Kate's Diary

A story by Bookwormgirl32…'s mom


Perhaps you think it very odd that I should keep a diary, but as I feel that you are the only thing that will understand me, or, in the very least, listen and say nothing, I must turn to you as my last resort.

For some years, my hurt feelings have simply built up and boiled inside of me, but now, I see, I must let some of that steam finally escape!

When I was very little my father loved me and treated me very, very well. I was his pet. He would buy me fine clothes, a carriage, furs, books, ointments, oils, and instruments! I had a succession of governesses and nurses to teach me the classics and the arts at a very early age. My mother, too, loved me and taught me.

When I was four years old, my younger sister Bianca was born, and then Papa dropped me like a hot branding iron. When Bianca was born, she was very small, sickly, and weak. She was certainly the ugliest baby I had ever laid eyes on. But as she grew she became very beautiful, fair of skin and with deep blue eyes and golden hair. My tangle of brown hair and green eyes paled in comparison next to her.

Throughout all this, Mama remained faithful. She knew Bianca's beauty was only as deep as her fair skin and would have little to do with her. When Bianca was scarcely ten, the young men began to hang around our house. I was fourteen, and never had a boy come around to see me. Bianca's suitors were rude and poked fun at me, calling me a "stale maid". Mama thought I was beautiful and their comments did not bother me much. But then she died of a fever, when I was fifteen, and I had none to comfort me. Bianca was spoiled, being the baby and the daughter who most resembled my father in the bargain. Papa thought that Bianca was the prettiest and, the worst, Bianca knows it.

Papa thinks Bianca is sweet. Sweet, my eye! She calls me an old crow for not having any suitors and she dared to make a fool of me. Prank after prank she played on me with her suitors in cahoots, and time after time Papa would come from the house to find me sitting in the fountain or something absurd, a mess, with Bianca crying and saying that I had wronged her. And Papa thinks she is sweet. Well, if she is sweet, vinegar and gall make my mouth water!

To mask years of hurt feelings, I began to sass back at Papa. He insults me in public, putting Bianca on a pedestal for all to admire. Bianca, the model of a perfect lady! Bianca, praised since childhood for her lovely dresses and choice of lovely friends! Look, Katharina, why are your playmates not your demure school sisters? Katharina, why do you prefer to play with the neighbourhood boys and the Moorish slave children? See your sister Bianca? Be more like her. Bianca is thought to be an angel. I am called a shrew. This really hurts, you see, because in truth Bianca is more of a shrew than I could ever be. Does nobody understand?

Mama, I miss you terribly!