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 underlined 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.