Diary 1914-1916

Sopot[1]  July 18, 1914

I am starting this new diary with trembling hands. The previous one recorded only pain and complaints – what will this one hold?

I wanted to avoid writing about what happened to me at the end of my stay in Warsaw, but everything came back to me so vividly after a conversation with Jula Kenig that I have to.

Last Monday I was supposed to receive a check from Mianowski. It wasn't there. I had to wait until Tuesday. ​​However, I somehow managed to get the money. Later, everything seemed to conspire against my departure. At the last moment, Henia's apartment didn't have a key. [?] climbed in through a ladder and opened the door for me. I left. And as the train traveled, I made plans, plans that couldn't possibly come true: that I would call him first, that I would suggest he reconsider and not reject me, that I would stay for him in Milanówek[RS2] , and so on and so forth. The stations passed by, and with increasing clarity I felt that these plans, however irreversible, were the best, the only good ones.

I am desperate. I feel that he, as a man, is unique, and yet I did everything to completely ruin things.

So now it's supposed to be the end? The final end? Should I go to Munich and forget everything? Take what life gives me? How awful it is to think that during these few months of being here nothing will happen to me, nothing will occur, I won't experience anything... Poor me.

Notes:

[1] Sopot is a spa resort on the Baltic Sea. This is where her mother and sisters had been when the war started.

[2] Milanówek is a town near Warsaw.

Berlin,  August 5 [1914]

Two or three weeks, and what a upheaval in the life of Europe! The last days of my stay in Sopot were "adorned" by Chmielewski's adoration.[1] Within 24 hours, this man became like Malinowski, etc.[2] And I felt nothing for him either. What could I care?

Besides, I don't even know how it all would have ended, because a real political storm arrived. A terrible, bloody, merciless war came.

I would like to keep a diary that is not strictly subjective, but strictly historical.

On the evening of July 25th, Rózia and I were sitting with Dr. Pau... and the Hochstimm family in a café. Suddenly, like a flash of lightning, news of an extra edition of the newspaper spread. It was the news that Serbia had rejected the ultimatum.[3] 

The streets were crowded with people. It was impossible to get through to the newspaper office on Seestrasse. Cars had difficulty making their way through the crowds. Everyone was anxiously awaiting further developments – so we all left the café feeling tense, looking around and expecting more news. Indeed, within two hours of the first extra edition, a second one appeared. Serbia had ordered mobilization. The ambassadors were leaving.

We went to another café (the Metropol) and began discussing the significance of the events. After a short time, the orchestra began playing the Austrian national anthem. Everyone stood up. After it finished, they applauded. The same ceremony followed with the anthems "Heil dir im Siegerkranz,"[4] "Ich bin Preusse, kennt ihr meine Farben?" ("I am a Prussian, know ye my colours[RS5] ?”), etc.[5]

The situation dragged on until late into the night. Such excitement prevailed on the street that it was impossible to go home despite the late hour. At 1 a.m., another extra edition of the newspaper appeared – and this time no one doubted that the situation was serious.

Sunday, the 26th, passed uneasily. Hochstimm was already talking about an Austro-Russian war and expressed concern that, as an Austrian subject, he would not be able to cross the Russian border. During the day, another extra edition appeared – among other things, with the news that the Serbian Chief of General Staff, Putnik, had been arrested in Austria – which made a huge impression, and we all felt the tension in the air.[6] 

The week passed anxiously. News of Russia's mobilization began to appear.[7] The initial Serbian-Austrian steps went completely unnoticed. All attention was focused on the East; a decisive answer was expected from there, an answer on which, as was already clear to everyone, the fate of Europe depended.

The exodus began, and bad news started to arrive from there. Several people returned, unable to travel from Iłow back to the country.[8] They spoke of hundreds of travelers gathered at the station, unable to find even a roof over their heads, of children laid out in rows in the toilets, just to have somewhere to be, of exorbitant prices and a general lack of food. Those who remained in Sopot debated lively about this risky departure. Ultimately, most Poles decided to stay, reasoning that it was better to remain where they were safe than to embark on completely unknown, uncertain, and dangerous adventures.

Meanwhile, several minor events occurred daily. On Thursday [July 30] evening, Franz Cohn came to us and announced that the Germans were nevertheless arming themselves during the negotiations with Russia, and that he had received orders to report the next day at 6 a.m. He clarified the situation somewhat for us – or rather, the bitterness that prevailed among the Germans upon hearing about these secret armaments. "If there weren't a war with Russia now," he said, "I would kill myself. I don't want to be born into a weak nation." Saying goodbye, he said: "Adieu, Adieu, ich sure buch eine Karte aus Petersburg” (“Goodbye, goodbye, I’ll send you another postcard from Petersburg").

On Friday [July 31], they stopped accepting paper money, which caused a great uproar. People started stocking up on supplies – many went to Gdańsk to exchange Russian money at any price (in Sopot they weren't accepting it at all). At noon, news arrived about the German ultimatum. Every few hours new telegrams arrived, each more threatening than the last. The spa guests crowded the reading room, trying to glean information from the newspapers and predict future events. That's when I read the news of Bandrowski's death, which deeply moved me.[9] I was so shaken that for several hours I forgot about the war events. And the news was already very bad. Wiliński, who was supposed to arrive from Łódź, didn't come – in fact, not a single passenger arrived from Iłów. The conductors answered questions by saying that no trains were running from the Russian border. We then understood that we were cut off from our loved ones.

On Saturday [August 1] morning, a statement was posted declaring that paper money had to be accepted, but no one followed this rule. Perhaps this was because, next to this statement, there were telegrams everywhere announcing Jaurès's assassination.[10]  The Berlin newspapers I read that morning all struck the same note: that the Russians should come to their senses "in this critical hour," and not start a war. Fear and apprehension of war were palpable in all of them. On Saturday afternoon, the lack of a response was announced, and at the same time, Sopot was declared to be under martial law. By evening, there was no lighting at all on the pier, and the orchestra wasn't playing. Small groups of frightened people were still debating near the Kurhaus. A strange thing – the full moon[11]  was a dark, rusty gold color. It looked somehow bloody. This bloodiness reminded me of some legend, that the moon always rises blood-red before a war. And it reminded me of Słowacki's poem, so often considered a poetic license, "Three times the moon changed to gold."[12] The father of the plague victims couldn't have seen the moon as pale when his loved ones died. It was a certain optical phenomenon (a certain perspective).

On Sunday [August 2] morning I received a telegram from Fela – and later, a one.[13] I walked around the city, collecting money. We were formally penniless. Nobody had any money. The official announcement of mobilization had already fully ignited passions against the Russians. Even on Saturday evening, when martial law was declared and a Russian response was awaited, people were shouting "the scoundrels" at the Russians in front of the newspaper office. The outrage and bitterness were enormous that Russia had mobilized before declaring war. On Sunday, very unpleasant things were said about us. The hostile mood manifested itself in all sorts of trivialities: beating 10-year-old children if they didn't take off their hats during the singing of the national anthem, not returning deposits paid by Russians (Gensch), constant questioning about why we hadn't left, some landladies giving notice, adding "I don't want to have anything to do with the enemies," etc. Rumors circulated about Russians poisoning wells with cholera bacilli, about blowing up bridges by... etc.  Because of this, we decided not to go out at all that evening. I only wanted to send Fela some money through acquaintances, so we went out anyway. To our great surprise, we found a great deal of activity on the street. We met Barcińska, who told us that a Polish mutual aid organization had been formed to help those who were left penniless. I went to the Przepiórki family, and during that visit, Rózia came, telling us about the expulsion of all Poles within 12 hours. Immediately, we all went out into the street. Now there was simply unrestrained chaos. "All Russians out!" they shouted. Everywhere, expressions of approval for this order could be heard.

We went to the Fausts, the P...s, and the Barcińskis to discuss matters. The order was given that we should go towards Kołobrzeg.[14]  Then the discussion began about where exactly to go: Stolpmünde, Kołobrzeg, Szczecin, etc. Finally, we[15]  decided to go to Kołobrzeg. There was all-night packing and arguing with the landladies about money. At 5 a.m. I was at the station, even though the train left at 7:35. Crowds of people were waiting with their luggage. However, all our acquaintances had gone to Berlin, so, following the principle of "vox populi, vox Dei," I bought tickets to Berlin. All the way I felt guilty about imposing on my relatives,[16]  and that the air in Kołobrzeg would be best for me, but I did it anyway. Upon arriving in Berlin, we were arrested at the station. The relatives were terrified. We were treated as enemies.

So, for now, we are staying here. And news of the war is arriving more and more frequently.

I was at the Spanish consul's office. A diverse crowd of people was gathered in front of the building. Swierbejew left without leaving any instructions. Despite having 5 wagons on the train, he didn't take anyone with him.

[Addendum, August 18]Apparently, we were expelled from Sopot because there were only 2-3 policemen there, and the public unrest was great – so they preferred to get rid of us to avoid a fight.

[Addendum, August 29] Hochstimmowa said that on August 5, the others were taken to Stettin, from there to Trelleborg... and then to Helsinki.

Notes:

[1] Presumably a reference to Alfons Chmielewski, who was a strong advocate for Poles in Sopot while under Prussian rule. Not sure what happened in July 1914 to raise him (and lower him) in Franka’s esteem.

[2] Presumably a reference to Roman Malinovsky a Bolshevik who was also a paid agent for the Tsar’s secret police.

[3] The Austria-Hungary ultimatum of July 23, 1914 , sonsidered the precursor to the start of World War I, had given Sertbia 48 hours to respond.

[4] The royal anthem of Prussia.

[5] An older national anthem for Prussia.

[6] Radomir Putnik was caught in Budapest, where he was undergoing medical treatment, but the Austro-Hungarian emperor Franz Josef granted him safe passage back to Serbia.

[7] Russia announced mobilization on July 30.

[8] The town of Iłów is on the Bzura River. Before and during World War I it lay near the boundary between German-occupied territory and the Russian-controlled Kingdom of Poland (Congress Poland).

[9] Bronisław Bandrowski, a Polish philosopher and psychologist who died on July 27 in a mountain climbing accident at age 35.

[10] Jean Jaurès,  a French socialist leader, was assassinated on July 31 by a French nationalist. This helped destabilize the French government and was another step towards war.

[11] May have been close to full, but full moon was August 6.

[12] From the poem Beniowski by Juliusz Słowacki, a famous Polish romantic poet.

[13] Not sure where Fela was at this time, probably Warsaw.

[14] A bigger city on the Baltic Sea.

[15] While she has mentioned Rozia in this long entry, presumably this includes her mother and her other sister Madzia.

[16] Presumably, her uncle Moritz Lubliner (her mother’s brother).

Berlin, August 6 [1914], Friday

I constantly admire the patriotism of the Germans. I don't know if there is any nation in the world that is as patriotically inclined as the Germans.

The basis of this patriotism is awareness – an awareness of the benefits that the German state provides them. The efforts that the state makes to ensure that every citizen has "a chicken in the pot on Sunday" are fully appreciated. The German citizen knows well that the state protects him, that there is order, and therefore justice, that the requirements of adhering to the regulations are for his own good, not for exploitation, and he respects the laws and regulations. At the same time, he is instilled with the belief that no other state cares for its citizens in this way, and now, in wartime, he feels apprehension that he might lose what he has, because no other state provides so many comforts and well-being to its subjects. Every German goes to the front with the awareness that he is fighting for himself, for his well-being, for his own good, which cannot be replaced by anyone else. Therefore, this war is not only a war for the homeland, it is primarily a fight for one's own well-being. And that is why the German goes to war with a determination unlike any other nation – and therefore he will surely win.

It's interesting how they reacted to the enemies who were increasingly declaring war. The war with Russia was considered an uncivilized, Tatar aberration, so there was anger; with France, there was pain; with England, the feeling was that it was better to have an open enemy than a hidden one, and there was despair. With Belgium – one more or one less enemy, it didn't matter – and there was apathy. But amidst all these subjective emotions, there was still courage and the conviction that they would win, because they simply couldn't afford to lose. Defeat was worse for them than death.

The Germans understand the gravity of the situation perfectly. The day before yesterday, in a tram, one man stepped on another's foot. The latter started cursing him, for which he naturally received a harsh reply: "You are... like me!" Suddenly, a man stood up. "Gentlemen, are we going to argue now, when we are at war with England?" And in an instant, a strange silence fell.

An old woman is sitting on a bench, talking to someone else. "...must...the...". There is compassion for... as a human being and a desire to help him, like any other.

Patriotism is expressed in the enlistments – among these practical Germans, abandoning their businesses happens without a moment's hesitation. Yesterday, Simon[1] quoted Heine's "The Grenadiers":[2] The women? "Let them go begging if they are hungry," he actually doesn't concern himself with anything else – Leo said after hearing that he would only leave for the front in a few days: "If I weren't married, I would go to another regiment." Such is the enthusiasm – "we will all go to the front, not a single man will remain. We won't even return as cripples, so as not to become a burden to the state; each of us will save the last bullet for ourselves." And the women repeat the same, that they will kill themselves if they were to fall under someone else's rule.

Simon said something about the suggestion of going to Wrocław today, that he couldn't because he had volunteered. When I disregarded this deadline, he said: "Even if my head were cut off tomorrow, my legs would still go and report on time."

Notes:

[1] I am assuming her cousin, Moritz’s son, Simon Hans Lubliner.

[2] Heinrich Heine political poem.

Berlin, August 7 [1914]

I'm beginning to admire the Germans' organizational skills more and more. When you read the newspapers these days, you're amazed by all the regulations. Every newspaper is eloquent testimony to the social and economic structure of Germany. Order is not disrupted in any way, and even the pace of life hasn't accelerated. Traffic has decreased in volume, but hasn't changed qualitatively. Everything is proceeding as before, like clockwork. This is the most eloquent proof of their orderliness, their ingrained habit of order and calm. And all those regulations!

The press, which is the seventh power, is only now demonstrating its full power. Everything is foreseen, everything is considered, and there are regulations for everything. From the most important to the smallest thing. ……... …..…. Tongues! Leave the foreigners alone! Let the women dress modestly! Let them show up for the harvest (and what organization in this case!)! Let them not shoot at balloons. Let them make fruit preserves. Let them separate potato peels to be used as fodder for cattle. Let them deposit foreign newspapers in the editorial offices. Let them deposit various printed materials concerning the war in this and that library.

And yet, how many mistakes they point out! Prices are standardized – paper money must be accepted. The organization of the railway station catering, etc. – incidentally, excellent – ​​must be improved. Someone there charged exorbitant prices. And so on and so forth. Absolutely everything is remembered. And how human resources are exploited! Women work as conductors – boys are at the bridges and railways as "Bahnschutz" (railway guards), scouts become postmen, etc.

And for those who remain incapacitated, there is care available. The opening of special employment agencies. Auguste Victoria Heim has announced and increased its activities. The same applies to childcare facilities. For expectant mothers, free food is provided at several locations in Berlin for six weeks before delivery (Varernahzung).

Today I read that the Pestalozzi Fröbel Haus[1] is organizing... field cooking! Where has anyone seen that here? The newspapers contain warnings for the deaf not to walk on bridges, because someone might call out to them, they won't stop, and then an accident will happen. Who among us pays attention to that?

Reduce advertisements due to the lack of gas.[2]

Collecting and drying mushrooms as food. Wormy mushrooms as food for chickens. A proposal for special places to teach people how to distinguish edible mushrooms, how to prepare them properly (cooking deprives mushrooms of their proper taste), and how to dry them.

Notes:

[1] Institution training early childhood teachers since 1882.

[2] ChatGPT explains: “Here gas refers to lighting gas, which in 1914–1918 often became scarce; newspapers and businesses were asked to reduce illuminated advertisements.”

Berlin, Saturday, August 8 [1914]

A relative of my uncle was here, and he talked about the possibility of us being deported to Spain. Someone remarked that Jews are not allowed to live there – supposedly, Jewish rabbis, upon leaving Spain, cursed everyone for a period of 400 years – since this was in 1492 (1508?), it is now possible to go there. A nice story.

There are indeed complications with these Jews now. Apparently, in Döberitz,[1] the Jewish recruits don't want to eat tref meat, so they might simply starve to death there – only then did Kantorowicz call the rabbi to go there and give them absolution. Poor things!

The newspapers today have news from Belgium, claiming that the Germans poisoned the wells there. It's strange that the same rumors are everywhere.

Notes:

[1] A major military training area to the west of Berlin.

Berlin, Saturday, August 8 [1914]

A relative of my uncle was here, and he talked about the possibility of us being deported to Spain. Someone remarked that Jews are not allowed to live there – supposedly, Jewish rabbis, upon leaving Spain, cursed everyone for a period of 400 years – since this was in 1492 (1508?), it is now possible to go there. A nice story.

There are indeed complications with these Jews now. Apparently, in Döberitz,[1] the Jewish recruits don't want to eat tref meat, so they might simply starve to death there – only then did Kantorowicz call the rabbi to go there and give them absolution. Poor things!

The newspapers today have news from Belgium, claiming that the Germans poisoned the wells there. It's strange that the same rumors are everywhere.

Notes:

[1] A major military training area to the west of Berlin.

Berlin, August 10, Tuesday,  1914

Yesterday S. was here again and told horrific, terrible news: supposedly 70,000 French soldiers died near Belfort. Horrible, 70,000 young, healthy men. How ashamed I am to be human.

The German organization is fabulous. The only nation that hasn't ordered... a moratorium. Anyone unable to pay their debts must notify a special office; they investigate, making sure it's not a scam, and together with the creditors, they arrange a solution. Anything to avoid public bankruptcies. What a relief for the merchants!

Children here are incredibly helpful to the older people in everything. Apparently, they approach the soldiers, take their canteens, and fill them with fresh water. They take money from their piggy banks, buy cigarettes, and slip them into the soldiers' pockets. My uncle told me that there was a cart with bananas at the train station, which a gentleman bought, and the children threw all the bananas into the train car. Sometimes, when I read about the small details of the organization here, I feel like an orphan watching a mother care for another child. No one in our country cares for people like this. It's understandable that people fight for their homeland as they would for their father and mother...

S. said that mourning for the fallen soldiers was not ordered – so as not to increase the atmosphere of sadness.

Today a money order arrived from Warsaw for Adela,[1]  sent before August 1st. The sender was a certain Sorelle, Złota Street 27. On the money order, it was already changed to Goldstrasse 27. What is happening in Russia now? My uncle is telling a story about a woman who sent ten sons to war. Let's see the French try to do that!

The newspapers are full of atrocities committed by the Belgians against the Germans. Apparently, they didn't spare the wounded or the doctors. The outrage here is immense. And yet, is their cruelty, stemming from self-defense, any worse than war itself, than the killing of so many healthy people in war? Undoubtedly, there is cruelty in it, but it's not cruelty *sui generis*, but rather cruelty provoked by circumstances.

However, psychology triumphs everywhere. If we consider the cause of the war – the assassination of Ferdinand – then we can represent the subsequent events in the following way, just like an association chain in the psychology of thinking:

- - - - - > - - - - - > - - - - - - > - - - - - - > - - - - - - - > - - - - - - - > - - - - - - - - >

Assassination | Revenge | German intervention | War with Russia | War with France | War with Japan | War with Great Britain

And just as in psychology, there is a dependence on the initial element. Some politicians, of course, always keep this first element in mind, but in reality, from my research, I know perfectly well that often each subsequent element has nothing to do with the previous one.

Notes:

[1] I am assuming this is Adele Lubliner, who was her uncle Moritz Lubliner's second wife. 

Monday, August 17, 1914

On Wednesday I met Jola – I was at their guesthouse. She told me, of course, extraordinary details about their group's departure from Schreiberhau[1] – about how well the landlady at the guesthouse treated them, etc.

One thing emerges from all these stories: people are not as bad as they are made out to be. I saw how my acquaintances treated me: everyone gave me money. How Feli, the landlady, treated her, what Besterman did for Levi, or the Szyfer family.

There is much kindness in people's hearts – it only becomes visible in such circumstances. And it's strange how everyone managed to make use of their acquaintances: M...lowa, Ida, etc. What ideas they came up with!

I bought myself Kant's " „Zum Ewigen Frieden”.[2] Why is this work not studied at the university at all? Why aren't these noble principles instilled in the students? It's a terrible cultural negligence that such issues remain untouched by the highest scientific institution, the university. It's strange that not a single one of my professors ever touched upon this topic. It's awful, the most important issues are always the least discussed.

I remember how much paper, time, and money the Ronikier[3] case cost! What a... mess!

Oberholzer at the "Racial Hygiene" Congress, my visit to Rheinau. There, the protection of such people – here, the sentencing to death of healthy people. Yesterday I read a mention of the heroic act of a soldier who was on guard duty and killed 6 soldiers from a patrol.

If you look at how many personal plans the war has ruined! At …………. - A joint-stock company, for me – work plans, for Julka – the extraordinary growth of the factory, ……….. ……ner already had the automobile file and the book ready, etc. Everything was shaken to its foundations. Will it bring as much good as it has already done harm?

There were so many misfortunes: Dr. Góralska went to Sopot for only a few days and got stuck there, Lewowa, after 12 years of work, went away for the first time to get some rest, and after 8 days in Kissingen she had such troubles. Some Miss Heimanówna spent the whole winter saving money for a trip abroad – and after 2 weeks she got stuck there, etc.

I keep thinking about how many stupid things I did with Kazik last year! I don't have the strength to worry anymore!

Notes:

[1] A ski resort town in Lower Silesia.

[2] Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch, in which Kant advances ideas that have subsequently been associated with democratic peace, commercial peace, and institutional peace.

[3] Something to do with Adam Ronikier? May be revealed in earlier diaries.

Saturday, August 22, 1914

The war seems to some here simply something that had to happen to change a certain order of purely social – personal – things. Herman Sudermann's poem "Was wir waren"[1]  expresses this very clearly, and people here say the same thing. "There was too much excess," people were trying to outdo each other in extravagance, etc. Now the war has come, and disaster has struck – affecting property, social positions, etc. Like a punishing sword, like the Last Judgment. It has leveled the power of private relationships between people; it has become clear how much foolishness and wickedness was committed, how many human qualities were simply not appreciated. People regret their mistakes – the wrongs committed against certain people, and so on. A lost dowry. Divine punishment!

Will there really be less extravagance? I think there will be another flourishing – this time a fuller one. Many wrongs will indeed be righted, especially here in Poland. And it seems to me that just as I now regret my various transgressions against myself, Kazio must now feel remorse for me, and I hope he feels as much as possible.

A few days ago, a significant change occurred within me. The image of Kazio has become completely tarnished. In light of the serious events of the present and in the face of all the beautiful aspects of character that my cousins, etc., are displaying, he now arouses pity in me for his spiritual pettiness. Tramer, on the other hand, has begun to stand out, surrounded by an aura, and two or three days ago I felt strongly that this man should be rewarded with the highest reward that fate can give him – me. And a relationship with him was no longer as repulsive a thought as it had been before. Who knows what else I will experience with him.

Our Fela was apprehended in Wrocław, and the poor child will probably kill herself there. During these few days, while trying to secure her release, I had the opportunity to get to know Samuel better, and I liked him very, very much as a person. Since yesterday, I have the feeling that I am not indifferent to him. So the Klonowski times are repeating themselves. In general, lately I feel that I have a lot of vitality, temperament, and a zest for life. I would flirt left and right. Even poor Rosel noticed that I was flirting too much with her husband – although he is the last person I have in mind. Looking at myself now, with what confidence I behave towards men, I can't help but wonder how I could have behaved so submissively last year – waiting for his gracious favor.

I would like to see him now...

While condemning him so harshly, I wondered if I wasn't being unfair. Maybe he was only like that towards me, maybe he is good and helpful towards others. After all, everyone in Göttingen liked him – so he must have deserved it. Rieder mentioned that K. had done him a great favor, etc. Apparently, I didn't know how to deal with him. In the last scene, all the blame falls on me, because he asked for forgiveness, and I was proud and arrogant, like a foolish peacock. "One should build golden bridges for the enemy." I, on the contrary, burned those fragile wooden bridges that the poor man wanted to cross.

Therefore, even though I too made serious mistakes (but only because of my own foolishness), his behavior towards me in Berlin is simply beyond description. The height of wickedness and a complete lack of feeling.

Notes:

[1] A poem “What We Were” by Herman Sudermann, a German dramatist, that precedes his dramatic trilogy “The Godless World”, in which he lists the vices of the pre-war period, such as social injustice, selfishness, and moral decay, and appeals to readers to leave these behind in this time of danger and to stand together without class barriers.

Berlin Monday, August 24, 1914

On Saturday I was at the Spanish ambassador's[1] and met Sr. Kaplan there. Strangely enough, he didn't even recognize me. And yet a year ago he courted me so eagerly. And that man from the embassy didn't recognize me either when I came the second time, although he adored me so much then. You can see that you always have to strike while the iron is hot.

Now there's the issue with Sam. I noticed all too well that he likes me. Well - I think to myself - maybe he does. It's a fact that he would love me without limits, that he would let me do anything. Apart from his kindness, I would always be the one in relation to him who grants grace by my very existence. I would get used to it and love him like any other wise and strong man. So maybe I shouldn't reject it?

But the image of Tramer rises before me and as if he were saying that he has the right to this kind of marriage above all.

Sometimes I am seized by such boundless anger at Kazik. I would simply like to tear him apart. Sometimes the same anger turns against me, against my stupidity! Unforgivable mistake!

Poor Fela is in Kletschkau[2] through no fault of ours, because we could have brought her here. And so it goes on and on. Apparently the old Horo. are in Wrocław! I hope they have the hardest time.[3]

I saw a dog today, with a tricolour ribbon hanging on it, small flags behind the bicycle, men in flip-flops/plates with ribbons, little boys – leaden young ………. and ……. he said yesterday - (………. to show up) if they cut off my head today, my legs would go by themselves! You have to have admiration and respect!

Notes:

[1] Spanish ambassador was Luis Polo de Bernabé. Don't find any "Kaplan".

[2] Apparently a district of Wroclaw. [Interesting that she uses the German name, rather than the Polish Kleczków, even though she doesn't refer to Breslau.] 

[3] Presumably, the old flame Horowitz!

Berlin Monday, August 27, 1914

So the most terrible thing in my personal life has happened: Kazio has married a Fergeuban![1]  Yesterday, Adela, speaking about the Fergeubans, mentioned that Kara had surprised her mother and secretly married a doctor of philosophy – but she caught herself and didn’t say his name. So there is no doubt – the bridges are burned.

It hit me terribly. The impression was so strong that I went numb. I lay there as if dead, I couldn’t move. Everything was spinning around me. I was dazed, broken, unhappy like no one else in the world had ever been.

I thought again about all my mistakes. After all, I see all the faux pas that I had made and which had led to such an end. And the misfortune is not that something terrible happened, but that all the conditions that create this impression exist and can cause new misfortunes.

God, give me a new skin, give me a different way of dealing with people, because I can't cope anymore. I want it and I can't. There's something inside me, some laziness that makes me drop my hands when everything inside me is trembling with the desire for something else. Yesterday it was like that with Dora. I admire her "Trough", her peace, dignity, serenity. You have to buy it even at the cost of blood. You have to remember one thing all the time - you shouldn't have...

What do I do with Samuel when I'm sometimes happy, sometimes sad, it was the same with Kazi and Fajans more than once. This is a dream trough for a formula and not even a short one: always equally happy, good to people and despite this keeping your distance. And then you don't have to remind people of their mistakes - (I told Fajans - stupid, Kazi - that he's a coward). But what good does that do me? These are things of my consciousness - I'll never manage to get out of my disgusting skin. Now, because of the war, the Fergeubans have lost all their wealth. Maybe she will be God's Punishment for him? If he married her, then definitely yes.

Notes:

[1] Lot of names in this entry that may need to be understood form other entries.

Berlin Monday, August 28, 1914[1]

An association called "Verein un Unterstützung bedürftigen Russen” (“Association for supporting needy Russians”) [2]  was founded here, and Dr. Kaku belongs to this unterstützungskomitee. From here I can also look into these matters a little. The committee includes famous Polish, Russian, and German figures.[3]

One day I was noting (registering) people who came for support: there were also artists from the "Peterburg Tsar Theatre", there was this ……. tsar's so-called "sobgoznik", who asked not to look at her because she had not eaten for several days, etc. Students - 45 teachers who were doing studienreise, a painter (Weinless), a violinist, a singer Wierjugin. Some, because there was …….. in the premises, asked what kind of money it was. This widow openly asked if it was "еврейские деньги"[4]. For a second I hesitated how to answer her, I would have the satisfaction if I saw the struggle on her face and if hunger had won - I gave up this pleasure and reassured her that the money was: Russian, that we only have the needy here, etc. The wife of an officer who had been locked up in some Militäzauntalt asked again if they were giving money to Christians. I guarantee that if I denied it, she would assure me of her Judeophile ……..ias.

Today I was with Dr. Heimann and Dora according to “Recherches”. We came to see some Mrs. Gorodzieska from Orenburg. She came here sick with cancer for a consultation in Israel. She can’t come back. Her condition is terrible, together with the field nurse who doesn’t know a word of Russian.

At first they gave 5 marks, because there was no money, now more, you can come a few times. It’s strange that those who have already received it once and come a second time are …….., as if they deserved it.

A student who lives on cold cuts and beer for 3 weeks to have money for the trip finally gets appendicitis.

I know, I feel it rather, that Jazu comes every day just for me. I also know that it can be something like that, if only I want it. And I know that despite the fact that he will be a millionaire in the future, nothing will come of our relationship. Another quiet laurel.

I think a lot about Kazi again, but without the pain I had the day before yesterday. The only mistake was leaving Warsaw without taking care of this matter. This kind of relationship had to lead to disaster later. Now, when I think he is lost, I feel terribly sorry for him, when I think that he is free – I have the same feeling of regret and a bit of arrogance towards him again. Sometimes it seems to me that it is impossible, because I was in Warsaw in June and I did not know anything. I miss my friend so much, I still miss him so much!

They're constantly giving flowers to soldiers here. A few months ago, the newspapers mentioned that the barracks had flower troughs in their windows. Everone going off to war adorned themselves with flowers, the wounded receive flowers from the Empress and the Emperor. The latter is a brilliant speaker: his expressions  are always among those that end up being repeated as bons mot. - "Da verve wir für decken, aus Leder ………. etc." [5]

War needs: needles, thread, etc.

For those staying here in Berlin. this ……… and the disorder of living arrangements are stongle felt. After all, people are accustomed to comfort, a regular life, frequent baths, changes of underwear, etc. Here, they don't have all of that. Faust's Boluś looks terrible. Her shoes are trampled, her stockings are torn and constantly needing to be mended, and new ones are impossible to buy.

Notes:

[1] For context, this is just in the middle of the Battle of Tannenberg during which the Russian Second Army was destroyed.

[2] Have not found any links to an “Verein un Unterstützung bedürftigen Russeni”,  but clearly referring to some social relief organization (akin to something she did the following year for Poles), but she continue to refer to work here in subsequent entries. See this article for some sense of life in Berlin for enemy foreign nationals. Interesting for Franka seemingly not affected.

 [3] She references this Dr, Kaku, and later we find that Fuchs was part of this group, too.

 [4] "Jewish money".

 [5] There are a lot of quotes from Wilhem II, but I have not identified this one.

Kriegsindustrie – Berliner Tageblatt from August 29, 2014 [1]

Why do things that apply to individuals not apply to nations? Why do we call a savage someone who asserts their rights through assault on a level path, why doesn't this apply to the nation? The Serbs should have been taught a moral lesson, the Hague conference should have decided to exclude them from universities, to leave foreign countries, etc. There wouldn't have been this fire.

Kairo was right: little things prevented our marriage. I am stupidly petty and commit all sorts of faux pas in little things, which are most easily felt. My own unkindness and foolishness were my downfall.

Notes:

[1]  Not sure what this is a reference to, but presumably the paragraph below is a response to something she read.

September 2, 1914

I've been working at this Verein for several days now and have seen Dr. Fuchs there more than once. I immediately noticed he was a big shot; I took him for some demagogue—a rentier—a financier—God knows what. He paid no attention to me; besides, he was completely absorbed in his work.[1]

Yesterday, I went to see him at the end of the shift to ask him to add a few names to the list. He was tired, bored, but somehow I insisted on getting the job done. During my conference, Livszyc came in, gave Fuchs his visiting card, and asked him to offer him his work. Miss Levy brought him the same request. It turned out he was the author of those "indecent" books that Spevling had once shown me.

A conversation began. Fuchs, "hab feuer gefa...", kissed my neck as Livszyc and Levy left the room. He left later, as I was walking home, and took the tram with me. He was incredibly excited and told me he'd been incredibly tired beforehand, and that talking to me had instantly erased his fatigue, given him new strength, and so on. When he was close to home, he said, "Wenn die lente vort nicht da waren, so hätte ich ihnen zhott einen, kusse gegeben." As we said goodbye, he kissed my hand, and I felt this man was lost in delight.

Fuchs knows women; not just theoretically (which I know from his writings), but above all in how he deals with and judges them. He said about Mrs. Levy that he couldn't talk to her for ten minutes, and amidst all his praise of Dora, he asked me if she was intelligent. He said he'd noticed me—"diese Augen and diese Formen" told him a lot about temperament. From the conversation, he must have liked me, too. And I think to myself, what a misfortune it is for me that for so many people I am "something," something special, sometimes, while for Kazia I remain nothing. He even got rid of me without taking me. So I think to myself – what good are these trials, when there's so much bitterness on the other side – what does one more adoration mean when, when it comes to the main thing, all charms fail.

Notes:

[1] This would appear to be the beginning of here relationship with Eduard Fuchs.

September 10, [1914] Thursday

My acquaintance with Fuchs is growing stronger. Every evening, we go for a 1.5-hour carriage ride. The day before yesterday, he tried to kiss me, but I quickly straightened him out. So, he's back to normal, and I know he's a little afraid of offending me.

Fuchs is absolutely a man who, apart from his age (44), possesses all the qualities I desire in a future husband. He's famous, intelligent, and kind. He knows women and knows women. In terms of sensuality, he probably has no theoretical equal in Europe, and I've learned that he's also inexhaustible in practice.

He recognized me instantly. He made me aware of a whole host of things I hadn't been clear about. He told me the very next day that I needed a husband with a strong intellect and strong sensual urges. I know it. That's why Tramer isn't my husband, despite my adoration for him. And as for Kazio's strength, his lack of it brought disaster. Kazio disappointed me sensually. He's an ignoramus and a peasant.

I've been searching for this synthesis of mine my whole life (perhaps many men have too). The only one who could satisfy it was Fajans, or perhaps Malinowski. I deeply regret Fajans. I see now that I need a young man in this synthesis, as a symbol of that strength. Fuchs himself feels he's too old for me, and I feel the same way when I think of the existence of such a fresh Ernst Krotoschyner. And yet, if Fuchs said today that he would free himself from his wife and that he wanted to become my husband, I wouldn't hesitate for a moment.

After all, he's repeating what Suter said six years ago in different words: that I am "une grande amoureuse." Suter said I'm not pretty, only "sinnlich anziehend," and this "anziehend" is repeated to me by Bolek and Heyman ab tutti gnauti. I just ask myself, how long will I remain like this? And will I achieve my goal? Will I be as much of a wife as I desire?

Meanwhile, I'm spending my days beautifully. I'm blossoming again in the presence of a man to whom, I feel, I am something.

We don't know if we should stay in Berlin or go to Łódź via Gävle – St. Petersburg, etc. We don't know what the prospects are for staying in Berlin – but I think we'll stay here due to lack of money, etc. It's interesting how much smaller Europe has become during the war. Money is sent via Stockholm, Copenhagen, etc., but it's traveled across entire regions; from Switzerland, they go to Russia via Constantinople, etc.

Berlin October 21, 1914

I haven't written for almost two months because of the workload I had at the Commandant's Office. I saw many things, I handled many things. And I could make incredibly interesting observations about people and myself.

Above all, a very significant lack of socialization became noticeable. Everyone wanted to leave. When I told Malberg that he should stay on to give the sick and inactive the opportunity to leave, he didn't see the need. When I mentioned to him that I was already nervous about this work, he replied, "Madam, you're working for an ideal," and added something like, "I don't need it, you're doing it for your own pleasure, so go ahead."

The entire series is formed by the departure of the peasants: those two girls whose mothers ordered them to go; those three peasants who wanted to go with the Jew; those peasants who didn't want to go through Sweden…those blind ones.

The incident with the Finnish guy who wanted to meet me and pretended he had to leave was hilarious.

Comical was Mombart’s remark that one must be punctual.

As for people, it was ridiculous that as soon as you handled one matter for someone, immediately they asked for a second, a third thing, or for a favor for another acquaintance, and so on. The worst was dealing with those who came with one request, then later returned with a slightly altered version of it, and so forth.

There was envy among the... party people, who could do more, etc. After all, they served not things, but people.

There were also interesting people: Hartvugowa, the Swiss who tried to stop the train, the incident with the Jew who was late with that stamp and Fuchs gave 50 marks to the Red Cross to get rid of it – Gutman, who asked me to mention those 6 years. That train from Baden was interesting, those nice students, etc. There were also many interesting situations, like the departure of the first train, with those roses, and with that doctor who didn't want to be a Krankenpfleger (nurse). There was also a lot of interesting stuff about those Recherches. Mousin. The corruption we're causing here is characteristic. Róziewicz was talking today about that Smulka incident, about the extent to which his view of bribery was ingrained in him. Unfortunately!

Someone named Birnbaum changed his name in the Aumddungschein to Rosenbaum, and he comes back one time as one, the next as a different one. A swindler. Henryk L. told me about Goldwaner, whose mother was pushing him to go for money. G. was pleased that he met so many people there and that he didn't go because of the crowd.

Without a doubt, my entire situation has only been solidified, or rather, constituted, thanks to Fuchs taking care of me. And his attention to me is taking on the very dimensions I desired. His adoration takes on the form I like in a man. He has only one flaw: his age. But it seems to me that this is a minor detail. And if what Simonowa said is truly true, that he's divorcing his wife, then I won't hesitate for a moment.

It's strange how persistently I still think about Kaziu. With our arrival in Łódź imminent, thoughts of our eventual meeting arise. I deeply regret that I helped so many people, and that I wasn't able to do him some great service, some great grace, so that he would feel that I had done him good for no harm. And I dream about this for hours. And somehow I don't want to believe that he married this F. But in a way, I would be happy, because it gave me the freedom to act with F. A rare character, by the way.

Thursday, October 29 [1914] 

Today, I spent almost the entire day with those students who came from the Munsterlager. An unpleasant bunch of "our" little Lithuanian girls, uncultured and loud. What a miserable bunch. They told me how many there were in Liège, how they were brought to Germany. They praised the German soldiers, less so the officers. They told how they spent time in the Munsterlager, how they went to Hanover to the Jewish community, whose representative told them that there were no Russian Jews or German Jews anymore, only Germans, Russians, etc. Dr. Rosenblatt said the same thing about the local Jews.

We bought clothes for them, they're living decently in the Diakonissenhaus now – and it seems they won't be any worse off than the others.

Rózia saw Fuchs today and said very wisely: he should either be 10 years younger or twice as rich. That's right – that's his fundamental, big mistake. What will happen next? I feel incredibly sorry for Fajans—it's an irreparable loss. And I think to myself—should I wait any longer? Wait again? How much longer will this last, and what will I wait for? I desperately, desperately want young… Fuchs.

Berlin, Sunday, November 1, 1914

The day before yesterday, I was in a very bad mood towards Fuchs. He hurt me with his rough movements, loud smacking of food at the table, etc. I so love balance, tradition, etc., peace, refinement, and yet, none of it. I keep thinking that if it hadn't happened after that, last year's wedding to Kazi would have been a blessing, not to mention that Fajans was an even greater blessing (an unforgivable mistake). He absolutely had it all: great fame, fortune, youth, and the whole exterior. I think I'm starting to feed on waste...

Tuesday, November 3, 1914

Today, Fuchs made it quite clear to me that he would like to marry me. So now I seriously don't know what to do with him. His age and his mannerisms offend me. I will never be able to fall in love with him. Although I didn't love Kazia either and didn't even know what to say to him when he came to visit, I could somehow cling to him differently, as someone I cared about. Fuchs is this husband, this lord and master, but not a lover, and could never be one. However, I always considered Kazia my equal. Fuchs is something I don't think much of. I have the opportunity to work with him, see many things, play a certain role, but beyond that, perhaps for Today, Fuchs made it quite clear to me that he would like to marry me. So now I seriously don't know what to do with him. His age and mannerisms offend me. I will never be able to fall in love with him. It's true that I didn't love Kazia either, and I didn't even know what to say to him when he came to visit, but I could somehow cling to him differently, as someone I cared about. Fuchs is this husband, this lord and master, but not a lover, and he could never be one. However, I always considered Kazia my equal. Fuchs is someone I don't think much of. I have the opportunity to work with him, see many things, play a role with him, but beyond that, perhaps for the heart and the senses – no. You can get used to such people, but not love them. You can have your own life and live it, but pas plus que ça. And one more thing: I tried to be pretty for Kazio, but here I feel that if I'm dressed up, he'll think it's good. I simply dress for myself and others, but not for him.

Unforgettable Fajans! What a terrible idiot I was. How I can't forgive myself! I completely understand why, at a young age, you desire an older man, and at a slightly older age, a younger one. In the first case, it happens because you're unaware of many things, you have no idea what a man is. After some experience, you know your own worth, you know what a young man can give and what an older man lacks.

I doubt I could have endured Land, Birnbaum. How lucky that nothing happened to them!

Friday, November 6, 1914

Yesterday I attended Cohen's[1]  lecture "Über das Eigentümliche des deutschen Geistes" (“On the Distinctive Nature of the German Spirit”).[2]   He didn't really tell me anything new. He essentially contrasted German philosophy with English philosophy. The English begin with Empfindung – both Germans and Greeks with the questions: What is my knowledge? What are its foundations? Cohen considers rationalism to be a characteristic feature of German (as well as Greek) philosophy. He spoke in the same vein about the starting point of English ethics – gluckschgkeit (I was surprised he didn't mention Kant's critique of eudaimonism). Generally, the lecture was pale in color, tinged with patriotic tirades that sometimes sounded paradoxical. Cohen led me to just one new thought: couldn't the entire philosophy, the entire art of a given nation be derived from the character traits of that nation—English endemonism, for example—with the English striving for a good, happy, comfortable life—so their desire to escape "Empfiurung" is understandable. I don't know how much rationalism has a basis in that, elsewhere, as in cognitive theory. One would have to examine, for example, the extent to which weak-willed nations like Russians and Poles embrace voluntarism. It seems there's a certain probability, as Russians currently have a strong voluntaristic movement: Lossky, Chelpanov. These are things worth investigating, though.

Yesterday, as I sat in the room, I was amazed at how few beautiful people there are. Actually, everyone... isn't ugly; you can even like them very much in company, but when you see everyone gathered together, people look ugly. It's interesting for "Gesamteindruck " – gestaltqualität (overall impression, gestalt quality).

At this point, the thought struck me again: how handsome I and Kazio would look – what a lovely couple we would make (I remember Kazio saying, looking in the mirror the first or second time we were together, "We make a lovely couple"). I looked at each young man with a kind of longing, pain; I simply had tears in my eyes. It's stupid, but it's there. And this morning, I thought about how they could have so calmly let him be taken away. After all, I hadn't done anything for a moment to stop him. He didn't want to, and he freed himself like nothing. Various plans were running through my mind at the time, threatening him with scandal, death, going to his parents, and I'm feeling terrible guilt for not doing so. You can't let go of something you so desired and loved. What happens is the punishment for it – because I don't even suspect for a moment that my subconscious was paralyzing my steps in anticipation of future happiness with another man. Yes, stupidity is my characteristic feature.

Notes:

[1] Hermann Cohen, important German Jewish philodopher and neo-Kantian.

[2] Available in German.

B[erlin] Monday, November 16, 1914

I've come to the conclusion that one should never make a detailed representation of anything, because reality always presents itself differently.

On Monday, the 9th, when we left the prince,[1] something happened. On Tuesday, I spent all day preparing for that categorical evening conversation.

On Tuesday, I spent all day preparing for that categorical evening conversation. Many things weren't as I had expected: maybe for the better, maybe for the worse. On Wednesday, he corrected things a bit with the words: "Ich bin zurückhaltend, weil ich nicht die Ketten habe." (“I am hesitant because I don't have the chains.”) In any case, it was a feeling of the situation, and above all, of my expectations and his responsibilities. Before leaving, he did a good job of giving us that blank check. I was truly touched by his care for me, but a moment later I thought: "He paid me off."

It's a strange thing – ever since I've been nicer to him – since Monday – I feel like he's not the same to me as he was before. It's perhaps unfair that I mentally classify him as one who cools off for the sake of achieving their goals – but the fact is, he doesn't behave as someone supposedly in love should. I had more news from last trip, even more tender ones, than from this one. He didn't write me anything from Munich about the trial, and yet it's a vital matter for us, and he also adds in his letter, "I don't think I'm angry with him." The situation is similar to that with Kazi. Am I to blame for this too?

Schmollen – of course, he has no reason to exist. Now, when I need him so much, I can't mess with him, but I would make a scene because he deserves it. Actually, I can't think about it, because it only builds up hatred against him; I have to let things unfold. If nothing happens to him, then I should also be grateful… for giving me those few months. I would be very happy with him, because I would have moved forward a lot, but I'll say like Henio:

Oh, we're not even sure what to do,

Hot, even right, kuhsch. Pleasant.

I really, really regret letting myself be kissed. This morning, when I received the letters, I was very worried, just like I was after Kazio's letter, but now I've dismissed it.

This is private life. And meanwhile, the life of Europe is boiling around me.

The newspapers simply disgust me with their inflammatory articles. This "grosse glache" with its "Hass" – terrible – after all, there was so much talk about loving one's neighbor before this.

It's comical how everyone now shouts that they used to be rich, that they lost money because of the war, etc. They're taking advantage of this opportunity to exalt themselves.

It's incredibly sad that we still don't know what they'll do to us here. For two weeks, we've been practically threatened with more severe measures; the newspapers write and write about it, but nothing has happened. Every day I think to myself that I have to make the most of this one day. I go for a walk, do nothing, and I do the same thing every day. If only there was something definite. Halbrecht said he said the same thing in Kletschkau: if he had known he was sentenced to a year in prison, he would have calmed down immediately – but not knowing whether he'd be released in an hour or a week, etc., was very distressing to him. Morgenszternowa said some funny things about English Jews. Richard Wagner once said, "ein zappeliges volk."

Jezierska called to say that women had been arrested from Munster. Her uncle claims it was to protect them from the crowd—to prevent them from being desecrated.

 Notes:

[1] Don’t have a reference for this person. Gets referred o at other times, too. “Duke” is also a translation.

Sunday, November 22, 1914

Today is Sunday again. Another week has passed.

Tuesday, November 24, 1914

Morning

I have to rehabilitate Fuchs a bit. I suspected he deliberately didn't write or tell me anything about his divorce proceedings because he didn't want to take on new obligations. He only told me the details yesterday, and it turns out it was just a simple witness hearing—the trial date hasn't been set yet, and it will take place in Berlin. So those dark speculations that he might reconcile with his wife, etc., are completely unfounded.

Last night we were sitting in a café and chatting very cheerfully. This morning I woke up with an unusually good feeling. I'm in an unusually cheerful mood today. Is it because I sense some decisive action on his part, or because we've decided to possibly go to Moscow? I don't know. I'm writing this down to check.

Monday, December 7, 1914

Time flies and events fly by. Fuchs's attitude toward me is becoming increasingly crystallized. He's absolutely in love with me, but perhaps common sense also dictates that he shouldn't start life just like that. What will prevail? Presumably, affection. But there's still something absolutely true about him being old. I look with trepidation at his hair, which is graying more and more each day, touch his skin with an unpleasant sensation, feeling its age-related thickening, and I'm afraid! I'm afraid of the disgust I might feel for him when he's two or three years older, and I'm full of strength!

And he perhaps fears the same thing, and from this fear comes the saying: es ist wahr, dass ich kaputt kam? (“is it true that I’ve broken down?”) This constant question: sag ist es schon? Etc. Perhaps that's why he said yesterday that he'd like to be on the Riviera for six months and rest. To convince myself " ob ich noch ganz heil bin." (“whether I’m still whole) I doubt he'll leave me for the feeling of loneliness he'll have without me.

And I... I keep thinking about Kaziu – about his youthfulness. His eyebrows and eyelashes, his complexion – everything was young, fresh. The kisses were different – ​​much nicer to me. So I constantly, constantly blame myself for handling things so badly last year, for not fighting for him, for not proving my feelings for him in any way. I suffer terribly, terribly over it. It seems to me I'll never regret this, that the memory of my stupidity will haunt me for the rest of my life. Kaziu, being Kaziu, as the fulfillment of so many years of dreams, shouldn't have vanished like that.

If he's single.

If he's married, does he suffer as much as I do?

Berlin, Saturday, December 12 [1914]

For several days this week, F. was so indifferent to me that I refused to see him one evening. He himself must have felt it, because he told me on the phone: "Die Schusucht hat nachgelassen!" Indeed, nothing attracted me to him. Physically, he's too old and unappetizing—his worn complexion and graying features are not sensually appealing at all. And one really should ask: what do you and me have in common, woman? Yesterday he was talking enthusiastically again about his mother-in-law—a boy, and much of the vulgarity in his movements and speech, in his entire demeanor, has somehow brightened up again. Of course, he's not my ideal husband—sometimes, I don't know, out of habit anymore, or perhaps some feeling of gratitude, I miss him, like yesterday; although there are a whole series of days when I absolutely don't think about him. I suppose I'll choose him anyway, as his character has so many virtues.

The war is weighing heavily on me. The latest news from Łódź has really upset me. Poor Fela, poor Julek! My heart bleeds at the thought that she might be in some dark basement – ​​without food, poorly dressed, and alone! Things aren't so good here either. Yesterday, that news about the battleships.[1] The newspapers are everywhere these days saying, "wir waren auf den Schreckenschlag vorbereitet" (“we were prepared for the terribl blow”).

Notes:

[1] British sanks German cruisers on December 9 in the Battle of the Falklands.

Monday, December 14, [1914] 

Now that we have to talk about marriage, emotional matters are taking a backseat. My inner relationship with F. has fundamentally changed because of this. I stopped caring about him as much as I used to, and the reasoning has begun. Yesterday, when the prince asked me about him, I answered him with complete calm that I didn't love F. And that was the truth. If I had gotten engaged to him, I would have kept it a secret for a long time out of fear of criticism. So last night I understood Kazia – his secret from his parents, and I think the poor man was absolutely right to act the way he did with all this secrecy. And he didn't want anyone to know about it, because he didn't want criticism, judgment, etc. Another thing is that it indicates an absolute lack of love on his part. He may have wanted to marry me because, perhaps in some respect, he felt that I suited him physically, that I satisfied his social ambitions – but apart from that, he has no ardent feelings like ………….. for a wife.

B[erlin] December 27, 1914 

I was recently at the theater for the premiere of "Die deutsche Marke."[1] The play was relatively tastefully written; nothing offended me, but the audience. The dressed-up, diamond-studded ladies got on my nerves; I wanted to reach out and tear them all off. Besides, those old men were unnerving me: everywhere you looked—wrinkled faces and gray hair. I felt an insurmountable aversion to this whole mass, and when I thought to myself that one had to live and live among them, I was shaken by disgust.

Poor Fuchs. I feel sincere pity for him, for his kindness and unhappiness. It's the same feeling I have for Tramer; perhaps only his energy makes me fundamentally more sympathetic to him. But yesterday, the older Vyazmensky was on my mind again. And to think that such handsome boys are walking around the world!

 Notes:

[1] “The German Brand” a play by Fedor von Zobelitz.

December 31, 1914 

The last day of the year. A disgusting, awful year. Eternal longing and eternal worry. A year that began with insane pain for Kazi and ended with the same immeasurable pain for wasted happiness. Last fall, I could still have Kazi and a job at the laboratory – now everything is shattered. I miss Kazi terribly, impossibly – there's simply not a moment when I don't reproach myself for treating him badly. But now, I see with Fuchs that one can be completely resolved in one's mind about a certain step and yet still want to hide it from his own people. That boy had the best of intentions for me, and I ruined everything with my idiotic behavior. Now I see that I will probably never get over him.

I was at the cinema. They were showing photos from Łódź.[1]  What a theft: they took a few paintings from some border town, a few oddball Russians—two huts on the edge of the forest, and here's Łódź. There was even a "die arte Citadelle" (Citadelle of the Art of the Citadel). What a terrible fraud.

My uncle amused me yesterday. He bought a garbage can for 40 złoty. He brought it to us, reproachfully pointing out how cheap and nice it was. And he said: "And they say Germans aren't a cultured nation!" Culture and industry are often synonymous.

Fuchs went to Łódź to get Felka.[2]  I don't even know if she needs to be brought here now—but I don't care. This old age of his is driving me crazy. Every time I look at him, I think of Kazia and the maddening grief and pain of his loss.

Notes:

[1] The Germans occupied the city on December 6 after the Battle of Łódź with Russia. 

[2] Interesting. Why Fuchs could get there to get Fela?

January 4, 1915 

The New Year passed in a "family" atmosphere. The next day, I received congratulations from Skridlov, which made me very happy. I went to Sara Kalm and returned home morally – that was all.

The next day (January 2nd), we received news that everything in our factory had been looted. We handled ourselves well – no doubt! How things will turn out, only God knows.

Yesterday I was with Marynia Frenkiel.[1] I looked at Koniński[2] with curiosity – but… he looked very young. Marynia did a wonderful job, but I didn't feel jealous either, thinking of Fuchs. Marynia recounted what it was like for them here at the beginning of the war: "Of course, all the relatives from all over the country gathered on August 2nd with their trunks – about 36 people also arrived – this caught the police's attention – they asked the servants to report who was coming to see them. The servants, very well-disposed towards them, explained that many Germans were coming to the master's. They were told that these were the worst, and they were told to call anyway if they learned anything, or if anyone arrived with a trunk.

When those Bestimmungen (regulations) came into effect, he was summoned to the police and told that because the opposite side of the street belonged to Grunerald (they lived in Szmargnurdorf), if he crossed, he would be arrested. Koniński pointed out that he was a certified engineer, responsible for the technical department, and that if anything happened and they called for him, he would take the car and go – "I'll give you my best," the mayor told him. He pointed out in vain that this was about people's lives, about German lives – nothing helped. Eventually, they parted ways, fortunately, he wasn't summoned, and in the meantime, he was released.

He also had a whole mess with the dismissal. He showed him various Bürgschaften – it didn't help; he said that during Kempiński's visit, he was responsible for the technical department – ​​for the workers – and that didn't move him. Later, when the commandant's office called to say he was free, he was told they needed a secretary with a white coat. The second official, however, told him where the old man lived.

Trenklura is good and freed them from all the points.

Koniński is delighted with the organization of the canning plant he oversees at Kempiński's – he said that in a few days, the factory was ready, complete with elevators and fans, meeting all factory inspection requirements. Everything was there, everything could be found – there were suitable technicians. K. claims that technology will play a decisive role in this war: the Germans sent perhaps a million technicians to the battlefields – so they must win. While England does have good technicians, they don't have them in the war, because they only send scrap metal.

K. also talked about the panic that occurred here; he knows that large warehouses were preparing boards to board up windows here in case of a Russian invasion. F. also told me that he was preparing wooden crates for his paintings, perhaps to bury them later. Besides, this panic was quite sufficient for a young tailor: a specialist in tailcoats and tuxedos, he has no work. Then there's the bookbinder who worked for 18 years in a German community and is completely unemployed. And so on, polo... round and round!

Adler told me yesterday that Dr. Merz had a stamped passport to Copenhagen – he wanted to go to Sweden. The order did this to him. It's a great blessing for this man.

Notes:

[1] Marynia Maria Konińska (1884-1986).

[2] Bertold Koniński (1871-1935).

Tuesday, January 6, [1915] 

W. talked about a certain Koenigsberger who stole things from a poor man in Kletschun prison and was sentenced to two years in prison; about a certain doctor who, on the day of mobilization in Wrocław, exchanged money for 100 rubles instead of 200, gave 150 rubles, even when banks were already giving 190 rubles, and he still deducted it for his trouble. In prison, a man who had 30,000 rubles on him took 200 rubles and had a certificate issued for 300 rubles.

War is one great inconsistency. If it's said that only a nation wages war, why this hatred towards individuals? If... The military is outraged against ……………, then a peaceful population should not be considered hostile, so why do the English, French, and Germans harass foreign subjects by putting them in concentration camps? And if they are supposed to respect the inhabitants, what illogical division is this into those who are at war and those who are not? Why should they abandon a healthy, young, hopeful person, capable of something, to the bullets, and free some weakling from this? What twisted notions does the whole world have! And yet this weakling is doing great business at home due to lack of business, while the other one perishes. Nietzsche is infinitely right in claiming that law is the protection of the weak, that nothing is done for the strong. The same thing happens in private life: whoever makes himself weak is helped 100 times more than when the strong ask for temporary support. Then they say: he can manage…

Berlin, Saturday, January 16, 1915 

I attended Hans Delbrück's[1]  lecture on January 13th: "Werden und Wachstüm der deutschen Volker." (“The development and growth of the German people”) Of course, only imperialist views. Colonial politics = Ausdekung das deutschluus. I was actually only interested in the psychological origins of the concept of national unity. Delbrück says: the concept of unity arose on the battlefield (Zechfeld), where people fought for freedom. Fuchs claims that, historically, Delbrück made mistakes, but I have yet to confront them.

Last evening, Fuchs took me to an intimate party meeting. The famous historian Franz Mehring was there, and from the editorial office of Vorwarts were Dr. Franz and Hölber, Karl Liebknecht, his wife, Dr. Korn, editor of Arbeiter-jugend[2],  Grimm, editor of Berner Tagwacht[3], Dunker, and others. It was very, very gemütlich.

In the Verein, there was one worker from Bessarabia who spoke only Romanian, and any Russian he spoke was very difficult – communicating with him was very difficult. They didn't want to give him any money because he didn't know where he had been for a certain period of time – after much hesitation, he gave me a card saying he had been in the "Bettel" prison.

The kind of dirty tricks people do to get money is beyond imagination. Like Kalfrecht inviting Fl. Levy… each member has a protégé there…

Adler got into trouble with the police several times for being late. Ultimately,

Notes:

[1] German historian.

[2] Karl Korn, a social democrat journalist.

[3] Robert Grimm, leading Swiss socialist.

Sunday, January 17, [1915] 

Yesterday I was at the Lyceum-Club for a lecture by Dr. Dier, director of the Wolff Telegraph Office.[1]  Dier spoke on the topic: “Die Presse im Krieg” (“The Press in Wartime”). I was immediately struck by a very apt expression: “Opfer des Intellekts” (“the sacrifice of intellect”). So great are the sacrifices that the intellect must make to grasp, understand, and explain everything—Dier's lecture was not the best in terms of both form and content. I had just experienced the full agony of listening to a bad speaker. There was nothing in the content that couldn't be found in the newspapers.

Dier considers the internal achievements of war (innere Errungenschaften des Krieges) to be: the unity of the press (I wonder if it was spontaneous). Reinforcing all meinungsverschiedenkeit in auswartijen Politik nur Bingpier nur inneren Politik. He then expanded on the question of why Germans are not so well-liked by other nations, and concluded that the press is partly to blame: Germans have always written about their shortcomings:

[She pasted what appear to be her notes from the lecture in German:}

Spoke of our own
weaknesses.
This inner refinement
has not been recognized
by the others.
It must hardly have been
taken into account.
The German army
has shown certain weaknesses
which we must now
atone for.
The achievement of the
war: the unity
of the press—has it never existed?

(so it wasn't there?)

Notes:

[1] I cannot find this Dr. Dier; he is not mentioned in the articles on the Wolffs Telegraphishces Bureau.

Monday, January 18, [1915] 

Truda telephoned today about Liebterbaum – she complained that he was so unhappy, he couldn't leave. When I told him to be patient, because there were thousands of such impatient and unhappy people, Truda replied that what did she care about the thousands who weren't? It's supposedly a psychological reason, but a social injustice. Why shouldn't all unhappy people have the right to our sympathy? Everyone agrees to this, but, of course, only if it doesn't concern them. The moment someone is supposed to do something for someone, they demand that it be done ruthlessly, that no objective measures be applied to them, but always specifically, exceptionally. Everyone wants to be someone to whom one dedicates oneself, even in violation of the rights of others. Everyone wants their own rights to be recognized above all and exclusively, and to feel entitled to special rights and privileges. Eternal human egoism!

I was at the opera yesterday to see Carmen.[1] Opposite us, in a small court box, sat Prince August Wilhelm and his wife.[2] The poor prince, with his injured leg, sat in a wheelchair. The box was covered with a crimson curtain, so the duchy couldn't be seen. But I could see them perfectly during the performance. During the intermission, he was wheeled out of the box—the care his wife took, covering his leg with a blanket, etc., was remarkable. Poor, handsome, young prince!

Notes:

[1] At the Königliches Opernhaus (see below, from Berliner Volkszeitung, Jan. 17, 1915). Now known as the thatState Opera House was the royal opera.

[2] Prince August Wilhelm of Prussia, the fourth son of the Kaiser. Have not found anything about his injuring his leg, but he wasn’t in the military, so wasn’t a war injury.

January 31, 1915, Sunday 

One more day and I'll know what Fuchs's wife has decided. So the situation will drag on for another three weeks, at worst another four months... I've already gotten used to the idea that he's much older than me. I just don't want to fall under his absolute power, and he has a lot of despotism in him.

Everyone here is waiting for the capture of Warsaw.[1] As Simon tells it, hundreds of people are waiting to set up businesses in Warsaw. Simon keeps shouting that they need the Zoll-Union and that they have to have it! Yesterday, my uncle said that if they send 42 cannons,[2] it will be a quick end. Adela is also just praying to God for that. How hard, how hard. When will it actually be the end?

Psychologically, the concepts of national unity are interesting. "German," "Russian," "Englishman" are the same abstract concepts as the concept of a triangle. After all, an "Englishman" is always that certain Englishman with certain specific qualities and characteristics. However, he is generally described with only certain characteristic features, which seem to be unchanging. I observed such unchangingness in German, French, and English caricatures. And now, during this war, which I would gladly call not a war of nations, but of nationalities, the newspapers constantly refer to Germans, Englishmen, and Frenchmen as typical, while I constantly think of these acquaintances of mine, as they are, with all their flaws and virtues. And therein lies the misunderstanding between imposed and felt feelings. After all, these acquaintances of mine could have been exceptionally nice people. Such newspaper descriptions can have a profound influence on people unfamiliar with other nationalities, which is also easily ascertained.

Notes:

[1] They will have to wait until August 5, following the Russian retreat, to enter Warsaw.

[2] Probably a reference to the Big Bertha 42cm howitzers.

B[erlin] February 22, 1915 

Almost a month has passed since the last time I wrote. Rózia has gone to Zurich, and God grant that everything goes well for her there. I would like someone to fall in love with her, so that she might feel what love for a husband is. Perhaps it will happen in the best possible way.

As for F., the matter is essentially settled. On March 26 there is to be the second trial, and if he wins again, I doubt whether his little wife will wish to prolong the case. Besides, he will take it up energetically. For the moment, this man—despite his lack of elegance, despite his age—is very close to me. I’m beginning to value and like him very much. He is only very restless, and that irritates me, but life in general will change many things for the better.

Apart from that, I’m working hard on The Lie in Children, which I am revising substantially. It’s possible that they will publish it in German. That would mean money. I also sent an article to the Dziennik Poznański—if I could manage to collaborate there, I’d be very pleased.

Staying with Uncle is costing me much of my health. I feel contempt for myself when I sit at the table with that man.

March 17, 1915 

Yesterday I attended Hasse’s[1] speech: he spoke excellently, and besides, the content was exactly what one could wish for in these times. The workers, as I see, understand the situation quite well; in any case, such awareness can also have its effect. There was something extraordinarily sympathetic in the murmurs of the crowd when Pfannkuch[2] spoke — the tanned, overworked, emaciated faces took on an expression that drew me to them. At that moment, I felt one with them.

Notes:

[1] Hugo Hasse, one of co-leaders of the SPD (Social Democratic Party), was becoming a pacifist around this time.

[2] Wilhelm Pfannkuch, another SPD leader, part of the executive committee.

Friday, April 16 [1915] 

The days drag on, the terrible war is in full swing. Uncle remains endlessly delighted with the political situation. Victories all along the line in the Carpathians; if Italy joins, it will be against Russia; Romania is supplying bread — in short, the situation leaves nothing to be desired.

Meanwhile, however, Berlin is emptying, everything is getting more expensive, I've received distressing letters from Havelberg[1] – but all this exists in a different light than Uncle thinks. Harczykówna told me how she obtained a discounted ticket to Gdańsk. Rozel said she wouldn't want her husband to return from the war with a cross; she would feel his blood would stick together.

Notes:

[1] Town in Germany (Prussia), but don’t know from whom she might have received letters.

April 19, [1915] , Monday

Cohen’s[1] translation of Kant’s imperative: there is something militaristic in this imperative, since it is a call to perform one’s duty.

Birnbaum’s daughter told me today that one woman who receives money from the Verein said, “I wish this war would last as long as possible.” When it comes to expenses she always says, “Well, it’s not my money, is it?”

Notes:

[1] Hermann Cohen, a founder of neo-Kantianism.

Monday, April 26 [1915] 

This morning I was full of tenderness for F. — but when Julek said that Zand thought of F. as though he were the leader of a gang of robbers, then once again apathy came over me. How dependent I am on trifles! And yet, these trifles in their way give me the illusion of life. All the same, I feel best when they do not exist.

I keep thinking how happy I was two years ago. I consider that to have been the most beautiful time of my life (except for those two weeks with Fajans). I am inexpressibly grateful to Hania for that time and reproach myself for not having made more of it. I could have stayed in Warsaw then for a few more weeks, and who knows how well off I might be today. Still, I long terribly for an elegant man.

I wonder whether Kazio remembers that time the same way I do. That would, after all, be my greatest satisfaction. I could cry when I think how miserably it all ended. How splendid it would be for me now if he were here!

From small things worth noting: uncle asking the maid in the morning: “Is the city decorated with flags?”

Sunday,  May 2 [1915] 

I have finally become convinced that I am not good. There is nothing in me of that goodness that willingly gives of itself, that rejoices in the happiness and success of others, that looks upon its neighbors with an envious eye, that sympathizes with everything that is for others and not for itself.

This unmistakable statement deeply troubled me. It is the same kind of defect as any physical handicap. I feel very bad about this defect, and yet it arises so suddenly that the very appearance of this feeling, even if it were later restrained by reasoning, is unpleasant and humiliating. I am extremely worried about this. I don't know how to deal with it. The only solution is for me to feel good, so incredibly good, that I should pour flowers on people's heads. But before that happens!

Monday, May 13 [1915] 

On Monday, I attended a meeting of "Neu Vaterland."[1] This is a union of intellectuals seeking to reestablish relations with Europe. Einstein, whom I was very pleased to meet, was there, and several distinguished people were also there. Fil. Rotten[2]  read a report from the women's congress in The Hague; an American correspondent spoke of the "stimmung" (mood) in America. It was generally interesting. Rotten mentioned the extent to which everyone abroad was convinced that Germany would be defeated and how necessary it was to be convinced that they had started the war. Lonach also spoke of the hostility in America caused by Count Bernstorff's tactless behavior in America. After some tactless action, some American newspapers published headlines: "Bernstorff must die." He also described the extent to which the French were embittered in Paris during the mobilization, noting that he had noticed any special hostility toward the Germans. On the contrary: French workers helped the Germans with their departure, bid them a fond farewell, and wished them a speedy return.

I don't know what this Bund will accomplish; one might think nothing. However, as this pamphlet by that Englishwoman Irells proves. It's good that at least controversial issues are being discussed.

The sinking of the Lusitania[3] made a great impression here too. There are arguments for and against. It was possible or not. The war is so terrible that even such [horrors?] cannot be moved today.

Notes:

[1] Bund Neues Vaterland (New Fatherland League). See the page on her and Einstein.

[2] Elisabeth Rotten, one of the founders of the Bund, had been representative to the 1st International Women's Congress in The Hague.

[3] The sinking occurred on May 7.

Tuesday, May 14 [1915] 

Yesterday I was at the "Neues Vaterland" meeting again. I arrived a bit later, having already been to the Lichtensteins'. Jastrow was talking about the shipment of ammunition via America. His emotional arguments were laughable. The soldiers in the Sekutzeugraben think: this bullet that hits me is American, this grenade that explodes there is American, etc. Schickele.[1] spoke twice, and with great success. He mentioned that the Germans supplied the Boers with ammunition during the Boer War, that they supplied it to the Mexicans, etc. He spoke about the Lusitania, as it was first claimed, that the ship was disarmed, then that it had ammunition, and now that it was carrying Canadian soldiers. He mentioned that there was opposition in England and France, that Hervè boldly and openly claimed in his Guerre Sociale that the Germans' use of various gases was no worse evil than the French use of grenades. In Germany, however, newspapers like Tägliche, Rundschau, Morgenpost, etc., could afford to discuss the situation from their point of view, to write about "Krieg… herbs," and to build a new state on principles they deemed right, but those who wanted to say otherwise were muzzled. In this way, the ground was systematically prepared for a reaction, without any possibility of counteracting it from the liberal press. There was, of course, uproar. Despite their "liberalism," in the name of which they had gathered in the "Hohenzollernsaal" room at the Kaiserhof Hotel, the audience didn't think much of it. The chairman interrupted Schickele, pointing out that this wasn't a discussion after all. Schickele, being a polite Frenchman, asked to be forgiven for his "cry of the soul." I don't think for a moment that those gathered there were as emotional as Schickele and Fuchs (Fuchs kept helping S. with his scoldings; S. said they were like blows from a large knife, spurring him on). If they realized that "die Sache zu bunt sein" (I'm not in the mood for rebellion), it would all fall apart, or something new would eventually be created on entirely different principles.

The most interesting part of the day was the epilogue. We went to a restaurant: the Simons, Witt, Fuchs, Fela and I, Schickele, Miss Munk, the secretary of the "Socialistische Monatshefte," and a professor from the Political Convention. During dinner, Schickele spoke to himself, and the professor became terribly offended. He said he couldn't sit at a table where people were talking about the Germans (they were talking about militarism). The armaments were necessary, because now we can see how useful they were. Fuchs stood up and protested, saying that, as a German, he was ashamed of the conditions here. The poor professor searched the waiter's eyes, wanting to get up and leave. With great difficulty, Miss Munk managed to placate him. With a pretty face and even prettier gestures, she began explaining: isn't it wonderful that right here, at one table, Germans with the most diverse views are sitting, yet forming a unity? Anywhere in England, something like that would be impossible, but here we see that it is so, that this is truly great. Schickele, as the last straw in the great storm, grumbled indignantly that "after all, we are not students forming some kind of Korporschaft," that one could express one's opinion, but finally he apologized to the professor, nodded, and everything was fine. Krautzowa told of an incident concerning taking money: a gentleman said: I have bad luck, everywhere I go I meet Funt; in Tanent…, at Kempiński's – when asked if he wasn't afraid that the prince would see him everywhere, he replied: let him know I have expenses, he will give me more.

Notes:

[1] René Schickele a German-French writer and pacificist.,

Wednesday, May 19 [1915] 

I was at a meeting of the "Schutzverband Deutscher Schriftsteller"[1]  on Monday evening. There were actually two interesting presentations on the agenda: "The Participation of the Freren Schriftsteller on the Reichstags – Kauferenz" and "Das Deutsche Schiftum und der Krieg."

The first topic was addressed by a certain Corback and Mat Wiessner, editor of the Frankfurter Zeitung. Corback voted for the absolute necessity of halting these Reichstag-Kauferenz conferences after the war, as they provided close contact with the Regierung and the government leadership. Wiessner opposed this from this position: "These conferences were formed only three or four weeks after the war." They arose when fellow editors, unsure what to write due to established censorship, repeatedly called the General Staff, the Reichstag, and the Auswärtigen Amt with relevant inquiries. Moreover, since each editorial office wanted to send a correspondent, they asked where and when they could leave. This only served to confuse them, so they began to reply: "Come to the Reichstag at 11 a.m., and you'll find out." Thus, editors of magazines began arriving at the same time; one of the gentlemen from Regierung would appear and provide explanations. However, these explanations are of little value. Wiessner claims that those without behind-the-scenes connections will learn little. When asked, for example, what will happen to Italy now, they reply seriously: "Yes, the situation is very serious, very serious, but we must wait (abwarten)." When asked if it's true that there are Austrian submarines in the Mediterranean, they reply: "Allem anschein nach – ja, zu wurde gemeldet in den zeitungen." For the most part, the directive is implemented by saying: the situation is escalating with Italy – write about Italy in general to prepare the population, etc.

According to Wiessner, this establishment of censorship negatively impacts journalism, because after reading one newspaper, one knows everything that is in others. The colleagues themselves are partly to blame. They themselves denounce: "Why am I not allowed to write what this and that newspaper wrote?" It often happens that a censor, through inattention or indifference, lets something through, but such remarks lead to a more careful monitoring of the newspaper. Wiessner recounted how much effort it took to publish reports from the French and Russian staffs; now they don't even allow the Breslau and Cologne newspapers to do so. According to W., there's no point in keeping these devices, as it only damages the prestige of the work. Knowing an editor who can't speak well often leaves one with little understanding of the entire newspaper.

Fuchs weighed in during the discussion, pointing out the lack of unity among the staff, which sought writing advice, like a "Schulbub." He pointed out that the government turned to the press because it needed it, recognized its power, but if these conferences were held, the authority and power of the work would be significantly undermined. Fuchs advocated a completely free labor position. The same is true for the commercial editor, who claimed that only the government benefits from them, because it receives the news it needs from the editors of the newspapers, which it can obtain in such a pleasant way.

Then, in his second lecture, Dr. Frankfurter addressed German literature and the war. He stated that the war produced much lyrical poetry, but of little value. The same was true for novels. He thus acknowledged the "Germans' unpreparedness for war" and advocated for greater attention to various social and political issues for future preparation. Another speaker in the discussion noted that it was strange that German wars had never produced a great poet, and that no great poet had taken much interest in war or exerted any influence on it. Zola's participation in the Dreyfus Affair, now Skaw's participation in England, Björnsen's participation in the partition of Sweden and Norway (actually B. ………. prepared this partition, rather than diplomats), Gorky's participation in the Russian Revolution, Decker in the Netherlands, d'Annunzio in Italy. Maria says she's not so much envious that d'Annunzio sold his speech to the Corriere della Serra for 100,000 lire, but rather his influence on the masses. In Germany, no current poet has such authority; none of them would have the nation rallying behind them.

What amused me most was the preparation for a future war and the efforts to put an end to wars. Mr. Frankfurter delivers this in one breath.

Notes:

[1] The “Protection Association of German Writers,” goal was to provide legal protection against state interference in literary creation.

May 22 [1915]  Saturday

It's another strangely interesting, yet somewhat unsettling time. War with Italy hangs in the air. The feeling here is enormous. The press has been "nervous" for several days now. The writing was still moderate, though it wasn't the enemy, but quiet reproaches and accusations bubbled up among the lines calling on the ally to come to its senses. On Thursday, the day of the opening of Parliament, there were shouts in the street from the B.-Z [Berliner Zeitung]. A man walking ahead of me with a woman bought a newspaper. “Warum wurdest du denn gehalten, gegen uns zu gehen?“ (“Why were you made to go against us”) she asked him. I didn't hear the answer, but I think she was just as "ignorant" as that woman. The masses can't understand why this is. After all, it was an ally, after all, it got everything it wanted, after all, it will inevitably be defeated, just like the English, French, and Russians – why is it going to war? England – why aren't the Germans exercising such influence? Yesterday at noon, people were standing "under the Linden Trees" and mingling. Nervousness and impatience were everywhere. So, will the war last longer? Will it drag on? When will it end? There was also some concern. Italy is a disturbing symptom. Because it's impossible to understand, it harbors something sinister. So rumors are circulating: a peace treaty with Russia is supposedly being concluded – only against those Latins will the battles be fought. After all, Russia is constantly being beaten – why should it continue to wage war?

Such small incidents are apt: Różycki's sister went to the store to buy Italian pasta. To which the vendor shouted – "Italian pasta, we have our own, our German pasta."

The sergeant said to Różycki yesterday at the police station with a sad sigh: "The Russen sind noch die besten” (“The Russians are still the best”). At least that's the belief in the commercial world – or, more precisely, in the world of vendors. In business, they complain about hard times. In the past, swarms of Russians would come, everything ………… ……….., buying masses of things. Now it's quiet, and no one knows what will happen next. There's a reluctance to go to war with Russia. Różycki was told in the store, "Have you ever seen anyone slap their best customer?"

Monday, May 24 [1915] 

Last week, I thought a lot about how he might get fed up with this whole affair of mine. I walked around a lot under the impression I was under and saw the coldness in everything. The fact that the divorce proceedings were postponed until September depressed me in some respects, but on the other hand, I already know the summer program. I intend to work hard over the summer so that in the fall, if it's possible to return to Warsaw, I can return with some research experience. The Lie is essentially finished – two or three more days and it will be ready for publication in Polish. I plan to finish a lot of articles from the war period and prepare an exhibition.

Mania Przedb.

Monday, June 7 [1915] 

Lately, there's been a lot of [“heavy feeling”] again, something I haven't had all winter, perhaps. I especially often imagine the last scene, which is typical, as it was our proper and final breakup. Sometimes I miss Kaz, and I think that with him alone I would be happy right now: the commonality of language, interests, and his youth, which I crave above all else, would bring me happiness. F. has been gone for 10 days now, and lately I've been longing for him to come back because I need him for various things, because I want someone to think of me, but it's not, it's not, it's not love. There will be affection, respect (!), gratitude, but not a warm feeling. And that's sad, and today, when I read these Polish newspapers, it's my family life – my heart aches. I could have been a lady in Warsaw!!!

I often think about my stay in Berlin a hundred times. I know that for Mom, Julek, and Madzia, it's a great happiness. But for me? Personally, I don't know if, if I were in Warsaw, I would have developed my Lie so well (definitely not), if I would have broadened my horizons with information and social thought and gained material for writing about the war. Certainly not. But I also don't know if I wouldn't have gained a hundred other things in return – I can't predict that either. I definitely don't work enough here. And I'm tormented by pondering this question. As for F., I'm absolutely convinced that someone else would have been found… so the tally still isn't quite there. Sometimes I feel terribly bad about it. But what can I do? I'm constantly tormented by this question, and it's incredibly difficult. I have absolutely no idea how this will all end for me. This lack of establishing certain goals is killing me. Mańka is definitely happier than I am right now.

Monday, June 7 [1915] 

I'm desperately thinking about Kazio. Today, all day long, non-stop. Two years ago, this all started happening. I'm simply tearing at the wound with my claws thinking about it, and yet I'm thinking, thinking until my head explodes. It all seems like a fairy tale, an unattainable happiness. I can't forgive myself this utterly unparalleled fact of my stupidity: returning to Łódź at that time. F. seems old and ugly to me. Marriage to him is completely indifferent to me; I don't promise myself anything from him except "support." What perhaps seemed possible to me just a few weeks ago, marriage to him as a pleasure, has now lost its luster. Sometimes I wonder if, after coming to Warsaw and dumping F., I shouldn't think about H. again. I simply have low plans this week: I would simply howl after him. And this is an important symptom: if two years ago I was distraught over the loss of Lande, it must be explained by the lack of a human being altogether. Now F.... for now, almost all the demands, and I'm calling K. because I have feelings for him. What will happen to me next? I'll probably marry F., but I would give anyone nothing if I could peer into his soul and see that K. is mad with despair over me. I'd like to have that one satisfaction... It seems to me that he'll only worry after I marry someone else.

I read my diary from two years ago. It noted that H. was interested in me, as he said, during the six years we didn't see each other... He even told me (and even wrote to me in a letter) that whenever I was mentioned in the newspapers, his heart sank. How is he now? I doubt he married... So maybe the war taught him to value things like affection...

God, what a stupidity, a terrible, unforgivable stupidity, that I didn't go to Warsaw then. But I'm not resourceful at all. If I had been there in the spring, had made the right appointment with Skibniewski, I would have had a top job, money, fame, and family happiness.

Tuesday, June 8 [1915] 

Today I received cards from F.[1] from Geneva, of which I can see he liked Madzia very much. This girl is clearly my destiny. After yesterday's "memory" of Kazia, for now I don't care whether F. will be particularly delighted with her or even fall in love with her. For a moment even today I thought to myself that one could live one's life in

 pain and regret over that lost happiness in Warsaw. I can't imagine the amount of stupidity I had, which was necessary for me to leave then, when Hania asked me to, things were so bad at home. I don't trust myself one bit for such demonstrative mistakes. Because even if the mistakes turned out to my advantage later, the fact of the mistakes shouldn't have existed.

In the afternoon it occurred to me whether in the last few days I had been thinking so much about K. because F. had really been having fun there with Madzia. That would justify this thinking.

Notes:

[1] Presume to mean Fuchs, but may need prior entries to establish that. Also, next entry implies that Fuchs is around in Berlin. Maybe not "F"?

Saturday, June 26 Saturday [1915]

I was in Steglik[1] yesterday evening. Mehring[[2] , Rozu, Duncker[3]  , Meyer[4]  , Fuchs and two more were there. There were arrests because of this police circular[5] . M. told how at noon two gentlemen "zwei Beamte[6] ] " came to him, as the maid told him, and started asking him who he had sent it to sign, who had edited it, etc. Then they told him to spare them a search and to return on his word of honor that he had no more copies. Mehring returned one copy that was with him (he had been prepared for this visit). Duncker and a few others had the same visits. Apparently, it was the stenographer who published it. She said the name of the printer and the editor. Now the government is expecting more. Stimming was interesting yesterday. In a small garden in a small street, at a table covered with a classic colorful napkin, people were debating over mugs of modest beer who held an opinion opposed to that given to Germany. It was all gentle and calm. Mehring somehow treats his co-workers with fatherly tenderness: he calls Liebknecht[7] "Karleben", Fuchs "Fichslein", etc. He is good-natured, speaks quietly and calmly, and no one would suspect that he is the intellectual leader of the party.

Notes:

[1]  I assume Stieglitz, a neighborhood in southwestern Berlin.

[2]  Franz Mehring, part of left-wing socialist group, splintering from main Social Democratic Party (SPD), along with Rosa Luxemburg and others, and later senior member of the Spartacus League. At this time was a leader of anti-war group called the International Group. Will have to go through more of her diaries to see how connected she was, but this matches her early expression of socialist sympathies.

[3]  Could refer to Käte Duncker or her husband Hermann, but probably former, as “she” is used below.

[4]  Presumably Ernst Meyer, another of this group.

[5]  Maybe an issue of “The International” which was published in April 1915.

[6]  “two officers”

[7]  ]Karl Liebknecth, another prominent member of the group.

Before the evening[1]

This week I have calmed down considerably as regards my reproaches for Kazio. Naturally, now I cannot reproduce all the reasons that prompted me to leave at that time. After all, I wanted to get married in the autumn, I wanted to take a step forward in our relationship with this departure, etc. I was also guided by certain rational considerations. That they did not work out – well, it is difficult, but I did not act stupidly, without thinking – so I cannot reproach myself. The only absolutely stupid, uncalculated thing I did was to invite him to me after everything. So stupid, without dignity, without reasoning, that is why it ended badly. If I had not called him then, but had done such a joint job with Skibniewski and lived in Warsaw, I am convinced that he would have come back to me on his own. After all, he said himself that he wanted to go to Łódź on Sunday. Yes, that was the biggest mistake in this sea of ​​mistakes…

There is a new phase with Fuchs. Actually, there were several of them. The first was my introduction to a famous man who wanted to meet me too. This lasted until the end of my work at the commandant's office. The second phase was the period of living with my uncle. He knew about us, but not much about me in particular, I went on these dates so as not to …….. and not to be at home. At the same time, I was completely independent of him economically. I felt then that he loved me very much, but I accepted everything as a tribute and I was indifferent to it. Phase 3 – my own apartment and his visits to ours. Acquaintance with the kama somehow made him seem familiar to me. Then came economic dependence, which made him somewhat of a master. Since then, not only does he not ask me every now and then, as before, whether I love him, but for months I have not heard this question at all. Nothing has changed in his attitude – he calls every day, we see each other every day, but I feel that I am too familiar to him or maybe that I am basically very dependent on him. At this stage I start to think that he is a good match in his way – despite everything – that if I think about what I would do without him now, my life will be boring, such is the lack of purpose in this life, when I think about this satisfaction with Kazia etc. I wouldn't want to lose him. I am still indifferent to him, but I already feel that our roles may soon change...

And by the way, I feel terribly sorry for Fajans and Kazia. My two Kazias.

I was in Wannsee these days. I already felt so sorry when I looked at those Germans around me that I didn't stay in Paris. The lightness and grace of the French suits my mind better. And my life, even if I hadn't married yet, would have been richer and better. Knowledge of the language, belonging to a nation that suits me in temperament and all façon d'être above, would have spared me a lot of unpleasantness in life with my family here and would have put me in a completely different light. So then, this semester in Krakow was decisive for my life, and in a negative sense. However, I decided to move to Paris in the near future. I would probably spend 2-3 years in Munich, but then - go to Paris, I would like to experience many beautiful years of my maturity there, when I will be able to drink life in full gulps.

Notes:

[1]  Undated. But presumably the same day of June 26.

Tuesday, June 30, 1915

I've been thinking about Fuchs a lot these past few days. There's no doubt in my mind that he's cooled down. I'm terrified at the mere thought that it might happen again... with Kazi. I don't really know when or how it started, but it's an irrefutable fact. It came completely unexpectedly, without any... reason. The reason could have been all the little things about family, etc., that I keep telling him. The less they know about each other, the better it is for a relationship, and I too often forget that. Even after arriving from Switzerland, he was affectionate, but now he's less so. Although he said on Sunday that it was the most beautiful day since November 18th, I have the impression that once that moment passes, that pleasant feeling fades too, and only this change remains. I know I shouldn't give in to it, as it could lead to an even worse situation.

Monday, July 19 [1915]

As if in a dream, I remembered that I was worried about Fuchs, that I was thinking about his cold. We're as close as ever (this should have been the case with Kaziu; we absolutely should have been in Warsaw in winter, without those intelligent conversations), and yesterday, when F. looked at me, when asked why he was looking at me like that, he said, "Weit es der mühe wert ist." So I'm not bothering with his feelings right now.

But I have other worries: an uncertain financial future – if Julek didn't earn anything, we're a failure. Whereas at the beginning of the war we had to have 100 marks for a whole month, now poor Julek has to scrounge up that much for each of the girls. What will it be? Perhaps, with the luck I've been given here in Berlin, we'll manage to continue our existence.

But there's the most important issue: the matter of my job. "The Lie" is finished, thank God. I translate hastily, and Fuchs tells me to type it up. But other things? I don't work enough socially to be satisfied with it, I don't have that kind of income, and I don't feel like writing an affair. All that's left is preparing articles about the war here. I'm starting tomorrow on the topic of "war and pedagogy," but I don't know what will come of it. I'd like it to be something truly excellent.

Mańka P. went from the hospital in Vienna to Przeworsk. She gets 7 kroner a day! That's a career in times like these. That girl knows how to arrange herself fabulously. I was overcome with envy. Although I convinced myself that it was impossible to know whether she would derive as much benefit from her work as I did from my stay here, it was important to consider that my Berlin notes would be of immense value in the future, that I had finally seen through many social issues here, that I had met Fuchs, who would most likely become my husband, a husband whose financial situation, personality, occupation, etc., would allow me to develop to the fullest, that I was finally earning a living here, etc. But despite this, the worm gnawed at me. Her ugly, self-satisfied smile, which I so detest because it made me feel contempt for everything that wasn't her, for her "chutzpah," and I felt sorry, sorry that she was so successful. Strange, but this news about her gave me a strange boost in my work.

Fela went to Copenhagen on Sunday the 11th. I would like her to succeed in her independence as well as Mańka has, only that she should get married as early as possible, and as well as that lovely little poor thing deserves.

July 21 [1915]

I behaved very improperly the day before yesterday when I spoke to Mama about Mańka P. And Mama, in the end, made a very sensible remark to me. 

Wednesday, August 11 [1915]

I had dinner with Simon yesterday. He told me he'd been wanting to talk to me about Lipcówna for a long time. He was talking nonsense, of course. One thing really offended me: he said Fuchs didn't want to nominate himself as a candidate for the "Bund NV"[1] because people were reluctant to work with him. They were afraid of being exposed to unpleasantness.

I agreed, because he was partly right, but I felt very sorry. Fuchs has wild manners and perhaps makes a worse impression than I thought. And now, after the occupation of Warsaw, in the absence of Fuchs, who is not at all known for his affectionate letters, I feel that this man is fundamentally indifferent to me, that in a marriage with him there will be fundamental differences that could lead to violent scenes, and that it will be a marriage of convenience in the full sense of the word. Sometimes I feel like I'll walk around next to him as if I were dead, indifferent, trying to keep up appearances. Marriage with H. still looks better to me today than with F.

I feel terribly, terribly stupid.

I feel bored, empty, I have a lot to do and I don't feel like doing anything. Complete apathy. I think that in a week or 10 days I might know something about him. I have the feeling that when I learn something about Kaziu, I'll come alive again. A strange apathy – maybe I've never been so apathetic to everything since the war.

Notes:

[1] Her first mention of the Bund since May.

August 19, 1915

Anything can happen. Yesterday, while walking down Mommsen Street,[1]  I saw a sign saying "Dr. Erich Leschke."[2]  Today I called him (I saw in the directory that he had a phone) and hung up as soon as I heard his voice. Six months of living 10 houses apart and not seeing each other. No…

Notes:

[1] From a genealogy site, he is shown living at Mommsenstraße No. 42 (Charlottenburg) from 1913 to 1924. From the appeal she worked on, in 1915 she was living at Dahlmannstr. 4, which is a 4-minute walk away. 

[2] A noted German internist. No indication of where she knew him from (nor her vehemence at not talking to him). He studied in Bonn.

Tuesday, August 24 [1915]

I feel unspeakably, terribly bad. This war, which grips me like a claw and doesn't allow for any step, any freer thought. These material conditions, the scrutiny of pennies, the ever-increasing desire for some care-free, prosperous life—without the possibility of making amends for it yet, and this attitude toward Fuchs. This man doesn't move me at all. I often sit and look at him, at his physical neglect, which pains me to tears, at his disheveled hair, his uncleaned, dirty clothes, his old coat (even though he has other decent ones at home), all of this gets on my nerves… I constantly think about Kaziu, how he'll come back to me, I replay my conversation with him a hundred times in my mind… One phrase in particular appeals to me. If, for example, he came to me and told me he loved me, like he used to, I'd ask: so what? If he ever mumbles anything about marriage, I'll ask where one comes from, what one has to do with the other, just as he wrote once. It seems I'm wrong, though, that maybe he looked at me the way I looked at Fuchs—that I wasn't elegant enough, not rich enough, not from the sphere that impressed me. And in him, affection will never prevail over ambition. These are illusions.

October 1, 1915

Fuchs's trial is drawing to a close, it will probably be free these days, and... by a strange coincidence, I'm going to Warsaw at that time.

I assume I'll meet H., of course, depending on the place, time, and various circumstances, my success will depend to a greater or lesser extent.

Sometimes, when I think about it, all the circumstances of my arrival and my success here seem like a fairy tale – but generally, I think I'm entitled to all this; I don't accept it as something extraordinary, but simply as part of the order of things.

I can say that, intimately, I've always had the conviction that I would marry a man of no mean stature, that I would be the owner of some villa, some chatelaine, that I would play a significant role. In this respect, F., of course, fulfills this role better than H., although H. has a future ahead of him, and it's unclear how it will shape him for the better, especially after the war, when there will be such a shortage of people. After all, I have a good revenge, and it's worth everything. I don't know if, having been in Warsaw during the war as his wife, I could have done so much and contributed to society as I do now. God's judgments are unfathomable.

October 7, 1915

F. was officially divorced yesterday. It seems nothing has changed between us, yet I feel a different relationship. Before, there was some kind of friendly, romantic relationship; it was unclear whether it would end, because if the divorce hadn't been granted, I certainly wouldn't have been able to endure it for years. Now, depending on the role, it might be something very warm, intimate, and something that makes both he and I feel more tenderly towards each other. The decisive conversation will probably take place soon.

This evening [October 14, 1915]

Old Landowska asked me to come over today for something. I went to meet Wanda. It's a strange house. The hallway made quite a pleasant impression, but that dining room! It's full of antiques, but there's no unity to it all. It looks like a bric-a-brac. And a lot of posturing. A long table without a tablecloth, on it enormous baskets of fruit, old earthenware plates on napkins – knives, spoons, everything antique, but not exquisite. It would have to look more elegant at my place. Wanda herself has a tremendous amount of charm. Her voice, like her music, has so much melody and resonance. She was wearing a Spanish scarf, with a lace scarf underneath. She kept taking off both scarves, meticulously folding the lace one, putting it back on, only to put it back on again five minutes later. The house with this Polish servants on first name basis is a bit patriarchal, but what did you feel about Lev and Mommy?!

Tuesday, October 19 [1915]

Mother and I had great worry about the apartment. A vile woman[1] — enough to hang her.

But it seems that's not as important as the situation with F., which is simply tragic. Repeating everything, letter for letter, like with the late Kaz. A few days ago he told me that in Zurich he had been asked whether it was true that he was getting a divorce because of me, and that I was making an excellent match. For Rózia is spreading this around. I said it was impossible that Rózia would say such a thing. And the conversation kept circling around that topic — but the most important thing, whether anything will come of it, what hopes and intentions he has — that, no.

He's furnishing his apartment. I'm buying carpets and various items with him – but after these things, I understand that I have no place in his life. He doesn't think of me as his wife.

Last Sunday, I was at his place. There were the most tender scenes, but he never once said: "Mine." He didn't even ask if I loved him. The next day, the only question was: "War es schön[?"[2]  So, I guess there's no point in deluding myself. But what should I do next?

I read Lazio's last letter today – "Brrr." Will it be like this until I die?

I'm sitting at home, crying. I just met Olga. She tells me she's terribly disappointed in my character. Yes – Kazio also thought about marrying me at first, maybe Fuchs too, but… character – they were disappointed in my character. Yes.

 Notes:

[1] The landlady, presumably.

[2] Is it nice?

Wednesday, October 27 [1915]

This absolute apathy in me is strange, and it's worth noting. If I don't have something specific to do, I immediately feel down, I don't feel like doing anything, I don't care, and boredom consumes me. I'm very worried about our apartment. It's so uncomfortable to be at home, and I'd be better off sitting at my desk all day. I simply don't know how I'll get through the winter in this mood. Despite Julek's earnings, I'm feeling a bit melancholic, and I simply don't want to spend a penny. I simply don't know how things will continue for me.

The apartment issue was, of course, caused by my rudeness to the landlady. Well, with my domineering personality, it's so difficult to deal with people. I'm not polite or courteous at all. I completely ignore her. Rózia would certainly treat her much better, just like she treats all her relatives, whom I completely ignore. But oh well – it's so hard to change.

This boredom, boredom, and emptiness, despite everything.

Monday, November 1 [1915]

On Saturday evening, there was a curious incident. I left the commandant's office with F., feeling a bit irritated and in a bad mood so I said to him: “Say a kind word to me.” “Liebling” he said — but at that very moment he stumbled badly over a stone, so much so that he almost fell. Of course, he must have had something on his mind that didn't agree with this kind expression.

His attitude toward me is truly curious. If he's serious about me, why hasn't he said a word about it? It seems his feelings for me have completely cooled—how could he not find time for two whole weeks to come see me and, for example, see my room? These are all little things that, as the story with Kaziek teaches me, are significant. And I think poor Madzia is going through the same thing. 

Thursday, November 18 [1915]

Our relationship has become insincere. Yesterday, Wednesday, we were together again with Radkowa and Eylenburg. He was indeed very nice, often addressing me in conversation, then………. them home, and then we went to a café, but I have a distant feeling that this isn't it anymore. Today I was very cordial to him, and he deigned to accept. I didn't even make an issue of such unpleasantness as cleaning his ear with a toothpick in a restaurant. I was full of sweetness. He clearly felt the difference between my care for him and his petrification, and he told me he was angry with himself for being so……….. around me. Yes, I wonder if he's changed since I told him those unpleasant things about R.

He must be offended by my remarks about Kimi having a great marriage, because he thinks I'm trying to catch him.

I'd like to let him know that I don't care. I'd like to be somehow cooler, more . . . so that he feels he should put more effort into me than I did into him.

A letter arrived today from Dawid. He writes that his stay in a place where they speak Polish reminds him of his stay in Warsaw and Łódź. "Later experiences don't need such external reminders." That means he remembers everything well... I'd really like him to come...

Wednesday, November 24 [1915]

I go through torment every day. I see cold, cold, cold in the smallest things…

He didn't warmly invite me over yesterday, he didn't look at me when he spoke, he doesn't ask me how I'm doing on the phone, he does certain things mechanically, for example: when I mentioned that my mother was talking about going to Switzerland, he said: "That will be best for you." In short, he's not the same person.

They took R. away yesterday – he's moving heaven and earth to get her out of there. This woman has already cost me two sleepless nights. At times, I'm angry with myself, wondering why I was ranting about her a week ago. But everything was already too deep inside him – she managed to sway him to her advantage. Who knows how much she said, again, to my detriment – ​​how much he remained silent. He's silent, silent, silent – ​​and it's taking my life away. Because to lose again and to search again – oh God, don't let that happen.

Yesterday, as I was riding home from Kolve's, where I'd been calling him in vain, and I thought he might be with her somewhere, I wondered for a moment if he was the perfect man he seemed, if what my wife had said and written about him wasn't true: "He's not a man who's always been so unfathomable." And I held onto that belief for a moment. Then I was overcome with anxiety because I couldn't reach him by phone, and when he called and asked me to come to the café, I was overcome with joy. I flew on wings.

I read my diary today: I see from it that I'd been constantly expecting a marriage proposal since last year, and that he hadn't made it. Only on December 21st there was that brief scene in the restaurant. It was all there last year, except Radkowa wasn't there. Damn it!

Julek came yesterday and said that Kazio is engaged to the Doctor's daughter, I think Kramsktykówna.

November 26, 1915

It was my birthday. Two years ago, on this day, I had gone through the worst crisis of my life: that terrible scene with Kazi. And now I was facing the same thing again. Things had gone quite far with Radkowa: he was running around Berlin to rescue her. Today, I couldn't sleep all night: I kept imagining this situation – what would I do if she took over him, what would it be like?

I woke up broken, exhausted. I barely dragged myself. I couldn't eat breakfast. Around noon, when he called, I perked up. I somehow managed to pull myself together, even though he dared say he didn't know if he'd come! On such a day! He came with flowers and had the opportunity to see what wonderful gifts I'd received. We also kissed each other warmly in greeting, and all was well.

Perhaps from today on, he'd start thinking more about the wedding. It would have been time. And for me to gain a little more peace...

Saturday, December 11, 1915

Yesterday was, after all, an extraordinary day with that poor Eddy.[1] 

He called me this morning to say he'd received a telegram (continued on Monday) that Radkowa had already been to her sister's. I congratulated him on settling the matter. Before evening, he called to say he was leaving for Vienna... I was beyond worried. Driving to the station, however, I told myself to be indifferent but gentle and not to make a scene. In the carriage and at the station, however, I expressed my outrage at his driving, and lo and behold, this man... already having his things in his compartment, he took them out and... didn't go... On Sunday morning, he called me to say she was calling him. He even read me a letter over the phone (hysterical summoning). I somehow calmed him down again, and he stayed. Luckily, Kaufman's wife arrived from Brussels on Saturday – Saturday and Sunday somehow passed, but today he called as if he wasn't very happy with my summons, saying he was "sick," so we wouldn't be seeing each other.

Our relationship has broken down, there's no doubt about it, but the only question now is how to fix it. I've already told myself I'd be gentle, as gentle as possible, but I can't. I'm praying to some inhuman force to give me as much kindness as she desires. Because surviving such times is only possible with kindness.

I'm already thinking about the worst. Dear God, what can I do? I'm not lucky with people. I know I can endure even that, but once again, I'm 100 steps away from my goal: a husband and a child. Sometimes I'm calm thinking about it, and sometimes something consumes me. You can't trust any man. It would never have occurred to me that things could have turned out this way.

Notes:

[1] The only time that I see her referring to Fuchs as “Eddy” rather than “F.” or “Fuchs.”

Midnight [December 15, 1915]

I’ve just read Kazio’s letters… My God, what a horrible affair that was…

Sunday, December 26 [1915]

Yesterday there was a party at Fuchs's. Everyone was delighted with him as a host. The party was supremely noble. And as I was walking home with everyone, and everyone was raving about him, precisely because of his social qualities, which I value so much, I thought to myself that I was playing a fairytale game with this man. There seems to be no doubt that in many very important respects (perhaps primarily the financial aspect and the possibility of better conditions for scientific work), I will be far better off than with Kazi. Of course, one can only say that it's better that before than this now.

The news of his engagement, already so brilliant, hasn't left my mind for the past two days. It haunted me constantly. I decided to write this novel and call him Władysław the Chorobicz. I must have the satisfaction of knowing he will be utterly ridiculed. That will accomplish more than all the bloody revenges he deserves. A small detail – when I was in Berlin for two years, at that congress, I had a lorgnette that was constantly in danger of breaking, just like my relationship with Kaz. And then I thought to myself that our relationship would last until I broke it. When K. left for Dresden, a certain anxiety took hold of me. I couldn't sit still at home, and one evening, full of anxiety, I went to Locia's. I didn't find her home. When I sat down on a chair to write a note saying I was there, I sat on the lorgnette and broke it. K. was with his father then, and they were deciding about our future...

I wanted to have it repaired – they told me it was impossible, it wasn't worth it, it wouldn't last. Our goldsmith, Kampti, gave me a faint hope one day that maybe it would work after all. I told myself again, if he repaired it, our relationship (by then definitively broken) would mend again.

Kampti refused. And I knew nothing would help. I thought again that if I buy or receive a lorgnette like that, something would happen to the marriage again. Somehow, I never managed to. I waited for someone to give me a gift. For my birthday, I was sure I would. However, I didn't get it. Now, for Christmas, I received another one from F., a "………."-style signet ring. It's breakable, though, so I'm exchanging it for a silver one. So, will this bond be unbreakable?

I'm desperate to work on my research. I think that if I don't take advantage of this, for the most part, peaceful life now, I probably never will.

Wednesday, December 29 [1915]

Such a strange coincidence: today at the meeting, Hochstimm was shown a letter from Lolo Hertz – Lolo congratulated his mother on Annette's engagement (to Korowicz). To make matters worse, Hochstimm said he was at the engagement.

A question of great importance to me arises – should I say something to Hockstimm about this to discredit him completely in his eyes – and perhaps a little in his family's eyes as well – or should I grit my teeth and remain silent?

At the same time, Mrs. Lichtenstein also told me that her husband praised Fajans so much, that he wrote such a great article, etc. As her friends told her, his wife is very nice. Ha, ha, ha.

My two Kazimierzs[1]

Notes:

[1] Apparently an expression meaning destroyers of peace.

January 5, 1916

On New Year's Day, I received the pleasant news: Külpe had died![1] 

This man played a huge role in my life. He mesmerized me back in Geneva – I went to see him in Bonn; if it weren't for the hope of leaving then, I would have handled things differently with Fajans – the best husband in the world for me. Then, that sinister influence continued: if it weren't for that topic, I would have been working for him in the laboratory, where Preza… and Skibniewski offered me such good conditions. I would have been in Warsaw and wouldn't have lost my second Kazio.

Today, this man is dying just when I was hoping for a permanent opportunity to work for him. Various dreams for that account have ended. The Munich Aulje and everything connected with it.

Notes:

[1] Oswald Külpe, a German structural psychologist, who died December 30, 1915. He did have institutes in Bonn and Munich, but don’t see when he might have been in Geneva (or if she is just referencing his work while she was studying).

January 15, [19]16

A beautiful day:

Silbersztein announces in the morning that he won't do business with Julek anymore. Julek writes Max S. a letter proposing a fabrication (so things are bad).

The old woman is raising the rent again by 12 marks. It’s now five in the afternoon, and Fuchs still hasn’t called. This week I’ve been together with him only twice in the evening. 

January 19 [1916]

Today, around 11 a.m., I was walking to the Charlottenburg train station. A gentleman was walking ahead of me. When I caught up with him, I called out, "Herr Leszke." He said, "Fraulein Baumgarten." We were very polite, elegant together. I observed him – he was very neatly dressed – …………. , well-fed, rested, clean. Apparently, he could have made the same observation, as I was dressed neatly – for a date with Simon. In the carriage, I noticed that he avoided my gaze. He asked and spoke, but didn't look at me. It was suspicious – I boldly looked at him. He asked me a few questions and, among other things, asked if I knew Mrs. Nef – so I was a reminder to him of his adventures with Russian women. I asked him if he was married – yes, and he already had two children (he said this with a confident smile). Boys? No – girls. The oldest is already a year and a half old. She's a complete young lady. Oh yes – schon koquett (he said this word with emotion). "Und sie sind verkanatel?" - No. He nodded, as if confirming his own thought. Then I got out – he, polite, elegant in every move, opened the door for me. His not looking at me could also have been a way to indicate that he didn't want any intimacy. We didn't say anything to each other that might even give rise to the assumption that we were so close. It crossed my mind, and it felt so strange that people who kissed could talk like that.

He, a senior physician at the Charité,[1] wealthy and well-established — and I, alone and poor. Above all: alone… Today, before lunch, I felt simply desolate; only lunch with Simon calmed me a little.

Fela this morning asked me if it was possible for me to marry F. before the war. How naive she is!

Notes:

[1] Large hospital in Berlin. Don’t find anything about Dr. Leszke.

January 22, [19]16

I've been feeling sick since early this morning. As if I'd done something against my will or desires, or as if something bad had happened or was about to happen to me. It's a disgusting feeling. I'm completely miserable.

I had a conversation with F. yesterday. He was a little encouraged, but he hasn't said anything yet that gave me the slightest hope. Last night I thought about it with great bitterness (see the dream), and I finally came to the conclusion that this state of affairs is, in any case, much better than the absolute certainty that nothing will come of it. But how it eats at me, how it eats at me! 

February 7 [1916]

This morning a letter arrived from that aunt of mine in America. [1] He has a match for one of us and is writing at length about it. I showed it to Fuchs solely to hear what he would say. He was a little excited by the news, but otherwise he said nothing. He only made a sarcastic remark about how the other man could want to marry from afar, but how someone could spend 18 months with a woman, talk about love, and not even mention marriage – he didn't mock that. I'm simply choking on this relationship, and I feel my feelings for him fading. I would give a lot to be able to tell him what I think someday.

This letter of mine is an arrow let loose—perhaps it has struck. If I succeed, I will send it to Madzia. Perhaps that old unknown aunt will be of use to us both after all.

Notes:

[1] Presumably Rosa Lubliner, widow of her uncle Jacob Lubliner, who immigrated with his family to the United States in 1891.

Monday, February 21 [1916]

Yesterday I was with F. at the Lichtensteins’. He made a very good impression with his views. He was in good spirits that day in general, and as we were walking there he suggested that I come over to his place for a little supper… I agreed. We left there rather late. Although he remained in excellent humor, he telephoned for Eglenburg, and we spent several hours with that rascal.

Desperation is really eating me up. I cried myself to sleep last night. Afterward, a sort of stone-cold calm came over me. My poor, dear children. How misery consumes us all.

I don't know what to do with him. I thought to myself last night that I was fighting the same war with him as Europe is today, and that the side that endures the longest, with the strongest nerves, would win. I want to be the stronger one.

Like Ludwig Ginsterg. What a peaceful, quiet life I would have with him. However, I'm gravitating towards that disgusting F.

Our relationship is reminding me more and more of our relationship with Horow.

Monday, March 6 [19]16

How I'm thinking. A few weeks ago – maybe two months ago, when we were at Reingold's – Fuchs suddenly said: "There's a very pretty Miss Szwabe in Hilfsberein." That was enough for me... such a sudden statement was magical. This week, he said that Blumberg and a painter[1] would be coming to see him on Saturday. Only on Sunday did he tell me that Miss Szwabe was there. So the secrecy of her planned visit is the second significant thing... He said it was very nett... He repeated it several times... Since then, he's been coming on paydays at 12 noon instead of three as before... so suddenly he's giving me a few more hours. Today, when I called and asked him about something he didn't know yet, he immediately asked Mr. Szwabe. She's obviously sitting with him... He was supposed to go to a meeting today, but he said he'd be able to come back later. But he didn't show up at all. I guarantee he went for a walk with her. This is all the more likely because he didn't call all evening. It was simply the first time in our relationship.

Last Friday, he said he'd close the place and probably go to Switzerland when the money came through at the Verein. I asked if he'd take me too. He said "dooch," and I got really into it, and I kept talking about that trip... On Sunday evening, when we were returning from the Simons', he was talking about renting a room downstairs for books. I jokingly said that if he was going to leave, he didn't need to rent an apartment. He didn't say anything... and that's also telling. During the conversation, he said he needed four rooms for his apartment.

God, God, you're so cruel to me. For a long moment today, when I returned home from the meeting, I was despondent, and for a second I even thought, maybe it would be better to end my life, at least to avoid suffering so much. Well, when I thought of my four unfortunate siblings! Julek's letter arrived with the news that he'd earned something. That soothed me a bit. Finally, I think to myself – I've always thought of my husband as the one who would help me in life, but I'm becoming more and more convinced that I only have to rely on myself. I have to find the strength within myself. But only the gods know how I feel. As a person, Fuchs is worthless – I know him intimately and despise him. While Hor's baseness stemmed from weakness, his stemmed from strength. The consequences for me are the same. I simply can't believe it could be true!

Notes:

[1] She added: “p. Alsberg? (1920)”. Fuch’s second wife was Grete Alsberg, but don’t know when they got married or anything about her.

Thursday, March 9 [1916]

I didn't have any difficulties that day, as F. was at Ofner's at 8 o'clock, then he was at Cafe der Westens,[1]  from where he supposedly called me, but he was told that I wasn't home. Lately, I don't feel any jealousy towards her at all. I wanted to go to the club and see what she looks like, but I keep putting it off. I don't know if this feeling of confidence is justified or not. Ultimately, I doubt that this woman could satisfy him spiritually for long.

Yesterday I was at a concert and I know that he liked me very much in that new blouse. It's strange how I hadn't noticed until now how sensitive he is to my good looks.

 [RS1]

Notes:

[1] A famous coffeehouse, known as a meeting house for artists. However, it closed in 1915, so this was at a new location, which apparently did not attract the same crowd.

Friday, March 17, 1916

I felt terribly heavy-hearted after lunch today. ​​Whether it was because F. called to say we wouldn't be seeing each other today – I don't know – but I felt very bad.

As I was returning from a terribly boring visit to the Kalms, I thought to myself that I didn't used to think about him so much as I do now. These reflections prove that the feeling, the passion, that was there before, is gone. Back then, I didn't reason so much, but simply went to meetings, dinners, and excursions. I was under his spell, his charm, his influence. Now I reason about whether I should go out or not, now I feel bad when he pays too much for me... Oh, it's better to do everything thoughtlessly. That's the only criterion of true feeling.

After the visit to the Kalms, I felt somewhat lighter. Why – I don't know. Maybe because I don't need to ask Kalm to come over, because he's leaving.

Sunday, April 2, 1916

Since the Friday before last, Fuchs has been ill. He had a high fever – some kind of influenza. We nursed him together with Jermolurkova – a living reflection of Genia. I suffered a great deal because of this girl – it cannot be denied that she knows how to get things done, and I would even say she has more heart than I do. Well, she hasn't gone through what I have with Kazio, or Fajans, or even with Fuchs now. His illness, besides the time, fatigue, etc., cost me 40 marks. A colossal sum in our current circumstances. And yesterday, when I went to see him, sacrificing another Schopenhauerian evening for him, I had proof of how indifferent he is to me in reality, or rather, how much he has grown tired of me. And I have also grown tired of him, only that it's partly because of his own internal struggles, and partly because he doesn't make any plans for the future.

I once suspected him of having feelings for Mrs. Szwahe. I had the opportunity to convince myself that I was wrong – she's better off – she has Blumberg.

F. is incredibly stingy in private. His wife must have had a lot of trouble with him. By the way, I met his daughter. She's a tough nut to crack. If he had a wife like his daughter, he wouldn't have divorced her. I understand that his wife divorced him simply out of disgust – the court could have ruled in her favor – imponderables aren't weighed in court, but they are what decide things in people's lives... This woman was right in all her actions. I saw her at the station a few days ago: she has a lively complexion and a smiling face. I'm simply delighted with the daughter.

It sometimes seems to me that, despite the divorce, this matter still pains him deeply, that he might even gladly reconcile with her. He has his satisfaction, but now he misses her. Yesterday it crossed my mind that K., after the marriage, once he has his own relationships and his own life settled, will suddenly intensely miss me. I'm even certain of it, but what kind of satisfaction is that? The only satisfaction for me would be to perhaps marry a man who would love me deeply, more than life itself. In that atmosphere, I would come alive again. I feel now like a bitter, withered flower.

The diary is ending. Perhaps my misery will end with it. Perhaps the springtime of my life will finally begin.