March 22nd. I so seldom manage to write anything, first of all our lessons take such a lot of time, and second because I don’t care about it any more since what Father said the other day. The last time I wrote was on Saturday afternoon, and Father came in and said: Come along children, we’ll go to Schonbrunn. That will do you more good than scribbling diaries which you only go and lose when you’ve written them. So Mother told Father all about it in the holidays. I couldn’t have believed it of Mother for I begged her to promise not to tell anyone. And she said: One doesn’t promise about a thing like that; but I won’t tell anyone. And now she must have told about it, although she said she wouldn’t. Even Franke’s deceitfulness was nothing to that for after all we’ve only known her since last autumn, but I could never have believed that Mother would do such a thing. I told Hella when we were having tea at the Tivoli and she said she would not altogether trust her mother, she’d rather trust her father. But if that had happened to her, her father would have boxed her ears with the diary. I did not want to show anything, but in the evening I only gave Mother quite a little kiss. And she said, what’s the matter, dear? has anything happened? Then I could not keep it in and I cried like anything and said: You’ve betrayed me. And Mother said: “I?” Yes, you; you told Father about the diary though you promised me you wouldn’t. At first Mother didn’t remember anything about it, but soon she remembered and said: “But, little one, I tell Father everything. All you meant was that Dora was not to know.” That’s quite true, it’s all right that Dora wasn’t told; but still Father need not have been told either. And Mother was awfully sweet and nice and I didn’t go to bed till 10 o’clock. But whatever happens I shan’t tell her anything again and I don’t care about the old diary any more. Hella says: Don’t be stupid; I ought just to go on writing; but another time I should be careful not to lose anything, and besides I should not blab everything to Mother and Father. She says she no longer tells her mother anything since that time in the summer when her mother gave her a box on the ear because that other girl had told her all about everything. It’s quite true, Hella is right, I’m just a child still in the way I run to Mother and tell her everything. And it’s not nice of Father to tease me about my diary; I suppose he never kept one himself.
March 27th. Hurrah we’re going to Hainfeld for Easter; I am so delighted. Mother has a friend there whose husband is doctor there, so she has to live there all the year round. Last year in the winter she and Ada stayed three days with us because her eyes were bad. Ada is really nearly as old as Dora, but Dora said, like her cheek: “Her intellectual level makes her much more suitable company for you than for me.” Dora thinks herself cleverer than anyone else. They have 2 boys, but I don’t know them very well for they are only 8 and 9. Mother’s friend was in an asylum once, for she went off her head when her 2 year old baby died. I remember it quite well. It must have been more than 2 years ago when Father and Mother were always talking of poor Anna who had lost her child within 3 days. And I believed she had really lost it, and once I asked whether they had found it yet. I thought it had been lost in the forest, because there’s such a great forest at Hainfeld. And since then I can’t bear to hear people say lost when they mean dead, for it is so difficult to know which they really mean.
On the 8th of April the Easter holidays will begin and we shall go on the 11th, on Maundy Thursday.
April 6th. I don’t know what to do about writing my diary. I don’t want to take it with me and as for remembering everything and writing it down afterwards I know quite well I should never do that. Hella says I should only jot it down in outline, that’s what Frau Doktor M. always says, and write it out properly after I come back from Hainfeld. That’s what she does. They are going to the Brioni Islands. I’ve never seen the sea. Hella says there’s nothing so wonderful about it. She’s been there four times. Anyway she does not think so much of it as most people do. So it can’t be anything so frightfully grand. Rather stupid I dare say.
April 12th. We got here yesterday. Ada is a darling but the two boys are awfully vulgar. Ernstl said to Ada: I shall give you a smack on the a—— if you don’t give me my pistol directly. Ada is as tall as her mother. Their speech is rather countrified Even the doctor’s. He drinks a frightful lot of beer; quarts I believe.
April 14th. Father came to-day. He’s awfully fond of the doctor. They kissed one another. It did make me laugh. In the morning we were in the forest; but there are no violets yet, only a few snowdrops, but a tremendous lot of hellebores quite red.
April 15th. We got up at 4 yesterday morning. We did not go into the church for Mother was afraid that the smell of incense and boots would make Dora feel bad. What rot! It was lovely. This afternoon we are going to Ramsau, it’s lovely there.
April 16th. Father went home to-day. We go home to-morrow. At Whitsuntide Ada’s mother is going to bring her to be confirmed. They are all coming to stay with us. I got stuck in a bog on the bank of the Ramsau. It was awful. But the doctor pulled me out and then we did all laugh so when we saw what my shoes and stockings were like. Luckily I was able to catch hold of a tree stump or I should have sunk right in.
April 18th. Hella says it was splendid at the Brioni Islands. She is frightfully sunburned. I don’t like that, so I shall never go to the south. Hella says that if one marries in winter one must spend one’s honeymoon in the south. That would not suit me, I should just put off my marriage till the summer.
Ada is only 13 not 14 like Dora, and the parish priest makes a tremendous fuss because she’s not confirmed yet. Her mother is going to bring her to be confirmed soon. We are not going to be confirmed because Father and Mother don’t want to be bothered with it. Still I should like to be confirmed, for then one has to have a watch, and one can ask for something else at Christmas.