Chapter 13

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

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

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