June 19th. There was a letter from Dora to-day. I’m furious. Not a word about my sisterly affection, but only: “Many thanks for your trouble.” It’s really too bad; he is quite different!! I shan’t forget this in a hurry. Hella says that she only hinted at it like that to be on the safe side. But it’s not true, for she knows perfectly well that Father never reads our letters. She simply takes it as a matter of course. Yesterday was the first time I stayed away from school since I went to the High School. Early in the morning I had such a bad sore throat and a headache, so Father would not let me go. I got better as the day went on, but this morning I was worse again. Most likely I shall have to stay at home for 2 or 3 days. Father wanted to send for the doctor, but it really was not necessary.
June 20th. When Resi was doing our room to day she wanted to begin talking once more about various things, but I said I did not particularly care to hear about such matters, and then she implored me never to tell Mother and Father anything about what she had said to us about the young married couple; she said she would lose her place and she would be awfully sorry to do that.
June 21st. My knees are still trembling; there might have been a frightful row; luckily Father was out. At half past 6, when Hella and I were having a talk, the telephone bell rang. Luckily Resi had gone out too to fetch something so I answered the telephone, and it was Viktor! “I must see you to-morrow morning early or at 1 o’clock; I waited for you in vain at 1 to-day.” Of course, for I was still ill, that is still am ill. But well or ill I must go to school to-morrow. If Father had been at home; or even Resi, she might have noticed something. It would have been very disagreeable if I had had to ask her not to give me away. Hella was frightfully cheeky, she took the receiver out of my hand and said: “Please don’t do this again, it’s frightfully risky for my friend.” I was rather annoyed with her, but Hella said he certainly deserved a lecture.
To-morrow we are going to a concert and I shall wear my new white dress. It does look rather nice after all for sisters to be dressed alike. I’ve taken to wearing snails, *** Father calls them “cow-pats;” but everyone else says it’s exceedingly becoming.
*** Flat rolls of hair-plait covering the ears.—Translators’
Note.
June 22nd. He was awfully charming when he came up to us and said: “Can a repentant sinner be received back into grace?” And he gave each of us a lovely rose. Then he handed me a letter and said: “I don’t think we need make any secret before your energetic friend.” Really I did not want to forward any more letters but I did not know how to say so without offending him, for Dora’s cheek is not his fault, and I did not want to say anything to-day, 1 because of the roses, and 2 because Hella was there. There can’t be more than 2 or 3 times more, so I shan’t bother. But Dora doesn’t deserve it, really. Franke is a vulgar girl. She saw us together the other day, and the next day she asked: Where did you pick up that handsome son of Mars? Hella retorted: “Don’t use such common expressions when you are speaking of Rita’s cousin.” “Oh, a cousin, that’s why he kisses her hand I suppose?” Since then we only speak to Franke when we are positively obliged. Not to speak to her at all would be too dangerous, you never can tell; but if we speak only a little, she can’t take offence.
June 23rd. The school insp. came yesterday, the old one who always comes for Maths. He is so kind and gentle that all the girls can answer everything; we like him better than the one who comes for languages. Verbenowitsch was awfully puffed up because he praised her. Good Lord, I’ve been praised often enough, but that does not make me conceited. Anyhow he did not call on me yesterday because I’d been absent 4 days. Frau Doktor M. came back to-day. She looks awfully pale and wretched, I don’t know why; it’s such a pity that she does not let us walk home with her, except last year when there was all that fuss about Fraulein St.‘s bead bag. She bows to us all very politely when we salute her, but she won’t walk with any of the pupils, though Verbenowitsch is horribly pushing and is always hanging about on the chance.
June 26th. It’s really stupid how anxious I am now at Communion lest the host should drop out of my mouth. I was so anxious I was very nearly sick. Hella says there must be some reason for it, but I don’t know of any, except that the accident which that girl Lutter in the Third had made me even more anxious that I was before. Hella says I’d better turn Protestant, but nothing would induce me to do that; for after Com. one feels so pure and so much better than one was before. But I’m sorry to say it does not last so long as it ought to.
June 27th. Mother is really ill. Father told me about it. He was awfully nice and said: If only your Mother is spared to us. She is far from well. Then I asked: Father, what is really wrong with Mother? And Father said: “Well, dear, it’s a hidden trouble, which has really been going on for a long time and has now suddenly broken out.” “Will she have to have an operation?” “We hope we shall be able to avoid that. But it’s a terrible thing that Mother should be so ill.” Father looked so miserable when he said this that I did my best to console him and said: “But surely the mud baths will make her all right, or why should she take them?” And Father said: “Well, darling, we’ll hope for the best.” We went on talking for a long time, saying that Mother must take all possible care of herself, and that perhaps in the autumn Aunt Dora would come here to keep house. I asked Father, “Is it true that you don’t like Aunt Dora?” Father said: “Not a bit of it, what put that idea into your head?” So I said: “But you do like Mother much better, don’t you?” Father laughed and said: “You little goose, of course I do, or I should have married Aunt Dora and not Mother.” I should have liked awfully to ask Father a lot more, but I did not dare. I really do miss Dora, especially in the evenings.
July 2nd. I was in a tremendous rage at school to-day. Professor W., the traitor, did not come because he had confession and communion in the Gymnasium, and the matron did not know anything about the subject so there was no one to take his class. Then the Herr Religionsprofessor took it, he had come earlier than usual to write up the reports. But since the Jewish girls were there too, of course there was no religion lesson. But the H. Rel. Prof. had a chat with us. He asked each of us where we were going to spend the summer, and when I said I was going to Rodaun, Weinberger said: I say, only to Rodaun! and several of the other girls chimed in: Only to Rodaun; why that’s only a drive on the steam tram. I was frightfully annoyed, for we generally go to Tyrol or Styria; I said so directly, and then Franke said: Last year too, I think, you went somewhere quite close to Vienna, where was it, Hain—, and then she stopped and made as if she had never heard of Hainfeld. Of course that was all put on, but she’s very angry because we won’t speak to her since that business about the cousin! But now I was to learn what true friendship is. While I was getting still more angry, Hella said: Rita’s Mother is now in Franzensbad, the world-famous health resort; she is ill, and Prof. Sch. has to go and see her at least once a week. The Herr Rel. Prof. was awfully nice and said: Rodaun is a lovely place. The air there is very fine and will certainly do your Mother a lot of good. That’s the chief thing, isn’t it children? I hope that God will spare all your parents for many years. When the Herr Rel. Prof. said that, Lampel, whose Mother died last winter, burst out crying, and I cried too, for I thought of my talk with Father. Weinberger and Franke thought I was crying because I was annoyed because we were only going to Rodaun. In the interval Franke said: After all, there’s no harm in going to Rodaun, that’s no reason for crying. But Hella said: “Excuse me, the Lainers can go anywhere they please, they are so well off that many people might envy them. Besides, her Mother and her sister are in Franzensbad now, where everything is frightfully expensive, and in Rodaun they have rented a house all for themselves. Rita is crying because she is anxious about her Mother, not because of anything you said.” Of course we don’t speak a word to Franke now. Mother does not want us to anyhow, she did not like her at all when she met her last year. Mother has a fine instinct in such matters.