Diary 1916-1919

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Berlin, Saturday, April 8, 1916

I insisted that F[1] . give me a diary. Superstition – to be lucky. Today after dinner, Mrs. Cornel was there – that might be lucky for me too.

I told F. that I would hold him responsible if I didn’t do well this year. We’ll see. I would so want to be endlessly happy. And I deserve it. And then on that Saturday there was a little row because of that ……

Notes:

[1] Assuming that “F.” means Fuchs.

Wednesday, April 19 [1916]

For F. I am not what I was – I cannot delude myself about that for a moment, only I do not know yet what turn it will take. Will I turn him completely back to me by skillful action, or will I lose him completely by unskillful action, that is, by leaving everything to his fate. The word “completely” does not even make sense in the latter case, because I decided to avoid such a parting scene as with K. I am only tormented by the future, what will happen if nothing happens to him, what will happen to me, to us? A black despair seizes me at the thought that everything always slips through my fingers.

A change, my student told me – in Łódź, Miss Janowska told her last year: Mrs. Baumgarten married a German, and my student said: Mrs. Baumgarten is too good a Pole to do that!

I am actually interested in the psychological basis of this change in F.’s attitude towards me. Something has gone wrong. He is not interested in me at all. Yesterday I told him that I was unwell, and yet this morning he did not call me, even to see how I was feeling. We have little to talk about: he has lost his ……. It is very unpleasant to me. And I am only angry, why is that? Is it because he knows too much about me? I have recently learned from Cornelowa[1] that such knowledge about her greatly spoils my attitude towards her. And it may be the same with me and him, but on the other hand I know everything about him and it does not spoil my attitude towards him very much (and maybe so, maybe he no longer sees admiration for him in me, etc.). The only truth is that he no longer loves me, maybe there is only a little attachment left. He is becoming more and more indifferent to me, I would not like to experience either like H. and K.

Notes:

[1] The “Mrs. Cornel mentioned in prior entry.

Monday, April 24 [1916]

My attitude towards F. in recent days has been somewhat less strange. On Friday he had ………. and I went to see him. He was very nice, although there was no warmth in him. On Saturday evening we were together at Kempiński's[1] for dinner, we were as nice together as we had been for a long time. And it seems to me that in general, in my entire attitude towards him, a colossal role is played by my character, or rather my attitude towards people. I have no inner grace in me. I am as simple as a stick. This inner stickiness does not provide enough content for such a constant attitude with F. as mine, and a certain dryness emerges from it. So that he really becomes susceptible to the grace of others, even that of the bratty Jerudnikowa. This is a general lack of mine, which must be remedied by a certain willpower, because I have become convinced that it is always only with such grace that I gain people's sympathy. Only that in my case it depends on good humor, and good humor on so many other things! But I guess you also have to work out this in life with willpower!

Notes:

[1] A restaurant in Berlin.

Monday, May 8 [1916]

I don't know why apathy has taken over me so completely. Apathy towards F. I'm simply afraid to be with him, because I have nothing to say to him and, strangest of all, I don't try to interest him or myself in any topic. I don't know what will happen next. It seems that it has never happened to such a degree. Something has cooled between us. It's characteristic that we haven't kissed since Makary's birthday. I simply don't know what will happen if this war continues through this winter - the same thing again - trumpet trumpet, no impressions? With this daily meeting in the café. Simply torture. I often convince myself that this whole attitude towards Kazini has a lot to do with it. Apparently, the fault lies with me. I don't have such a clear goal before me as Ada, and above all, I don't know how to gather company around me. That was a mistake with Kazi, because it's still taking its toll. Poor me. Madzia sent her photo with J[1]. I feel as if all the things in her life were successful, which ended in fiasco for me. She got the gold medal that I wanted so much as a child, she left for college without any breaks, she will finally marry early to the chosen and beloved. And me?

Notes:

[1] Rapnael Jonas, whom Madzia met in Geneva and married later in 1916.

Tuesday, May 9 [1916]

Something has come between me and F. I don't know what. When our hands meet - we withdraw them after a moment, as if this mutual touch weighed on us. When we are sitting, he does not seek to be touched - he does not look at me either, when he is in company, I no longer absorb his attention.

Yesterday he was at our place for dinner. Those were sad hours, the four of us[1]. There was no sign that he was in a hurry to get home. Mom herself noticed that he was bored. And after he left, there was a kind of silence that showed how unpleasant it was for us to be aware that he was not feeling well with us.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, I woke up at night around 4. That was already a bad sign. In the morning, there were also sad letters from the children. I have been walking around all day today as if poisoned. I feel terribly, terribly bad, because I see the whole tragedy of us five. How I pray that we will finally be settled in marriage! I often think that fate would give our sisters happiness before this, than me, but so far neither they nor I have had this happiness. Why are Rózia or Fela being murdered! And Julek! What despair!

What will happen to F? Is it possible for any cordial and pleasant relationship to develop between us again? Actually, nothing has seemingly happened, nothing has been said, and something has happened. Some kind of ghost, some kind of nightmare. Well, he has not offended me, nor I him, neither he me nor I have done anything bad to him, I have not said an unkind word, and yet it has become difficult for us to be together. Is this too much? Or are we already burdening each other. After all, we really have a lot of unused matters and we have a lot in common. So what?

He says so few things to me.

Notes:

[1] Believe Julek was in Berlin; otherwise, not sure who the fourth would have been.

Sunday, May 28 [1916]

Yesterday there was a Huberman[1] concert – F. sat down next to Sokolow with real pleasure when I showed him the seat there. In the café he sat far away from me. It was the first time since we met that he had sat far away from me in a café. Later, he did sit down and made excuses, but that only got him into even more trouble. Because his place was with me yesterday.

The tragedy of “Kaziow” has begun in general. He doesn’t think about me at all anymore. I feel it in various subconscious, perhaps instinctive actions. I talk about him, tell him stories, I even tell something unflattering (as I did about Julek). When I am interested in a person, when I care about them, I don’t say anything about them. But what is most important and most horrible is that I don’t dare to address him with any warmer, more tender gesture. As if I felt that it was false in me, or more importantly, that it would not resonate with him.

The question remains what to do? I racked my brains over this with Kaz, and I rack my brains now. I've been with this man every day for two years and I don't even know what works for him, what to take from him. And I'm a psychologist?

Now we're in a situation like two tightrope walkers on one rope. The slightest awkward movement by one or the other brings disaster. I can't balance at all. I only have a little feeling for him and the desire for it not to waste away so miserably.

Is it kindness or anger?

Notes:

[1] Bronisław Huberman, a noted Polish Jewish violinist.

Monday, May 29 [1916]

Yesterday I was at F.'s after dinner. Actually, I talked myself into it. However, I had a vague feeling that Yermokukhova would come and call. In fact, someone called while it was going on. F. answered briefly, without mentioning his name (he had already answered this way once, when we were with the Marchlewskis[1]). Almost thoughtlessly, I asked who had called. He answered that it was Jerm. That she had asked how to send letters in Russian to Russia - she and her brother wanted to send letters to Russia. I told him that they were sent to the Red Cross, but he said that it was a pity that I sent her away like that, but tomorrow she would be at Steglit...

Of all this, the only truth was the pity... that he sent her away like that. It was doubtful that she would ask about the letters (now, after 2 years of war, she wants to write to Russia - it's a pity that I wasn't surprised yesterday), besides, he answered - jawohl, nein, jawohl. I was convinced that they would meet at Steglit… I was stupid not to go to the café to take a book instead of at 8:30. He came at 9:15. He came with a mild disposition, looking into my eyes – for peace of mind and knowing the futility of my grimaces at present – I put on a good face he maurais feis. He was affectionate and nice – in Weinstuhe he touched my knees, leaned towards my cheek while eating, brought me Kriegserinnerung etc. When leaving he kissed me several times and said: “mein…. das kindchen einige Tage ohne kusschen sein”[2] – I smiled bitterly in my mind, because I thought to myself: I have been without this for months – he walked me to the tram – and that was it. And I walk around with the indescribable impression that he went from Jermol. to this vilegiatura… Of course, I can check it perfectly well tomorrow in any way I can and I will also make the necessary effort, but if he really did it! It's generally pleasant to deal with a person you don't trust and suspect of dishonesty at every turn. I'm not even sure if she's not staying with him in the evening. And I don't trust him, because I know how skillfully he was able to deceive his people when it came to me.

Notes:

[1] Julian Marchlewski was part of the Spartacus League, but it seems he was imprisoned in Berlin at this time, so maybe his family?

[2] “my... the child will be without a kiss for a few days”

30.V.16 in the morning at 8:30 [May 30, 1916]

It's also interesting that yesterday he told me so casually that he would leave…. not even leave me…. ……. ……. and when I asked him in passing he answered vaguely at 9, another time he mentioned that he wasn't leaving until ten.

Poor me – I didn't sleep half the night because of this again.

Thursday, June 1 [1916]

I wanted to find out Je……’s address at the bank and send her a card, but I didn’t manage to get it. So I have no idea whether she is here or not. I telephoned him before leaving and had the impression as if he had just been talking with someone, and as if the person speaking wanted to say something to him again. In the card he wrote to me that my “telephone call” made him happy. I have an unpleasant feeling, which I must have received from his short conversation that expressed no joy at all.

I had a disgusting day on Tuesday – a little better on Wednesday, because I told myself that I had to be prepared for the worst – today, although I received 2 cards yesterday and one today, I feel the painful constriction of my heart again, as always with a premonition of something unpleasant.

I was at that party at the Chinese man’s yesterday evening. The Chinese engineer Hu was also there. I admired how much self-consistency and common sense there is in this man, I felt unwavering trust in him. His posture and forms are so absolutely correct and so beautiful that even in dance – in tango – he looked as if he was performing some kind of mystery. For example, I felt for the first time that I could simply fall in love with him and follow him anywhere without opposition, blindfolded. And besides, he is small and ugly. However, the power of the spirit is so great in him.

I want to have such power and I don't know how to gain it. What creates it? How does it ………?

I don't feel the ground beneath me and it probably makes a negative impression on others. There is nothing permanent and unshakable in me. My opinions and beliefs are of such a nature that I can always say or act differently at the first opportunity. There is no ………. content in myself, peace. And it seems to me that all this comes from a lack of work, satisfaction with it. I devote myself too little to my work.

- - - - - -

I have this feeling as if absolutely everything F has for me has burned out. When I think about our relationship, I have the impression that he feels it perfectly, but he doesn't want to break off our good relationship with me. What he said about his wife, that he didn't want to divorce her under any circumstances. What can I do to make this great feeling arise in him again?

Wednesday, June 8 [1916]

God, how my heart physically hurts today. As if I had contracted some kind of heart disease. And it's all because of F. Yesterday, his terror when I said that he had addressed the card incorrectly. Today, his explanations over the phone. I have the impression that ... she must have traveled with him. Yesterday, when I told him that the men here are to blame, that Polish women are leaving the city without permission, he didn't say anything to that. I don't know if he meant just me or someone else.

July 1 [1916]

I haven't written for maybe 4 weeks. During that time F. was abroad. He came back a week ago. Since then he has been the same old man from a year ago. Sensitive, cordial, and considerate. In a word, just as she wanted him to be (of course, only in one most important point not yet). I ask myself a question that sounds monstrous: is this an outburst of true feeling, or is it being done for some purpose. For what purpose? I don't know. Timeō Danaōs et dōna ferentēs[1].

Notes:

[1] “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.”

On the night[1] of July 3 [1916]

Maybe I'm wrong to suspect F. of this Jerm. - I don't know. Yesterday I was sure I'd find her there, I came unexpectedly, but I didn't. I was there last week and this week on Sunday. Will that change his intentions? I don't know. In any case, I dream of Chinkowski. And I'd really like to go to Switzerland for those two weeks. What if?

Dawid was here. He didn't even call, even though he was there for half a day. Later I went to F. and stupidly came back very late. In the meantime, he was emablaging[2] with my mother, because he called at 10:30 p.m. I have a great grudge against him for that reason.

When I think about Faj. about Hor., about War., who thought so warmly about me, and yet they even consider themselves happy, I can't get over how deceitful it is. Another love would lift them up... and the intensity and quality of happiness, they would be the kings of life, when they are beggars, living only on the waste that falls to them. For me now the most important issue is not to become a similar beggar. And this is coming, even with F.

Notes:

[1] Not sure what this means other than a sense that this was not her usual time to write in the diary.

[2] The Polish word is “emablować” which appears to mean something like surrounding a woman with special consideration.

July 6, Thursday [1916]

Yesterday I was with F. at Kempinski's. It was strange; we talked as if we had only known each other for a few days or weeks. He was absolutely interested, just like at the very beginning of our acquaintance. I was surprised, not by his current interest, but by the fact that there was a time, and a very recent one at that, when we couldn't talk about anything at all because we had nothing to talk about. Of course, there was a certain hesitation then, probably due to a feeling of guilt on his part (his interest in someone else), and on my part it might have been out of revenge (of course, one could twist things around and say that his current interest is a result of a guilty conscience – his feigning interest and trying to deceive me, which I, naively, fell for, but that's less likely).

However, when I consider the possibility of such a change for the better, something I simply no longer believed in, the situation with Kazik becomes doubly painful. Exactly three years ago was the peak of his feelings for me… The whole thing seems like such childishness, so easy to resolve back then. I can only admire my own stupidity and helplessness at the time. He was right after all. That haste and the pressure to get married. Such things can't be forced. Summoning him to me back then was fundamentally stupid, and the whole handling of the situation was even stupider. In general – my relationship with him is a string of mistakes. Not telling him about my previous feelings for him, the stupid departure from Warsaw, not seizing the opportunity to earn money with Skibniewski,[1] those foolish trips to Łódź. Oh, it's a logical consequence of all the misfortunes. And now I feel so sorry for him. Sorry for the wasted time… I could have had a delightful little son by now. And only one thing intrigues me: is he happy with his wife, or does he regret everything? And he should – to the point of grinding his teeth. That's how a person ruins their own life.

Notes:

[1] Not the first time this regret is expressed. See entry for June 7, 1915. Still don’t know why Skibniewski was.

July 14, 1916

I've been unwell for the past two days. I've been thinking a lot about my fate. I'm simply furious with myself about that whole business with Kazio. I behaved terribly towards him. So much, so much boundless stupidity!

I keep thinking only about my age, about my unsettled fate, and about all of us being so completely at the mercy of fate. I simply don't know what will become of all this. Black despair overwhelms me at the thought of how old I am! Have mercy on me, God! This whole F. situation is so terribly uncertain!

My worst and last mistake was not being in Warsaw during this past winter.

Sunday, July 31 [1916]

My longing for solitude is so great that I would give anything for it right now. I feel… such intense hatred for F., just like I once felt for H., and for the same reasons. I often wonder if F. isn't a hundred times more despicable than H. I don't think I could ever be truly happy with him.

Julek is getting a job at Samuel's.[1] Exactly 10 years after the Hohensalz affair. I'm back at the same point as I was with H., only the person has changed. I wonder what this analogous situation will bring after another 10 years. Maybe Madzia's wedding?

My life is so wasted…

Notes:

[1] Don’t know if this is the same Samuel mentioned with some tobacco sales in 1915 for her brother. Perhaps also Samuel Faust, per Aunt Fela correspondence.

Tuesday, August 8 [1916]

F. is certainly much more affectionate towards me since his arrival in Switzerland, but there's no doubt that he's not acting honestly or lovingly towards me. On Sunday, he returned from a several-day trip – I visited him – he was warm and kind. As usual, he brought me a gift – larger than a thimble. At the table, in the presence of Gylenburg, I joked that since it was the 13th gift, he should quickly give me a 14th to avoid the unlucky number thirteen. He immediately got up, went to the cupboard, and took out that beautiful cup from Lyon and gave it to me. (Strangely, I didn't feel a shred of joy). I was surprised by his generosity, but I thanked him warmly. Later, he showed me his purchases. When I wanted to leave, the cup had disappeared from the table – I asked about it, and he answered evasively – later he mumbled something about me possibly breaking it. However, I understood this Freudian slip and left as if nothing had happened. Of course, I decided not to accept the cup. On Monday he was busy – he couldn't see me (as he said), today he was obviously ashamed of not seeing me yesterday, especially since he didn't have time for me today either, so he said on the phone that he had been carrying the cup around all day yesterday. How incredibly tired I am of this neither-here-nor-there relationship.

I'm coming to the conclusion that there are many masochistic and sadistic tendencies in my soul. Especially the latter. Otherwise, for example, in the last scene with Kazik, I wouldn't have had that persistent thought – let him suffer as much as I suffer; there wouldn't be this constant desire for revenge in me. If F. hurts me, I want to hurt him just as much, if not more. This desire for reciprocal suffering is very clear. Is it just wounded pride?

Saturday, August 12 [1916]

Madzia wrote that she got engaged to Jonas. Mom was very moved. I, on the other hand, was reminiscing about the situation exactly 10 years ago: Julek is now doing business with Samuel, just like Dad did with him back then – and just as I was supposed to get engaged to Kazik back then, now Madzia is. Only back then those things didn't work out, but these will. I wish that Fela, Rózia, and Julek would finally follow in Madzia's footsteps. I would probably be the last one, as long as they are all happy.

Tuesday morning [August 15, 1916], 6:30 AM

My mother had a mild stroke because of the joyful news about Madzia. Joy paid for with misfortune.

Of course, this is a painful thing for me – more constraint and greater burdens again. But what can be done?

I am very worried about F.'s behavior. Yesterday, when he told me that J. should now take care of Madzia, I said how well he advises other people. Indeed, his attitude towards me is beyond all criticism: he doesn't care whether I feel well, and he tries to avoid having dinner together as often as possible, just to spend less money. He would gladly marry me if I were a cash cow for him, but he's ready to wither away from love and not marry me if it costs him anything. A nasty character. Yesterday I caught him in a lie. I was in the cafe – he wasn't there, so I went to buy cream for my mother. When I came out, I found him there – I asked him if he had been waiting long. He looked at his watch, "exactly 25 minutes," when I had only been gone for about 15 minutes. And that's probably how it is with everything; I don't believe a single word he says. If his wife wrote that he is greedy and capable of any dishonest act, then she is right. There's only one more thing: that he is also capable of noble deeds sometimes – and that's what still keeps me with him.

August 16 [1916]

For the past 2-3 days, F. has been cold as ice again. He shows no interest in me, doesn't even look at me. Nothing. My mother is ill – he hasn't asked if we have money, he hasn't shown any sympathy – nothing. This man is wearing me down. He's harsh – unkind.

Wednesday, August 23, 1916

F. has gone away for two weeks to Copenhagen and Stockholm. I'm very comfortable in his absence. At least I'm not stressed; I don't have the minor worries of phone calls and meetings. Lately he's been cold and indifferent towards me again – and I've been fawning over him. I would like to eliminate this behavior in myself with all my might; then he would be different towards me too. I would very much like him to find a great change for the better in me when he returns, so that he would be the one fawning over me. He's the type who grovels before the strong and powerful.

September 1 [1916]

What I've been through this week! I was simply mentally ill.

I was tired of my mother's illness – when F. left, I thought I would finally get some rest. Meanwhile, the first postcard arrived... blank – on Sunday morning. On Sunday evening, that Konenbahn woman was at my place and said that a man who doesn't marry a woman he's been dating for a long time is compromising her. This apparently made a big impression on me subconsciously. At night I woke up with an earache, and I felt very, very ill. I don't know what it was – some kind of tremors in my right arm and the right side of my body. Later – a headache, a head like lead. I thought I had a brain tumor. I went to Klemparer – he laughed at me, said I was a neurasthenic, and gave me arsenic to strengthen my nerves. My ear is still ringing, though, and that's a sign that I'm not well yet, although compared to Monday, when Olka was here, today is golden. I was convinced I had some kind of brain problem.

Of course, Fuchs's postcards contributed a lot to this.

I've never seen anything so pointless. Two out of five postcards were about steaks, three about catching Fela in the act.[1] That's all. The letter that arrived on Monday was... like pepper, written in a self-pitying tone – in two letters he repeats the sentence: "es fällt nur nicht Besseres ein” [“Nothing better comes to mind."] I get sick after such letters. Today, at night, I told myself that ultimately I have to accept that nothing will come of this and at least maintain peace of mind for work and my health. I was physically and morally devastated. One can't endure this state for long. Fela is a little rascal... Even though I told her not to praise him, she does it anyway. Well, he's probably basking in those compliments.

The German "Zeitschrift für angewandte Psychologie" published my "Lie" in German. Actually, a tiny, microscopic triumph.

Notes:

[1] ChatGPT notes: “Fela being caught / found out / nabbed”.

Wednesday, August [September[1] ] 6, 1916

I am simply dying of despair at the thought that I missed out on Kazio three years ago. He was mentioned in the newspaper the other day, that he belongs to some census committee. All the Warsaw celebrities and him. I missed out on him and Skibniewski… – in one fell swoop, a husband (happiness), a job, and fame, and I sit here, sit with my illnesses, worries, etc. I'm applying for a job for 150 marks a month. Brrr… I don't have enough words to express my indignation at myself.

F. doesn't write, I don't know what's wrong with him – I feel infinitely, infinitely bad when I remember all this.

Notes:

[1] She never changed her writing to September, but the 6th was Wendesday.

Saturday, August [September] 30 [1916]

So I survived the month of August.[1] I had a small psychosis simply from despair… this hopelessness of my relationship with F. I went to various professors for treatment – they only gave me arsenic… for my nerves. I went to Waren.[2] I went through two difficult weeks there too. But his letters arrived in abundance, and later he even came to visit me for two days. A kind and good man. Now I've gritted my teeth. The desire to write to him about everything has passed. I decided to be silent, silent and silent. I don't know what will come of all this, but pride must finally speak up.

Today, 10 years ago – it was also a Saturday – I was walking with Kazik and the children – the decisive conversation was supposed to take place the next day – in the evening, Father died. 10 whole years.[3] So many experiences and so little progress. Just like then, I stand before the "gate of the hymen," just like then, I begin to doubt everything, and yet I continue to spin these thin spider threads of illusions and hopes.

Strange things are happening with us. Exactly 10 years later, Julek made a deal with Samuel (just as Father once wanted) and it seems that this is the beginning of our future material happiness. Will I finally achieve what I couldn't achieve back then?

Notes:

[1] Apparently so, since it encompassed September also!

[2] A spa town.

[3] Her father died September 22, 1906.

October 1 [1916]

Yesterday, on the anniversary of painful memories, I read Kazik's letters – those incredibly tender ones at the beginning and those hastily written, just to get it over with, at the end. And I was overwhelmed by such boundless sorrow, not despair, but a kind of sorrow that gnaws and gnaws away at everything: my brain, my soul, my heart, my will to live. I also reread my diary from that time and realized how much I wanted to leave Łódź – that year Kierz... came to Warsaw, and that was when it was all over. And now I also want to leave Berlin. My relationship with F. has reached a standstill. We can go on like this for another whole year without any progress. He once mentioned that he likes it this way: working all day and then going to the city and chatting a little (plaudern). That's his ideal life. Today he called. I told him angrily that I had read the old letters today, that I wouldn't be going to the Simons', and then (oh, human nature!) he said he would come to the city. I told him I didn't want him to be bored.

October 31 [1916]

Madzia got married these days. I've come to hate Fuchs. And it didn't affect him at all. On Sunday, when I told him that things weren't so bad, he did say "abwarten, abwarten, abwarten” [“wait and see, wait and see, wait and see"] for the first time – but I don't know if that meant anything. Meanwhile, I feel terribly ill at heart, in my soul; I have enormous remorse for what I did to Kazio, and I feel sorry for Rózia and Fela – to the point of physical pain. In 10 days it will be the second anniversary of November 11th.[1] My November uprisings are not succeeding. Not even the fact that I was born in November.

Notes:

[1] I believe this references critical date in relationship with Fuchs.

Sunday, October [November] 5 [1916]

Sunday, October [November] 5

So, we have an independent kingdom.[1] I've lived through three phases: at first I was a hostile foreigner, then an occupied German, and now an ally... That's how everything comes full circle...

I spoke with Feldman yesterday... He told me about the reception at the chancellor's, about conditional recruitment, etc. How will all this end, and most importantly, when!

Notes:

[1] Kingdom of Poland was a short-lived puppet state of the German Empire that was proclaimed during World War I by it and Austria-Hungary on 5 November 1916 on the territories of formerly Russian-ruled Congress Poland held by the Central Powers as the Government General of Warsaw.

Tuesday, October [November] 7 [1916]

On Sunday, my door was constantly open – people came to talk, ask for advice, and inquire about things. Among the young people, there was only one concern – what would happen with the military.

What arguments! We reject no one's help, but we don't believe in anyone's help either (Maurycy Mochnacki).

Timer Dunaos...

Hypocrisy.

Feldman responds to the accusation regarding the creation of a Polish army: no birth is without blood. What significance will this have for us? Especially for me. I no longer depend on my homeland, but on ……………… Whoever I please, I unfortunately become a subject of that state...

Sometimes I am overcome with such immense anger towards him (F) that I don't know what will come of it... No, neither my kindness nor my anger helps – he always remains true to himself – indifferently pleasant, uninvolved... These days he said that he is wondering whether he should start everything anew... Just in time! If not some external event, then I don't know what will affect him. The end of the war is far away, and no one will fall in love with me here now. And I am terribly nervous: nervous because I have to kill half the day with some unpleasant work in the library, that the other half of the day I am tired and incapable of anything, and most importantly – that I have to see him in the evening. Not for a moment is there any compassion for me, any regret that I might neglect something because of this. A terrible egoist...

November 13 [1916]

November 10th was the second anniversary. I was already mentally preparing some light teasing remarks about how two years had already passed, when... he completely forgot about it. And when I let him know that I was upset with him about something, he didn't even suspect anything.

Or maybe he's doing it on purpose?

All day today I feel like crying, but not crying tears, but rather whimpering, howling. I don't feel like doing anything, reading, writing, working, going anywhere... Absolute apathy, all the worse because it's internal; outwardly I move around as usual. I really don't know what will become of me if this continues.

At Mianowski's they refused to print "The Lie" even though Stern – the most prominent German educator – had accepted it for printing... What a mess we have here!

November 14, Tuesday [1916]

Today I received a Nymphenburg[RS1] porcelain dog from F. On the back was the date November 10th, so he did remember. He said he couldn't get the dog earlier, that's why he didn't say anything – and because of that I had such... worries!

Notes:

[1] Handmade porcelain manufacturer.

November 19, Sunday [1916]

I've wanted to cry all day. I want to cry because F. is so wicked. Rózia wrote to me telling me to dump him and come to her. At the same time, I received a postcard from Minkowski. If only I had known he was single! I would definitely go to Zurich in the spring. But no, sit, sit, sit and waste your young years! Such a disgusting miser! He does it for the money. God, if only I could have the satisfaction of someone taking him away from me!

The same situations are repeating themselves as with Kazik, only now I'm silent, silent and clenching my teeth. I don't know anymore if it's my stupidity or my terrible bad luck. Since a similar situation is repeating itself, I must be to blame. If only back then, in Grunewald, when he broke the stick in anger, I had boldly stated my conditions, things would be different.

When I even remember his behavior towards me, I can't forgive myself for my stupidity. To allow so much, and in the name of what, why?

When will this torment end? I'm killing myself from morning till night – year after year – year after year. When will a change come? Sometimes it seems to me that I will die without ever seeing anything! Where has my life gone, where has it flown away? All my efforts and desires have been fruitless so far – everything has been in vain!

A disgusting, repulsive man.

November 23, 1916

Something very unpleasant has happened, and I don't know how it will turn out. I have a lump in my breast that needs to be surgically removed. Whether it's benign or malignant will be determined after the operation. In the meantime, I am suffering torments that only a woman can experience.

If it is indeed something serious, then the matter with Fuchs is settled. He can leave me as if nothing ever happened; I won't even be able to say a word to him now, he'll be perfectly fine! No one marries such a sick woman.

So, if I am ill, then this is the end of my life. What else can happen to me then? Vegetation. No hope for any joy in life – and this helplessness and these regrets that I haven't managed to accomplish anything in life – not even being able to make the man who loved me, and how much he loved me, my husband! Now he will be afraid that there might be something wrong with me; now I am lost!

I don't know what will become of me, what I will do with myself, but what a storm is raging inside me! The day before yesterday I didn't sleep a wink all night. To top it all off, I keep thinking I have some other illness. Before... I thought I had a brain tumor, I went to Professor Budmuer at Klemperer's – they laughed at me – but now that fear of infection and the torments I went through have returned. I'm piling all sorts of illnesses on myself because something has indeed happened to me. Sometimes I think that subconsciously I must have already had an idea about this illness and I was constantly afraid of some other one, of course not hitting on the right one, but using the slightest nervous pain as a symptom. Now my lower back hurts, and I'm worried that I might have something wrong there (Goldangug gave me this idea – she has a tumor in her lower back, but apparently she's had it for a long time) – and I'm suffering and enduring inhuman torment.

Sometimes I find solace in the memory of Zosia Kinman, who had so many surgeries, but alas, one cannot find happiness in another's misfortune. I don't know what will happen if it really is... No, I simply can't believe it – I'm despairing, but I can't believe it. What a terrible night I went through the day before yesterday – it seems I atoned for all my sins.

Sunday, December 3 [1916]

I am still suffering terribly, although the gland seems to have disappeared and it seems surgery won't be necessary. Everything goes numb at the mere thought of it... how much I have suffered. I have been ill since November 25th: a severe case of influenza. The situation with my breast is still undecided, but I'm afraid to even think that it might be alright, so as not to have even worse illusions. God, what terrible thoughts are going through my mind. How differently one sees the whole world when it's through the prism of one's own illness. I can't even think about it calmly. All values have somehow shifted...

And I am so desperate about Rózia... What that poor thing must be suffering there... the same torments, the same suffering. God, how it gnaws at me... gnaws... I will write to her tomorrow to come here immediately. I am tormented by the thought of her being alone there as much as by my own misfortune. I know how much everything hurts and I know how terrible it is to be alone!

All this is based on old-maidish hysteria. A terrible tragedy... But what can be done about it? Now it's too late – to suffer until the end. I have never before seen old age – helplessness and poverty – so close before me. Have mercy on me, God! To suffer so much, and for what? I am a bundle of miserable nerves!

I simply don't know what to cling to... Studies? Work? Everything has become indifferent to me. My husband? I thought today about writing to Staszek Drobner... Let whatever happens, happen, better him than no one...

December 9, Saturday [1916]

Fuchs sold four paintings for 47,000 marks. He told me this yesterday. He didn't say he would buy me anything, nor did he say he would give me anything, etc. I don't know, but if either of us had earned that money through hard work, we would have given everything to our siblings down to the last penny. And he did nothing. That's proof of his unkindness.

Ginsberg got engaged, the wedding is soon. This supposed enemy of women and marriage. At first, he was very interested in me while Mayznerowa was around, but then Fuchs's letter to the Poles and my solidarity with that fact caused him to distance himself from me. I could say that I sacrificed this man for Fuchs. And it's a pity – even if there was still something between me and F. (which I increasingly doubt, as I have become completely indifferent to him spiritually, and it seems he feels the same towards me), even then, a relationship with Ginsberg would have been a greater personal happiness for me than with F. I had a feeling that it could have been something for me, and at the same time, I completely missed the opportunity. I'm already tired of life! So many failures, constantly and continuously. But I would accept everything with humility if it weren't for this uncertainty about my breast. This thought is simply consuming me.

Sunday, December 10 [1916]

Yesterday, I was back in town with F. for the first time in a long time. We were at Kleingold's for dinner. I told him about Ginsberg, that he was engaged, etc. He sort of replied parenthetically, "Ich bin nicht für heiraten" [“I am not in favor of marriage”] – I pretended not to hear.

Our relationship is on a very slippery slope. I need to think carefully about how to deal with him, but I, as I only discovered yesterday in a game, am capable of anything, except planning the means in advance, etc. An innate and still uncorrected error!

Wednesday, December 13 [1916]

I read yesterday that Antonina Hoffmann – that famous Krakow actress – had died of cancer.[1] The news was terrifying. I was numb. Although she died at the age of 53, I think – and I'm 20 years shy of that – but I've always been… devastated, and I still am. Tomorrow I'm going to some sort of sanatorium to finally calm down or decide on something… I'm so envious of all the people who are healthy; it often seems impossible for me to still be able to dress up, enjoy life, be беззаботной ["carefree"]. Just as I kept thinking before I finished what would happen to me if I didn't get married, now I'm wondering what will happen to me in old age. I'm not completely protected – what if another illness were to come! The only thing on my mind right now is illness and infirmity... God, what that Tramer must have endured! Just thinking about it all makes me sick.

If I'd known my health was in no danger, I might have managed things somehow to get F. to make a decision. If, for example, there had been something positive about last year, I wouldn't be going through such torment as I am now.

Notes:

[1] She died June 16, 1897, at age 55.

Friday, December 22, 1916

Last Thursday – December 14 – I went to see Professor Hildebrandt. He said it wasn't serious, but he ordered surgery… He was kind, so I made up my mind right away. I had the surgery on Saturday. Ugh… It lasted only half an hour, but those feelings! Horrible. The pain that first night was intense; I had no idea it was possible to suffer like that, but that wasn't the worst I'd ever experienced. How many people were in various torments in the world at that moment. Today was the removal of the stitches… …and in moments – seriousness, certainty

as if something had already happened, fate – destined for life –

how many contacts I still have.

As I lay for three days in the clinic, I thought a great deal about myself — about that eternal theme of mine — my ineptitude for living. And I realized one more thing: that I have, in fact, almost always lived in a state of turmoil. Whenever I recall any period of my life, it is always marked by some worry, even when there was really no reason for tragedy at all. This bad mood of mine has already done me a lot of harm… Whether at the beginning of my stay in Krakow, or in Paris, or even more so the second time in Krakow, or in Zurich (what exactly I was sad about in Zurich is a mystery to me now), not to mention the trumpet in Łódź and in Warsaw with Kazi and after Kazi… I was at my happiest during the first year of the war, when F. was crazy about me, but for about a year now, I've been constantly in this bad mood again. How much less success I've had because of it, how many unpleasant situations, how many things haven't been handled well – this is evident from these consequences – I'm 33 years old and I've done nothing, accomplished nothing – I'm neither financially nor emotionally secure – in short, a bubble in the water – a leaf on a tree that an evil wind can knock off.

Of course, I'm making a resolution again – to be in a good mood and to work… But what do they mean? And what will they mean? My incompetence is too ingrained, and it's unclear whether I'll be able to overcome everything. So much energy, where will I find it? It would be so good if I could work on myself!

[January 2, 1917]

1917!

What will it bring? Joy and happiness, or pain and disappointment? For now, I've had a successful operation, and as Hildebrandt said – I'm completely fine. I'm in a tremendously good mood right now – (and also have a great appetite) and I'm starting to seriously believe that mood is directly related to nutrition… Meanwhile, I'm happy that I'm in a good mood.

On New Year's Eve, when F. was walking me home, I asked him what his wishes were: "dass mich das liebe madel lieb haben soll" [“that the dear girl should love me”] - - - And the next day at the Ka...s', he was talking against marriage again.

Sunday, January 13, 1917

One thing is strange: my cheerfulness since the operation. I am constantly in good spirits and think more and more about how this good mood might be preserved forever. I have become convinced that many times in life I harmed myself simply by having what one calls ‘the blues.’ It greatly hinders one from enjoying life and getting anything out of it — not to mention how it drives people away. The best proof of what my mood means is Becker’s attentions at Dora’s evening gathering, and Hilferding’s attentions last Thursday. Only when I have this lightheartedness do I appeal to others. Even F. is now more chivalrous and affectionate toward me… From time to time he pays me compliments, saying that I astonish him.

I once told him to buy me a plate from G.St. Gryl,[1] and that he'd get the highest price for it: “a kiss," he replied, "there's no plate so beautiful that could compensate for it." When I told him on Thursday that I wasn't dressed appropriately for Kramler, he said Kramler should consider it an honor that I came to see him. Nah.

I was praising F. too much. He was here tonight, talking about his new apartment, talking about every piece of furniture he's going to buy, but there was no mention of me in any of it. Nothing.

Notes:

[1] Hard to decipher, but ChatGPT suggests “G. St. Zepter” and that that may be referring a plate from KPM-Berlin.

Thursday, January 18, 1917

F. is leaving for Austria for three weeks. I am glad he is going — there will be less agitation — because at a distance one never knows whom he might be keeping company with there. During that time I will at least be able to work properly.

31.I.17 [January 31, 1917]

31.1.17

It's terribly bad in the world. It's hungry and cold.[1] Wherever you go, there are complaints of hunger… In the evenings, soups are being cooked everywhere, the seamstress, the poor woman, can't sew because it's cold at home and there's no coal.

Sometimes I feel so ashamed that I can afford more than someone else, that someone else has a calculated ration of food, while I can, because I have money, buy something else. I'm in an era when I feel human injustice deeply. How many things are opening my eyes![2]

This war – it's terrible!

I've thought a lot about Fuchs this week, and a deep anger at him has taken hold of me. His whole attitude toward me is abominable. I had the satisfaction in my soul that I hadn't written to him all this time.

Today I telegraphed him. And I feel less anger toward him. It seems to me that when I work, earn money, then I'll hold on to him even tighter. I wish I could be as cold towards him as possible – well, when I never follow through on such resolutions and, unfortunately, he always triumphs over me. I wish it would stop already!

Notes:

[1] See discussion of the “Turnip Winter”, a period of deprivation beginning winter of 1916-17.

[2] Really have no understanding of what money is supporting her, leave alone the rest of the family.

Monday, February 5, 1917

A few hours ago, F. telegraphed that he had arrived. I simply felt very sorry, because I felt so good without him. As good as I've ever felt, in fact – peaceful, quiet, without emotion, without those constant grumblings and thoughts about him. It's absolutely necessary for me to maintain my composure and a certain lack of concern for him now, otherwise I won't be able to get back on track at all.

Tuesday, February 20 [1917]

Julek was here for three days – I had the satisfaction that the buy looks good, works little, earns well, and is happy… So that's one consolation.

But I haven't been happy with myself since he left. I feel like my best years are passing me by, and I'm wasting them – wasting them as a woman, wasting them as a scientist, and fear is taking over my future… And I don't see any way to improve either. I'm starting to feel a dull hatred for F.; when he's gone, I'm completely indifferent to him; I just don't think about him – but instead, the hatred for him grows wider and deeper. I wish nothing more than for someone to steal me away from him, for him to tear his hair out… This man has no intention of marrying me – he's not even thinking about shaping his future differently than it is now, and… I can't help it. I'm too stupid to do anything with him. In a moment when I completely give up on all this.

March 11 [1917] Sunday

Gradually, a hatred for people is building up within me, a dull hatred for everything around me – for F. I don't even like seeing him, because I know that seeing him is no longer of any use. Nothing new will happen – our relationship won't advance even a hair's breadth – nothing, nothing in my life will progress.

Such heavy despair seizes me at my incompetence – I picture better times, my greater wisdom… And yet, I'm like a prisoner – I don't even see the possibility of changing my fate for the better. Here in Berlin, I can live the same life for 100 years, and nothing will change.

Where can I escape?.

Saturday, March 17, 1917

Revolution in Russia.[1] A breath of spring, joy, and happiness. Ex oriente lux.[2] A new era of humanity is beginning, something that will finally allow people to live humanely. I feel younger, better, purer. And I send wishes for success, woven from my deepest desires and warmest feelings.

I listen to people here talking about this revolution, and I am surprised. The day before yesterday, as if there had been joy, it was thought that it would hasten the end of the war. Then – reflection, indecision – and now a downright hostile stance. I'm not talking about newspapers like Lokal-Auzeiger, which write "Ein schönes Programm," which criticizes the French Revolution in such a way that even the French Revolution didn't issue such a program – but people. Today, in the Puhor library, they reproached Adler for rejoicing in it and finding many positive things. After all, you're not Russian, you're Polish. And they don't realize that, because you don't have to be Russian to feel the magnitude of what's happening now.

Notes:

[1] Although the Russian Revolution began with the so-called “February Revolution,” the Tsar abdicated on March 15. Interesting that only this triggers her commenting on those events.

[2] “Out of the East, light.”

March 28, 1917

A note that completely unsettled me for the entire afternoon… He'll do absolutely brilliantly. What am I supposed to do now, in the same situation as back then? Yesterday, Simon was with us and kept complimenting me. Today, F. was in front of the library. He was affectionate, wanted to buy me a bottle, bought me flowers, apologized for not walking me to the tram yesterday, and… told me he was leaving for Switzerland with Gelrung…

I'm sort of indifferent, or rather frozen – sometimes I feel like these good relationships are like the pre-breakup of two people who don't want to part badly. And I don't know what to do to finally force him to make some heartfelt confession, after all, he loves me more than he perhaps realizes.

When I sometimes think about how wonderful things were for me back then: Skibniewski (money and academic pursuits) and how beneficial it would have been to our happiness (he wanted to find me a job, after all), I'm overcome with a bottomless, terrifying despair. How much longer will I live in constant despair?

А задве проходяшь, все лучше годы. [“And in just two [years], you let the very best years pass by.”]

[Newspaper clipping from a Polish paper was inserted in diary here:

10th Economic-Social Section. At the seat of the Legal Society, Kredytowa (Erywańska) 3, on 31 March of this year at 8 p.m., a meeting of the Economic-Social Section will be held, at which Dr. Kazimierz Horowicz[1] will present papers:

1. The organization of state statistics in an independent Poland.

2. The organization of an insurance office in an independent Poland.]

Notes:

[1] This is first time I have seen full name of Kazimierz Jozef Horowicz. I have found a little more about him, including his grave in Warsaw (showing he died in 1920, at age 34), and a photograph. Fom one publiciation: "Polish statistician. After studying at the Russian University in Warsaw, obtained a doctorate in Göttingen. Took up actuarial mathematics on returning to Warsaw." Also, see some WWI documents here.

Monday, April 2, 1917

Today is actually the first half-autumn day. Lots of sunshine and a bit of warmth. I was very nervous and couldn't do anything in the library. My activity seemed strangely empty, mindless. Why am I wasting my time and talents like this? What good is anyone getting out of sitting there? Today, when F. wasn't in front of the library, I was overcome with fury. I was so angry that I simply couldn't respond to anyone calmly (poor Mom!). My sitting here seems just as mindless as it was in Krakow (2nd and 5th semesters) and in Łódź... So, the recommendation is – you should leave!

Friday, April 6, 1917

F. left for Switzerland today. He's a bad man. When he asked what he should bring me, I told him passionately – "temperament."

I long for revenge, I want to go to Warsaw. But the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that I should actually go to brush up on various purely scientific and publishing matters – and… who knows? Who knows? Apply for an associate professorship in Warsaw! Maybe, maybe! This plan must be carried out. I'm leaving at the beginning of May!

But will an associate professorship bring happiness? Certainly not. And it won't even offer the possibility of happiness. Because ultimately, it's neither the content nor the form of happiness. I won't be satisfied with the life of a scholarly woman, and this new splendor won't give me a new opportunity to deal skillfully with men. It's a life of incompetence for which there seems to be no remedy. Almost three years of "dating" a man and nothing! For this supreme stupidity, I deserve this miserable fate! And I have no way to deal with this man.

Tuesday, April 17, 1917

F. has been away in Switzerland for almost 12 days, and during that time I've had two short, not even cordial cards. I was very reluctant to let him go this time. Of course, he'll be with Radkowa, and this time longer than usual, because she'll surely follow him everywhere. I'm already plotting all the possibilities for this meeting. I actually have a feeling that something will radically change in our relationship: for better or worse, I don't know. I'd like to finally know what to do.

Today Wiarm. [?] telephoned, as a result of my letter regarding the book. A vulgar question: ‘I believed that they were writing to me, because it is spring…’ Notabene, F. never says anything like that.

One single black despair – that I'm so incredibly old. Life is slipping away, and I'm still in the same place. Four years will have passed since the whole thing with Kazia began. And yet I love him.

April 29, 1917

Eight cards arrived today from Fuchs – it's clear he remembers me after all. He mentions Radkowa, saying he was told she'd gone off to follow her husband for a few weeks.

But these last few days I've become terribly stubborn – I don't even want to get married – I'm terribly nervous, I have severe headaches, and unless I take bromide, I can't sleep. It has to be over. Better to settle this now than later. And I just don't know how to bring this thing to a successful conclusion – one way or the other, after all, it all has to be over. I honestly can't morally bear it all anymore.

Wednesday, May 23, 1917

On Sunday evening, when I arrived at the Kahns' house (maybe 10 minutes later), Mom called me from the street, and when I reached the window, she said, "David's here." I went downstairs without a second thought. He greeted me with a kiss on the hand, and when Mom asked him how he found me, he said, "Elend..." We walked around for a while—the conversation was frantic, with questions about my family—he only asked if he could have my book from me, because he was interested in it. To which I angrily replied, "As the author, I have to give it to you." He promised to come the next day.

He came on Monday, stayed for tea, and then we went for a walk in the Tiergarten. We talked. Later, he said how sad it was ending because he had to go to Trudy's that evening. I scoffed at his compulsion, this submission to her wishes. So he said he'd be with me that evening. We actually met again at 10:00 and stayed at Lausch's until 12:00. On Tuesday, he came to the library. We had dinner, then at his hotel.

And it was a surprise for him that, in the hotel, where we were alone, I wouldn't even let him get close. And this seems to be the turning point in our entire relationship.

D. forgot that he loved me like no one else, and you could tell by his behavior. We talked about the possibility of me becoming his wife – and I told him with satisfaction about Aunt Hania, how she had praised him to me then. And one thing is characteristically a triumph for me: that at the beginning of our hotel conversation, he thought of me as before – as a pleasure to be enjoyed whenever possible, and then his wish took a different form: that I could spend four weeks with you! Later, he considered the matter of his return to Berlin and said he would definitely do so during the summer. He also asked for permission to write. At the farewell, in Mother’s presence, he was deeply moved; it was clear that it had touched his heart.

And now the question: what will come of this? If Klara weren't there, one could certainly hope for some kind of fulfillment of this relationship, but given her existence, divorce seems out of the question. She won't let him go, and he won't leave her. To think that by agreeing to his "four weeks" I would bind him so strongly to me that I would do it afterward would be quite risky, because "who knows the souls of men in the vast lands," perhaps he would then be fed up with me. So I'm just waiting for a miracle. What will life bring next? I've been dreaming this evening too: he's mine, we live in Berlin. Fuchs is my dear friend, as he always has been. And all three of us are doing wonderfully well.

F. is naturally jealous. He must feel that I'm very well disposed towards D.. So he's sweet to me. When I was thinking about choosing between them, I came to the conclusion that D. would give me a lot for an intimate, loving life, and F. would give me a lot for a career. I vote for the first one.

Friday, May 25 [1917]

For two days after D.'s departure, I was very calm, internally overjoyed. There was a sort of joyful silence within me (I remember it was the same within me in Königsberg). Yesterday I was with F., and the joy was dimmed again. F. is jealous, but he didn't show any jealousy – he's too smart. I was fine with him – but with D., it's far, far better – more intimate, more tender. With F., it wasn't like that for a single moment. His violence and harshness, even in moments of affection, take forms that offend me. Only today, a few days have passed – and everything has shifted so much. It seems to me as if he never left, or was a long time ago, and I can't imagine him coming back, for joy and pleasant days to return.

I'm waiting for a letter. Will he write at all?

Saturday, May 26, 1917

No letter from him arrived, and I think he's already forgotten me, that he's given up on it all.

And yet, as I think about it, I like him more and more as a man!

Sunday, June 3 [1917]

I've calmed down a bit. I simply told myself that if this continues, I'll ruin myself physically and morally, and that the situation, though desperate, isn't the worst. I have to work and become something. If I had worked more in my life and accomplished what I envisioned, I would be world-famous. But maybe it's not too late. I have to get my act together, use the time well, and the rest will take care of itself.

I haven't heard from D. Out of spite, I sent my article to Guti... It's a shame nothing can come of it. F., on the other hand, is fawning over me like never before, but oh well, when nothing progresses at all.

Sunday, May [June 10] [1917]

I don't think I've ever been what I am. A strange apathy, or a dead calm. This applies especially to Fuchs. It was David who caused it, and of course, he hasn't given any sign of life, but maybe it's easier for me to live with this feeling now, like this constant struggle.

I keep thinking now about whether I will ever have a child in my life.

Tuesday, June 10 [12?] [1917]

I can't believe it's been a month since my last note. Nothing has changed, nothing has progressed. Fela has gotten the job,[1] but she's not very happy with it. Some Weinberg has gotten involved there, tormenting her with his boss's crazy orders. Besides, she has a ton of work to do. My siblings are taking a toll on my health right now.

And my heart still aches with F., too. He lent us 30,000 marks.[2] I'm in a bind now; it already feels like I can't act the way I want, because I'm, after all, sold out. This political meltdown, with its upheavals, is increasingly making it impossible to enter into any kind of relationship. And I'm too proud to talk to him about it now or in the future, but my heart aches. It's probably my own fault, though. I didn't strike while the iron was hot, and even now I'm not acting as I should. I can't think about the future, I can't consider any action. The life I lead has its consequences.

I think about Kaziu for hours. I think about how I let him go like a total bastard. No one has ever treated women like that. Simply like a brainless idiot. He's climbing higher and higher, and me? Oh God! I'm at a dead end with Fuchs – no movement in any direction, and the external conditions are such that for now there's no hope for any change.

Notes:

[1] No prior reference to what this might have been.

[2] This seems extraordinary! And so soon after she wrote about how she wasn’t subject to the economic woes of the war.

Tuesday, Salzubrunn, July 31 [1917]

I've been here for over two weeks.[1] I'm treating my bronchitis, basically resting. The food is excellent considering our current circumstances – because Mom gives me her share of milk – I drink four glasses a day. It's simply fabulous, considering the times. I've rarely lived so peacefully, so far from it, as I do now – last year in Warren, I wasted so much on F., now I barely think about him.

However, as always, the despairing thought lingers within me that I'm wasting my time so much, that I'm not doing anything, creating anything, that I'm not enjoying life. When I see my children, tears flood my heart. And I don't see any way out – it's war – I'm trapped in these living conditions, and F. is like stone. He doesn't think of me as a wife at all – he thinks that by lending us 30,000 marks, he's paying off his obligations to me. He's aging rapidly (and I don't have the slightest feeling for him today; on the contrary, it seems he'll soon be physically repulsive to me). It's strange how I constantly think about Kaziu – I'm convinced that my behavior towards him was beneath criticism and had to lead to such an end. If he were free, I would move heaven and earth to have him mine. But if he were, he would be more decent than F. and like Dawid!

I want to go to Warsaw, then to Switzerland for two weeks. Will anything come of it, will I even advance a step further in my pursuit of a happy future? I don't know. But I'm truly worth other days and nights – why should a woman die within me?

F.'s baseness is so great that I despise myself for continuing this relationship with him. This is the most vile exploitation on his part, this relationship with me. If there's any justice in the world, someone should take me away from under his nose. But what is justice? Things are bad now. It's a shame it ended this way with David!

Notes:

[1] The span town of Bad Salzbrunn, now Szczawno-Zdrój in Poland.

Thursday, Salzubrunn, August 9 [1917]

Yesterday I read the news that Fajans had been accepted as an assistant professor in Munich. Of course, I was impressed by this news. Half a sleepless night and all day today. How wonderful it would be if I were his wife and could also complete my habilitation in Munich. With Bükler, of course, who, as Külpe's successor and an acquaintance from Bonn, would allow it. But oh well, there's one single and most important obstacle – his wife. I wish for her, even Kronfrinz, to fall in love with her, as long as she abandons him. I can't imagine him simply abandoning his wife – abandoning her for me, so incapable of such a thing. And Fajans should have experienced some emotional catastrophe for his convenience at the time.

My heart sinks when I remember that it's been seven years since then. What a terrible failure I've been.

We're leaving Salzbrunn now. These four weeks have passed like a dream. I've recovered, ……………. and I really don't want to go back to Berlin. I feel like there's nothing waiting for me there – it's always this automatic work in the library, arguments with Mom after dinner, and eternal, hopeless boredom with Fuchs in the evenings.

Today I was reflecting on that first year of knowing him. I have the impression that what I accepted as conditions from Heaseler back then, when he asked me if he would be a good husband for me, was already silence – a retreat. It was the same reserve as Kazia's saying – tomorrow we'll make a marriage pact, and tomorrow didn't bring it. No, that man didn't even consider committing himself for a moment. Maybe he'd be more inclined to think about marrying me now than he did then. He's gotten a little used to me. I don't know what it's like for him in Sweden now, but he should have missed me dearly. I doubt winter will bring any change.

Sepetember 5, 1917

I've been back in Berlin for three weeks. F. is still in Stockholm and doesn't seem to be coming anytime soon. He has neuralgia in his left arm—Freud would have taken comfort in this neuralgia—it's an obstacle to his arrival, something he's resisting. And it's neuralgia in his left hand, so he can walk freely despite his former sciatica (which is now out of the question) and can use his right hand. The portrait is unfinished by Mrs. Weissberger[1] —she has developed rheumatoid arthritis in her right hand and can't do anything—so she wants to keep it because of this impossibility of finishing the painting.

Strange — I have not seen him for eight weeks now — I do not miss him, nor do I feel any longing for him; I am content that he is not here. I have already drafted my request for a trip to Switzerland[2] — I feel that I must have some change, and that I must secure it for myself.

I read the newspapers, and a sharp pain grips me, so sharp that I have to glance at the articles, because I simply can't bear it. I understand the people whose hearts are breaking with pain. All newspapers are full of lies, monstrous, vile lies.

Today I read Gorky's newspaper, "Novaja Zhizn."[3] What is happening in this poor country! How many vain efforts – how many misfortunes – how many tragic paradoxes. Such an immense sadness has overcome me.

Notes:

[1] Don’t see any prior reference to a portrait being painted, nor of whom.

[2] Don’t know to whom she would need to make such a request.

[3] Short-lived Menshevik newspaper “New Life”. Rare comment on Russian developments.

September, 9, 1917

Last Tuesday (the 4th), Uncle Max died. One of the few family members I really, really liked. He left behind Felka, as lonely as a stake, for whom I would naturally have to take on some responsibilities.

Incidentally, I was terribly anxious about something on Thursday and Friday. I told myself I needed to write down the date to compare it to see if it had anything to do with any personal experience. The news arrived on Friday, when I was particularly upset that poor Uncle Max had died.

Today I'm thinking a lot about F. He hasn't written all week, I don't know what's wrong with him – is he cheating on me? It seems so.

Tuesday, March 26, 1918

I was at F.'s on Sunday. The Vogts were there. I was convinced once again that even in such a well-matched marriage - a medical professor, she a medical doctor and they got married out of deep love - there is no absolute commonality in terms of ancestry, but deep down he is German, she French.

David is coming for 8 days with Klara... I wonder how he will behave.

F. was very nice on Sunday and since that day I have had a better feeling for him - I was convinced once again how feelings change - on Saturday I would have torn him apart, on Sunday I returned from him with a good, cheerful feeling ready to forget everything - but what good does it do that again neither yesterday evening nor today all day long he did not find a moment to call.

The last mistake I made and which simply cannot be corrected is that day of November 11. When he celebrated his anniversary so warmly. He should have been pinned to the wall then.

Yes, there is no cure for stupidity. I feel strangely old… like I'm an old, crumpled granny...

1:30 a.m. [March 27, 1918]

I was at this Vecsey[1] concert. I came absolutely enchanted. That is, to play – there was no end to the ovations – he played for an encore from 10:30 to 11:15.

When I looked at him like that, I had before me the type of man absolutely blessed with the graces of fortune: a talent for acting – one of the most beautiful in the world, young, handsome, rich, healthy. When he stood there on the pass surrounded by a clapping crowd, women smiling at him and ready to give him their all, as he smiled and waved a white handkerchief joyfully in farewell, he seemed to me to be the god of happiness. The red carnation in his buttonhole was the purple not of blood, but of the ………….. fiery kiss that the eyes of the delighted listeners threw at him from all sides. He laughed with happiness, with this adoration surrounding him.

I felt so poor, small, without talent, without happiness, without anything. During the concert I kept thinking about my old age, which looks like this ………….. I'm afraid that it will come true just as my ……….. after graduating from university came true about not getting married.

Simply all hope is in this M.

Notes:

[1] Franz von Vecsey, a Hungarian violinist.

March 27 Thursday [1918]

I was dreaming so beautifully about how I would spend this 1st Easter evening. Meanwhile, F. was as bad as a dog and spoke to me vulgarly twice - once he said "ihr (me and Fela) seid vom sozialismus ungerauchelt"[1] .

F. also spoke on the phone today in such a way as to get rid of me. He lies to me in the ugliest way. In order to justify his leaving the house ... he says in the morning, warning in advance, that he is going to the post office to have some fun.

D. arrived, but of course he did not let me know that he was there. Knowing his character, I should have assumed that he would come to us the day before he left.

These are my 3 German Flamms[2] . Apparently they are all dying.

Notes:

[1] Seems something like you and Fela are “smaoked’ {intoxicated?) by socialism.

[2] “Flames” – not sure who “3” are—Fuchs, David, and (Kazio)?

Friday, March 29 [1918]

David was there. As always "in love". Three-quarters of this love should be attributed to these printed cards of mine. Today I had the impression of Kazio. The same type. Kazio probably "suffers" just as much as he does. Swindlers.

Strange, F. hardly calls me these days.

Saturday, March 30 [1918)

Yesterday I was at ……… evening for this family feast. Dav. was sitting diagonally from me, and I was next to Klara. He listens to her with gestures. He is like a dog being led on a leash. How he trembles before her!

When I was looking at David yesterday, I thought to myself how shallow this man is, how little he would give me in marriage and that… every man has the wife he deserves.

I am coming to the conclusion that there are probably no men who deserve me.

6 pop.

I don't know why my heart is bursting. It has been a long time since it has been so painful. Whatever I do and do, I do it with such a heavy feeling as if I was lifting hundredweight. Brrr… such emptiness and loneliness. I feel Rózia and Fela from a distance and my heart aches.

Sunday, March 31 [1918]

I spoke to David by phone. He said he had been sleeping since last year. I said I would wake him up, "Wenn es der Mühe wert ware!"[1] Characteristically, he said "I must be very nice to you, my Lady!" (Is there no way I can do that!). He promised to come within a month. He is absolutely pulling my leg. A coward and a scoundrel. Today I am making fun of the whole thing.

It's strange that every time David is here, I have a "neue bertrage" for this "wife" drama.

I wonder if I will ever put him on?

Notes:

[1] “If it were worth the effort.”

Monday, April 1st [1918]

D. is leaving tomorrow morning. He was supposed to call at 11:00 today to see if he could see us again, but he didn't, and I can't forgive him for that. He didn't even say goodbye to me. Yesterday he said he'd be here within a month, so I decided not to even accept him. I'm drawing a big line over him.

Tuesday, April 2, 1918

Yesterday, D. was with his wife and Truda at his uncle's, met my mother and told me to bow. In view of this, I decided not to see him at all when the time came and to treat him like a dog. From now on, he ceased to exist for me. I only got to know him through and through now. And I told him well: the game is not worth the candle.

However, one thing is interesting to me: Dawid makes a very nice impression and lets himself be liked, the same impression was made on me by Kazio, M. Adler - as for all of them, I have become convinced that they are bad, evil people at bottom and that they are basically stingy. So why this nice appearance? Do they want to gain people for themselves with this sympathy, in addition to their stinginess, who would pay them? Whether this nice appearance is dependent on other qualities they possess, I do not know. And yet the fact is that both Dawid and Kazio are generally very attractive to me and that they are notorious scoundrels. I am faced with a riddle.

F. was at my place on Sunday evening, because he went with me to Dora's. He brought me a bouquet of lilies of the valley (for him that is already a lot – flowers!) two bottles, a book and a wonderful Chinese woodcut. I asked him jokingly if he loved me, he replied as if reproachfully, how could I ask him that, and yet, despite the fact that I asked a second time, he did not answer openly. It seems that he has given me so much, because he must have done something wrong. Today he excused himself from going for a walk, although he promised – he did not call and is probably wandering somewhere. It would be best for me if some man, completely unknown, appeared now, so that we would fall madly in love and he would carry me far away from here – beyond all the mountains and forests. And from there, so that I could spit on everything. Dream…

Rubinsztein said yesterday that Radek[1] and Radkowa were thrown out of the ministry, even when she came to take something else that Radek had left, Petrar ordered her thrown out through the valet. I have the satisfaction that Eilenburg heard it, he will probably tell Fuchs literally.

Notes:

[1] Maybe (can’t reconcile with the various names here) Karl Radek, who was a Russian revolutionary and active in Berlin before WWI, and was around this time Vice-Commissar for Foreign Affairs in Russia.

April 4 [1918]

I sent my Freud to the publisher today. I don't know if he'll accept it. If he does, there'll be some glory in it.

April 11, 1918

A few days ago I read in the newspaper that Faj.[1] would be giving a lecture at Urauji[2]. I arranged with Cieklenstemowa and we both went. When I arrived, he was already there, we greeted each other, he said I hadn’t changed a bit, he would have recognized me right away. We went out for a walk around Siegesallee and talked. First of all, his second son was born 3 weeks ago. This news was very unpleasant for me. But apart from that, he didn’t tell me anything about his wife, except “I really wanted to be in Munich, and so did my wife.” We talked a little about politics, about the war, he doesn't like Germans very much and I thought with more admiration than bitterness how two such feelings can be used in a human soul: on his part causing someone pain with refined meanness and a tender farewell, which was absolutely sincere, and I, also tenderly saying goodbye, which on my part was completely and completely sincere, had in my soul a plan of revenge, which I intend to carry out tomorrow. Yesterday M[4]. proposed something to me that could be a scientific happiness for me. It came unexpectedly, but it could work out and be something.

Notes:

[1] From clipping enclosed in diary: This is Kazimierz Fajans, a noted chemist born in Warsaw. From Wikipedia biolgraphy, I gather they knew each other from Zurich.

[2] Probably “Urania,” a society with the aim of making scientific findings accessible to a lay audience.

[3] A famous Berlin café.

[4] Moritz Tramer?

Thursday 25.4.[19]18.

It is characteristic that this Mour[1] has not called me so far.

I was at the Russian embassy today on the subject of some fugitive. They are staying at the Elite Hotel, room no. 220. Various figures flashed along the corridor – all of them generally well dressed. In the room in question, this Geschäftsführer, a Jew, elegantly dressed, black as a devil with a gold tooth, settled this matter for me very well and very coulantly. During the conversation I asked him about Joffe. „Вы мне скажете обь товарищь Joффе?”[2] he asked the man standing next to him. Although I was an opponent of the Bolsheviks[3], I had a very positive impression - you can see that these people are trying to handle the matter well (this effort is visible in the first place), that they understand the importance of their role and handle it with seriousness. All this is complete. It is interesting that they are establishing relations with Mensheviks here - their acquaintances. Apparently, the Berlin ground - as neutral - mitigates many things.

Notes:

[1] Moritz Tramer?

[2] “You tell me about comrade Joffe.”

[3] So, Franka side with the Mensheviks in her politics with respect to Russia.

Saturday 27.4.[19]18

I spoke to Mour today, as I see he has no desire to see me. Promises – goodies.

F. has not written a word so far. Yesterday I was at Dora's, who started a conversation about F., I told her a little, but can I tell her everything? Too humiliating. But Dora said one thing, which shows that everyone else sees the world differently than I do: she said what he thinks

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