Anna's Journal

December 20, 1892

Time is ticking by. It is almost Christmas now. Nearly New Year's.

And then I will be gone to Munich, and it feels like the end of everything. How can I just leave, with everything that is happening? How can I possibly be away from Georg for so long? Sometimes I feel as if I cannot bear it but I know that I must. And I must not cry everywhere but that is what I feel like doing.

Martha seems much happier since her visit with Kurt a few days ago. It is good to see. And it is good to see Martha playing with my sisters; at least they will not be lonely while I am away. They all get along very well, though sometimes Martha has to step away when they become too raucous. She is quite unused to small children, and I imagine her nerves are quite jangled.

Thea seems to be doing well in most respects. She is downhearted because she has not seen her Peter in a while, but I suppose I can understand that sentiment. It is a terrible thing to be separated from people you care about.

I cannot believe they will be going off to school without me! I am going to miss them so much.

Whatever will I do in Munich??

Dear Diary,

I told him.

He asked me to marry him. To marry him. When we're older.

I said yes.

I am going to work very hard and study and I will be the best wife he could ever have. No matter what he decides to study or become. (I hope he will be a wonderful composer.)

I love him so very much.

Martha and Thea will be my maids. I do not want any others. I won't designate a maid of honor. Wendla was always meant to be my maid of honor. If I leave her place open, maybe she will be there.

Anna L. Zirschnitz

Doesn't that look just simply grand?

Martha has come to live with us now, and her room is Flora's old room. I am glad she is here, though I can tell she is worried. I cannot even write what I think of her parents. I knew I should have told someone when she told us of the beatings. Mama and Papa are being very loving and gentle towards her and I am not sure that she knows what to do with it. It's so nice to see her with her hair down, and wearing prettier clothes.

I know that Georg does not care much for Kurt, but I must say that he has been most kind to Martha, so I cannot think poorly of him. And her face lights up when he comes near to her.

She deserves to have someone to make her look like that.

November 25th, 1892

It's final. I'm going to finishing school in Munich in January.

I'd never argued with my parents so much in my entire life.

But I'm still going. Though I did demand that they give me voice and piano lessons while I was there. Mama objected at the practicality of such a thing but I wouldn't budge.

Eventually, she gave in, though I take no joy in this. Doesn't she know this isn't going to help? Holidays are coming up. I don't want to tell Georg.

But as soon as he sees me, he'll know something is wrong, and I would not lie to Georg.

This news will ruin everything. I don't want him to be sad! I'm only going to be sixteen in a couple of weeks! I don't want to leave home yet! I'm scared. What if no one will talk to me? What if I can't handle the work, or what they demand of me?

What if Georg doesn't want to wait for me? I just want to cry.

I don't feel Wendla at the graveyard anymore. Maybe she moved on. I don't know where. I wish I did. I miss her.

So they say that Melchior is back. Very sick. I should feel something.

Instead, all I feel is obligation. I will do what I can.

I owe Wendla that much. She cared for him. I'd want her to do the same for Georg, if our places were exchanged.

I hate this, I'm crying again. The Headmistress says my grades are slipping. But how can I still go on, with every turn, I'm faced with Wendla's memory. I keep expecting her to jump out from behind something in that silly short dress of hers. I keep pausing to wait for her on my way to school.

How do you explain such things when one is late to school for just such a reason?

I've such a bundle of things bound up inside that I wish I could tell her. I must keep reminding myself that she's gone. It would seem that such an important fact would stay with me...that perhaps I could turn to Georg, or Thea or Martha to say the things I need to say. But...I cannot. Not yet.

I have gone to the graveyard, and it offers some small relief, though Mama would rather I not go so often. But how can she understand what a comfort it is to me? I feel her there as nowhere else.

I must go, for Mother is calling me...she does not like for me to be alone.

November 10, 1892

I heard Mama and Papa. I couldn't help myself, I heard the name 'Wendla' and curiosity overcame me.

It was not anemia.

They were trying to take Wendla's baby. Wendla's baby. Which means...God, did she even know what she was risking? Did he tell her??

I'm so angry! How could her mother have allowed it to happen to her? Why didn't Melchi speak up? He's a boy, nearly a man, how could he have allowed himself to be sent away from Wendla? And she was all alone and she couldn't even tell me!

And now they're discussing my fate. Without me in the room. I've done nothing wrong, and I do not deserve to be sent away!

Oh Wendla...oh god, I miss you so much. I can't bear the thought of life here without you.


May God forgive me but I think I hate Melchior Gabor.

November 4th, 1892

Dear Diary,

And now, where is Wendla? Her mama keeps telling me that she is ill but I am not sure I believe that, since she looks so well when I go to see her. Only a little tired and nauseous.

Georg and I have been very good indeed, and I wish our parents would stop watching us incessantly. When I am without him, I feel lonely, sad and lost. The more they keep us from each other, the more I want to go to him, and the more I want to be with him.


I wish things were back the way they were. I wish Moritz were still alive and I wish Melchi were back in school, and I wish Wendla could play again.

Nothing feels right. And I do not feel safe.

I've never seen Sofie so upset.


How do we get through this? I don't know what to think, or say, or do. I feel so horribly sad, and then so angry...



I can't believe this is happening. Nothing is ever going to be the same again. Everything before this seems like an idyllic dream.

Dear Diary,

God. I made it. My brain is going to leak out of my ears. I think I did all right.

The most difficult part was getting Marianna through it all. She still won't tell me what's wrong and laughs and tells me that everything is perfect when I can clearly see it is not. I had to tap her with my foot a couple of times so that she would actually move her pen. She'd just freeze up and not move.

It was a little frightening.

I'm sure Georg will sleep well tonight (I hope) until he starts to fret about Munich.

I do not want to think about Munich. I'm happy for him, but Oh! I shall miss him so.

I shall just have to annoy Mama till she lets me go to visit.

Anna.

Dear Diary,

Since when have Marianna and Hanschen actually ever spoken to each other? The whole school is buzzing about the fact that they're walking together now.

In addition, Marianna is avoiding me.

This does not make me feel good. I hope that Otto is all right. I...don't know what to think.

I suppose we shall see what happens at the picnic on Saturday. I'm honestly just hoping I can get Georg to relax enough to have a good time. He needs to have fun.

I've asked Mother Schmidt if she knows any other remedies for bad stomachs that work well. She's given me a few ideas.

I figure I'd better get a bunch of them. For future reference.


Anna.

Good heavens. Final Exams are nearly here...and I do not even have the luxury of falling back on knitting and embroidering!

I do not know how Georg does it year after year. I'm so terrified I think I'll die if I do not pass. If I failed it would disappoint everyone so very terribly: Mama and Papa and the teachers...and Georg. That would break my heart.

Why am I in these classes again? What on Earth is the point of learning French? And geometry?

I would like to crawl under my bedclothes and not come out till after finals are over. Then again, they would probably shove the exams underneath them and tell me to take them anyway.

What on Earth shall I do?

School is...different, in corsets. The teacher knows that I'm wearing them, and admonishes me for my posture. All the girls, especially Marianna, seem to be so sympathetic and sweet to me. They give me hints about how to tie the corset on my own and what not to eat while in one.

Mama has me take it off after school for a few hours, and I have lighter stays for sleeping. They're not entirely dreadful to sleep in, but it has taken getting used to.

It feels like forever since I've spoken to Georg. I miss him dreadfully.

Dear Diary,

My corsets are so pretty. I have one that is for everyday and one that is for best--that one can be laced down temporarily to smaller widths than my everyday one, though Mama insists not more than twenty inches. I do not mind. The shape they give me is so becoming. The one for special occasions is all over peach lace. It's terribly pretty, but it's a shame no one gets to actually see it. But it will make me feel better, knowing that lace is there, I think.

Mama helped me dress for church today. I wore a lovely blue dress over my corset, trim and neat, and my shoes were shined and polished. It was much easier, I felt, going into church today knowing I looked quite fine, than worrying if I looked all right. Mama is finally letting me grow my hair and she put up the sides of my hair in two combs. I helped my sisters dress and they looked quite lovely as well.

(I caught Georg looking over at me. I think he approved.)

It was easier to concentrate on the sermon while I knew that I looked nice and my posture was upright. Still...I did get to day dream a little. Indeed...I couldn't really help it.

( Terribly Private: This bit of Anna's diary gets covered up by paper carefully attached, with the rest of the entry on top of it. )

I just...I hope he feels the same way about me. I like him so very much. And I don't want to have these dreams if he doesn't like me that way. I prayed in church today that he would. It sounds terribly frivolous of me, but sometimes I fear that I shall be left all alone to cope with life. I am quite sure I could, with all of Mama's training, but I do not particularly want to. And Jesus called the children to come to Him, so perhaps I am not so silly as to think He would not be concerned for my little worries?

It has been a most wretched day.

I fainted in school today. I forgot the French conversation that I was supposed to memorize and then I panicked and fainted. One of the older girls had to walk me home. She was very nice, at least, and so pretty. Her name is Marianna and I hope she doesn't think I'm too much of a child.

She explained why I was home to my Mama. Mama looked at me worriedly and sent me to my room. I don't want dinner. I don't want to come out, ever. I'm sure the whole school has heard and now everyone is laughing at me.

Why did they have to put me in these classes? I'm not nearly smart enough for them! And everyone is so much older, I know they're laughing at me!

I haven't been sleeping well at night. I can't daydream or imagine nice things like I used to. I'm so scared and I'm not even entirely sure why.

I hope I still get my corsets. I still want to go to Munich with Mama.

I miss Georg. I won't see him before I leave, I do not think.

I want to be stupid again. At least no one expected anything of me then.

Dear Diary

Three days till corsetiere. I'm still so dreadfully nervous. I'm never going to be as graceful as Mama or Flora. They're both so lovely and I'm just a little pudge-pot, and my face is too round and my skin is too pale!

Mama has been coaching me as to how I should act at the corset-shop. What if I trip? What if I belch? Oh, God. I am going to disappoint Mother and everyone and I will forget all my French and then Georg will think I'm nothing but a silly little child.



And then I shall surely die.


I think I shall be ill.

Mama is bringing me to Munich next weekend. I am going to get corsets.


I'm so terribly, terribly nervous. What if the corsetiere says I'm too fat for corsets? Or too skinny? I don't know which would be worse! And what if I laugh too hard and pop the hooks off the busk?!

It is a terribly fraught time. Mama keeps looking over my dresses and deciding which ones I will keep and which go into the rag basket.

I've already hidden away my favorite one. It can't be worn in public, but it's still my favorite and I want to keep it.

Papa thinks that I should not have them so early but Mama told him to hush, and that this is a woman thing. That makes me feel sort of proud but also sort of scared.

I don't think I'm ready to be a grownup yet.

Dear diary,

Oh, I am so very, very happy. Am I such a very naughty girl for letting him kiss me? I cannot think that I am, and oh, it was so wonderful! It was like being dreadfully happy and dreadfully afraid all at once, like when someone pushes you too high on a swing.

But even better.

And I felt so warm and lovely, too. I like him so very much and so he must like me, if he kissed me. My heart was beating so fast, too.

And...I am not the least bit sorry I peeked when his shirt was off. He really is quite handsome, I think.

I haven't told a soul yet except you, dear diary, and I can't help but think that telling would be a bad idea. I shall keep it in my heart, instead.

Au revoir. It sounds lovely, doesn't it?

Dear Diary...

Oh dear. They are having me move into French this term!

French. What am I going to do with French?!

They might even have me study English later on. If I do "well" with French.

If they add one more class for me I shall scream!


The worst thing is that I'm the only one of my friends in the class. All the girls in there are OLDER.

I think I shall be ill.

Dear Diary.

I can't write it.

But I think I shall die of happy.

I love the world today.

Dear diary,

Well, my middle-terms are not as fateful as the boys' middle terms but I did do fairly well. I did best in the class with crocheted lace. That is something.

My marks in the academics were actually very good, and even my penmanship was much improved. The teacher wants to speak to Mother. I wish she'd just speak to me. It is so nerve-wracking to have to wait for news of yourself third hand.

I have seen Ilse round and about. Martha seems happier. I hope Ilse comes back to town often. She looks well. She was wearing a very pretty dress last I saw her. Though it was a little gaudy for daytime and Mother said it was not very proper.

I don't know. Ilse is pretty and she should wear what pleases her. If I were that pretty I hope I could wear pretty things too.

Dear diary...

I'm so glad middle-terms are this week...we can get them over with and not have to worry about them anymore.

I hope spring comes soon, and that no one gets sick in the springtime. I hope that my daydreams come true. I hope. Sometimes I just feel so homely and skinny and un-lovely, that I do not think so.

I wrote his name with mine...just to see how it would look, you know?

Anna Zirschnitz

It looks really nice. And it goes from A to Z, which is sort of neat.