Part 21

At 4 o’clock, after tea, we started back, for the schoolmaster thought the descent would not take more than two hours and a half, but we needed more than three. For we were all very tired, and a great many of them had sore feet, especially Aunt Alma! We had said before, that it would be too much for Aunt; but she had to come with us to take care of Marina, though Marina enjoyed herself _extremely_ with a Herr Furtner, who is studying mining like Oswald, not in Leoben but in Germany. One does not really find out what a girl is like until one sees how she behaves with a man, or what she is like when one talks to her about _certain things_; as for the last, of course that’s impossible with Marina _since the experience_ we had. But anyhow she is nicer than one would have thought at first sight. It was lovely on the way home. Driving back from Unter-Toifen we sat quite differently.

In our break, instead of the Weiners, there were three students from Munich, they were awfully nice, and we sang all the songs we knew; especially “Hoch vom Dachstein, wo der Aar nur haust,” and “Forelle” and “Wo mein Schatz ist,” were lovely, and the people in two different breaks sang together. And then some of them sang some Alpine songs and yodelled till the hills echoed. Two or three of the men in the third break were rather tipsy and _Hero Siegfried!!_ was one of them. Aunt Alma had a frightful headache; it was utterly idiotic for her to come, and we did not know yet what was still to happen. At every house from which a girl had come there was a serenade. And next evening there was to be a great raffle of the mementoes we had bought, but Father would not let us go to that.

August 14th. It is desperately dull. I don’t know what on earth to do, so I am writing my diary. Besides, I have not written about the row yet. The next afternoon Aunt Alma came just as we were going out and said to Father: Ernst, please let me have a word with you. Now we all know Aunt Alma’s _let me have a word with you_. In plain language it means: I’m going to make a scene. She began: “Ernst, you know I never like these big parties with a lot of strangers, for no good can come of them. Still, I made up my mind to go for the sake of the children, and chiefly for the sake of _your motherless_ children. (Nobody asked her to; and Aunt Dora had to stay at home on her account.) Do you know what sort of people were in our company? That impudent young student whom Gretel is always running after (did you ever hear anything like it! I should like to know when I ran after him; I suppose in the wood I put _my_ arm round _his_ waist, and I suppose that it was _I_ who began the acquaintance on my birthday) and that girl who’s training for the stage did not come home after the excursion till the night was half over. God knows where they were! They were certainly no _cleaner_ when they got home. (Naturally, for where could they have had a wash.) His father gave the young blackguard a fine talking to, but of course the girl’s mother takes her side. It would positively kill me to think of _my Marina doing anything of the kind_.” Father was able to get a word in at last: “But my dear Alma, what has all this to do with my girls? As far as I know these two people weren’t in our break, isn’t that so girls?” I was glad that Father turned to _us_, and I said: “Siegfried Sch. and the girl drove in the fourth break, I saw them getting in. And it was toute meme chause where he drove and with whom he was driving.” (Of course that’s not true, but I said it was because of Aunt.) “Such language and such a tone to your own Father!” Directly she said that Father was in such a passion as I have never seen him in before. “My dear Alma, I really must beg you not to interfere with _my_ educational methods, any more than I ever attempt to interfere in _your_ affairs.” Father said this quite quietly, but he was simply white with rage, and Dora told me afterwards that I was quite white too, also from rage of course. Aunt Alma said: “I don’t want to prophesy evil, but the future will show who is right Goodbye.” As soon as she had gone Dora and I rushed to Father and said: “Please Father, don’t be so frightfully angry; there’s no reason why you should.” And Father was awfully sweet and said: “I know quite well that I can trust you; you are my Berta’s children.” And then I simply could not contain myself, and I said: “No, Father, I really did flirt with Siegfried, and in the wood he put his arm round my waist; but I did not let him kiss me, I give you my word I did not. And if you want me to I’ll promise never to speak to him again.” And then Father said: “Really, Gretel, you have plenty of time yet for such affairs, and even if that _red-haired rascal_ plays the gallant with you, he is only making himself a laughing-stock. And you don’t want that, do you, little witch?” Then I threw my arms round Father and promised him _on my word of honour_ that I would never speak to Siegfried again. For it really distresses me very much that he should make himself ridiculous; and that he should go out walking half the night with that girl; such shamelessness!

We were so much upset that we did not go for a walk, and of course did not go to the raffle. But I’m frightfully sorry about those things I paid 7 crowns for. I do hope he did not win any of them.

August 15th. Just a few words more. Early this morning, as I was going to breakfast, in the corridor I met S. (it’s a good thing that is the initial both of his name and of Strick [rascal] as Father called him) and he said: “Good morning, Fraulein Gretchen. Why weren’t you at the raffle? Hadn’t you any share?”--“Oh yes, I had bought 7 crowns worth for it, but I had no fancy for the company I should meet.” -- -- Why, what has taken you all of a sudden? They were the same people as at the excursion! -- -- -- “Precisely for that reason,” said I, and passed on. I think I gave him what for, for he simply must have understood. Father is really quite right, and it is not at all nice to abuse one’s parents to strangers as he is always doing. I could not say a word against my parents to anyone, although I’m often frightfully angry with them; of course not about Mother, for she is dead. But not even about Father; I would rather choke down the greatest injustice. For when we had that trouble with Aunt Alma about Marina, I was really not in the least to blame, but he scolded me so, even while Aunt Alma was there, so that I can never forget it. But still, to a stranger, to some one whom I had only just got to know, I would never say a word against anyone in our family; though I used to get on so badly with Dora, I never said much against her even to Hella; at most that she was deceitful, and that really used to be so, though she seldom is now.

August 19th. It is so filthyly dull here; I can’t bear the word filthy, but it’s the only one that’s strong enough. Oswald is coming this evening, at last. Thank goodness. S. has made several _advances_, but I have _ignored_ them. Let him stick to his actress who can go out walking with him half the night. I really _should_ like to know where they went. In the night, I never heard of such a thing! Dora says she took a dislike to S. from the first because he -- -- -- -- -- it’s an absolute lie! -- -- -- has clammy! hands. It’s simply not true, on the contrary he has such entrancingly cool hands, I’m sure I must know that better than Dora. But I’ve known for a long time that whenever anyone pays _me_ attention Dora is _unsympathetic_, naturally enough. By the way, on Sunday I got a charming letter from Anneliese. I must answer it to-day.

August 22nd. Oswald is awfully nice. He did not forget my birthday, but he says that at that time he was stoney, in student’s slang that means that he hadn’t any money, and then he could not find anything suitable, but that he will repair the omission as soon as we get back to Vienna. But I don’t know what I should like. Oswald is going to stay until we all go back to Vienna, and we are making a few excursions _by ourselves_. That is really the best way after all. I am not much with the Weiners now, for we had a little tiff on the big excursion. But Nelly is rather taken with Oswald, so she came twice to our table to-day, once about a book we had lent her, and once to arrange for a walk.

August 24th. It is really absurd that one’s own brother can think such a lot of one; but if he does, I suppose he knows. Oswald said to me to-day: “Gretl, you are so smart I could bite you. How you are developing.” I said: “I don’t want anyone to bite me,” and he said: “Nor do I,” but I was awfully delighted, though he is only my brother. He can’t stand Marina, and as a man he finds Dora too stupid; I think he’s right, really. And I simply can’t understand Dr. P., that he can always find something to talk about to Dora. He has hardly said 10 words to me yet. Still, I don’t care.

August 27th. We went up the Matscherkogel yesterday, and we had a lovely view. The two boys came, for they had begged their father to let them; but of course Aunt Alma and Marina did not come. Oswald calls Aunt Alma _Angular Pincushion_, but only when Father isn’t there, for after all she is Father’s sister. The Weiners wanted to come too, but I said that my brother was staying only a few days more, and that this was a “farewell excursion _en famille_.” They were rather hurt, but they have made me very angry by the way in which they will go on talking about S. in front of me, on purpose, saying that he is engaged or is going to be engaged to the actress girl against his father’s will. What does it matter to _me_? They keep on exchanging glances when they say that, especially Olga, who is really rather stupid. I am so sad now at times that I simply can’t understand how I could have enjoyed myself so much on the big excursion. I’m always thinking of dear Mother, and I often wear my black frock. It suits my mood better.

August 30th. I believe the Schs. are leaving to-morrow. At least the old gentleman said to Father the day before yesterday: “Thank the Lord, we shall soon be able to enjoy the comforts of home once more.” That is what Hella’s grandmother used to say before they came back from the country. And to-day I saw two great trunks standing in the passage just outside Herr Scharrer’s room. Oswald thinks the old gentleman charming; well, there’s no accounting for tastes. I don’t believe he’s ever spoken to S., though he is a German Nationalist too, but of a different section; Oswald belongs to the Sudmark, and S. abused that section frightfully when I told him that Oswald belonged to the Sudmark.

August 31st. He has really gone to-day, that is, the whole family has gone. They came to bid us goodbye yesterday after supper, and they left this morning by the 9 o’clock train to Innsbruck. And his hands are not clammy, I paid particular attention to the point; it is pure imagination on Dora’s part. He and Oswald greeted one another with Hail! That’s a splendid salutation, and I shall introduce it between Hella and me.

September 2nd. The Weiners left to-day too, because people are really beginning to stare at their mother too much. When Olga said goodbye to me she told me she hated having to travel with her mother and whenever possible she would lag behind a little so that people should not know they belonged together.

September 4th. I never heard of such a thing!! S. has come back, alone of course. Everyone is indignant, for he has only come back because of Fraulein A., the actress girl. But Oswald defends him like anything. This afternoon Frau Lunda said to Aunt Dora: “It’s simply scandalous, and his parents certainly ought not to have allowed him to come, even if the girl’s mother does not know any better.” Then Oswald said: “Excuse me, Frau Lunda, Scharrer is no longer a schoolboy who must cling to his mother’s apron-string; such tutelage would really be unworthy of a full-grown German.” I was so pleased that he gave a piece of his mind to Frau L., for she is always glaring at one and is so frantically inquisitive. And _tutelage_ is such an impressive word, S. used it once when he was speaking of his sister and why she had never married. Frau L. was furious. She turned to Aunt Dora and said: “Young men naturally take one another’s part, until they are fathers themselves and then they hold other views.”

September 8th. Thank goodness we are going home the day after to-morrow. It really has been rather dull here, certainly I can’t join in the paean Hella sang about the place last year; of course they were not staying in the Edelweiss boarding house but in the Hotel Kaiser von Oesterreich. It makes a lot of difference _where_ one is staying. By the way, it has just occurred to me. The young wife who had the eruption after _infection_ can’t have been divorced, as Hella wrote me the week before last; for her husband has been there on a visit, he is an actor at the Theatre Royal in Munich. So it would seem that actors really are all _infected_; and Hella always says it is only officers! She takes rather an exaggerated view.

September 14th. We have been back in Vienna since the 11th, but I have been absolutely unable to write, though there was plenty to write about. For the first person I met when I went out on the 11th to fetch some cocoa which Resi had forgotten, was Lieutenant R. Viktor, _the Conqueror!!_ Of course he recognised me immediately, and was awfully friendly, and _walked with me a little way_. He asked casually after Dora, but it is obvious that he is not in love with her any more. And it was so funny that he should not know that Dora had matriculated this year and so would not be going to the High School any more. I did not tell him that she intends to go on with her studies, for it is not absolutely settled yet.

September 16th. Hella came home yesterday; I am so glad; I greeted her with: _Hail!_ but she said; “don’t be silly,” besides, it’s unsuitable for an Austrian officer’s daughter!!! Still, we won’t quarrel about it after 2 months’ separation, and _Servus_ is very smart too though not so distinguished. She told me a tremendous lot more about that young married woman; some of the ladies in B. said that her cousin was _in love_ with the husband. That would be awful, for then she would get infected too; but Hella says she did not notice anything, though she watched very closely during the fortnight he was there. He sang at two of the musical evenings, but she did not see any sign of it. Lizzi is _engaged_, but Hella could not write anything about it, for the engagement is only being officially announced now that they are back in Vienna; her fiance is Baron G. He is an attache in London, and she met him there. He is madly in love with her. In August he was on leave, and he came to B. to make an offer of marriage; that is why they stayed the whole summer in B. instead of going to Hungary. Those were the _special circumstances_, about which Hella said she could not write to me. I don t see why she could not have told me _that_, I should have kept it to myself; and after all, Lizzi is 19 1/2 now, and no one would have been surprised that she is engaged at last. They can’t have a great betrothal party, for Baron G.’s father died in July. Hella is very much put out. Lizzi says it does not matter a bit.

September 18th. Lizzi’s betrothal cards arrived to-day. It must be glorious to send out betrothal cards. Dora got quite red with annoyance, though she said when I asked her: “Why do you flush up so, surely there’s no reason to be ashamed when anyone is _engaged!_” “Really, why should you think I am ashamed, I am merely _extremely surprised_.” But one does not get so red as _that_ from surprise.

September 19th. School began to-day; unfortunately, for _she_ has gone. And what was the Third is now the Fourth, and that is detestable, to sit in the classroom without _her_. Luckily we have Frau Doktor St. as class mistress, and she is to teach us mathematics and physics once more; Frau Doktor F., whom we used to call Nutling and the Fifth used to call Waterfall has gone, for she has been appointed to the German High School in Lemberg. For the time being we are sitting in our old place, but Hella says we must ask Frau Doktor S. to let us have another seat, for the memory of the three years when we had Frau Doktor M. might make us inattentive. That is a splendid idea. In German we have a master, in French I am sorry to say it’s still Frau Doktor Dunker, whose complexion has not improved, and in English the head mistress. I am very pleased with that, for first of all I like her very much, and secondly I shall be in her good books from the start because Dora was her favourite. Of course I’m not learning Latin, for it would not interest me now that Frau Doktor M. has gone. Oh, and we have a new Religion teacher, for Herr Professor K. has retired, since he was 60 already.

September 21st. We have managed it. In the long interval, Hella said to Frau Doktor St., who was in charge. “Frau Doktor, may we venture to ask for something?” So she said: “What, in the very first week; well, what is it?” We said we should like to move from the third bench towards the window, for we found it very painful to go on sitting where we had sat when Frau Doktor M., was there. At first she refused, but after a while she said: “I’ll see what I can do, if you are really not happy where you are.” From 11 to 12 was the mathematic lesson, and as soon as Frau Doktor Steiner had taken her place she said: “This arrangement of your seats was only provisional. You had better sit more according to height.” Then she rearranged us all, and Hella and I were moved to the 5th bench on the window side; the two twins, the Ehrenfelds got our places; in front of us is Lohr and a new girl called Friederike Hammer whose father is a confectioner in Mariahilferstrasse. We are awfully glad that we have got away from that hateful third bench where _she_ used so often to stand near us and lay her hand on the desk.

September 29th. Professor Fritsch, the German professor, came to-day for the first time. He is always clearing his throat and he wears gold spectacles. Hella thinks him _tolerably_ nice, but I don’t. I’m quite sure that I shall never get an Excellent in German again. Yesterday the new Religion master came for the first time, and I sat alone, for Hella being a Protestant did not attend. He looks frightfully ill and his eyes are always lowered though he has burning black eyes. Next time I shall sit beside Hammer which will be company for us both.