This evening the bomb dropped. In big, bold
letters it stood in the papers: director mahler
engaged. He was very put out. For fear of the
personnel at the opera.
Frau Hellmann sent me a wonderful ostrich-feather fan. Gretl, who called yesterday, is half
crazed. Letters, telegrams, flowers, and the papers. Everywhere my beauty, my youth, and my
musical talent are stressed. According to the
Fremdenblatt, I am brilliant. Lord—and whatever else! pm Ilse and Erica.
In the evening with Gustav. Drank a toast
of brotherhood with Arnold Rosé—but otherwise mostly alone with G. in his room. We
stood a long time in the dark corridor and were
happy. That is my only wish, to make him happy.
He deserves it!
am Wärndorfers and Loews, etc.
This evening: at the opera. For the first time
in the director’s box—Mama, Justi, and I.
Then to Hartmann. Gustav and I walked
alone for a while. We resolved to get married in
mid-February. Let’s hope it works out.
My appearance in the box was a veritable
debut. Every opera glass was focused on me—
every single one. I felt offended and withdrew.
Mildenburg came down to meet me—awfully
And he was sitting down there—so far, so
far away from me!
pm rendezvous with G. We failed to meet, and
he got so angry that I had difficulty in calming
Today we all but joined in wedlock. He let
me feel his masculinity—his vigor—and it was
a pure, holy sensation, such as I would never
have expected. He must be suffering dreadfully.
Garden Party with Turkish Courtiers Under a Tent, by Jean Baptiste Vanmour, c. 1720– 37.