, but said she had promised
Mother not to speak about it. I can't believe that
Mother has told Dora a _secret_, but perhaps it was
something about marrying. For Dora only said:
"Besides, Mother did not need to say that to me,
for my mind was quite made up in any case." I do
hate such hints, it's better to say nothing at all. As
soon as Mother can get up she is going to Abbazia
for a change, and most likely Dora will go with her.

March 26th. Mother and Dora are going to Abbazzia
next week. Dora thinks I envy her the journey,
and she said: "I would _willingly_ renounce the jour-
ney and the seaside if only Mother would get well
And this year when I have to matriculate, I certainly
should not go for pleasure." I'm so awfully miserable
that I simply can't wear a red ribbon in my hair,
though red suits me best. I generally wear a black
one now, but since yesterday a brown one, for Mother
said: "Oh, Gretel, do give up that black ribbon;
it looks so gloomy and does not suit you at all. Of
course I could not tell Mother _how_ I was feeling, so
I took the brown one and said the red ribbon was
quite worn out.

April 12th. I never get my diary written. It's so
gloomy at home for Mother is very bad. Oswald is
coming home to-morrow for the Easter holidays and
Mother is looking forward so to seeing him. I was
to have gone with Hella and her father to Maria-Zell,
for this year they are probably going to take a house
for the summer in Mitterbach or Mitterberg near
Maria-Zell. But I am not going after all, for I don't
feel inclined, and I think Mother is better pleased
that I should not; for she said: "So I shall have all
my three darlings together here at Easter." When
she said that I wanted to cry, and I ran quickly out
of the room so that she might not see me. But she
must have seen, for after dinner she said: "Gretel,
if you really _want_ to go with the Bruckners, I should
like you to; I should be so glad for you to have a little
pleasure, you have not had much enjoyment all the
winter." And then I could not stop myself, and I
burst out crying and said: "No, Mother, I won't go
on any account. All I want is that you should get
quite well again." And then Mother cried too and
said: Darling, I'm afraid I shall never be quite well
again, but I should like to stay until you are all grown
up; after that you won't need me so much." Then
Dora came in and when she saw that Mother was
crying she said that Father had sent for me. He
hadn't really but in the evening she told me that
Mother's illness was hopeless, but that I must not do
anything to upset her or let her see what I was feeling.
And then we both cried a lot and promised
one another that we would always stay with Father.

May 16th. Mother died on April 24th, the Sunday
after Easter. We are all so awfully unhappy. Hardly
anyone says a word at mealtimes, only Father speaks
to us so lovingly. Most likely Aunt Dora will stay
here for good. It's not three weeks yet since Mother
was buried, but in one way we feel as if she had already
been dead three years, and in another way one
is always suddenly wanting to go into her room, to
ask her something or tell her something. And when
we go to bed we talk about her for such a long time,
and then I dream about her all night. Why should
people die? Or at least only quite old people, who
no longer have anyone to care about it. But a mother
and a father ought never to die. The night after
Mother died Hella wanted me to come and stay with
them, but I preferred to stay at home; but late in
the evening I did not dare to go into the hall alone,
so Dora went with me. Father had locked the door
into the drawing-room, where Mother was laid out,
but all the same it was awfully creepy. They did
not call me on the 24th until after Mother was dead;
I should have so liked to see her once more. Good
God, why should one die? If only I had been called
Berta after her; but she did not wish that either of
us should be called after her, nor did Father wish
it in Oswald's case.

May 19th. When Mother was buried, one thing
made me frightfully angry with Dora, at least not
really angry but hurt, that _she_ should have gone into
church and come out of church with Father. For _I_
have always gone with Father and Dora has always
gone with Mother. And while poor Mother was in
hospital, Dora went with Aunt. But at the funeral
Father went with her, and I had to go with Aunt
Dora. A few days later I spoke to her about it, and
she said it was quite natural because she is the elder.
She said that Oswald ought to have gone with me,
that that would have been the proper thing. But he
went alone. Another thing that annoys me is this;
when Aunt Dora came here in the autumn, Dora and
I sat on the same side of the table at dinner and
supper, and Aunt sat opposite Mother, and when
Mother took to her bed her place was left vacant.
After she died Oswald sat on the fourth side, and
now for about a week Dora has been sitting in
Mother's place. I can't understand how Father can
allow it!

May 19th. At dinner to-day no one could eat anything.
For we had breast of veal, and we had had
the same thing on the day of poor Mother's funeral,
and when the joint was brought in I happened to
look at Dora and saw that she was quite red and was
sobbing frightfully. Then I could not contain myself
any more and said: "I can't eat any breast of veal,
for on Mother's burial day -- -- --," then I could
not say any more, and Father stood up and came
round to me, and Dora and Aunt Dora burst out
crying too. And after dinner Aunt promised us that
we should never have breast of veal again. For tea,
Aunt Dora ordered an Ulm cake because we had eaten
hardly anything at dinner.

May 26th. To-day is the first day of Dora's written
matriculation. Father wanted her to withdraw
because she looks so ill, but she would not for she
said it would be a distraction for her and that she
would like to finish with the High School. Next
year she is to go to a preparatory school for the Gymnasium.
She ought really to go to a dancing class,
for she is nearly 17, but since she is in mourning it is
quite impossible and of course she does not want to
go anyhow. The head thought too that Dora would
withdraw from the examination because she is so
overwrought, but she did not want to withdraw. The
staff were so awfully sweet to us after Mother's death,
at least the women teachers were. The professors
don't bother themselves about our private concerns,
for they only see us for 1 or 2 hours a week. Frau
Doktor Steiner, from whom we don't have any lessons
this year, was awfully sympathetic; I saw plainly
that she had tears in her eyes, and Frau Doktor M.
was an angel as she always is! We did not go to the
spring festival on May 20th, though Father said we
could go if we liked. Hella and Anneliese were
awfully anxious that I should go; but I would not,
and indeed I shall never go to any more amusements.
No doubt the others enjoyed themselves immensely,
but for Dora and me it would have been horrible.
In the evenings I often fancy to myself that it is not
really true, that Mother has simply gone to Franzensbad
and will be back soon. And then I cry until my
head aches or until Dora says: "Oh Gretel, I do wish
you'd stop, it's awful." She often cries herself, I
can hear her quite well, but _I_ never say anything.

June 4th. So Dora looks upon Mother's death
as _a sign of God's displeasure against Father!_ But
what could _we_ have done to prevent it? She said,
Oh, yes, we did a lot of things we ought not to have
done, and above all we had secrets from Mother.
That is why God has punished us. It's horrible, and
now that she is always speaking of the eye of God
and the finger of God it makes me so terribly afraid
to go into a dark room, because I always feel there is
some one there who is eying me and wants to seize
me.

June 8th. Father is in a frightful rage with Dora;
yesterday evening, when I opened the drawing-room
door and there was Father coming out, quite unintentionally
I gave a yell, and when Father asked
what was the matter I told him about God's displeasure;
only I did not tell him it was against him, but
only against Dora and me. And then Father was
frightfully angry for the first time since Mother's
death, and he told Dora she was not to upset me with
her ill-conditioned fancies, and Dora nearly had an
attack of palpitation so that the doctor had to be sent
for. Aunt came to sleep in our room and we both
had to take bromide. To-day Father was awfully
kind to us and said: "Girls, you've no reason to reproach
yourselves, you have always been good children,
and I hope you always will be good." Yes, I
will be, for Mother's eye watches over us. Hella
thinks I look very poorly, and she asked me to-day
whether perhaps . . . . ?? But I told her that I
would not talk about such things any more, that it
would be an offence to my Mother's memory. She
wanted to say something more, but I said: "No,
Hella, I simply won't talk about _that_ any more. You
can't understand, because your mother is still alive."

June 12th. It is awful; just when I did not want
to think any more about _such_ things, there comes an
affair of that very sort! I'm in a frightful mess
through no fault of my own. Just after 9 to-day a
girl from the Second came in to our Mathematic les-
son and said: "The head mistress wishes to see
Lainer, Bruckner, and Franke in the office directly.
All the girls looked at us, but we did not know why.
When we came into the office, the door of the head's
room was shut and Fraulein N. told us to wait. Then
the head came out and called me in. Inside a lady
was sitting, and she looked at me through a lorgnon.
"Do you spend much time with Zerkwitz?" asked the
head. Yes, said I, and I had a foreboding. "This
lady is Zerkwitz's mother, she complains that you
talk about very improper things with her daughter;
is it so?" "Hella and I never wanted to tell her
anything; but she begged us to again and again, and
besides we thought she really knew it anyhow and
only pretended she didn't." "_What_ did you think
she knew, and what did you talk to her about?" broke
in Anneliese's mother. "Excuse me," said the head,
"I will examine the girls; so Bruckner was concerned
in the matter too?" "Very seldom," said I; "Yes, the
chief offender is Lainer, _the girl whose mother died
recently_." Then I choked down my tears, and said:
"We should never have said a word about these matters
unless Anneliese had kept on at us." After that
I would not answer any more questions. Then Hella
was called in. She told me afterwards that she knew
what was up directly she saw my face. "What have
you been talking about to Zerkwitz?" Hella would
not say at first, but then she said in as few words as
possible: "About getting babies, and about being
married!" "Gracious goodness, such little brats, and
to talk about _such_ things," said Anneliese's mother.
"Such corrupt minds." "We did not believe that
Anneliese did not _really_ know, or we should never
have told her anything," said Hella just as I had;
she was simply splendid. "As regards Alfred, we
have nothing to do with that, and we have often advised
her not to allow him to meet her coming home
from school; but she would not listen to us." "I am
talking about your conversations with which you have
corrupted the poor innocent child," said Frau von
Zerkwitz. "She certainly must have known something
about it before, or she would not have gone
with Alfred or wanted to talk about it with us," said
Hella. "Heavenly Father, that is worse still; such
corruptness of mind!" Then we were sent out of
the room. Outside, Hella cried frightfully, and so
did I, for we were afraid there would be a row at
home. We could not go back into the Mathematic
lesson because we had been crying such a lot. In the
interval Hella walked past Anneliese and said out
loud: "Traitress!!" and spat at her. For that she
was ordered out of the ranks. I stepped out of the
ranks too, and when Frau Professor Kreindl said:
"Not you, Lainer, you go on," I said: "Excuse me,
I spat at her _too_," and went and stood beside Hella.
All the girls looked at us. It was plain that Frau
Prof. Kreindl knew all about it already for she did
not say any more. In the German lesson from 11
to 12 Frau Doktor M. said: "Girls, why can't you
keep the peace together? This continual misconduct
is really too bad, and serves only to make trouble
for you and for your parents and for us." Just
before 12 Hella and I were summoned to the head's
room again. "Girls," she said, "it's a horrible
business this. Even if your own imaginations have been
prematurely poisoned, why should you try to corrupt
others? As for you, Lainer, you ought to be especially
ashamed of yourself that such complaints
should be made of you when your mother has been
buried only a few weeks." "Excuse me," said Hella,
"all this happened in the spring, and even earlier,
in the winter, for we were still skating at the time.
Rita's mother was pretty well then. Besides, Zerkwitz
was continually pestering us to tell her. I often
warned Rita, and said: "Don't trust her," but she
was quite infatuated with Zerkwitz. Please, Frau
Direktorin, don't say anything about it to Rita's
father, for he would be frightfully upset."

Hella was simply splendid, I shall never forget.
She does not want me to write that; we are writing
together. Hella thinks we must write it all down
word for word, for one never can tell what use it
may be. No one ever had a friend like Hella, and she
is so brave and clever. "You are just as clever,"
she says, "but you get so easily overawed, and besides
you are still quite nervous because of your mother's
death. I only hope your father won't hear anything
about it." That stupid idiot dug up the old story
about the two students on the ice, a thing that was
over and done with ages ago. "You should never
trust anyone," says Hella, and she's perfectly right.
I never could have believed Anneliese would be such
a sneak. We don't know yet what was up with
Franke. As she came in she put her finger to her
lips, meaning of course "Betray nothing!"

June 15th. The school inspector came to-day. I
was at the blackboard in the Maths lesson, when there
was a knock at the door and the head came in with
the Herr Insp. For a moment I thought he had come
about _that matter_, and I went as white as a sheet (at
least the girls say I did; Hella says I looked like
Niobe mourning for her children). Thank goodness,
the sum was an easy one, and besides I can always do
sums; in Maths and French I am the best in the class.
But the Herr Insp. saw that I had tears in my eyes
and said something to the head; then the head said:
"She has recently lost her mother." Then the Herr
Insp. praised me, and like a stupid idiot I must needs
begin to howl. The head said: "It's all right L., sit
down," and stroked my hair. She is so awfully
sweet, and I do hope that she and Frau Doktor M.
will say a word for me at the Staff Meeting. And
I do hope that Father won't hear anything of it, for
of course he would reproach me dreadfully because
it all comes so soon after Mother's death. But really
it all happened long before that. The way it all
happened was that Hella's mother went away to see
Emmy, her married niece, who was _having her first
baby_. And then it was that we told the "innocent
child" (that's what we call the deceitful cat) everything.
Hella still thinks that the "innocent child"
was a humbug. That is quite likely, for after all
she is nearly fourteen; and at 14 one must _surely_
know a great deal already; it's impossible that at that
age a girl can continue to believe in the stork story,
as Anneliese is said!!! to have done. Hella thinks
that I shall soon be "developed" too, because I always
have such black rings under my eyes. I overheard
Frau von Zerkwitz say, "Little brats;" but Hella
says that the head _hemmed loudly to drown it_. Afterwards
Hella was in fits of laughter over the expression
"little brats" for her mother always says
about _such_ things; _Little brats_ like you have no concern
with such matters. Good Lord, when is one to
learn all about it if one does not know when one is
nearly 14! As a matter of fact both Hella and I
learned these things _very early_, and it has not done
us any harm. Hella's mother always says that if one
learns such things too early one gets to look old; but
of course that's nonsense. But why do mothers not
want us to know? I suppose they're just ashamed.

June 16th. Yesterday evening after we had gone
to bed, Dora said: "What were you really talking
about to Z., or whatever her name is? The head
called me into the office to-day and told me that you
had been talking of improper matters. She said I
must watch over you in _Mother's place!_" Well that
would be a fine thing! Besides, it all happened when
Mother was still alive. A mother never knows what
children are talking of together. Dora thinks that I
shall have a written Reprimand from the Staff Meeting.
I should hate that because of Father; that would
mean another fearful row; although Father is really
awfully sweet now; I have not had a single rowing
since Mother first got ill. It's quite true that death
makes people gentle, but why? Really one would
have thought people would get disagreeable, because
they've been so much distressed. Last week the
tombstone was put up and we all went to see it. I
should like to go alone to the cemetery once at least,
for one does not like to weep before the others.

June 18th. The "innocent child" does not come to
gym. any longer, at least she has not been since _that
affair_. We think she's afraid, although we should
not say anything to her. We punish her with _silent
contempt_, she'll _feel_ that _more than anything_. And
thank goodness she does not come to play tennis.
I do hate people who are _deceitful_, for one never
knows where to have them. When a girl tells an outright
cram, then I can at least say to her: Oh, clear
out, don't tell such a frightful whacker; I was not
born yesterday. But one has no safeguard against
_deceitfulness_. That's why I don't like cats. We have
another name for the "innocent child," we call her
the "red cat." I think she knows. Day after tomorrow
is the school outing to Carnuntum. I am so
excited. We have to be at the quay at half past 7.

June 21st. The outing was lovely. Hella was
to come and fetch me. But she overslept herself,
so her mother took a taxi; and luckily I had waited
for her. I should like to be always driving in a taxi.
Dora would not wait, and went away at a quarter to 7 by
electric car. At a quarter to 8 Hella came in the taxi, and
just before the ship weighed anchor (I believe one
ought only to say that of a sailing ship at sea, but
it does not matter, I'm not Marina who knows _everything_
about the navy), that is just at the right moment,
we arrived. They all stared at us when we
came rushing up in the taxi. I tumbled down as I
got out of the car, it was stupid; but I don't think
they all noticed it. Aunt Dora said that for this one
day we had better put off our mourning, and Father
said so too, so we wore our white embroidered frocks
and Aunt Dora was awfully good and had made us
black sashes; it looked frightfully smart, and they
say that people wear mourning like that in America.
I do love America, the land of liberty. Boys (that
is young students) and girls go to school _together_
there!! -- -- -- But about the outing. In the boat
we sat next Frau Doktor M., she was awfully nice;
Hella was on the right and I was on the left, and we
sat so close that she said: "Girls, you're squashing
me, or at least you're crushing my dress!" She was
wearing a white frock and had a coral necklace which
suited her simply splendidly. When we were near
Hainburg Hella's hat fell into the Danube, and all
the girls screamed because they thought a child had
fallen overboard. But thank goodness it was only
the hat. We went up the Schlossberg and had a
lovely view, that is, _I_ did not look at anything except
Frau Doktor M. because she was so lovely; Professor
Wilke was with us, and he went about with her all
the time. The girls say he will probably marry her,
perhaps in the holidays. Oh dear, _that_ would be
horrid. Hella thinks that is quite out of the question
because of the German professor; at any rate it would
be better for her to marry Professor W. than the
other, because he is said to be a Jew. "Still, with
regard to all the things that hang upon marriage, it's
the same with every man," said I. "That's just the
chief point, you little goose," said Hella. And Frau
Doktor M. said: "Do you allow your chum to talk
to you like that? What is the chief point?" I was
just going to say: "We _can't_ tell you _that_," when
Hella interrupted me and said: "Just because I'm
her chum I can talk to her like that; she would not
let anyone else do it." Then we went to dinner.
Unfortunately we did not sit next "_her_." We had veal
cutlets and four pieces of chocolate cake, and as the
Herr Religionsprof. went by he said: "How many
weeks have you been fasting?" Before dinner we
went to the museum to see the things they had dug
up in the Roman camp. The head mistress and
Fraulein V. explained everything. It was most
instructive. In the afternoon we went to Deutsch-
Altenburg. It was great fun at tea. Then we had
games and all the staff joined in, the Fifth had got
up a comedy by one of the girls. We were all in fits
of laughter. Then suddenly there came along a
whole troop of officers of the flying corps, frightfully
smart, and one of them sat down at the piano and
began to play dance music. Another came up to the
head and begged her to allow the "young ladies" to
dance. The head did not want to at first, but all the
girls of the Fifth and Sixth begged her to, and the
Herr Rel. Prof. said: "Oh, Frau Direktorin, let
them have the innocent pleasure," and so they really
were allowed to dance. The rest of us either danced
with one another or looked on. And then, when Hella
and I were standing right in front, up came a splendid
lieutenant and said: "May I venture to separate the
two friends for a little dance?" "If you please,"
said I, and sailed off with him. To dance with a
lieutenant is glorious. Then the same lieutenant
danced with Hella and in the evening on the way
home she said that the lieutenant had really wanted
to dance with her first, but I had been so prompt with
my "If you please" and had placed my hand on his
shoulder. Of course that's not true, but it is not a
thing one would quarrel about with one's best friend,
and anyhow he danced with both of us. Unfortunately
we were not able to dance very long because
we got so hot. Oh, and I had almost forgotten, a
captain with a black moustache saluted Frau Doktor
M., for they know one another. She blushed furiously;
so he is probably the man she will marry, and
not Herr Prof. Wilke and not the Jewish professor.
He would please me a great deal better. They were
all so awfully smart! Before we left a lieutenant
brought in a huge bunch of roses, and the officers
gave a rose to each member of the staff, the ladies I
mean. Then something awfully funny happened.
There is a girl in the Sixth who looks quite old, as if
she might be 24, and "our" lieutenant offered her a rose
too. And then she said: "No thank you, I am not
one of the staff, I'm in the Sixth." Everyone burst
out laughing, and she was quite abashed because the
lieutenant had taken her for one of the staff. And
the Herr Rel. Prof. said to her: "Tschapperl, you
might just as well have taken it." But really she
was quite right to refuse. I think there must have
been 20 officers at least. Of course Hella told the
lieutenant that she was a colonel's daughter. I wonder
if we shall ever see him again.

I am writing this four days after the outing. Dora
told me yesterday that when I was dancing with the
lieutenant the Herr Rel. Prof. said to the Frau Direktorin:
"Do just look at that young Lainer; little
rogue, see what eyes she's making." Making eyes,
forsooth! I did not make eyes, besides, what does
it mean anyhow to make eyes!! Of course I did
not shut my eyes; if I had I should probably have
fallen down, and then everyone would have laughed.
And I don't like being laughed at. I hardly saw
Dora all through the outing, and she did not dance.
She said very cuttingly: "Of course not, for after all
we _are_ in mourning, even if we did wear white dresses;
you are only a child, for whom that sort of thing
does not matter." _That sort of thing_, as if I had done
something dreadful! I don't love Mother any the
less, and I don't forget her. Father was quite different;
the day before yesterday evening he said: "So
my little witch has made a conquest; you're beginning
early. But it's no good taking up with an officer,
little witch, they're too expensive." But I would like
to have the lieutenant, I would go up with him in
an aeroplane, up, up, till we both got quite giddy.
In the religion lesson yesterday, when the Herr Prof.
came in he laughed like anything and said: "Hullo,
Lainer, is the world still spinning round you? The
Herr Leutnant has not been able to sleep since."
So I suppose he knows him. Still, I'm quite sure
that he has not lost his sleep on my account, though
very likely he said so. If I only knew what his name
is, perhaps Leo or Romeo; yes, Romeo, that would
suit him admirably!

June 26th. When I was writing hard yesterday
Aunt Alma came with Marina and that jackanapes
Erwin who was really responsible for all the row that
time. Since Mother died we have been meeting again.
I don't think Mother liked Aunt Alma much, nor she
her. Just as Father and Aunt Dora are not particularly
fond of one another. It is so in most families,
the father does not care much for the mother's brothers
and sisters and vice versa. I wonder why? I wonder
whether _He_ has a fiancee, probably he has, and what
she looks like. I wish I knew whether He likes brown
hair or fair hair or black hair best. But about the
visit! Of course Marina and I were _very_ standoffish.
She is so frightfully conceited because she goes to the
Training College. As if that were something magnificent!
The High School is much more important,
for from the High School one goes on to the university,
but not from the Training College; and they don't
learn English, nor French properly, for it is only
optional. Aunt Alma knows that it annoys Father
when anyone says we don't look well, so she said:
"Why, Dora looks quite overworked; thank goodness
it's nearly over, and she won't get much out of it after
all, it's really better for a girl to become a teacher."
Erwin lounged in his chair and said to me: "Do you
dare me to spit on the carpet?" "You are ill-bred
enough to do it; I can't think why Marina, the future
schoolmistress, does not give you a good smacking,"
said I. Then Aunt Alma chimed in: "What's the
matter children? What game are you playing?" "It's
not a game at all; Erwin wants to spit on the carpet
and he seems to think that would be all right." Then
Aunt said something to him in Italian, and he pulled
a long nose at me behind Father's back, but I simply
ignored it; little pig, and yet he's my cousin! Kamillo
is supposed to have been just as impudent as Bub. But
we have never seen him, for he has been in Japan as
an ensign for the last two years. Mourning does not
suit Marina at all; there's a provincial look about her
and she can't shake it off. Her clothes are too long
and she has not got a trace of b--, although she was
17 last September; she is disgustingly thin.

June 27th. The Herr Insp. came to our class to-
day, in French this time. Frau Doktor Dunker is
always frightfully excited by his visits, and at the
beginning of the lesson she said: "Girls, the Inspector
is coming to-day; pull yourselves together; please
don't leave me in the lurch." So it must be true
what Oswald always says that the inspectors come
to inspect the teachers and not the pupils. "At the
inspection," Oswald often says, "every pupil has the
professor in his hands." Being first, of course I was
called upon, and I simply could not think what
"trotteur" meant. I would not say "Trottel" [idiot],
and so I said nothing at all. Then Anneliese turned
round and whispered it to me, but of course I was
not going to say it after her, but remained speechless
as an owl. At length the Herr Inspektor said: "Translate
the sentence right to the end, and then you'll
grasp its meaning." But I can't see the sense of that;
for if I don't know one of the words the sentence has
no meaning, or at least not the meaning it ought to
have. If Hella had not been absent to-day because
of -- --, she might have been able to whisper it to
me. Afterwards Frau Doktor Dunker reproached me,
saying that no one could ever trust anyone, and that
I really did not deserve a One. "And the stupidest
thing of all was that you laughed when you
did not know a simple word like that." Of course I
could not tell her that my first thought had been to
translate it "Trottel." Unseen translation is really
too difficult for us.

June 28th. The Staff Meeting is to-day. I'm on
tenter hooks to know whether I shall have a Reprimand,
or a bad conduct mark in my report. That
would be awful. It does not matter so much to Hella,
for her father has just gone away to manoeuvres in
Hungary or in Bosnia, and by the time he is back
the holidays will have begun and no one will be
bothering about reports any more. So I shall know
to-morrow. Oh bother, to-morrow is a holiday and
next day is Sunday. So for another 2 1/2 days I shall
have "to linger in suspense," but a different sort of
suspense from what Goethe wrote about.

June 30th. We were at home yesterday and this
afternoon because of Dora's matriculation. The
Bruckners went to Breitenstein to visit an aunt, who
is in a convalescent home, and so I could not go
with them. In the evening we went to Turkenschanz
Park to supper, but there was nothing on. By the
way, I have not written anything yet about the
"innocent child" at the outing. On the boat she began
fussing round Hella and me and wanted to push
into the conversation, indirectly of course! But she
did not succeed; Hella is extraordinarily clever in
such matters; she simply seemed to look through her
Really I'm a little sorry for her, for she hasn't
any close friends beyond ourselves; but Hella said:
"Haven't you had enough of it yet? Do you want to
be cooked once more with the same sauce?" And
when Hella's hat fell into the water and we were still
looking after it in fits of laughter, all of a sudden we
found Anneliese standing behind us offering Hella a
fine lace shawl which she had brought with her for
the evening because she so readily gets earache.
"Wouldn't you like to use this shawl, so that you won't
have to go back to Vienna without a hat?" "Please
don't trouble yourself, I'm quite used to going about
bare-headed." But the _way_ she said it, like a queen!
I _must_ learn it from her. She is really shorter than I
am, but at such moments she looks just like a grown-
up lady. I told her as much, and she rejoined:
"Darling Rita, you can't _learn_ a thing like that; it's
_inborn_." She rather annoyed me, for she always
seems to think that an officer's daughter is a thing
apart.

July 1st. Thank goodness, everything has passed
off without a public scandal. Frau Doktor M. spoke
to me in the corridor, saying: "Lainer, you've had
a narrow escape. If certain voices had not been
raised on your behalf, I really don't know -- -- --."
Then I said: "I'm quite certain, Frau Doktor, that
you alone have saved me from a Bad Conduct Mark."
And I kissed her hand. "Get along, you little baggage,
for the one part simply a child, and for the other
with your head full of thoughts which grown-ups
would do well to dispense with."

After all, one can't help one's _thoughts_, and we shall
be more careful in future as to the persons to whom
we talk about _that sort of thing_. Here's another thing
I forgot to mention about the outing: When we got
back into Vienna by rail, most of the parents came
to meet us at the station; Father was there too, and
so was the "innocent child's" mother. Thank goodness
Father did not know her. When we got out of
the train there was a great scrimmage, because we
were all trying to sort ourselves to our parents, and
suddenly I heard Hella's voice: "No, Madam, your
child is not in our bad company." I turned round
sharply, and there was Hella standing in front of
Frau von Zerkwitz who had just asked her: "Hullo,
_you_, what has become of my little Anneliese?" The
answer was splendid; I should never have been able
to hit upon it; I always think of good repartees after
the event. It was just the same that time when the
old gentleman in the theatre asked Hella if she was
alone there, and she snapped at him. He said:
Impudent as a Jewess, or an impudent Jewess! It
was too absurd, for first of all it's not impudent to
make a clever repartee, and secondly it does not follow
because one can do it that one is a Jewess. So Hella
finished up by saying to him: "No, you've made a
mistake, you are not speaking to one of your own
sort."

We break up on the 6th; but because of Dora's
matriculation we are staying here until the 11th.
Then we are going to Fieberbrunn in Tyrol, and this
year we shall stay in a hotel, so I am awfully pleased.
Hella had a splendid time there last year

July 2nd. My goodness, to-day I have . . . .,
no, I can't write it plain out. In the middle of the
Physics lesson, during revision, when I was not thinking
of anything in particular, Fraulein N. came in
with a paper to be signed. As we all stood up I thought
to myself: Hullo, what's that? And then it suddenly
occurred to me: Aha!! In the interval Hella asked
me why I had got so fiery red in the Physics lesson,
if I'd had some sweets with me. I did not want to
tell her the real reason directly, and so I said: "Oh
no, I had nearly fallen asleep from boredom, and
when Fraulein N. came in it gave me a start." On
the way home I was very silent, and I walked so
slowly (for of course one must not walk fast
_when_ . . . ) that Hella said: "Look here, what's
up to-day, that you are so frightfully solemn? Have
you fallen in love without my knowing it, or is it
_at long last_ . . . .?" Then I said "_Or is it at long
last!_" And she said: "Ah, then now we're equals
once more," and there in the middle of the street she
gave me a kiss. Just at that moment two students
went by and one of them said: "Give me one too."
And Hella said: "Yes, I'll give you one on the cheek
which will burn." So they hurried away. We really
had no use for them: to-day!! Hella wanted me to
tell her _everything about it_; but really I hadn't anything
to tell, and yet she believed that I _wouldn't_ tell.
It is really very unpleasant, and this evening I shall
have to take frightful care because of Dora. But I
must tell Aunt because I want a San-- T--. It will
be frightfully awkward. It was different in Hella's
case, first of all because she had such frightful cramps
before it began so that her mother knew all about it
without being told, and secondly because it was her
_mother_. I certainly shan't tell Dora whatever happens,
for that would make me feel still more ashamed.
As for a San-- T--, I shall never be able to buy one
for myself even if I live to be 80. And it would be
awful for Father to know about it. I wonder whether
men really do know; I suppose they must know about
their wives, but at any rate they can't know anything
about their daughters.

July 3rd. Dora does know after all. For I
switched off the light _before_ I undressed, and then
Dora snapped at me: "What on earth are you up to,
switch it on again directly." "No I won't." Then
she came over and wanted to switch it on herself; "Oh
do please wait until I've got into bed." "O-o-h, is
that it," said Dora, "why didn't you say so before?
I've always hidden my things from you, and you
haven't got any yet." And then we talked for quite
a long time, and she told me that Mother had commissioned
her to tell me everything _when_ -- -- -- Mother
had told her all about it, but she said it was better
for one girl to tell it to another, because that was
least awkward. Mother knew too that in January
Hella had . . . But how? I never let on! It
was midnight before we switched off the light.

July 6th. Oh, I am so unhappy, when we went
to get our reports to-day and said good-bye to Frau
Doktor M., she was awfully sweet, and at the end
she said: "I hope that you won't give too much
trouble to my successor." At first we did not understand,
for we thought she only meant that it is always
uncertain whether the same member of the staff will
keep the same class from year to year, but then she
said: "I am leaving the school because I am going
to be married." It gave me such a pang, and I said:
"Oh, is it true?" "Yes, Lainer, it's quite true." And
all the girls thronged round her and wanted to kiss
her hand. No one spoke for a moment, and then
Hella said: "Frau Doktor, may I ask you something?
But you mustn't be angry!" "All right, ask away!"
"Is it the captain we met in Carnuntum?" She was
quite puzzled for a minute, and then she laughed like
anything and said, "No, Bruckner, it is not he, for
he has a wife already." And Gilly, who is not so
frightfully fond of her as Hella and I are, said: "Frau
Doktor, please tell us whom you are going to marry."
"There's no secret about it, I am going to marry a
professor in Heidelberg." That is why she has to
leave the High School. It's simply ruined my holidays.
Hella has such lovely ideas. The girls would
not leave Frau Doktor alone, and they all wanted to
walk home with her. Then she said: "My darling
girls, that's impossible, for I am going to Purkersdorf
to see my parents. And then Hella had her splendid
idea. The others said: "Please may we come with
you as far as the metropolitan?" and at length she
said they might. But Hella said, "Come along," and
we hurried off to the metropolitan before them and
took tickets to Hutteldorf so that we should be able
to get back in plenty of time, and there we were waiting
on the platform when she came and when all the
girls came with her as far as the entrance. Then
we rushed up to her and got into the train which came
in at that moment. Of course we had second class
tickets, for Hella, being an officer's daughter, mayn't
travel third, and Frau Doktor M. always travels second
too. And we all three sat together on a seat for
two, though it was frightfully hot. She was so nice
to us; I begged her to give us her photograph and she
promised to send us one. Then, alas, we got to
Hutteldorf. "Now, girls, you must get out." Then
we both burst out crying, and she _kissed us!_ Never
shall I forget that blessed moment and that heavenly
ride! As long as the train was still in sight we both
waved our handkerchiefs to her and she _waved back!_
When we wanted to give up our tickets Hella looked
everywhere for her purse and could not find it; she
must have left it in the ticket office. Luckily I still
had all my July pocket money and so I was able to
pay the excess fare, and then for once in a way _I_ was
the sharp-witted one; I said we had travelled third and
had only passed out through the second, so we had not
to pay so much; and no one knew anything about it,
there's no harm in that sort of cheating. Of course
we really did go back third, although Hella said it
would spoil the memory for her. That sort of thing
does not matter to me. We did not get home until
a quarter past 1, and Aunt Dora gave me a tremendous
scolding. I said I had been arranging books in the
library for Frau Doktor, but Dora had enquired at the
High School at 12, and there had been no one there.
We had already gone away then, I said, and had gone
part of the way with Frau Doktor M., for she was
leaving because of her marriage. Then Dora was
quite astonished and said: "Ah, now I understand."
The other day when she had to go into the room while
the staff meeting was on, the staff was talking about
an engagement, and Fraulein Thim was saying: "Not
everyone has the luck to get a university professor."
That must have been about _her_. Certainly Thim
won't get one, not even a school porter. To-day, (I've
been writing this up for two days), I had such a
delightful surprise; _she_ sent me her photo, simply
heavenly!! Father says the portrait is better looking
than the reality. Nothing of the sort, she is perfectly
beautiful, with her lovely eyes and her spiritual
expression! Of course she has sent Hella a photo too.
We are going to have pocket leather cases made for
the photographs, so that we can take them with us
wherever we go. But we shall have to wait until after
the holidays because Hella has lost her money, and
nearly all mine was used up in paying the excess fares.
And such a leather case will cost 3 crowns. Father
has some untearable transparent envelopes, and I shall
ask him for two of them. They will do as a makeshift.

Dora's matriculation is to-morrow, she's quite
nervous about it although she is very well up in all the
subjects. But she says it's so easy to make mistakes.
But Father is quite unconcerned, though last year he
was very much bothered about Oswald, and poor dear
Mother was frightfully anxious: "Pooh," said Oswald,
"I shall soon show them that there's no need
to bother; all one wants at the metric is _cheek_, that's
the whole secret!" And then all he telegraphed was
"durch" [through] and poor Mother was still very
anxious, and thought that it might mean _durchgefallen_
[failed]. But of course it really meant _durchgekommen_
[passed], for meanwhile the second telegram had
come. And father had brought two bottles of champagne
to Rodaun, ready to celebrate Oswald's return.
There won't be anything of the sort after Dora's
matriculation because Mother is not with us any more;
oh it does make me so miserable when I think that
2 <1/2 months ago she was still alive, and now -- -- --.

July 9th. This morning, while Dora was having
her exam (she passed with Distinction), I went to
the cemetery quite alone. I told Aunt Dora I was
going shopping with Hella and her mother, and I
told Hella I was going with Aunt, and so I took the
tram to Potzleinsdorf and then walked to the cemetery.
People always ought to go to the cemetery alone.
There was no one in the place but me. I did not
dare to stay long, for I was afraid I should be home
late. It's a frightfully long way to Potzleinsdorf, and
it always seems so much further when one is alone.
And when I came away from the cemetery I took a
wrong turning and found myself in a quite deserted
street near the Turkenschanze. That sort of thing is
very awkward, and for a long time there was simply no
one of whom I could ask the way. Then by good luck
an old lady came along, and she told me I had only
to take the next turning to get back to the tram line.
And just as I did get there a Potzleinsdorf car came
along, so I got in and reached home long before
Dora. But in the afternoon Hella nearly gave me
away, quite unintentionally. But since they were all
talking about the matriculation I was able to smooth
it over. Now that Dora has finished her matriculation
she will have to tell me a great deal more about _certain
things_; she promised she would. Before the matriculation
she was always so tired because of the frightful
grind, but that is over now, and I never do any work
in the holidays. What are holidays for? Frau Doktor
Dunker has really given me only a Satisfactory,
it's awfully mean of her; and I shall have to learn
from _her_ for three years more! Nothing will induce
me to bother myself about French now, for she has
a down on me, and when one's teacher has a down
on one, one can work as hard as one likes and it's
no good. It was so different with Frau Doktor M.!!
I have just been looking at her photo so long that my
eyes are positively burning; but I had to write up
about to-day: even when one had been stupid once
or twice, she never cast it up against one, never, never,
never -- -- the sweet angel!

July 10th. We are going to F. to-morrow; I am
so glad. It is frightfully dull to-day, for Hella went
away yesterday to Berchtesgaden where she is to
stay for 6 weeks, and on the way back she is going
to Salzburg and perhaps Aunt Dora will take me to
Salzburg for 2 days so that we can see one another
again before Hella goes to Hungary. She is lucky! I
can't go to K-- M-- this year, for we are going to stay
in F. till the middle of September. I got my name day
presents to-day because they are things for the journey:
a black travelling satchel with a black leather belt,
and half a dozen mourning handkerchiefs with a narrow
black border, and an outfit for pokerwork, and a huge
bag of sweets for the journey from Hella. The world
is a wretched place without Hella. I do hope we shall
marry on the same day, for Mother always used to say:
"The most ardent _girl_ friendships are always broken
up when one of the two marries." I suppose because
the other one is annoyed because she has not married.
I wonder what it will be like at Frau Doktor M.'s
wedding! and I wonder whether she knows about
_everything_; very likely not, but if not I suppose her
mother will tell her all about it before she is married.
Dora told me yesterday that Mother had once said
to her: "A girl always gets all sorts of false ideas
into her head; the reality is quite different." But
that is not so in our case, for we really know everything
quite precisely, even to the fact that you have
to take off every stitch; oh dear, I shall never forget
it!--Oswald is coming to F. on the 20th, for first
he is going to Munich for a few days.

July 12th. It's lovely here; mountains and mountains
all round, and we're going to climb them all;
oh, how I am enjoying myself! I simply can't keep
a diary; it will have to be a weekary. For I must
write to Hella at least every other day. We are staying
in the Edelweiss boarding house; there are about
40 visitors, at least that's what we counted at dinner.
There is a visitors' list hanging up in the hall, and
I must study it thoroughly. The journey was rather
dull, for Dora had a frightful headache so we could
not talk all through the night. I stood in the corridor
half the night. At one place in Salzburg there was
a frightful fire; no one was putting it out, so I suppose
no one knew anything about it. The boarding
house is beautifully furnished, carpets everywhere;
there are several groups of statuary in the hall. We
are awfully pleased with everything. There are 4
courses at dinner and two at supper. Flowers on
every table. Father says we must wait and see
whether they change them often enough. Father has
a new tweed suit which becomes him splendidly for
he is so tall and aristocratic looking. We have coats
and skirts made of thin black cotton material and
black lace blouses, and we also have white coats and
skirts and white blouses, and light grey tweed dresses
as well. For Father is really quite right: "Mourning
is in your _heart_, not in your _dress_." Still, for the
present, we shall wear black, but we have the white
things in case it gets frightfully hot. To-day, on a
cliff quite near the house, we picked a great nosegay
of Alpine roses. Dora has brought Mother's photo
with her and has put the flowers in front of it; unluckily
I forgot to bring mine. I should like to go
to the top of the Wildeck or one of the other
mountains. It would be lovely to pick Edelweiss
for oneself. But Father says that mountaineering is
not suited to our ages. The baths here always seem
very cold, only about 54 or 60 degrees at most. Dr. Klein
said we should only bathe when the water is quite
warm. But apparently that won't be often. We have
not made any acquaintances yet, but I like the look
of the two girls wearing Bosnian blouses at the second
table from ours. Perhaps we shall get to know them.
One plan ,has come to nothing. I wanted to talk to
Dora in the evenings about all sorts of _important_
things, but it is impossible because Aunt Dora shares
our room. Here's another tiresome thing; Father's
room has a lovely veranda looking on to the promenade,
while our room only looks into the garden. Of
course the view is lovely, but I should have liked
Father's room much better, only it is a great deal too
small for three persons; there is only one bed and
its furniture is of a very ancient order. I do hate that
sort of furniture; the lady who keeps the boarding
house calls it _Empire!!_ I don't suppose she can ever
have seen a room furnished in real Empire style.

July 15th. When Dora and I were out for a walk
yesterday she told me a great deal about Aunt Dora.
I never really knew before whether Uncle Richard was
employed in the asylum or whether he was a patient
there; but he is a patient. He has spinal disease and
is quite off his head and often has attacks of raving
madness. Once before he was sent to the asylum he
tried to throttle Aunt Dora, and _in another respect_
he did her a _frightful lot of harm!!!_ I don't quite
understand how, for Aunt Dora has never had any
children. And why on earth do they make such a
secret about Uncle Richard? But when I come to
think of it, no one ever wanted to talk about Mother's
illness. There's no sense in this secrecy, for in the
first place that always makes one think about things,
and secondly one always finds out in the long run.
At last Aunt Dora was so terribly afraid of Uncle
that she always kept the door of her bedroom locked.
It must be awful to have a husband who is a raging
maniac. Father once said to Dora: your Aunt Dora
is enough to drive one mad with her whims and
fancies. Of course he didn't mean that literally, but
I must watch carefully to find out what Aunt really
does to annoy anyone so much. Most likely it is
something connected with _this matter_. To my mind
Aunt Alma has many more whims and fancies, and
yet Uncle Franz has never gone raving mad. Dora
says that Uncle Richard may go on living for another
20 years, and that she is frightfully sorry for Aunt
Dora because she is tied to such a monster. Why
tied? After all, he is in an asylum and can't do her
any harm. Dora didn't know about all this before,
Aunt only told her after Mother's death. Dora thinks
it is better not to marry at all, unless one is _madly in
love_ with a man. And then only by a _marriage contract!!_
In that case _that_ would be excluded. But I
always imagined a marriage contract was made because
of a dowry and money affairs generally; and
never thought of its having _such_ a purpose. Frau
Mayer, whom we met in the summer holidays two
years ago, had married under such conditions. But it
puzzles me, for if _that_ is what men chiefly want when
they marry, I don't see how any man can be satisfied
with a marriage contract. There must be a mistake
somewhere. Perhaps it is different among the Jews,
for the Mayers were Jews.

July 21st. No, I never should have thought that
Hella would prove to have been right in that matter.
I got a letter 8 pages long from Anneliese to-day.
That time when Hella had to stay at home for five
days she believed that Anneliese would make fresh
advances. But obviously she was afraid. So now she
has written to me: My own dear Rita! You are the
only friend of my life; wherever I go, all the girls and
everybody likes me, and only you have turned away
from me in anger. What harm did I do you -- -- --?
After all, she did do me some harm; for there might
have been a fine row if it had not been for Frau
Doktor M., that angel in human form! She writes she
is so lonely and so unhappy; she is with her mother
at the Gratsch Hydropathic near Meran or Bozen, I
forget which, I must look it up _if_ I answer her. For
I gave my word of honour to Hella that I would never
forgive the "innocent child." But after all, to write
an answer is mere ordinary politeness, and is far from
meaning a reconciliation, and still less a friendship.
She says that there are absolutely no girls in Gratsch,
only grown-up ladies and old gentlemen, the youngest
is 32! brr, I know I should find it deplorably dull
myself. So I really will write to her, but I shall be
exceedingly reserved. She finishes up with: Listen
to the prayer of an unhappy girl and do not harden
your heart against one who has always loved you
truly. That is really very fine, and Anneliese always
wrote the best compositions; Frau Doktor M. used
often to praise them and to speak of her excellent
style, but later she really did not like her at all. She
often told her she ought not to be so affected, or she
would lose the power of expression from sheer affectation.
I shall not write to her immediately, but only
after a few days, and, as I said, with _great_ reserve.

July 23rd. I got to know the two girls to-day, their
names are Olga and Nelly, one is 15 and the other 13;
I don't know their surname yet, but only that they
have a leather goods business in Mariahilferstr. Their
mother's hair is quite grey already, their father is not
coming until August 8th. We have arranged to go
for a walk at 4 o'clock this afternoon, to Brennfelden.

July 26th. I have made up my mind to write every
day before dinner, for after dinner we all go with our
hammocks into the wood. After all I wrote to Anneliese
three days ago, without waiting, so as not to
keep her on tenterhooks. I have not written anything
to Hella about it because I don't know how Anneliese
will answer. Hella says she is having a royal time
in Innichen; but the tiresome thing does not say just
what she means by royal; she wrote only a bare 3
sides including the signature so of course I did not
write to her as much as usual.

July 27th. Dora is not very much taken with the
Weiners; she thinks they are frightfully stuck up.
She says it's not the proper thing to wear gold bracelets
and chains in the country, above all with peasant
costume. Of course she is right, but still I like the
two girls very much, and especially Olga, the younger
one; Nelly puts on such airs; they go to a high school
too, the Hietzinger High School; but Olga has only
just got into the Second while Nelly is in the Fifth.
Dora says they will never set the Danube on fire. No
matter, leave it to others to do that. We enjoyed
ourselves immensely on our walk. I'm going to spend
the whole day with them to-day. Father says:
"Don't see too much of them; you'll only get tired
of them too soon." I don't believe that will happen
with the Weiners.

July 29th. It's my birthday to-morrow. I wonder
what my presents will be. I've already had one of
them before we left Vienna, 3 pairs of openwork
stockings, Aunt Dora gave them to me, exquisitely
fine, and my feet look so elegant in them. But I must
take frightful care of them and not wear them too
often. Aunt says: "Perhaps now you will learn to
give up pulling at your stockings when you are doing
your lessons." As if I would do any lessons in the
holidays.

LAST HALF-YEAR

AGE FOURTEEN AND A HALF

LAST HALF-YEAR

July 30th. Thank goodness this is my 14th!!!
birthday; Olga thought that I was 16 or at least 15;
but I said: No thank you; to _look_ like 16 is _quite_
agreeable to me, but I should not like to _be_ 16, for
after all how long is one young, only 2 or 3 years at
most. But as to feeling different, as Hella said she
did, I really can't notice anything of the kind; I am
merely delighted that no one, not even Dora, can now
call me a _child_. I do detest the word "child," except
when Mother used to say: "My darling child," but
then it meant something quite different. I like
Mother's ring best of all my birthday presents; I shall
wear it for always and always. When I was going
to cry, Father said so sweetly: "Don't cry, Gretel,
you must not cry on your 14th!! birthday, that would
be a fine beginning of _grown-upness!_ Besides the
ring, Father gave me a lovely black pearl necklace
which suits me perfectly, and is at the same time so
cool; then Theodor Storm's _Immensee_, from Aunt
Dora the black openwork stockings and long black
silk gloves, and from Dora a dark grey leather wristband
for my watch. But I shan't wear that until we
are back in Vienna and I am going to school again.
Grandfather and Grandmother sent fruit as usual, but
nothing has come from Oswald. He can't possibly
have forgotten. I suppose his present will come later.
Father also gave me a box of delicious sweets. At
dinner Aunt Dora had ordered my favourite chocolate
cream cake, and every one said: Hullo, why have we
got a Sunday dish on a weekday? And then it came
out that it was my birthday, and the Weiner girls,
who knew it already, told most of the other guests
and nearly everyone came to wish me many happy
returns. Olga and Nelly had done so in the morning,
and had given me a huge nosegay of wild flowers and
another of cut flowers. This afternoon we are all
going to Flagg; it is lovely there.

Evening: I must write some more. We could not
have the expedition, because there was a frightful
thunderstorm from 2 to 4 o'clock. But we enjoyed
ourselves immensely. And I had another adventure:
As I was leaving the dining-room in order to go to
the . . . ., I heard a voice say: May I wish you a
happy birthday, Fraulein? I turned round, and there
behind me stood the enormously tall fair-haired student,
whom I have been noticing for the last three
days. "Thank you very much, it's awfully kind of
you," said I, and wanted to pass on, for I really had
to go. But he began speaking again, and said: "I
suppose that's only a joke about your being 14. Surely
you are 16 to-day?" "I am both glad and sorry to
say that I am not, said I, but after all everyone is as
old as he seems. Please excuse me, I really must go
to my room," said I hurriedly, and bolted, for
otherwise -- -- -- --!! I hope he did not suspect the
truth. I must write about it to Hella, it will make her
laugh. She sent me a lovely little jewel box with a
view of Berchtesgaden packed with my favourite
sweets, filled with brandy. In her letter she complains
of the "shortness of my last letter." I must write her
a long letter to-morrow. At supper I noticed for the
first time where "Balder" sits; that's what I call him
because of his lovely golden hair, and because I don't
know his real name. He is with an old gentleman and
an old lady and a younger lady whose hair is like
his, but she can't possibly be his sister for she is
much too old.

July 31st. The family is called Scharrer von Arneck,
and the father is a retired member of the Board
of Mines. The young lady is really his sister, and she
is a teacher at the middle school in Brunn. I found
all this out from the housemaid. But I went about it
in a very cunning way, I did not want to ask straight
out, and so I said: Can you tell me who that white-
haired old gentleman is, he is so awfully like my
Grandfather. (I have never see my Grandfather, for
Father's Father has been dead 12 or 15 years, and
Mother's Father does not live in Vienna but in Berlin.)
Then Luise answered: "Ah, Fraulein, I expect
you mean Herr Oberbergrat Sch., von Sch. But I
expect Fraulein's Grandfather is not quite so grumpy."
I said: "Is he so frightfully grumpy then?" And
she answered: "I should think so; we must all jump
at the word go or it's all up with us!" And then one
word led to another, and she told me all she knew;
the daughter is 32 already, her name is Hulda and her
father won't let her marry, and the _young gentleman_
has left home because his father pestered him so. He
is a student in Prague, and only comes home for the
holidays. It all sounds very melancholy, and yet they
look perfectly happy except the daughter. By the
way, it's horrid for the Weiners; Olga is 13 and Nelly
actually 15, and their mother is once more -- -- -- --
I mean their mother is in an i-- c--. They are both
in a frightful rage, and Nelly said to me to-day: "It's
a perfect scandal;" they find it so awkward going
about with their mother. I can't say I'd noticed anything
myself; but they say it has really been obvious
for a long time; "_the happy event!!_ will take place in
October," said Olga. It really must be very disagreeable,
and I took a dislike to Frau W. from the first.
I simply can't understand how such a thing can happen
when people are so old. I'm awfully sorry for the
two Weiner girls. Something of the same sort must
have happened in the case of the Schs., for Luise has
told me that the young gentleman is 21 and his sister
not 32 but 35, she had made a mistake; so she is 14
years older, appalling. I'm awfully sorry for her because
her father won't let her marry, or rather would
not let her marry. I'm sure Father would never refuse
if either of us wanted to marry. I have written all
this to Hella; I miss her dreadfully, for after all the
Weiner girls are only strangers, and I could _never_ tell
my secrets to Dora, though we are quite on good terms
now. Oswald is coming to-morrow.

August 1st. A young man has a fine time of it.
He comes and goes when he likes and where he likes.
A telegram arrived from Oswald to-day, saying he was
not coming till the middle of August: Konigsee,
Watzmann, glorious tramp. Letter follows. Father
did not say much, but I fancy he's very much annoyed.
Especially just now, after poor Mother's death, Oswald
might just as well come home. Last year he was
so long away after matriculation, quite alone, and
now it's the same this year. One pleasure after another
like that is really not the thing when one's Mother
has been dead only three months. The day after we
came here and before we had got to know anyone,
I went out quite early, at half past 8, and went alone
to the cemetery. It is on the slope of the mountain
and some of the tombstones are frightfully old, in
many cases one can't decipher the inscriptions; there
was one of 1798 in Roman figures. I sat on a little
bank thinking about poor Mother and all the unhappi-
ness, and I cried so terribly that I had to bathe my
eyes lest anyone should notice it. I was horribly annoyed
to-day. A letter came from Aunt Alma, she
wants to come here, we are to look for rooms for her,
to see if we can find anything suitable, Aunt Alma
always means by that very cheap, but above all it
must be in a private house; of course, for a boarding
house would be far too dear for them. I do hope we
shan't find _anything_ suitable, we really did not find
anything to-day, for a storm was threatening and we
did not go far. I do so hope we shall have no better
success to-morrow; for I really could not stand having
Marina here, she is such a spy. Thank goodness Aunt
Dora and Dora are both very much against their
coming. But Father said: That won't do girls, she's
your aunt, and you must look for rooms for her. All
right, we can _look for them_; but seeking and finding
are two very different things.

August 2nd. This morning we went out early to look
for the rooms, and since Dora always makes a point
of finding what's wanted, she managed to hunt up 2
rooms and a kitchen, though they are only in a farm.
The summer visitors who were staying there had to
go back suddenly to Vienna because their grandmother
died, and so the rooms are to let very cheap. Dora
wrote to Aunt directly, and she said that we shall all
be delighted to see them, which is a downright lie.
However, I wrote a P.S. in which I sent love to them
all, and said that the journey was scandalously
expensive; perhaps that may choke them off a bit.
Owing to this silly running about looking for rooms
I saw nothing of the Weiners yesterday afternoon or
this morning, and of course nothing of God Balder
either. And at dinner we can't see the Scharrers'
table because they have a table in the bay window,
for they have come here every year for the last 9 years.
I'm absolutely tired out, but there's something I
must write. This afternoon the Weiners and we went
up to Kreindl's, and Siegfried Sch. came with us, for
he knows the Weiners, who have been here every year
for the last 3 years. He talked chiefly to Dora, and
that annoyed me frightfully. So I said not a word,
but walked well behind the others. On the way home
he came up to me and said: "I say, Fraulein Grete,
are you always so reserved? Your eyes seem to contradict
the idea." I said: "It all depends on my
mood, and above all I hate forcing myself on any
one." "Could you not change places at table with
your mother?" "In the first place, she is not my
Mother, who died on April 24th, but my Aunt, and in
the second place, why do you say that to _me_, you had
better say it to my sister!" "Don't be jealous!
There's no reason for _that_. I can't help talking to
your sister when we're in company; but I can assure
you that you have no occasion whatever to be jealous."
I wish I knew how I could manage that change of
places, but I always sit next Father; anyhow I would
not do it directly; next week at soonest. Farewell,
my Hero Siegfried, sleep sweetly and dream of -- --.

August 3rd, Anneliese wrote to me: You heart of
gold, so you are able to forgive my sins of youth?
The world shines with a new light since I received
your letter." I don't know that my letter was so forgiving
as all that, for all I said was that I was very
sorry she was so lonely in Gratsch, and that we could
not alter the past, so we had better bury it. She sends
me a belated birthday greeting (last winter we told
one another when our birthdays were), and she sends
me a great pressed forget-me-not. She waited to
answer until it had been pressed. I don't know quite
what I had better do. Big Siegfried could no doubt
give me very good advice, but I can't very well tell
him the whole story, for then I should have to tell
him why we quarrelled, and that would be awful.
I had better write to Hella before I answer. I must
write to-day, for it will be quite three days before I
can get an answer, and then 1 or two days more before
Anneliese gets the letter, so that will be 5 days at
least. It is raining in torrents, so it is very dull, for
Father won't let us sit in the hall alone; I can't think
why. Generally speaking Father's awfully kind,
quite different from other fathers, but this is really
disgusting of him. I shall lie down on the sofa after
dinner and read _Immensee_, for I've not had a chance
before.

August 6th. Well, the whole tribe arrived to-day;
Marina in a dust-grey coat and skirt that fits her
abominably, and Erwin and Ferdinand; Ferdinand is
going through the artillery course in Vienna, at the
Neustadt military academy; he's the most presentable
of the lot. Uncle was in a frightful temper, growling
about the journey and about the handbaggage, I think
they must have had 8 or 10 packages, at least I had
to carry a heavy travelling rug and Dora a handbag of
which she said that it contained the accumulated rubbish
of 10 years. Aunt Alma's appearance was enough
to give one fits, a tweed dress kilted up so high that
one saw her brown stockings as she walked, and a
hat like a scarecrow's. When I think how awfully
well dressed _Mother_ always was, and how nice she
always looked; of course Mother was at least 20 years
younger than Aunt Alma, but even if Mother had lived
to be 80 she would never have looked like _that_. Thank
goodness, on the way from the station we did not meet
any one, and above all we did not meet _him_. For
once in a way they all came to dinner at our boarding
house. We had two tables put together, and I seized
the opportunity to change my place, for I offered Aunt
Alma the place next Father and seated myself beside
the lovely Marina, exactly opposite -- -- --! Anyway,
Marina looked quite nice at dinner, for her white
blouse suits her very well, and she has a lovely
complexion, so white, with just a touch of pink in the
cheeks. But that is her only beauty. The way she
does her hair is hideous, parted and brushed quite
smooth, with two pigtails. I've given them up long
ago, though everyone said they suited me very well.
But "snails" suit me a great deal better. _He_
looked across at me the whole time, and Aunt
Alma said: "Grete is blossoming out, I hope there's
not a man in the case already." "Oh no," said Father,
"country air does her such a lot of good, and when I
take the children away for a change I don't forbid
any innocent pleasures." My darling Father, I had
to keep a tight hand on myself so as not to kiss him
then and there. They were all so prim, with their eyes
glued to their plates as if they had never eaten rum
pudding before. It is true that Ferdinand winked at
Marina, but of course she noticed nothing. They soon
put away their first helps, and they all took a second,
and then they went on talking. When we went to
our rooms I knocked at Father's door and gave him
the promised kiss and said: "You really are a jewel
of a Father." "Well, will you, if you please, be a
jewel of a daughter, and keep the peace with Marina
and the others?" I said: "Oh dear, I simply can't
stand her, she's such a humbug!" "Oh well," said
Father, "it may be a pity, but you know one can't
choose one's parents and one's relations." "I would
not have chosen any different parents, for we could
not have found another Father and another Mother
like you." Then Father lifted me right up into the
air as if I had still been a little girl, saying: "You
are a little treasure," and we kissed one another
heartily. I really do like Father better than anyone
in the world; for the way I like Hella is quite different,
she is my friend, and Dora is my sister; and I
like Aunt Dora too, and Oswald _if_ I ever see him
again.

August 8th. Oh, I am so furious! To-day I got
a postcard from Hella, with nothing on it but "Follow
your own bent, with best wishes, your M." When
we write postcards we always use a cipher which no
one else can understand, so that M. means H. It's
a good thing no one can understand it. Of course I
wrote to Anneliese directly, and was most affectionate,
and I sent a postcard to Hella, in our cipher, with
nothing more than: Have done so, with best wishes,
W. Not even _your_ W. I do wonder what she will do.
Hero Siegfried was lying with us to-day in the hayfield,
and what he said was lovely. But I can't agree
that all fathers _without exception_ are tyrants. I
said: "_My_ Father isn't!" He rejoined: "Not _yet_,
but you will find out in time. However, anyone with
a character of his own won't allow himself to be
suppressed. I simply broke with my Old Man and left
home; there are other technical schools besides the
one in Brunn. And since you say not _all_ fathers; well
just look at Hulda; whenever anyone fell in love with
her the Old Man marred her chance, for no one can
stand such tutelage." "Tutelage, what do you mean,"
said I, but just at that moment everyone got up to go
away. To-morrow perhaps, poor persecuted man.

August 9th. Oh dear, it's horrible if it's all really
true what Hella writes about being infected; an erup-
tion all over the body, that is the most horrible thing
in the world. I must tear up her letter directly, and
since she could not write 8 whole pages in our cipher,
I must _absolutely destroy_ it, so that no one can get
hold of a fragment of it. Above all now that Marina
is here, for you never can tell -- -- --. But I know
what I'll do; I'll copy the letter here, even if it takes
2 or 3 days. She writes:

Darling Rita, what did you say when you got yesterday's
postcard. If you were angry, you must make it
up with me. Consort with whom you please and
write to whom you please; but all the _consequences_
be on your own head. Father always says: Beware
of red hair! And I insist that the "innocent child"
has _foxy red_ hair. But you can think what you like.

Now I've got something much more important to
tell you. But you must promise me dirst that you will
tear up my letter directly you have read it. Otherwise
please send it back to me _un_read.

Just fancy. Here in B. there is a young married
woman living with her mother and her cousin, a girl
who is studying medicine; they are Poles and I have
always had an enthusiastic admiration for the Poles.
The young wife has got a divorce from her husband,
for she was _infected_ by him on the _wedding night_.
Of course you remember what being _infected_ is. But
really it is something quite different from what we
imagined. Because of _that_ she got a frightful eruption
all over her body and her face, and most likely all
her hair will fall out; is it not frightful? Her cousin,
the medical student, who is apparently very poor, is
there to _nurse_ her. Our servant Rosa told me about
it, she heard of it from the housemaid where they have
rooms. As you know, one can't talk to Lizzi about
anything of that kind, and so I did not learn any more;
but the other day, when I went to buy some picture
postcards, I met the three ladies. The young wife was
wearing a very thick veil, so that one could see nothing.
They were sitting on a bench in the garden in
front of their house, and I bowed in passing, on the
way back. They bowed, and smiled in a friendly way.
In the afternoon I had to lie down, for I was feeling
very bad because of . . . .!! Then I suddenly heard
some people talking on the veranda just outside my
window--the veranda runs all round the house. At
first I saw shadows passing, and then they sat down
outside. I recognised the soft voice of the Polish
student directly, and I heard her say to the wife of
the mayor of J.: "Yes, my unfortunate cousin's experience
has been a terrible one; that is because people
sell girls like merchandise, without asking them, and
without their having the least idea what they are in
for." I got up at once and sat down close to the
window behind the curtain so that I could hear everything.
The mayor's wife said: "Yes, it's horrible
what one has to go through when one is married.
_My_ husband is not one of that sort but -- -- -- And
then I could not understand what she went on to say
I overheard this conversation on Thursday. But
that's not all I have to tell you. Of course my first
thought was, if only I could have a talk with her;
for she spoke about _enlightenment_ and although we
are both of us already _very much enlightened_, still,
as a medical student, she must know a great deal
more than we do, so that we can learn from her. And
since she said that girls ought not to be allowed to
_run blindly into marriage_, I thought she would probably
tell me a little if I went cautiously to work.
There was a word which she and the mayor's wife used
more than once, _segsual_ and I don't know what it
means, and I'm sure you don't know either, darling
Rita. She said something about _segsual intimacies_;
of course when people talk about _intimacies_, one
knows it has a meaning, but what on earth does segsual
mean? It must mean something, since it is used with
_intimacy_. Well, let me get on. On Saturday there
was a party, and the medical student came, and I
left my Alpine Songs lying on the piano, and somebody
picked it up and turned over the pages, and the
word went round that the person to whom it belonged
must sing something. At first I did not let on, but
went out for a moment, and then came back saying:
I'm looking for my music book, I left it lying about
somewhere. There was a general shout, and everyone
said: We've agreed that the person to whom that
book belongs has got to sing. Now I knew that
Fraulein Karwinska had accompanied the singing on
such evenings before. So I said: I shall be delighted
to sing, provided Fraulein K. will accompany me,
For you gentlemen play too loud for my voice. Great
laughter, but I had got what I wanted. We were
introduced, and I thought to myself: You will soon
improve the acquaintance. On Sunday for once in a
way I got up quite early, at half past 6, for Fraulein K.
can only go out walking early in the morning since she
spends the whole day with her cousin. She sits near
the Luisenquelle, so I went there with a book, and
as soon as she came I jumped up, said good-morning,
and went on: I'm afraid I've taken possession of
_your_ bench. "Not at all," she said, "Do you study
on Sundays?" "Oh no, this is only light reading,"
I answered, and I made haste to sit on the book, for
in my hurry I had not noticed what it was. But luck
was with me. She sat down beside me and said:
"What is it you are reading that you hide so
anxiously? I suppose it's something that your mother
must not know about." "Oh no," said I, "we have
not brought any such books to the country with us."
"I take it that means that you do manage to get them
when you are in town?" "Goodness me, one must
try and learn a little about _life_; and since no one will
ever tell one anything, one looks about for oneself to
see if one can find anything in a book." "In the
encyclopedia, I suppose?" "No, that's no good, for
one can't always find the truth there." She burst out
laughing and said: "What sort of truth do you
want?" "I think you can imagine very well what sort
of things I want to know." Of course one can speak
more plainly to a medical student than one can to
other girls, and she was not in the least disgusted or
angry but said: Yes, it's the same struggle everywhere.
Then I made use of your favourite phrase
and said: "Struggle, what do you mean? What I
really want to know about is being infected." Then
she flushed up and said: "Who's been talking to you
about that? It seems to me that the whole town is
chattering about my unhappy cousin. You must see
that _I_ can't tell you that." But I answered: "If you
don't, who will? _You_ study medicine, and are seeing
and talking about such things all day." "No, no, my
dear _child_ (you can imagine how furious that made
me), you are still much too young for _that sort of
thing_." What do you think of that, we are too young
at 14 1/2, it's utterly absurd. I expect that really her
studies have not gone very far, and she would not
admit it. Anyhow, I stood up, and said: "I must
not disturb you any longer," and bowed and went
away; but I thought to myself: "A fig for her and
her _studies_; fine sort of a doctor _she_'ll make!"
"What do you think about it all? We shall still
have to trust to the encyclopedia, and after all a lot
of what we can learn there is all right, and luckily
we know most things except the word segsual. Next
winter I expect we shall find it easier than we used
to to get to the bookcase in your house. I don't bow
to the silly idiot any more.

But darling Rita, with regard to the "innocent
child," I don't want to influence you in any way, and
I shan't be angry with you for preferring an _unworthy_
person to me!!! Faithless though you are, I send
you half a million kisses, your ever faithful friend,
H. P.S. I have been 4 days writing this letter; tear
it up, _whatever_ you do!!!

Now that I have copied the letter, I really can't see
why Hella wants me to tear it up. There's nothing
so very dreadful in it. But there is one thing I shan't
be able to do for Hella, to help her in looking up
things in the encyclopedia. I think I should always
feel that Mother would suddenly come in and stand
behind us. No, I simply can't do it.

August 13th. Through that stupid copying I have
been prevented writing about _my own_ affairs, although
they are far more important. Last Wednesday the
Society for the Preservation of Natural Beauties had
arranged a great excursion to Inner-Lahn in breaks.
Dora did not want to go at first, but Father said that
if it would give _us_ pleasure, he would very much like
to go with us, and Mother would be only too delighted
to see that we were enjoying something once more.
And two days before the excursion Dora finally decided
that she would like to go; I knew why at once;
she thought that by that time all the places would
have been taken, and that we should have been told:
Very sorry, no more room. But luckily she had made
a _great_ mistake. For the secretary said: With pleasure;
how many places shall I reserve? and so we said:
7; namely, Father, Dora, and I, Aunt Alma (unfortunately),
Marina (very unfortunately), and the two
boys (no less unfortunately). "That will need an
extra conveyance," replied the secretary, and we
thought we should make a family party. But it was
not so: Next Dora sat a gentleman whom I had seen
once or twice before, and he paid her a tremendous
amount of attention. Besides that there were 2 strange
gentlemen, Frau Bang and her 2 daughters and her
son, who is not quite all there; opposite was Hero
Siegfried, a young lady who is I believe going on the
stage, the two Weiner girls and their Mother
(notwithstanding!!!), then I, and afterwards Marina,
Father, Aunt Alma, and the two boys opposite. I
don't know who made up the other break-loads. At 6
in the morning we all met outside the school, for the
schoolmaster acted as our guide. I did not know before
that he has two daughters and a son who has
matriculated this year. First of all they held a great
review, and the gentlemen fortified themselves with
a nip and so did some of the ladies; I did not, for I
hate the way in which a liqueur burns one's throat so
that every one, at any rate girls and ladies, make
such faces when they are drinking, that is why I never
drink liqueur. I did not care much about the drive
out, for it was very cold and windy, most of us had
red noses and blue lips; I kept on biting my lips to
keep them red, for one looks simply hideous when
one's lips are white or blue, I noticed that in Dora
when we were skating last winter. Father went only
on our account, and Aunt Dora stayed at home so
that Aunt Alma could go. Marina wears "snails"
now, the sight of her is enough to give one fits. Dora
gets on with her quite well, which is more than I can
say for myself. Only when we got out aid I notice
that Siegfried's sister, Fraulein Hulda, had been sitting
next the aspiring actress. She is awfully nice,
and many, many years ago she must have been very
pretty; she has such soft brown eyes, and her hair is
the same colour as her brother's; but he has glorious
blue eyes, which get quite black when he is angry,
as he was when he was talking about his father. I
should tremble before him in his wrath. He is so tall
that I only come up to his shoulder. Father calls
him the red tapeworm; but that's really not fair. He
is very broad but so thin. In Unter-Toifen we
stopped for breakfast, eating the food we had brought
with us; about half an hour; then the schoolmaster
hurried us all away, for we had quite 10 miles to
walk. The two boys made a party with other boys,
and we five girls, we 2, the 2 Weiners, and Marina,
led the way. Aunt Alma walked with a clergyman's
wife from Hildesheim, or whatever it was called, and
with the schoolmaster's wife. It was _awfully_ dull at
first, so that I began to be sorry that I had begged
Father to let us go. But after we had gone a few miles
the schoolmaster's son and three bright young fellows
came along and walked with us. Then we had such
fun that we could hardly walk for laughing, and the
elders had continually to drive us on. Marina was
quite unrestrained, I could never have believed that
she could be so jolly. One of the schoolmaster's
daughters fell down, and some one pulled her out of
the brook into which she had slid because she was
laughing so much. I really don't know what time we
got to Inner-Lahn, for we were enjoying ourselves so
much. Dinner had been ordered ready for us, and we
were all frantically hungry. We laughed without
stopping, for we had all sat down just as we had come
in, although Aunt Alma did not want us to at first.
But she was outvoted. I was _especially pleased_ to
show Hero Siegfried that I could amuse myself very
well without him, for he had frozen on to the aspiring
actress, or she had frozen on to him--I don't know
which, or at least I did not know _then!_ Since we were
sitting all mixed up everyone had to pay for himself,
and Father said next day we had spent a perfect
fortune; but that was not in the hotel, it happened
later, when we were buying mementoes. And I think
Dora gave Marina 3 crowns, so that she could buy
some things too. But Dora never lets on about anything
of that sort. I must say I like her character
better and better; in those ways she is very like Mother.
Well, our purchases were all packed into two or three
rucksacks, and were kept for a raffle in Unter-Toifen
on the way back. I must have spent at least 7 crowns,
for Father had given each of us 5 crowns before we
started, and I still had a lot of my August pocket
money left, and now I've got only 40 hellers. After
we had had dinner and bought the things we lay
about in the forest or walked about in couples. I had
curled myself up for a nap when some one came up
behind me, and when I sat up this _someone_ put his
hands over my eyes and said: "The Mountain
Spirit." And I recognised _his_ hands _instantly_, and
said: "Hero Siegfried!" Then he laughed like anything
and sat down beside me and said: "You were
enjoying yourself so much this morning that you had
not even a glance to spare for me." "Contrariwise
(I've got that from Dora), I never foist myself on
anyone, and never _hang around anyone's neck_." Then
he wanted to put his arm round my waist (and probably,
most probably, he would have kissed me), but
I sprang to my feet and called Dora or rather Thea,
for before the gentlemen we pretend that we never
call one another anything but Thea and Rita. Father
says that that is awfully silly, and no longer suitable
for Dora (but of course it was alright for me!), but
we keep to our arrangement. Then he raised my hand
to his lips and said: "Don't call!" But Dora came
up, and with her the gentleman with the pincenez,
who is a doctor of law belonging to the District Court
of Innsbruck, and Marina and one of the young men,
and I asked, "I say, when _are_ we going to have tea?"
"Just fancy, she is hungry again already," they all
said, and laughed like anything. And Dora looked
_frightfully_ happy. She was wearing an edelweiss
buttonhole which she had not been wearing before; in
the evening she told me that Dr. P. had given it her.
If possible he is even taller than Hero Siegfried, for
Dora is taller than I am and her head only comes up
to his ear. At 3 o'clock the last party came up to the
belvedere, we had got there earlier. The view was
lovely. But I must say I can enjoy a fine view much
better when I am alone, that is with Father or quite a
few persons; it is no good when there's such a crowd;
each additional person seems to take something more
away. In a lovely place and at the cemetery one must
be alone. For a beautiful view usually makes one feel
frightfully sad, and one ought not to have been laughing
so much just before, or laugh directly afterwards.
If I were alone in Inner-Lahn I'm sure I should become
melancholy, for it is so gloriously beautiful
there.

At 4 o'clock, after tea, we started back, for the
schoolmaster thought the descent would not take more
than two hours and a half, but we needed more than
three. For we were all very tired, and a great many
of them had sore feet, especially Aunt Alma! We had
said before, that it would be too much for Aunt; but
she had to come with us to take care of Marina, though
Marina enjoyed herself _extremely_ with a Herr Furtner,
who is studying mining like Oswald, not in Leoben
but in Germany. One does not really find out
what a girl is like until one sees how she behaves with
a man, or what she is like when one talks to her about
_certain things_; as for the last, of course that's
impossible with Marina _since the experience_ we had. But
anyhow she is nicer than one would have thought at
first sight. It was lovely on the way home. Driving
back from Unter-Toifen we sat quite differently.

In our break, instead of the Weiners, there were
three students from Munich, they were awfully nice,
and we sang all the songs we knew; especially "Hoch
vom Dachstein, wo der Aar nur haust," and "Forelle "
and "Wo mein Schatz ist," were lovely, and the people
in two different breaks sang together. And then some
of them sang some Alpine songs and yodelled till the
hills echoed. Two or three of the men in the third
break were rather tipsy and _Hero Siegfried!!_ was one
of them. Aunt Alma had a frightful headache; it was
utterly idiotic for her to come, and we did not know
yet what was still to happen. At every house from
which a girl had come there was a serenade. And
next evening there was to be a great raffle of the
mementoes we had bought, but Father would not let us
go to that.

August 14th. It is desperately dull. I don't
know what on earth to do, so I am writing my diary.
Besides, I have not written about the row yet. The
next afternoon Aunt Alma came just as we were going
out and said to Father: Ernst, please let me have
a word with you. Now we all know Aunt Alma's _let
me have a word with you_. In plain language it
means: I'm going to make a scene. She began : Ernst,
you know I never like these big parties with a lot of
strangers, for no good can come of them. Still, I made
up my mind to go for the sake of the children, and
chiefly for the sake of _your motherless_ children. (Nobody
asked her to; and Aunt Dora had to stay at home
on her account.) Do you know what sort of people
were in our company? That impudent young student
whom Gretel is always running after (did you ever
hear anything like it! I should like to know when
I ran after him; I suppose in the wood I put _my_ arm
round _his_ waist, and I suppose that it was _I_ who began
the acquaintance on my birthday) and that girl who's
training for the stage did not come home after the
excursion till the night was half over. God knows
where they were! They were certainly no _cleaner_
when they got home. (Naturally, for where could
they have had a wash.) His father gave the young
blackguard a fine talking to, but of course the girl's
mother takes her side. It would positively kill me to
think of _my Marina doing anything of the kind_."
Father was able to get a word in at last: "But my dear
Alma, what has all this to do with my girls? As far as
I know these two people weren't in our break, isn't that
so girls?" I was glad that Father turned to _us_, and I
said: Siegfried Sch. and the girl drove in the fourth
break, I saw them getting in. And it was toute meme
chause where he drove and with whom he was driving."
(Of course that's not true, but I said it was because of
Aunt.) "Such language and such a tone to your own
Father!" Directly she said that Father was in such
a passion as I have never seen him in before. "My
dear Alma, I really must beg you not to interfere with
_my_ educational methods, any more than I ever attempt
to interfere in _your_ affairs." Father said this quite
quietly, but he was simply white with rage, and Dora
told me afterwards that I was quite white too, also
from rage of course. Aunt Alma said: "I don't want
to prophesy evil, but the future will show who is right
Goodbye." As soon as she had gone Dora and I
rushed to Father and said: "Please Father, don't be
so frightfully angry; there's no reason why you
should." And Father was awfully sweet and said:
"I know quite well that I can trust you; you are my
Berta's children." And then I simply could not contain
myself, and I said: "No, Father, I really did
flirt with Siegfried, and in the wood he put his arm
round my waist; but I did not let him kiss me, I give
you my word I did not. And if you want me to I'll
promise never to speak to him again." And then
Father said: "Really, Gretel, you have plenty of time
yet for such affairs, and even if that _red-haired rascal_
plays the gallant with you, he is only making himself
a laughingstock. And you don't want that, do you,
little witch?" Then I threw my arms round Father
and promised him _on my word of honour_ that I would
never speak to Siegfried again. For it really distresses
me very much that he should make himself ridiculous;
and that he should go out walking half the night with
that girl; such shamelessness!

We were so much upset that we did not go for a
walk, and of course did not go to the raffle. But I'm
frightfully sorry about those things I paid 7 crowns
for. I do hope he did not win any of them.

August 15th. Just a few words more. Early this
morning, as I was going to breakfast, in the corridor
I met S. (it's a good thing that is the initial both
of his name and of Strick [rascal] as Father called
him) and he said: "Good morning, Fraulein Gretchen.
Why weren't you at the raffle? Hadn't you any
share?--"Oh yes, I had bought 7 crowns worth for it,
but I had no fancy for the company I should
meet."-- -- Why, what has taken you all of a
sudden? They were the same people as at the
excursion! -- -- -- "Precisely for that reason," said I,
and passed on. I think I gave him what for, for he
simply must have understood. Father is really quite
right, and it is not at all nice to abuse one's parents
to strangers as he is always doing. I could not say a
word against my parents to anyone, although I'm
often frightfully angry with them; of course not about
Mother, for she is dead. But not even about Father;
I would rather choke down the greatest injustice. For
when we had that trouble with Aunt Alma about
Marina, I was really not in the least to blame, but he
scolded me so, even while Aunt Alma was there, so
that I can never forget it. But still, to a stranger, to
some one whom I had only just got to know, I would
never say a word against anyone in our family; though
I used to get on so badly with Dora, I never said
much against her even to Hella; at most that she was
deceitful, and that really used to be so, though she
seldom is now.

August 19th. It is so filthyly dull here; I can't bear
the word filthy, but it's the only one that's strong
enough. Oswald is coming this evening, at last.
Thank goodness. S. has made several _advances_, but
I have _ignored_ them. Let him stick to his actress who
can go out walking with him half the night. I really
_should_ like to know where they went. In the night,
I never heard of such a thing! Dora says she took a
dislike to S. from the first because he -- -- -- -- --
it's an absolute lie! -- -- -- has clammy! hands.
It's simply not true, on the contrary he has such
entrancingly cool hands, I'm sure I must know that
better than Dora. But I've known for a long time
that whenever anyone pays _me_ attention Dora is
_unsympathetic_, naturally enough. By the way, on Sunday
I got a charming letter from Anneliese. I must
answer it to-day.

August 22nd. Oswald is awfully nice. He did
not forget my birthday, but he says that at that time
he was stoney, in student's slang that means that he
hadn't any money, and then he could not find anything
suitable, but that he will repair the omission as
soon as we get back to Vienna. But I don't know
what I should like. Oswald is going to stay until
we all go back to Vienna, and we are making a few
excursions _by ourselves_. That is really the best way
after all. I am not much with the Weiners now, for
we had a little tiff on the big excursion. But Nelly
is rather taken with Oswald, so she came twice to our
table to-day, once about a book we had lent her, and
once to arrange for a walk.

August 24th. It is really absurd that one's own
brother can think such a lot of one; but if he does,
I suppose he knows. Oswald said to me to-day:
Gretl, you are so smart I could bite you. How you
are developing." I said: "I don't want anyone to
bite me, and he said: "Nor do I," but I was awfully
delighted, though he is only my brother. He can't
stand Marina, and as a man he finds Dora too stupid;
I think he's right, really. And I simply can't understand
Dr. P., that he can always find something to
talk about to Dora. He has hardly said 10 words to
me yet. Still, I don't care.

August 27th. We went up the Matscherkogel yesterday,
and we had a lovely view. The two boys
came, for they had begged their father to let them;
but of course Aunt Alma and Marina did not come.
Oswald calls Aunt Alma _Angular Pincushion_, but only
when Father isn't there, for after all she is Father's
sister. The Weiners wanted to come too, but I said
that my brother was staying only a few days more,
and that this was a farewell excursion _en famille_."
They were rather hurt, but they have made me very
angry by the way in which they will go on talking
about S. in front of me, on purpose, saying that he is
engaged or is going to be engaged to the actress girl
against his father's will. What does it matter to _me_?
They keep on exchanging glances when they say that,
especially Olga, who is really rather stupid. I am
so sad now at times that I simply can't understand
how I could have enjoyed myself so much on the big
excursion. I'm always thinking of dear Mother, and
I often wear my black frock. It suits my mood better.

August 30th. I believe the Schs. are leaving to-
morrow. At least the old gentleman said to Father
the day before yesterday: "Thank the Lord, we shall
soon be able to enjoy the comforts of home once more."
That is what Hella's grandmother used to say before
they came back from the country. And to-day I saw
two great trunks standing in the passage just outside
Herr Scharrer's room. Oswald thinks the old gentleman
charming; well, there's no accounting for tastes.
I don't believe he's ever spoken to S., though he is a
German Nationalist too, but of a different section;
Oswald belongs to the Sudmark, and S. abused that
section frightfully when I told him that Oswald belonged
to the Sudmark.

August 31st. He has really gone to-day, that is,
the whole family has gone. They came to bid us
goodbye yesterday after supper, and they left this
morning by the 9 o'clock train to Innsbruck. And his
hands are not clammy, I paid particular attention
to the point; it is pure imagination on Dora's part.
He and Oswald greeted one another with Hail! That's
a splendid salutation, and I shall introduce it between
Hella and me.

September 2nd. The Weiners left to-day too, because
people are really beginning to stare at their
mother too much. When Olga said goodbye to me
she told me she hated having to travel with her mother
and whenever possible she would lag behind a little so
that people should not know they belonged together.

September 4th. I never heard of such a thing!!
S. has come back, alone of course. Everyone is indignant,
for he has only come back because of Fraulein
A., the actress girl. But Oswald defends him
like anything. This afternoon Frau Lunda said to
Aunt Dora: "It's simply scandalous, and his parents
certainly ought not to have allowed him to come, even
if the girl's mother does not know any better." Then
Oswald said: "Excuse me, Frau Lunda, Scharrer is
no longer a schoolboy who must cling to his mother's
apron-string; such tutelage would really be unworthy
of a full-grown German." I was so pleased that he
gave a piece of his mind to Frau L., for she is always
glaring at one and is so frantically inquisitive. And
_tutelage_ is such an impressive word, S. used it once
when he was speaking of his sister and why she had
never married. Frau L. was furious. She turned to
Aunt Dora and said: "Young men naturally take
one another's part, until they are fathers themselves
and then they hold other views."

September 8th. Thank goodness we are going
home the day after to-morrow. It really has been
rather dull here, certainly I can't join in the paean
Hella sang about the place last year; of course they
were not staying in the Edelweiss boarding house but
in the Hotel Kaiser von Oesterreich. It makes a lot
of difference _where_ one is staying. By the way, it
has just occurred to me. The young wife who had
the eruption after _infection_ can't have been divorced,
as Hella wrote me the week before last; for her husband
has been there on a visit, he is an actor at the
Theatre Royal in Munich. So it would seem that
actors really are all _infected_; and Hella always says
it is only officers! She takes rather an exaggerated
view.

September 14th. We have been back in Vienna
since the 11th, but I have been absolutely unable to
write, though there was plenty to write about. For
the first person I met when I went out on the 11th to
fetch some cocoa which Resi had forgotten, was
Lieutenant R. Viktor, _the Conqueror!!_ Of course he
recognised me immediately, and was awfully friendly,
and _walked with me a little way_. He asked casually
after Dora, but it is obvious that he is not in love
with her any more. And it was so funny that he
should not know that Dora had matriculated this
year and so would not be going to the High School
any more. I did not tell him that she intends to go
on with her studies, for it is not absolutely settled
yet.

September 16th. Hella came home yesterday; I
am so glad; I greeted her with: _Hail!_ but she said;
"don't be silly," besides, it's unsuitable for an Austrian
officer's daughter!!! Still, we won't quarrel about it
after 2 months' separation, and _Servus_ is very smart
too though not so distinguished. She told me a
tremendous lot more about that young married woman;
some of the ladies in B. said that her cousin was _in
love_ with the husband. That would be awful, for
then she would get infected too; but Hella says she
did not notice anything, though she watched very
closely during the fortnight he was there. He sang
at two of the musical evenings, but she did not see
any sign of it. Lizzi is _engaged_, but Hella could not
write anything about it, for the engagement is only
being officially announced now that they are back in
Vienna; her fiance is Baron G. He is an attache in
London, and she met him there. He is madly in love
with her. In August he was on leave, and he came to
B. to make an offer of marriage; that is why they
stayed the whole summer in B. instead of going to
Hungary. Those were the _special circumstances_,
about which Hella said she could not write to me.
I don t see why she could not have told me _that_, I
should have kept it to myself; and after all, Lizzi
is 19 1/2 now, and no one would have been surprised
that she is engaged at last. They can't have a great
betrothal party, for Baron G.'s father died in July.
Hella is very much put out. Lizzi says it does not
matter a bit.

September 18th. Lizzi's betrothal cards arrived
to-day. It must be glorious to send out betrothal
cards. Dora got quite red with annoyance, though
she said when I asked her: "Why do you flush up
so, surely there's no reason to be ashamed when anyone
is _engaged!_" "Really, why should you think I
am ashamed, I am merely _extremely surprised_." But
one does not get so red as _that_ from surprise.

September 19th. School began to-day; unfortunately,
for _she_ has gone. And what was the Third
is now the Fourth, and that is detestable, to sit in
the classroom without _her_. Luckily we have Frau
Doktor St. as class mistress, and she is to teach us
mathematics and physics once more; Frau Doktor F.,
whom we used to call Nutling and the Fifth used to
call Waterfall has gone, for she has been appointed
to the German High School in Lemberg. For the
time being we are sitting in our old place, but Hella
says we must ask Frau Doktor S. to let us have another
seat, for the memory of the three years when
we had Frau Doktor M. might make us inattentive.
That is a splendid idea. In German we have a master,
in French I am sorry to say it's still Frau Doktor
Dunker, whose complexion has not improved, and in
English the head mistress. I am very pleased with
that, for first of all I like her very much, and secondly
I shall be in her good books from the start because
Dora was her favourite. Of course I'm not learning
Latin, for it would not interest me now that Frau
Doktor M. has gone. Oh, and we have a new Religion
teacher, for Herr Professor K. has retired, since he
was 60 already.

September 21st. We have managed it. In the
long interval, Hella said to Frau Doktor St., who was
in charge. "Frau Doktor, may we venture to ask
for something?" So she said: "What, in the very
first week; well, what is it?" We said we should like
to move from the third bench towards the window,
for we found it very painful to go on sitting where
we had sat when Frau Doktor M., was there. At
first she refused, but after a while she said: I'll see
what I can do, if you are really not happy where you
are." From 11 to 12 was the mathematic lesson,
and as soon as Frau Doktor Steiner had taken her
place she said: "This arrangement of your seats was
only provisional. You had better sit more according
to height." Then she rearranged us all, and Hella
and I were moved to the 5th bench on the window
side; the two twins, the Ehrenfelds got our places; in
front of us is Lohr and a new girl called Friederike
Hammer whose father is a confectioner in Mariahilferstrasse.
We are awfully glad that we have got
away from that hateful third bench where _she_ used
so often to stand near us and lay her hand on the
desk.

September 29th. Professor Fritsch, the German
professor, came to-day for the first time. He is
always clearing his throat and he wears gold spectacles.
Hella thinks him _tolerably_ nice, but I don't. I'm
quite sure that I shall never get an Excellent in German
again. Yesterday the new Religion master came
for the first time, and I sat alone, for Hella being a
Protestant did not attend. He looks frightfully ill
and his eyes are always lowered though he has burning
black eyes. Next time I shall sit beside Hammer
which will be company for us both.

October 2nd. We had confession and communion
to-day, and since the staff will not allow us to choose
our confessors, I had to go to Professor Ruppy. I
did hate it. I whispered so low that he had to tell
me to speak louder three times over. When I began
about the sixth commandment he covered his eyes
with his hand. But thank goodness he did not ask
any questions about that. The only one of the staff
who used to allow us to choose our confessors was
Frau Doktor M. Really, she did not allow it directly
but when one ran quickly to another confessional
box, she pretended not to notice. The Herr Rel. Prof
gives frightfully long penances; all the girls who
went to him took a tremendous time to get through.
I do hope he won't be so strict over his examinations
or I shall get an Unsatisfactory; that would be awful.
October 3rd. Father was so splendid to-day!
Aunt Dora must have told him that I asked her not
long ago whether Father was likely to marry Frau
Riedl, whose husband died almost exactly the same
time as Mother, for Father is guardian to her three
children. She was here to-day with Willi, because
he has just begun going to school. Dora and I talked
it over, and she said that if Father married Frau R.,
she would leave home. In the evening when we were
at supper, I said: If only Frau v. R. was not so ugly.
Father, don't you think she's perfectly hideous?
And Father laughed so lovingly and said: You
need not be anxious, little witch, I'm not going to
inflict a stepmother on you." I was so glad, and so
was Dora and we kissed Father such a lot, and Dora
said: "I felt sure that you would never break your
oath to Mother," and she burst out crying. And
Father said: "No, girls, I did not give any promise
to your Mother, she would never have asked anything
of the kind. But with grown girls like you it would
never do to bring a stepmother into the house." And
then I told Father that Dora would have gone away
from home, and as for me, I should certainly have
been frightfully upset. For _if_ Father really wanted
_to marry_ again _I_ should have to put up with it; and
so would Dora. But Father said once more: Don't
worry, I certainly shan't marry again." And I said:
"Not even Aunt Dora?" And he said: "Oh, as
for her -- --" And then he pulled himself up and
said: "No, no, not even Aunt Dora." Dora has just
told me that I am a perfect idiot, for surely I must
know that Father is not particularly charmed by
Aunt. And then she blamed me for having told
Father that she would leave home if he were to marry
again. _I am a child_ to whom it is impossible to entrust
any secrets!! Now we have been quarrelling for at least
three quarters of an hour, so it is already half past 11.
Luckily to-morrow is a holiday, because of the
Emperor's birthday. But I am so glad to know for
certain that Father is not going to marry Frau v. R
I could never get on with a stepmother.

October 9th. It's horribly difficult in German this
year. In composition we are not allowed to make
any rough notes, we have to write it straight off and
then _hand it in_. I simply can't. Professor Fritsch
is very handsome, but the girls are terribly afraid of
him for he is so strict. His wife is in an asylum
and his children live with his mother. He has got
a divorce from his wife, and since he has the luck to
be a Protestant he can marry again if he wants to.
Hella is perfectly fascinated by him, but I'm not in
the least. For I always think of Prof. W. in the
Second, and that's enough for me. I'm not going
to fall in love with any more professors. In the Training
College, where Marina is now, in her fourth year
one of the professors last year married a former pupil.
I would not do that at any price, marry a former
professor,: who knows all one's faults. Besides, he
must be at least 12 or 20 years older than the girl;
and that's perfectly horrible, one might as well marry
one's father; he would be at least fond of her, and
she would at least know the way he likes to have
everything done; but to marry one's former professor,
what an extraordinary thing to do!

October 15th. I'm frightfully anxious that Hella
may have a relapse; she says that nothing would
induce her to have a second operation, especially now
that -- -- --; she says she would rather die. That
would be awful! I did my best to persuade her to
tell her mother that she has such pain; but she
won't.

October 19th. In November, Hella's father will
be made a general and will be stationed in Cracow.
Thank goodness she is going to stay here with her
grandmother until she leaves the Lyz. She will only
go to Cracow at Christmas and Easter and in the
summer holidays. She is frantically delighted. The
good news has made her quite well again. Everyone
at school is very proud that there will be a general's
daughter in our class. It's true that there is a field-
marshal's daughter in the Third, but he is retired.
Father always says: Nobody makes any fuss over a
retired officer.

October 22nd. We are so much excited that we've
hardly any time to learn our lessons. At Christmas
last year some one gave Hella's mother several of
Geierstamm's novels. The other day one of them
was lying on the table, and when her mother was out
Hella had a hurried look at it and read the title _The
Power of Woman!!!_ When her mother had finished
it, she watched to see where it was put in the bookcase,
and now we are reading it. It's simply wonderful!
It keeps me awake all night; Signe whom he is so
passionately fond of and who deceives him. We
cried so much that we could not go on reading. And
Gretchen, the girl, to whom her father is everything;
I can understand so well that she is always anxious
lest her father should marry that horrid Frau Elise,
although she has a husband already. And when she
dies, oh, it's so horrible and so beautiful that we read
it over three times in succession. The other day
my eyes were quite red from crying, and Aunt said
I must be working too hard; for she thinks that Hella
and I are studying literature together. Oh dear, lessons
are an awful nuisance when one has _such_ books
to read.

October 24th. When I look at Father I always
think of the novel _The Power of Woman_; of course
leaving Signe out of account. Hella hopes she'll be
able to get hold of some other book, but it's not so
easy to do without her mother finding it out, for she
often lends books to her friends. Then there would
be an awful row. We certainly don't want to read
_The Little Brother's Book_, the title does not attract
us; but there's a novel called _The Comedy of Marriage_,
it must be splendid; we _must_ get that whatever happens.

October 26th. The Bruckners are going to keep
on their flat, and Hella's grandmother will come and
live there; only the Herr _General!!!_ is going to C.,
and of course Hella's mother too. Lizzi will stay,
for she is taking cooking lessons, since she is to be
_married_ in Mid-Lent.

October 31st. Hella's parents left to-day, she
cried frightfully, for she did so want to go with them.
Lizzi was quite unconcerned, for she is engaged already,
and the Baron, her fiance, is coming at Christmas,
either to Vienna or Cracow; he does not care
which.

November 4th. Some of the girls in our class were
furious in the German lesson to-day. One or two of
the girls did not know the proper places for commas,
and Prof. Fritsch hinted that we had learned nothing
at all in previous years. We understood perfectly
well that he was aiming at Frau Doktor M., whose
German lessons were 10 times or rather 100 times better
than Professor F.'s. And on this very matter of
punctuation Frau Doktor M. took a tremendous lot
of trouble and gave us lots of examples. Besides,
whether one has a good style or not does not depend
upon whether one puts a _comma_ in the right place.
The two Ehrenfelds, who towards the end were awfully
fond of Frau Doktor M., say that we, who were Frau
Doktor M.'s favourites, ought to write a composition
without a single comma, just to show him. That's a
splendid idea, and Hella and I will do it like a shot
if only the others can be trusted to do it too.

November 6th. This year all the classes _must_
have at least two outings every month, even in winter.
If that had been decided in the last school year, when
Frau Doktor M. was still there, I should certainly
have gone every time. But this year, when she has
left, we can't enjoy it. Frau Doktor St. is awfully
nice, but not like Frau Doktor M. Besides, we go
somewhere with Father every Sunday, Hella comes
with us, and Lizzi if she likes. As soon as the snow
comes we are going to have tobogganing parties at
Hainfeld or Lilienfeld.

December 3rd. Nearly a whole month has passed
without my writing, but I must write to-day! There's
been such a row in the German lesson!! We got
back the compositions in which Hella and I, the 2
Ehrenfelds, Brauner, Edith Bergler, and Kuhnelt,
had not put a single comma. Nothing would have
been found out had not that idiot Brauner put in
commas first and then scratched them out. We had
agreed that if the Prof. noticed anything we would
say we had meant to go through them together before
the lesson, and to decide where to put in commas,
but that we had had no time. Now the silly fool
has given away the whole show. He is going to bring
the matter before the staff meeting. But after all,
it's simply _impossible_ to give 6 girls out of 25 a bad
conduct mark.

December 4th. The head mistress came to inspect
the German lesson to-day. Afterwards she said that
she expected us to make all the knowledge which
Frau Doktor M. had instilled into us for 3 years, the
firm foundation of our further development in the
higher classes. In the English lesson she referred
to the more restricted use of punctuation marks in
English; and afterwards we 6 _sinners_ were summoned
to the office. The whole school knew about the trouble
and was astonished at our courage, especially the lower
classes; the Fifth and the Sixth were rather annoyed
that we in the Fourth had dared to do it. The head
gave us a terrible scolding, saying that it was an unexampled
piece of impudence, and that we were not doing
credit to Frau Doktor M. Then Hella said very modestly:
"Frau Direktorin, will you please allow me to
say a word in our defence?" Then she explained that
Prof. Fritsch never missed a chance of casting a slur
upon Frau Doktor M., not in plain words of course,
but so that we could not fail to understand it, and that
was why we acted as we did. The head answered we
must certainly be mistaken, that no member of the
staff could ever speak against another in such a way
we had simply misunderstood Prof Fritsch! But we
know perfectly well how often the Nutling used to
say in the Maths lesson: "Don't you know _that_?
Surely you _must_ have been taught that." The emphasis
does it!!!!! The staff meeting is to-morrow, and we
were told to do our best to make amends before the
meeting. The 2 Ehrenfelds suggested that we should
write the compositions over again, of course with all
the commas, and should place them on his desk to-
morrow morning before the German lesson; but all
the rest of us were against this, for we saw plainly
that the head had changed colour when Hella said
what she did. We shall make the corrections and
then we shall all begin new copybooks.

December 8th. It is 3 days now since the staff
meeting, but not a word has been said yet about our
affair, and in the German lesson yesterday the Prof.
gave out the subject for the third piece of home work
without saying anything in particular. I think he is
afraid to. Hella has saved us all, for everyone else
would have been afraid to say what she did, even I.
Hella said: "My dear Rita, I'm not an officer's
daughter for nothing; if _I_ have not courage, who
should have? The girls stare at us in the interval
and whenever they meet us, though in the office the
head said to us: "I do hope that this business will
not be spread all over the school." But Brauner has
a sister in the Second and Edith Bergler's sister is in
the Fifth and through them all the classes have heard
about it. I suppose nothing is going to be said to our
parents or something would have happened already.
Besides, to be on the safe side, I have already dropped
a few hints at home. And since Dora, thank goodness,
is no longer at the school, it is impossible that there
can be much fuss. It was only at first that we were
alarmed, but Hella was quite right when she said:
"I'm sure nothing will happen to us, for _we are in
the right_."

December 15th. A meeting with Viktor!!! Dora
and I had gone to do our Christmas shopping, and
we came across him just as we had turned into Tuchlauben.
Dora got fiery red, and both their _voices
trembled_. He does look fine, with his black moustache
and his flashing eyes! And the green facings on his
tunic suit him splendidly. He cleared his throat
quickly to cover his embarrassment, and walked with
us as far as the Upper Market-place; he has another
six-months furlough because of throat trouble; so
Dora can be quite easy in her mind in case she fancied
that -- -- -- -- --. When he said goodbye he
kissed our hands, _mine as well as Dora's_, and smiled
so sweetly, sadly and sweetly at the same time. Several
times I wanted to turn the conversation upon him.
But when Dora does not want a thing, you can do
what you like and she won't budge; she's as obstinate
as a mule! She's always been like that since she
was quite a little girl, when she used to say: Dor
not! That meant: Dora won't; little wretch! such a
wilful little beast!

December 17th. Yesterday we had our first tobogganing
party on the Anninger; it was glorious, we
kept on tumbling into the snow; the snow lay fairly
thick, especially up there, where hardly anyone comes.
As we were going home such a ridiculous thing happened
to Hella; she caught her foot on a snag and
tore off the whole sole of a brand new shoe. She had
to tie it on with a string, and even then she limped so
badly that every one believed she had sprained her
ankle tobogganing. Her grandmother was frightfully
angry and said: "That comes of such _unladylike_
amusements!" Aunt Dora was very much upset, for
she had been with us, but Father said: Hella's grandmother
is quite an old lady, and in her day people
had very different views in this respect. I should say
so, _in this respect_, Hella finds it out a dozen times
a day, all the things she must not say and must not
do, and all the things which are unsuitable for young
girls! Her grandmother would like to keep her under
a glass shade; but not a transparent one, for she must
not be able to see out, and _no one_ must be able to see
_in_. (The last is the main point.)

December 20th. To-day was the last German lesson
before Christmas, and not a word more has been
said about our affair. Hella has proved splendidly
right. Even Verbenowitsch, who curries favour with
every member of the staff, has congratulated her, and
so has Hammer, who is a newcomer and did not
know Frau Doktor M. By the way, at 1 o'clock the
other day we met Franke; she goes now to a school
of dramatic art, and says that the whole tone of the
place is utterly different, she is so glad to have done
with the High School. She had heard of the affair
with Prof. F. and she congratulated us upon our
_strength of character_, especially Hella of course. She
says that the matter is common talk in all the High
Schools of Vienna, at least she heard of it from a girl
at the High School for the Daughters of Civil Servants,
a girl whose sister is at the School of Dramatic Art.
She is very happy there, but she is annoyed that such
an institution should still be called a school; it's not
a _school_ in the least; we would be astonished to see
how free they all are. She is very pretty and has even
more figure than she used to have. She speaks very
prettily too, but rather too loudly, so that everyone
turned round to look at us. She hopes that she will
be able to invite us to see her debut in _one year!!!_
I should never be able to stand on a stage before a lot
of strangers, I know I would never be able to get a
word out.

December 21st. Hella is awfully unlucky. The
day before yesterday she got such bad influenza and
sore throat that she can't go to Cracow. She says
she is born to ill luck; this is the second Christmas
that has been spoiled, two years ago the appendicitis
operation, and now this wretched influenza. She hopes
her mother will come to Vienna, but if so her father
will be left quite alone. And how on earth shall we
get on, Christmas without Mother, the first Christmas
without Mother. I simply don't dare to think of it,
for if I did it would make me cry. Dora says too
that it can't be a proper Christmas without Mother. I
wonder what Father will say when he sees Mother's
portrait. I do hope the frame will be ready to-morrow.
Hella is especially unhappy because she is not able
to see Lajos. Besides, she is madly in love at the same
time with a lieutenant of dragoons whom we meet every
day and who is a count, and he is madly in love with
her. He knows that her father is a general, for when
her father went to kiss the Emperor's hand he took
Hella part of the way with him in the motor, and she
was introduced to the lieutenant then. So now he
salutes her when they meet. He is tremendously tall
and looks fearfully aristocratic. But what annoys
me with Hella is that she _invariably_ denies it when
she is in love with anyone. I always tell her, or if
she notices anything I don't deny it. What's the
sense of it between friends? for example, the year before
last she was certainly in love with the young
doctor in the hospital. And in September when we
came back from Theben with that magnificent lieutenant
in the flying corps, I made no secret of the
fact that I was frantically in love with him. But she
did not believe me, and said: That is not real love,
when people don't see one another for months and
flirt with others between whiles. That was aimed at
Hero Siegfried. Goodness me, at him!! it's really
too absurd.

December 22nd. I am so delighted, Frau Doktor
M., at least she is Frau Professor Theyer now, has
written to me. I had sent her Christmas good wishes,
and she sent a line to thank me, and at the same time
she wished me a happy New Year, _she took the lead
in this_; it was heavenly. I was frightfully annoyed
because Dora said that she had done it only to save
herself the trouble of writing again; I'm sure that's
not true. Dora always says things like that simply
to annoy me. But her sweet, her divine letter, I
carry it about with me wherever I go, and _her_ photograph
too. She sent Hella only a card, naturally, for
that was all Hella had sent her. I can quite well
fancy Frau Doktor M. as a stepmother, that is, not
quite well, but better than anyone else. She wrote
so sweetly about Mother, saying that of course I
should find this Christmas less happy than usual. She
is certainly right there. We can none of us feel as if
the day after to-morrow is to be Christmas Eve. The
only thing that I really enjoy thinking of is the way
Father will stare when he sees the portrait. But
really in the first years after such a loss one ought not
to keep Christmas, for on such days one feels one's
sadness more than ever.

December 23rd. I have still a frightful lot to do
for Christmas, but I must write to-day. There was a
ring at the front door this morning at about half past 11.
I thought it must be Hella come to fetch me, that she
must be all right again, so I rushed out, tore the door
open, prepared to greet Hella, and then I was simply
kerblunxed, for there was a gentleman standing who
asked most politely: Is anyone at home? I knew
him in a moment, it was that Dr. Pruckmuller from
Fieberbr. Meanwhile Dora had opened the drawing-
room door, and now came the great proof of deceitfulness:
She was _not in the least_ surprised, but said:
"Ah, Dr. Pruckmuller, I am so glad you have kept
your word." So it was plain that he had promised
her to come, and I am practically sure she knew he
was coming _to-day_, for she was wearing her best black
silk apron with the insertions, such as we only wear
when visitors are expected. What a humbug she is!
So I went into the drawing-room too. Then Aunt
Dora came in and asked him to supper this evening.
Then he went away. All the time he had not said
a word to me, it seemed as if he had not even noticed
that there was such a person as me in the world
Not until he was actually leaving did he say: "Well;
Fraulein, how are you?" "Oh well," said I, "I'm
much as anyone can expect to be so soon after Mother's
death." Dora got as red as fire, for she understood. I
shall know how to treat him _if_ he becomes my brother-
in-law. But that may be a long way off; for he
lives in Innsbruck, and Father is not likely to allow
Dora to marry away to Innsbruck. At dinner I hardly
said a word, I was so enraged at this deceitfulness.
But there is more to come. At 7, or whatever time
it was, Dr. Pruckmuller turned up. Dora appeared
in a white blouse with a black bow, and had remained
in her room till the last minute so that I might not
know what she was wearing. For I had believed she
would wear her black dress with the insertions, and so
I was wearing mine. Oh well, that did not matter.
At supper he talked all the time to Dora, so I purposely
talked to Oswald. Then he said that on March
1st he was going to be transferred to Vienna. Once
more Dora was not in the least astonished, so _she must
have known all about it!_ But now I remember quite
well that in October the postman handed me a letter
for her with the Innsbruck postmark. So she was
_corresponding with him openly the whole time_, less
than 6 months after Mother's death. It really is too
bad! But when I was chattering about the country,
she kicked me under the table as a hint not to laugh
so frightfully. And when my brother-in-law in spe,
oh how it does make me laugh, two or three years
ago, in Goisern I think it was, we used to call Dora
Inspe, because she had said of Robert Warth and
me: The bridal pair in spe! And now she is in
the same position. When he went away in the evening
I was trembling lest Father should invite him to the
Christmas tree, but thank goodness when Father
asked: "What are you doing with yourself to-morrow,"
he answered: "To-morrow I am spending the
day with my sister's family, she is married to a captain
out Wieden way." Thank goodness that came to
nothing, for we are not at all in the mood for visitors,
especially the first Christmas without Mother. And
if she knew -- -- -- I wish I knew what really happens
to the soul. Of course I gave up believing in
Heaven long ago; but the soul must go somewhere.
There are so many riddles, and they make one so
unhappy; in a newspaper feuilleton the other day
I saw the title of a chapter: _The Riddle of Love_.
But _this_ riddle does not make people sad, as one can
see by Dora. Anyhow, all girls, that is all elder sisters,
seem alike in this respect. I remember what Hella
told me about Lizzi's engagement. It is true, she
had first made his acquaintance in London, not at
home; but there was just the same deceitfulness.
What on earth does it mean? Would it not be much
more kindly and reasonable to tell your sister _everything_?
Otherwise how can anyone expect one to be
an ally. Oh well, _I_ don't care, I'm not going to let
my Christmas Eve be disturbed by a thing _like that_;
if one can call it a _Christmas Eve_ at all. On Boxing
Day, when he is to spend the evening here, I shall
tell Hella that I want to come to her and her grandmother.
After all, I am glad she has stayed in Vienna.

December 25th. Christmas Eve was _very_ melancholy.
We all three got Mother's picture, life size in
beautiful green frames, for our rooms. Dora sobbed
out loud, and so I cried too and went up to Father and
put my arms around him. His eyes were quite wet;
for he adored Mother. Only Oswald did not actually
cry, but he kept on biting his lips. I was so glad that
Dr. P. was not there, for it is horribly disagreeable to
cry before strangers. We _both_ got lovely white guipure
blouses, not lace blouses, then Aunt gave me a splendid
album for 500 postcards, and she also gave me an
anthology which I had asked for. Brahms' Hungarian
Dances, because Dora would not lend me hers last
year because she said they were too difficult for me;
as if _that_ were any business of hers; surely my music
mistress is a better judge; then some writing paper
with my monogram, a new en-tout-cas with everything
complete, and hair ribbons and other trifles. Father
was awfully delighted with Mother's portrait; of
course we had not known that he was getting us life-
size portraits of Mother, and from the last photograph
of the winter before last we had quite a small likeness
painted by Herr Milanowitz, who is a painter, and
who knew Mother very well--in colour of course.
And we got a lovely rococo frame to close up; when
it is open it looks as if Mother were looking out of
the window. That was _my_ idea, and Herr Milanowitz
thought it _most original_. Dora considered it very
awkward that he would not take any money for it, but
it made it possible for us to get a much more elegant
frame. After Christmas; for New Year, we are going
to send Herr M. some of the best cigars, bought with
_our own_ money, I wanted to send them for Christmas,
but we don't know anything about cigars, and we
did not want to tell anyone because one can never
know whether one won't be betrayed and you will be
told it is unintentional; but that is not true, for when
one betrays anything one has always secretly intended
to do so; and then one says it was a slip of the tongue;
but one really knows all the time. I can't write down
all the extra things that Dora got, only one of them:
At 7 o'clock just when Father was lighting the candles
on the tree, a commissionaire brought some lovely roses
with two sprays of mistletoe interwoven and beneath
a nosegay of violets -- -- -- of course from Dr. P.
with a card, but she would not let anyone read that.
All she said was: Dr. P. sends everyone Christmas
greetings; I believe he had really written: _Merry_
Christmas," but Dora did not dare to say _that_. Oh,
and Hella gave me a bead bag, and I gave her a
purse with the double eagle on it, for she wanted a
purse that would have a military look. I never knew
anyone with such an enthusiasm for the army as Hella;
certainly I think officers look awfully smart; but
surely it's going too far when she feels that other men
practically don't exist. The others have to learn a
lot, for example doctors, lawyers, mining engineers,
not to speak of students at the College of Agriculture,
for perhaps these last "hardly count" (that's the phrase
Hella is always using); but all of them have to learn
a great deal more than officers do; Hella never will
admit that, and always begins to talk of the officers
of the general staff; as if they _all_ belonged to the
general staff! We have often argued about it. Still,
I do hope she will get an officer for her husband, of
course one who is well enough off to marry, for otherwise
it's no go; for Father says the Bruckners have
no private means. It's true he always says that of
us too, but I don't believe it; we are not so to say rich,
but I fancy we should both of us have enough money
for an officer to be able to marry us. Anyhow, Dora
voluntarily renounces that possibility, _if_ she is really
going to marry Dr. P.

27th. Well, I went to Hella's yesterday and stayed
till 9, and on Christmas Day she was here. I see that
I wrote above that the Bs. were not well off; it seems
to me to be very much the reverse. We always get a
great many things and very nice ones at Christmas and
on our birthdays and name days (of course Protestants
don't have these last), but we don't give one another
such splendid things as the Bs. do. Hella had been
given a piece of rose-coloured silk for a dress to wear
at the dancing class which must have cost at least 50
crowns, and a lace collar and cuffs, which we had
seen at the shop, and it had cost 24 crowns, then she
had a gold ring with an emerald, and a number of
smaller things which she never even looked at. And to
see all the things her sister got, things for her _trousseau!_
And the Bs. Christmas tree cost 12 crowns whilst ours
cost only 7, though ours was just as good. So I
think that the Bs. really have plenty of money, and
I said to Hella: "You must be enormously rich."
And she said: "Oh well, not so rich as all that; I
must not expect to marry an officer on the general
staff. Lizzi has done very well for herself for Paul
is a baron and is very well off. He is frantically in
love with her; queer taste, isn't it?" I quite agree,
for Lizzi has not much to boast of in the way of looks,
beautiful fair hair, but she is so awfully thin, not a
trace of b -- --, Hella has much more figure. And
if one hasn't any by the time one is 20 one is not
likely to get one.

Something awfully funny happened to-day. Hella
asked me: "I say, what's the Christian name of that
Dr. who is dangling after your sister?" Then it struck
me for the first time that on his visiting card he only
has Dr. jur. A. Pruckmuller, and then I remembered
that last summer, when we first made his acquaintance,
Dora said, It's a pity he's called August, the name
does not suit him at all. Well, we laughed till we felt
quite ill, for of course Hella began to sing: "O du
lieber Augustin," and then I thought of Der dumme
August [clown's nickname in circus] and we wondered
what Dora would call him. Gusti or Gustel, or Augi,
my darling Augi, my beloved Gusterl, oh dear, we were
in fits of laughter. Then we discussed what names
we should like to have for our husbands, and I said:
Ewald or Leo, and Hella said: Wouldn't you like
Siegfried? But I put my hand on her mouth and said:
"Shut up, or you will make me really angry, _that_ is
and must remain forgotten." She said what she would
like best would be to have a husband called Peter or
Thamian or Chrysostomus; then for a pet name she
would use Dami or Sosti; and then she said quite
seriously that she would only marry a man called
Egon, or Alexander, or at least Georg. Just at that
moment her mother came in to call us to tea, and she
said: "What's an that about Alexander and Georg?
You are such dreadful girls. If you are alone together
for a couple of minutes (I had come at half past 2
and the Brs. have tea at 4, and that's what Hella's
mother calls 2 minutes), you begin to talk of unsuitable
things." Hella was afraid her mother would
think God knows what, so she said: "Oh no, Mother,
we were only discussing what names we should like
our fiances to have." You ought to have seen how
her mother went on. "That's just it, that when you
are barely 15 (I'm not 15 yet) you should have nothing
but _such_ things in your heads!" _Such_ things,
how absurd. At tea it was almost as dull as it was
the other evening at home; for the Herr Baron was
there, that is, they all say Du to one another now, for
the wedding is to be in February, as soon as it is settled
whether the Baron is to stay in London or to be
transferred to Berlin. It must be funny to say "Du"
to a strange man. Hella says she soon got used to it,
and that she likes Paul well enough. When he brings
Lizzi sweets, when he is taking her to the theatre, he
always gives Hella a box for herself. _Other_ people
would certainly not do that, and I know _other_ people
who wouldn't accept it. When I got home, Father
said: Well, another time I think you'd better stay
and sleep at the Brs., and I said: I did not want to
be a killjoy here. And Oswald said: "What you need
is a box on the ear," Father was luckily out of the
room already and so I said: "_Your_ children, if you
ever have any, can be kept in order by boxing their
ears till they are green and blue, but you have no
rights over your sisters, Father told you so in
Fieberbrunn." "Oh, I know Father always backs you two
up, he has done so from the first." "Please don't
draw me into your quarrels," said Dora, as if she had
been something quite different from me. And then
Aunt Dora said: "I do wish you would not keep on
quarreling." "_I_ didn't begin it," said I, and went
away without saying goodnight; that is I went to
Father's room to say goodnight to him and I saw Aunt
Dora in the hall, but I _didn't_ say goodnight to Oswald
and Dora, for I'm not going to put up with _everything_.
And now it's half past 11 already, for I have been writing
such a long time, and have cried such a lot, for I'm
_very_ unhappy. Even Hella doesn't know how unhappy
I am. I must go to bed now; whether I shall
sleep or not is another question. If I can possibly
manage it, I shall go alone to the cemetery to-morrow.

31st. Hella and I went to the cemetery to-day.
Her father and mother returned to Cracow yesterday
evening, and she told her grandmother she was going
to spend the morning with me, and I said I was going
to the Brs., so we went alone to Potzleinsdorf. Hella
went for a walk round the cemetery while I went to
darling Mother's grave. I am so unhappy; Hella consoles
me as much as she can, but even she can't understand.

January 1, 19--! Of course we did not keep New
Year's Eve yesterday, but were quite alone and it
was very melancholy. This morning Dr. P. brought
Dora and Aunt Dora some roses and he gave me some
lovely violets as a New Year's greeting. He is leaving
on the 4th, so he is coming here on the evening of
the 3rd. I can't say I look forward to it. To-morrow
school begins thank goodness. I met a dust cart, that
means good luck; Father says it is a scandal the way
the dirt carts go on all through the day in Vienna,
and that one should see one even on New Year's day
at 2 in the afternoon. But still, if it means _good luck!_

January 2nd. The dust cart did bring good luck.
We had a real piece of _luck_ to-day! In the big interval
I noticed a little knot of girls in the hall, and suddenly
I felt as if my heart would stop beating. Frau
Doktor M., I should say Frau Professor Theyer, was
standing among them, she saw us directly and held out
her hand to us so we kissed it. She has come to visit
her parents and _her husband_ is with her; since she
did not know for certain whether she would be able
to come to the school she had not written either to
me or to Hella about it. She is so lovely and so
entrancingly loveable. When the bell rang for class and
Frau Doktor Dunker came in I saw that _she_ was still
standing outside. So I put my handkerchief up to my
face as if my nose were bleeding, and rushed out to
her. And because I slipped and nearly fell, she held
out her arms to me. Hardly had I reached her, when
Hella came out and said: "Of course I understood
directly; I said you were awfully bad, so I must go
and look after you." Then the Frau Professor laughed
like anything and said: "You are such wicked little
actresses; I must send you back immediately." But
of course she did not but was frightfully sweet. Then
we begged her to let us stay with her, but she said:
"No, no, I've been your teacher here, and I must not
encourage you in mischief. But here is a better idea.
Would you like to come and see me to-morrow?"
"Rather," we both exclaimed. She said she was staying
in a hotel, but we must not come alone to a hotel,
so she would see us at her parents, in Schwindgasse,
and we were to come there at 4 or half past. Then we
kissed both her hands and were so happy! To-morrow
at 4! Oh dear, a whole night more and nearly a whole
day to wait. "If your parents allow you," she said;
as if Father or even Hella's grandmother would not
allow _that!_ All Father said was: "All right Gretel,
but don't go quite off your head first or you won't be
able to find your way to Schwindgasse. Is Hella as
crazy as you are?" Of course, how can one be otherwise?

January 3rd. Still 2 hours, it's awful, Hella is coming
to fetch me at half past 3. In school to-day we kept
on looking at one another, and all the other girls
thought it must be something to do with a man. Goodness,
what do we care about a man now! We had a
splendid idea, that we had just time to make a memento
for _her_, since she does not leave until the evening
of the 5th. I am having traced on a piece of yellow
silk for a book marker an edelweiss and her monogram
E. T., the new one of course. Hella is painting a
paperknife in imitation of tarsia mosaic. I would
rather have done something of that sort too, but I have
no patience for such work, so I often spoil it before
I've finished. But one can't very well spoil a piece of
embroidery. But I shan't get the tracing on the silk
back from the shop until half past 3, so I shall have to
work all night and the whole day to-morrow.

Evening. Thank goodness and confound it, whichever
way you like to take it, the idiot at the shop had
forgotten about the bookmarker and I shan't get it
until to-morrow morning early. So I'm able to write
now: It was heavenly! We had to walk up and down
in front of her house for at least half an hour, until
at last it was 5 minutes past 4. She was so sweet
to us! She wanted to say Sie to us, but we _simply
would not have it_, and so she said Du as she used to.
We talked of all sorts of things, I don't know what,
only that I suddenly burst out crying, and then she
drew me to her b -- --, no, I can't write that about her;
she drew me to herself and than I felt _her heart beating!_
and went almost crazy. Hella says that I
put both my arms round her neck, but I'm sure that's
all imagination, for I should never have dared. She
has such fascinating hands, and the _wedding ring_
glistens so on her divine ring finger. Of course we
talked about the school, and then she suddenly said:
Tell me what really happened about those compositions,
when half the class deliberately refrained from
putting any punctuation marks. "Oh," we said, "that
is a frightful cram, it wasn't _half_ the class, but only 6
of us who have a special veneration for you." Then
we told her how it all came about. She laughed a
little, and said: "Well, girls, you did not do me
any particular _service_. It really was a great piece of
impertinence." But I said: "Prof. Fritsch's remarks
were 10 times more impertinent, for they related to
another member of the staff, and what was worse to
you." Then she said: "My darling girls, that often
happens in life, that the absent are given a bad reputa-
tion, whether justly or unjustly; one is liable to that
in every profession." Hella said that the head mistress
was not like that or there would have been a frightful
row, since the matter had become known in all the
High Schools of Vienna. Then Frau Doktor M. said:
"Yes, the Frau Direktorin is really a splendid woman."
Then there came something glorious, or really 2 glorious
things: 1). She gave us some magnificent sweets,
better than I have ever eaten before. Hella agrees, and
we are really connoisseurs in the matter of sweets.
The second thing, even more glorious, was this: after
we had been there some time, there was a knock at
the door and in came _her_ husband, the Herr Prof.,
and said: "How are you my treasure?" and to us:
"Goodday, young _ladies_." Then she introduced us,
saying: "Two of my best-loved pupils and my most
faithful adherents." Then the Herr Prof. laughed a
great deal and said: "That can't be said of all
pupils." So I said quickly: "Oh yes, it can be said
of Frau Doktor, the whole class would go through
fire for her." Then he went away, and she said:
"Excuse me for a moment," and we could hear quite
plainly that _he kissed her_ in the next room, and then
she said as she came in again: "Oh well, be off with
you, Karl, goodbye." It's a pity his name is Karl,
it's so prosaic, and he calls her Lise, and I expect
when they are alone he calls her Lieschen, since he
is a North German. I must go to bed, it's half past 11
already. To be continued to-morrow. Sleep well,
my sweet glorious ecstatic golden and only treasure!
God, I am so happy.

January 6th. Thank goodness to-day is a holiday,
and we can't go tobogganing because Dora has a
_chill!!!_ I got the bookmarker on the 4th, worked at
it all day and up till midnight, and yesterday I got up
at half past 5, went on working the whole morning, and
at 2 o'clock we took our mementoes to the house.
Though we should have liked to give them to her
ourselves, we didn't, but only gave them to the maid.
She said: Shall I show you in? but Hella said:
"No, thank you, we don't want to disturb Frau Theyer,
and when I reproached her for this she said: Oh no,
it was better not; you are quite upset anyhow, you
know what _she_ said: But my dear child, you will make
yourself ill; you must not do that on _my_ account!"
Oh dear, I'm crying so that I can hardly write,
but I _must_ write, for there is still so much that's glorious
to put down, things that I must never, never forget,
even if it should take me a week to write. The great
thing is that I shall simply live upon this memory,
and the only thing I want in life is that I may see
_her_ once more. Of course we took her some flowers on
Friday, I lilies of the valley with violets and tuberoses,
and Hella Christmas roses. She was delighted, and
went directly to fetch 2 vases which her mother brought
in. She is as small as Frau Richter, and her hair
is grey, she is charming; but she is not in the least
like Frau Doktor M. When we said goodbye she
offered us still more sweets, but since we were both
nearly crying already we did not want to take any
more, but she wrapped them nearly all up for us, saying:
"To console you in your sorrow." From anyone
else it might have sounded ironical, but from her it
was simply lovely. There were 17 large sweets, and
Hella gave me 9 of them and took only 8 for herself.
I shall eat only one every day, so that they will last
me 9 days. _Joy and sorrow combined!!_ Hella is not
so frightfully in love as I am, and yesterday she said,
in joke of course: "It seems to me that your whole
world is foundered; I must pull you out, or you'll be
drowned." And then she asked me how I could have
been so stupid as to use the word _honeymoon_ to _her_,
although she hemmed to warn me. She said it really
was utterly idiotic of me, and that the Frau Prof.
blushed. I did not notice it myself, but when her
_husband_ came in, she certainly did flush up like anything.
Hella and I talked of quite a lot of _other things
of that sort_. I should so much have liked to ask her
whether she has given up going to church, for I think
the Herr Prof. really is a Jew, though he does not _look_
like one. For lots of other men wear black beards.
But I did not venture to ask, and Hella thinks it is
a very good thing I did not, for one _does not talk about
such things_. I wonder _whether she will have a baby_?
Oh, it would be horrible. Of course she may have
entered into a _marriage_ contract, that would have been
the best way. However, Hella thinks that the professor
would not have agreed to anything of the kind.
But surely if he was frantically in love with her . . .

January 1 5th. The girls in our class are frantically
jealous. We did not say in so many words that we,
alone among them all, had been invited to see her,
but Hella had brought one of the sweets she had given
us and in the interval she said: This must be eaten
reverently, and she cut it in two to give me half. The
Ehrenfelds thought it must have been given by some
acquaintance made at the skating rink, and Trude
said: "Doubly sweetened, by chocolate and love."
"Yes," said I, "but not in the sense you imagine."
And since she said: "Oh, of course, I know all about
that, but I don't want to be indiscreet," Hella said:
"I may as well tell you that Frau Doktor M., or I
should say the _married_ Frau Prof. Theyer, gave us
this sweet and a great many more on the day she had
invited us to go and see her." Then they were all
utterly kerblunxed and said: "Great Scott, what
luck, but you always were Frau Doktor M.'s favourites,
especially Lainer. But Lainer always courted Frau
Doktor M."

January 17th. The whole school knows about our
being invited to see her, the glorious one! I've just
been reading it over, and I see that I have left a frightful
lot out, especially about her father. When we were
leaving, just outside the house door we burst out crying
because as I opened the door I had said, For the
last time! Just then an old gentleman came up and
was about to go in, and when he saw that we were
crying, though we were standing quite in the shadow,
he came up to us and asked what was the matter.
Then Hella said: "We have lost out best friend."
Then the old gentleman looked at us for a tremendously
long time and said: "I say, do you happen to
be the two ardent admirers of Frau Doktor Mallburg?
She is my daughter, you know. And then he said:
But you really can't go through the streets bathed in
tears like that. Come upstairs again with me and
my daughter will console you." So we really did go
upstairs again, and she was perfectly unique. Her
father opened the door and called out: Lieserl, your
admirers simply can't part from you, and I found
them being washed out to sea in a river of tears. Then
she came out wearing a _rose-coloured dressing-
gown!!!_ exquisite. And she led us into the room and
said: "Girls, you must not look at me in this old rag,
which is only fit to throw away." I should have liked
to say: "Give it to _me_ then." But of course I could
not. And when we made our final goodbye, perhaps
_for ever_, she kissed each of us _twice over_ and said:
Girls, I wish you all the happiness in the world!

January 18th. Hella invited me there to-day, to
meet Lajos and Jeno. But I'm not going, for Jeno
does not interest me in the very least. That was not
a _real_ love. I don't care for anyone in the whole world
except her, my one and only! Even Hella can't understand
that, in fact she thinks it _dotty_. Father wanted
me to go to Hella's _to change the current of my
thoughts_. Of course I hardly say a word about _her_
to anyone, for no one understands me. But I never
could have believed that Father would be just like
anyone else. It's quite true that I'm getting thin.
I'm so glad that we are not going tobogganing to-day
because Dora has a chill, a _real_ chill this time. So
I am going to the church in Schwindgasse and shall
walk up and down in front of _her_ house; perhaps I
shall meet her father or her mother. I wrote to her
the day before yesterday.

January 24th. I am so happy. She wrote to me
_by return!_ This is the second letter I have had from
her! At dinner to-day Father said: "Hullo, Gretel,
why are you looking so happy to-day? I have not seen
you with such a sunny face for a long time." So I
answered in as few words as possible: "After dinner
I will tell _you_ why." For the others need not know
anything about it. And when I told Father vaguely
that Frau Prof. Th. had written to me, Father said:
"Oh, is _that_ what has pleased you so much. But I
have something up my sleeve which will also please
you. February 1st and 2nd are Sunday and Monday,
you have 2 days free, and if you and Hella can get
a day off from school on Saturday we might make an
excursion to Mariazell. How does that strike you?"
It would be glorious, if only Hella is allowed to come,
for her grandmother imagines that the sore throat she
had before Christmas was due to the tobogganing on
the Anninger, where the sole was torn off her shoe!
As if _we_ could help that. Still, by good luck she may
have forgotten it; she is 63 already, and one forgets
a lot when one is that age.

Evening. Hella may come; it will be splendid!
Perhaps we shall try a little skiing. But really Hella
is a horrid pig; she said: "All right, I'll come, if
you'll promise not to be continually talking about Frau
Professor Th. I'm very fond of her too, but you
are simply crazy about her." It's really too bad, and
I shall never mention _her_ name to the others any more.
I am looking forward so to the tobogganing at Mariazell.
We've never made any such excursion in winter
before. Hurrah, it will be glorious! Oh I do wish the
31st of January were here; I'm frantically excited.

EDITOR'S NOTE

Rita's joyful expectations of tobogganing among glistening
snow-clad hills, remained unfulfilled. The rude hand of fate
was thrust into the lives of the two sisters. On January 29th
their father, suddenly struck down with paralysis, was brought
home in an ambulance, and died in a few hours without recovering
consciousness.

Torn from the sheltering and affectionate atmosphere of home,
separated from her most intimate friend, the young orphan had
to struggle for peace of soul in the isolation of a provincial
town -- -- --

          The End

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