March 22nd. Mother is coming home again tomorrow. Oh I am so glad! Everything is so quiet in the hospital and one hardly dares speak in the passages. Mother said: “I don’t want to stay here any longer, let me go back to my children.” We went to see Mother in hospital every day and took her violets and other flowers, for she was not allowed to eat anything during the first few days after the operation. But it’s quite different now that she’s home again. I should have liked to stay away from school to-day, but Mother said: “No, children, go to school, do it to please me.” So of course we went, but I simply could not attend to my lessons.
March 24th. Mother is asleep now. She looks frightfully ill and still has a lot of pain. I’m sure the doctors can’t really understand her case; for if they had operated properly she would not still have pain after the second operation. I should like to know what Mother has been talking to Dora about, for they both cried. Although Dora and I are on good terms now, she would not tell me, but said she had promised Mother not to speak about it. I can’t believe that Mother has told Dora a secret, but perhaps it was something about marrying. For Dora only said: “Besides, Mother did not need to say that to me, for my mind was quite made up in any case.” I do hate such hints, it’s better to say nothing at all. As soon as Mother can get up she is going to Abbazia for a change, and most likely Dora will go with her.
March 26th. Mother and Dora are going to Abbazzia next week. Dora thinks I envy her the journey, and she said: “I would willingly renounce the journey and the seaside if only Mother would get well. And this year when I have to matriculate, I certainly should not go for pleasure.” I’m so awfully miserable that I simply can’t wear a red ribbon in my hair, though red suits me best. I generally wear a black one now, but since yesterday a brown one, for Mother said: “Oh, Gretel, do give up that black ribbon; it looks so gloomy and does not suit you at all.” Of course I could not tell Mother how I was feeling, so I took the brown one and said the red ribbon was quite worn out.
April 12th. I never get my diary written. It’s so gloomy at home for Mother is very bad. Oswald is coming home to-morrow for the Easter holidays and Mother is looking forward so to seeing him. I was to have gone with Hella and her father to Maria-Zell, for this year they are probably going to take a house for the summer in Mitterbach or Mitterberg near Maria-Zell. But I am not going after all, for I don’t feel inclined, and I think Mother is better pleased that I should not; for she said: “So I shall have all my three darlings together here at Easter.” When she said that I wanted to cry, and I ran quickly out of the room so that she might not see me. But she must have seen, for after dinner she said: “Gretel, if you really want to go with the Bruckners, I should like you to; I should be so glad for you to have a little pleasure, you have not had much enjoyment all the winter.” And then I could not stop myself, and I burst out crying and said: “No, Mother, I won’t go on any account. All I want is that you should get quite well again.” And then Mother cried too and said: “Darling, I’m afraid I shall never be quite well again, but I should like to stay until you are all grown up; after that you won’t need me so much.” Then Dora came in and when she saw that Mother was crying she said that Father had sent for me. He hadn’t really but in the evening she told me that Mother’s illness was hopeless, but that I must not do anything to upset her or let her see what I was feeling. And then we both cried a lot and promised one another that we would always stay with Father.
May 16th. Mother died on April 24th, the Sunday after Easter. We are all so awfully unhappy. Hardly anyone says a word at mealtimes, only Father speaks to us so lovingly. Most likely Aunt Dora will stay here for good. It’s not three weeks yet since Mother was buried, but in one way we feel as if she had already been dead three years, and in another way one is always suddenly wanting to go into her room, to ask her something or tell her something. And when we go to bed we talk about her for such a long time, and then I dream about her all night. Why should people die? Or at least only quite old people, who no longer have anyone to care about it. But a mother and a father ought never to die. The night after Mother died Hella wanted me to come and stay with them, but I preferred to stay at home; but late in the evening I did not dare to go into the hall alone, so Dora went with me. Father had locked the door into the drawing-room, where Mother was laid out, but all the same it was awfully creepy. They did not call me on the 24th until after Mother was dead; I should have so liked to see her once more. Good God, why should one die? If only I had been called Berta after her; but she did not wish that either of us should be called after her, nor did Father wish it in Oswald’s case.
May 19th. When Mother was buried, one thing made me frightfully angry with Dora, at least not really angry but hurt, that she should have gone into church and come out of church with Father. For I have always gone with Father and Dora has always gone with Mother. And while poor Mother was in hospital, Dora went with Aunt. But at the funeral Father went with her, and I had to go with Aunt Dora. A few days later I spoke to her about it, and she said it was quite natural because she is the elder. She said that Oswald ought to have gone with me, that that would have been the proper thing. But he went alone. Another thing that annoys me is this; when Aunt Dora came here in the autumn, Dora and I sat on the same side of the table at dinner and supper, and Aunt sat opposite Mother, and when Mother took to her bed her place was left vacant. After she died Oswald sat on the fourth side, and now for about a week Dora has been sitting in Mother’s place. I can’t understand how Father can allow it!
May 19th. At dinner to-day no one could eat anything. For we had breast of veal, and we had had the same thing on the day of poor Mother’s funeral, and when the joint was brought in I happened to look at Dora and saw that she was quite red and was sobbing frightfully. Then I could not contain myself any more and said: “I can’t eat any breast of veal, for on Mother’s burial day — — —,” then I could not say any more, and Father stood up and came round to me, and Dora and Aunt Dora burst out crying too. And after dinner Aunt promised us that we should never have breast of veal again. For tea, Aunt Dora ordered an Ulm cake because we had eaten hardly anything at dinner.
May 26th. To-day is the first day of Dora’s written matriculation. Father wanted her to withdraw because she looks so ill, but she would not for she said it would be a distraction for her and that she would like to finish with the High School. Next year she is to go to a preparatory school for the Gymnasium. She ought really to go to a dancing class, for she is nearly 17, but since she is in mourning it is quite impossible and of course she does not want to go anyhow. The head thought too that Dora would withdraw from the examination because she is so overwrought, but she did not want to withdraw. The staff were so awfully sweet to us after Mother’s death, at least the women teachers were. The professors don’t bother themselves about our private concerns, for they only see us for 1 or 2 hours a week. Frau Doktor Steiner, from whom we don’t have any lessons this year, was awfully sympathetic; I saw plainly that she had tears in her eyes, and Frau Doktor M. was an angel as she always is! We did not go to the spring festival on May 20th, though Father said we could go if we liked. Hella and Anneliese were awfully anxious that I should go; but I would not, and indeed I shall never go to any more amusements. No doubt the others enjoyed themselves immensely, but for Dora and me it would have been horrible. In the evenings I often fancy to myself that it is not really true, that Mother has simply gone to Franzensbad and will be back soon. And then I cry until my head aches or until Dora says: “Oh Gretel, I do wish you’d stop, it’s awful.” She often cries herself, I can hear her quite well, but I never say anything.
June 4th. So Dora looks upon Mother’s death as a sign of God’s displeasure against Father! But what could we have done to prevent it? She said, Oh, yes, we did a lot of things we ought not to have done, and above all we had secrets from Mother. That is why God has punished us. It’s horrible, and now that she is always speaking of the eye of God and the finger of God it makes me so terribly afraid to go into a dark room, because I always feel there is some one there who is eying me and wants to seize me.
June 8th. Father is in a frightful rage with Dora; yesterday evening, when I opened the drawing-room door and there was Father coming out, quite unintentionally I gave a yell, and when Father asked what was the matter I told him about God’s displeasure; only I did not tell him it was against him, but only against Dora and me. And then Father was frightfully angry for the first time since Mother’s death, and he told Dora she was not to upset me with her ill-conditioned fancies, and Dora nearly had an attack of palpitation so that the doctor had to be sent for. Aunt came to sleep in our room and we both had to take bromide. To-day Father was awfully kind to us and said: “Girls, you’ve no reason to reproach yourselves, you have always been good children, and I hope you always will be good.” Yes, I will be, for Mother’s eye watches over us. Hella thinks I look very poorly, and she asked me to-day whether perhaps . . . . ?? But I told her that I would not talk about such things any more, that it would be an offence to my Mother’s memory. She wanted to say something more, but I said: “No, Hella, I simply won’t talk about that any more. You can’t understand, because your mother is still alive.”