As I have already intimated, Mitzi did not seem at all pleased. She pretended that I had robbed her, by speaking so early to her father, of all the sweetness of our secret love. And I am sure we would have quarrelled over this point had I not remembered of a saying of my dear dad, that married life was an uninterrupted series of concessions, and had I not applied this principle also to the time preceding the marriage.
There was another reason for my forbearance: a composer must hold his temper in check with his primadonna. It was, however, more difficult than one may think, for I found Mitzi on my return to Austria altogether ... somewhat changed.
You will remember that the late Mrs. Doblana had on her death-bed implored her husband to let bygones be bygones, and to reconcile himself with the Archduke Alphons Hector and his children. Up to now the horn-player had refused. But as the moment of the performance of his Aladdin was approaching, his highly developed sense for all that touched his interests told him that a more conciliatory attitude would be advisable. His sojourn at St. Gilgen, at a short distance from Salzburg, was probably not chosen without intention, and whilst he did not himself see Franz and Augusta von Heidenbrunn, he tacitly consented to Mitzi frequenting them freely.
You will perhaps remember that I had a certain mistrust of the Countess Augusta. On what that mistrust was based I am quite incapable of saying. It was mere instinct. But I have always noticed that girls, as soon as they were friends, had secrets. And these secretive manners have, in my idea, an evil influence on their morals.
It is to the influence of Augusta von Heidenbrunn that I attributed the fact of finding Mitzi, as I have said, altogether ... somewhat changed. This expression must not be taken as funny. She was changed very little indeed, but that little change affected her through and through. I still knew little of women, but I would have been, say, colour-blind had I not noticed that something had happened.
She had always liked to go out, but now the number of errands which obliged her to be away from home had increased enormously. I had thought that our London cook held a record for outings—still, Mitzi beat her.
Again, she had always been nicely dressed, but now the care she took of her toilet had increased tenfold.
Sometimes when I arrived at the Karlsgasse I found her pensive, not to say gloomy, at other times excitedly merry.
When I asked her that inevitable question: "You love me?" which I am sure is asked a hundred times a day between any engaged couple, she still answered that she did and knew her love was not good enough; but she also added that she was my friend, and that her friendship should be a pillar for our future happiness. Sometimes her tenderness was overflowing, sometimes she she was sulky and inscrutable.