Chapter 10

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, *** Father calls them “cow-pats;” but everyone else says it’s exceedingly becoming.

*** 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.