Chapter 12

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 [vereselt].” 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.