天涯在线书库《www.tianyabook.com》 《安妮日记》 BOOK FLAP THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL : THE DEFINITIVE EDITION Anne Frank Edited by Otto H. Frank and Mirjam Pressler Translated by Susan Massotty BOOK FLAP Anne Franks The Diary of a Young Girl is among the most enduring dots of the tweh tury. Sis publication in 1947, it has been read by tens of millions of people all over the world. It rem
ains a beloved and deeply admired testament to the iructable nature of the human spirit. Restore in this Definitive Edition are diary ehat had been omitted from the iion. These passages, which stitute 30 pert more material, reinforce the fact that Anne was first and foremost a teenage girl, not a remote and flawless symbol. She fretted about, and tried to copie with, her own emerging sexuality. Like many young girls, she often found herself in disagreement with her mother. And like any teenager, she veered between the carefree nature of a child and the full-fledged sorrow of an adult. Anne emerges more human, more vulnerable, and more vital than ever. Anne Frank and her family, fleeing the horrors of Nazi occupation, hid in the back of an Amsterdam warehouse for two years. She was thirteehe family went into the Secret Annex, and in these pages she grows to be a young woman and a wise observer of human nature as well. With unusual insight, she reveals the relatiowee people living under extraordinary ditions, fag huhe ever-present threat of discovery ah, plete estra from the outside world, and above all, the boredom, the petty misuandings, and the frustrations of living under subearable strain, in such fined quarters. A timely story rediscovered by eaew geion, The Diary of a Young Girl stands without peer. For both young readers and adults it ti to life this young woman, who for a time survived the worst horror of the modern world had seen -- and who remairiumphantly abreakingly human throughout her ordeal. For those who know and love Anne Frank, The Definitive Edition is a ce to discover her anew. For readers who have not yet entered her, this is the edition to cherish. ANNE FRANK was born on June 12, 1929. She died while impriso Bergen-Belsen, three months short of her sixteenth birthday. OTTO H. FRANK was the only member of his immediate framily to survive the Holocaust. He died in 1980. MIRJAM PRESSLER is a popular writer of books for young adults. She lives in Germany. Translated by Susan Massotty. FOREWORD Anne Fra a diary from June 12, 1942, to August 1, 1944. Initially, she wrote it strictly for herself. Then, one day in 1944, Gerrit Bolkestein, a member of the Dutch gover in exile, announced in a radio broadcast from London that after the war he hoped to collect eyewitness ats of the suffering of the Dutch people uhe German occupation, which could be made available to the public. As an example, he specifically mentioned letters and diaries. Impressed by this speech, Anne Frank decided that when the war was over she would publish a book based on her diary. She begaing aing her diary, improving oext, omitting passages she didnt think were iing enough and adding others from memory. At the same time, she kept藏书网 up her inal diary. In the scholarly work The Diary of Anne Frank: The Critical Edition (1989), Annes first, ued diary is referred to as version a, to distinguish it from her sed, edited diary, which is known as version b. The last entry in Annes diary is dated August 1, 1944. On August 4, 1944, the eight people hiding in the Secret Annex were arrested. Miep Gies and Bep Voskuijl, the two secretaries w in the building, found Annes diaries strewn allover the floor. ,Miep Gies tucked them away in a desk drawer for safekeeping. After the war, when it became clear that Anne was dead, she gave the diaries, unread, to Annes father, Otto Frank. After long deliberation, Otto Frank decided to fulfill his daughters wish and publish her diary. He selected material from versions a and b, editing them into a shorter version later referred to as version c. Readers all over the world know this as The Diary of a fauna Girl. In making his choice, Otto Frank had to bear several points in mind. To begin with, the book had to be kept short so that it would fit in with a series put out by the Dutch publisher. In addition, several passages dealing with A藏书网nnes sexuality were omitted; at the time of the diarys initial publication, in 1947, it was not ary to write openly about sex, aainly not in books for young adults. Out of respect for the dead, Otto Frank also omitted a number of unflattering passages about his wife and the other residents of the Secret Annex. Anne Frank, who was thirteen when she began her diary and fifteen when she was forced to stop, wrote without reserve about her likes and dislikes. When Otto Frank died in 1980, he willed his daughters manuscripts to the herlands State Institute for War Dotation in Amsterdam. Because the authenticity of the diary had been challenged ever sis publication, the Institute for War Dotation ordered a thh iigation. Ohe diary roved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, to be ge ublished in its ey, along with the results of an exhaustive study. The Critical Edition tains not only versions a, band c, but also articles on the background of the Frank family, the circumstances surrounding their arrest aation, and the examination into Annes handwriting, the dot and the materials used. The Anne Frank-Fonds (Anne Frank Foundation) in Basel (Switzerland),. which as Otto Franks sole heir had also ied his daughters chts, then decided to have anew, expanded edition of the diary published feneral readers. This ion in no way affects the iy of the old one inally edited by Otto Frank, which brought the diary a藏书网nd its message to millions of people. The task of pthng the expanded edition was given to the writer and translator Mirjam Pressler. Otto Franks inal sele has now been supplemented with passages from Annes a and b versions. Mirjam Presslers definitive edition, approved by the Anne Frank-Fonds, tains approximately 30 pert more material and is inteo give the reader more insight into the world of Anne Frank. In writing her sed version (b), Anne ied pseudonyms for the people who would appear in her book. She initially wao call herself Anne Aulis, and later Anne Robin. Otto Frank opted to call his family by their own names and to follow Annes wishes with regard to the others. Over the years, the identity of the people who helped the family in the Secret Annex has bee on knowledge. In this edition, the helpers are now referred to by their real names, as they so justly deserve to be. All other persons are named in accordah the pseudonyms in The Critical Edition. The Institute for War Dotation has arbitrarily assigned initials to those persons wishing ?to remain anonymous. The real names of the other people hiding in the Secret Annex are: THE VAN PELS FAMILY (from Osnabriick, Germany): Auguste van Pels (borember 9, 1890) Hermann van Pels (born March 31, 1889) Peter van Pels (born November 8, 1926) Called by Anne, in her manuscript: Petronella, Hans and Alfred van Daan; and in the book: Petronella, Hermann aer van Daan. FRITZ PFEFFER FRITZ PFEFFER (born April 30, 1889, in Giessen, Germany): Called by Anne, in her manuscript and in the book: Alfred Dussel. The reader ma99ｌib?y wish to bear in mind that much of this edition is based on the b version of Annes diary, which she wrote when she was around fifteen years old. Occasionally, An bad ented on a passage she had wri藏书网tten earlier. These ents are clearly marked.９９lｉb. in this edition. Naturally, Annes spelling and linguistic errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the text has basically bee as she wrote it, siny attempts at editing and clarification would be inappropriate in a historical dot. I hope I will be able to fide everything to you, as I have never be99lｉｂ?en able to fide in anyone, and I hope you will be a great source of fort and support. June, 1942 June 12, 1942 I hope I will be able to fide everything to you, as I have never been able to fide in anyone, and I hope you will be a great source of fort and support. ENT ADDED BY ANNE OEMBER 28, 1942: So far you truly have been a areat source of fort to me, and so has Kitty, whom I now write tularly. This way of keeping a diary is muicer, and now I hardly wait for those moments when Im able to write in you. Oh, Im so alad I brought you along! SUNDAY, JUNE 14, 1942 Ill begin from the moment I got you, the moment I saw you lying oable among my other birthday presents. (I went along when you were bought, but that doesnt t.) On Friday, June 12, I was awake at six oclock, which isnt surprising, si was my birthday. But Im not allowed to get up at that hour, so I had to trol my curiosity until quarter to seven. When I couldnt wait any longer, I went to the dining room, where Moortje (the cat) weled me by rubbing against my legs. A little after seven I went to Daddy and Mama and then to the living room to open my presents, and you were the first thing I saw, maybe one of my presents. Then a bouquet of roses, some peonies and a potted plant. From Daddy and Mama I got a blue blouse, a game, a bottle of grape juice, whiy mind tastes a bit like wine (after all, wine is made from grapes), a puzzle, a jar of cold cream, 2.50 guilders and a gift certificate for two books. I got another book as well, Camera Obscura (but Margot already has it, so I exged mine for something else), a platter of homemade cookies (which I made myself, of course, since Ive bee quite an expert at baking cookies), lots of dy and a strawberry tart from Mother. And a letter from Grammy, right on time, but of course that was just a ce. Then Hanneli came to pick me up, and we went to school. During recess I passed out cookies to my teachers and my class, and then it was time to get back to work. I didnt arrive home until five, since I went to gym with the rest of the class. (Im not allowed to take part because my shoulders and hips tend to get dislocated.) As it was my birthday, I got to decide which game my classmates would play, an.d I chose volleyball. Afterward they all danced around me in a circle and sang "Happy Birthday.” When I got home, Sanne Ledermann was already there. Ilse Wagner, Hanneli Goslar and Jacqueline van Maarsen came home with me after gym, since were in the same class. Hanneli and Sanne used to be my two best friends. People who saw us together used to say, "There goes Anne, Hanne and Sanne." I only met Jacqueline van Maarsen when I started at the Jewish Lyceum, and now shes my best friend. Ilse is Hannelis best friend, and Sanne goes to another school and has friends there. They gave me a beautiful book, Dutch Sasas and Lesends, but they gave me Volume II by mistake, so I exged two other books for Volume I. Aunt Helene brought me a puzzle, Aunt Stephanie a darling brood Aunt Leny a terrific book: Daisy Goes to the Mountains. This m I lay ihtub thinking how wonderful it would be if I had a dog like Rin Tin Tin. Id call him Rin Tin Tin too, and Id take him to school with me, where he could stay in the janitors room or by the bicycle racks when the weather was good. MONDAY, JUNE 15, 1942 I had my birthday party on Sunday afternoon. The Rin Tin Tin movie was a big hit with my classmates. I got two brooches, a bookmark and two books. Ill start by saying a few things about my school and my class, beginning with the students. Betty Bloemendaal looks kind of poor, and I think she probably is. She lives on some obscure street i Amsterdam, and none of us know where it is. She does very well at school, but thats because she works so hard, not because shes so smart. Shes pretty quiet. Jacqueline van Maarsen is supposedly my best friend, but Ive never had a real friend. At first I thought Jacque would be one, but I was badly mistaken. D.Q.* [* Initials have been assig random to those persons who prefer to remain anonymous.] is a very nervous girl whos always fetting things, so the teachers keep assigning her extra homework as punishment. Shes very kind, especially to G.Z. E.S. talks so much it isnt funny. Shes always toug your hair or fiddling with your buttons when she asks you something. They say she t stand me, but I dont care, since I dont like her much either. Hens is a nice girl with a cheerful disposition, except that she talks in a loud void is really childish when were playing outdoors. Unfortunately, Henny has a girlfriend named Beppy whos a bad influen her because shes dirty and vulgar. J.R. - I could write a whole book about her. J. is a detestable, sneaky, stuck-up, two-faced gossip who thinks shes so grown-up. Shes really got Jacque under her spell, and thats a shame. J. is easily offended, bursts into tears at the slightest thing and, to top it all off, is a terrible show-off. Miss J. always has to be right. Shes very rich, and has a closet full of the most adorable dresses that are way too old for her. She thinks shes geous, but shes not. J. and I t stand each other. Ilse Wagner is a nice girl with a cheerful disposition, but shes extremely fInicky and spend hours moaning and groaning about something. Ilse likes me a lot. Shes very smart, but lazy. Hanneli Goslar, or Lies as shes called at school, is a bit orange side. Shes usually shy -- outspoken at horne, but reserved around other people. She blabs whatever you tell her to her mother. But she says what she thinks, and lately Ive e to appreciate her a great deal. Nannie van Praag-Sigaar is small, funny and sensible. I think shes nice. Shes pretty smart. There isnt much else you say about Nannie. Eefje de Jong is, in my opinion, terrific. Though shes only twelve, shes quite the lady. She acts as if I were a baby. Shes also very helpful, and I like her. G.Z. is the prettiest girl in our class. She has a nice face, but is kind of dumb. I think theyre going to hold her back a year, but of course I havent told her that. ENT ADDED BY A A LATER DATE: To my areat surprise, G.Z. wasnt held back a year after all. And sittio G.Z. is the last of us twelve girls, me. Theres a lot to be said about the boys, or maybe not so much after all. Maurice Coster is one of my many admirers, but pretty much of a pest. Sallie Springer has a filthy mind, and rumor has it that hes gone all the way. Still, I thierrific, because hes very funny. Emiel Bo is G.Z.s admirer, but she doesnt care. Hes pretty b. Rob used to be in love with me too, but I t stand him anymore. Hes an obnoxious, two-faced, lying, sniveling little goof who has an awfully high opinion of himself. Max van de Velde is a farm boy from Medemblik, but emily suitable, as Margot would say. Herman Koopman also has a filthy mind, just like Jopie de Beer, whos a terrible flirt and absolutely girl-crazy. Leo Blom is Jopie de Beers best friend, but has been ruined ..by his dirty mind. Albert de Mesquita came from the Montessori School and skipped a grade. Hes really smart. Leo Slager came from the same school, but isnt as smart. Ru Stoppelmon is a shoofy boy from Almelo who transferred to this school in the middle of the year. . does whatever hes not supposed to. Jacques Kooot sits behind us, o C., and we (G. and I) laugh ourselves silly. Harry Schaap is the most det boy in our class. Hes nice. Werner Joseph is oo, but all the ges taking place lately have made him too quiet, so he seems b. Sam Salomon is one of those tough guys from across the tracks. A real brat. (Admirer!) Appie Riem is pretty Orthodox, but a brat too. SATURDAY, JUNE 20,1942 Writing in a diary is a really strange experience for someone like me. Not only because Ive never written anything before, but also because it seems to me that later oher I nor anyone else will be ied in the musings of a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl. Oh well, it doesnt matter. I feel like writing, and I have an eveer o get all kinds of things off my chest. "Paper has more patiehan people." I thought of this saying on one of those days when I was feeling a little depressed and was sitting at home with my in my hands, bored and listless, w whether to stay in o out. I finally stayed where I? was, brooding. Yes, paper does have more patience, and since Im not planning to let anyone else read this stiff-backed notebook grandly referred to as a "diary,” unless I should ever find a real friend, it probably wont make a bit of difference. Now Im back to the point that prompted me to keep a diary in the first place: I dont have a friend. Let me put it more clearly, sino one will believe that a thirteen year-old girl is pletely alone in the world. And Im not. I have loving parents and a sixteen-year-old sister, and there are about thirty people I call friends. I have a throng of admirers who t keep their ad eyes off me and who sometimes have to resort to using a broken pocket mirror to try and catch a glimpse of me in the classroom. I have a family, loving aunts and a good home. No, on the surface I seem to have everything, except my orue friend. All I think about when Im with friends is having a good time. I t bring myself to talk about anything but ordinary everyday things. We doo be able to get any closer, and thats the problem. Maybe its my fault that we dont fide in each other. In any case, thats just how things are, and unfortuheyre not liable to ge. This is why Ive started the diary. To enhahe image of this long-awaited friend in my imagination, I dont want to jot down the facts in this diary the way most people would do, but I want the diary to be my friend, and Im going to call this friend Kitty. Sino one would uand a word of my stories to Kitty if I were to plunge right in, Id better provide a brief skety life, much as I dislike doing so. My father, the most adorable father Ive ever seen, didnt marry my mother until he was thirty-six and she was twenty-five. My sister Margot was born in Frankfurt am Main in Germany in 1926. I was born on June 12, 1929. I lived in Frankfurt until I was four. Because were Jewish, my father immigrated to Holland in 1933, when he became the Managing Director of the Dutch Opekta pany, which manufactures products used in making jam. My mother, Edith Hollander Frank, went with him to Holland iember, while Margot and I were sent to Aa to stay with randmother. Margot went to Holland in December, and I followed in February, when I lunked down oable as a birthday present for Margot. I started right away at the Montessori nursery school. I stayed there until I was six, at which time I started first grade. In sixth grade my teacher was Mrs. Kuperus, the principal. At the end of the year we were both in tears as we said a heartbreaking farewell, because Id been accepted at the Jewish Lyceum, where Margot also went to school. Our lives were not without ay, since our relatives in Germany were suffering under Hitlers anti-Jewish laws. After the pogroms in 1938 my two uncles (my mothers brothers) fled Germany, finding safe refuge in North America. My elderly grandmother came to live with us. She was seventy-three years old at the time. After May 1940 the good times were few and far between: first there was the war, then the capitulation and then the arrival of the Germans, which is wherouble started for the Jews. Our freedom was severely restricted by a series of anti-Jewish decrees: Jews were required to wear a yellow star; Jews were required to turn in their bicycles; Jews were forbidden to use street-cars; Jews were forbidden to ride in cars, even their own; Jews were required to do their shoppiween 3 and 5 P.M.; Jews were required to frequent only Jewish-owned barbershops ay parlors; Jews were forbidden to be out oreets between 8 P.M. and 6 A.M.; Jews were forbidden to attend theaters, movies or any other forms of eai; Jews were forbidden to use swimming pools, tennis courts, hockey fields or any other athletic fields; Jews were forbidden to go rowing; Jews were forbidden to take part in any athletic activity in public; Jews were forbidden to sit in their gardens or those of their friends after 8 P.M.; Jews were forbidden to visit Christians in their homes; Jews were required to attend Jewish schools, etc. You couldnt do this and you couldnt do that, but life went on. Jacque always said to me, "I dont dare do anything anymore, cause Im afraid its not allowed.” In the summer of 1941 Grandma got sid had to have aion, so my birthday passed with little celebration. In the summer of 1940 we didnt do muy birthday either, sihe fighting had just ended in Holland. Grandma died in January 1942. No one knows how often I think of her and still love her. This birthday celebration in 1942 was inteo make up for the others, and Grandmas dle was lit along with the rest. The four of us are still doing well, and that brings me to the present date of June 20, 1942, and the solemn dedication of my diary. SATURDAY, JUNE 20, 1942 Dearest Kitty! Let me get started right away; its nid quiet now. Father and Mother are out and Margot has goo play Ping-Pong with some other young people at her friend Treess. Ive been playing a lot of Ping-Pong myself lately. So much that five of us girls have formed a club. Its called "The Little Dipper Minus Two." A really silly name, but its based on a mistake. We wao give our club a special name; and because there were five of us, we came up with the idea of the Little Dipper. We thought it sisted of five stars, but we turned out to be wrong. It has seven, like the Big Dipper, which explains the "Minus Two." Ilse Wagner has a Ping-Po, and the Wagners let us play in their big dining room whenever we want. Since we five Ping-Pong players like ice cream, especially in the summer, and since you get hot playing Ping-Pong, ames usually end with a visit to the ice-cream parlor that allows Jews: either Oasis or Delphi. Weve long siopped hunting around for our purses or money -- most of the time its so busy in Oasis that we mao find a few generous young men of our acquaintance or an admirer to offer us more ice cream than we could eat in a week. Youre probably a little surprised to hear me talking about admirers at such a tender age. Unfortunately, or not, as the case may be, this vice seems to be rampant at our school. As soon as a boy asks if he bicycle home with me a to talking, imes out of ten I be sure hell bee enamored on the spot and wo me out of his sight for a sed. His ardor eventually cools, especially since I ignore his passionate glances and pedal blithely on my way. If it gets so bad that they start rambling on about "asking Fathers permission," I swerve slightly on my bike, my schoolbag falls, and the young man feels obliged to get off his bike and hahe bag, by which time Ive switched the versation to aopic. These are the most iypes. Of course, there are those who blow you kisses or try to take hold of your arm, but theyre definitely knog on the wrong door. I get off my bike aher refuse to make further use of their pany or act as if Im insulted ahem in no uain terms to go on home without me. There you are. Weve now laid the basis for our friendship. Until tomorrow. Yours, Anne SUNDAY, JUNE 21, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Our entire class is quaking in its boots. The reason, of course, is the upiing in which the teachers decide wholl be promoted to the grade and wholl be kept back. Half the class is makis. G.Z. and I laugh ourselves sick at the two boys behind us, . and Jacques Kooot, who have staked their entire vacation savings on their bet. From m to night, its "Yoing to pass, No, Im not,” "Yes, you are," "No, Im not." Even G.s pleading glances and my angry outbursts t calm them down. If you ask me, there are so many dummies that about a quarter of the class should be kept back, but teachers are the most uable creatures oh. Maybe this time theyll be uable in the right dire for a ge. Im not so worried about my girlfriends and myself. Well make it. The only subject Im not sure about is math. Anyway, all we do is wait. Until then, we keep telling each other not to lose heart. I get along pretty well with all my teachers. There are nine of them, seven men and two women. Mr. Keesing, the old fogey who teaches math, was mad at me for the loime because I talked so much. After several warnings, he assigned me extra homework. An essay on the subject "A Chatterbox." A chatterbox, what you write about that? Id wbrry about that later, I decided. I jotted down the assig in my notebook, tucked it in my bag and tried to keep quiet. That evening, after Id fihe rest of my homework, the note about the essay caught my eye. I began thinking about the subject while chewing the tip of my fountain pen. Anyone could ramble on and leave big spaces between the words, but the trick was to e up with ving arguments to prove the y of talking. I thought and thought, and suddenly I had an idea. I wrote the three pages Mr. Keesing had assigned me and was satisfied. I argued that talking is a female trait and that I would do my best to keep it under trol, but that I would never be able to break myself of the habit, since my mother talked as much as I did, if not more, and that theres not much you do about ied traits. Mr. Keesing had a good laugh at my arguments, but when I proceeded to talk my way through the class, he assigned me a sed essay. This time it was supposed to be on "An Incible Chatterbox." I ha in, and Mr. Keesing had nothing to plain about for two whole classes. However, during the third class hed finally had enough. "Anne Frank, as punishment for talking in class, write an essay entitled Quack, Quack, Quack, said Mistress Chatterback.“ The class roared. I had to laugh too, though Id ) nearly exhausted my iy oopic of chatterboxes. It was time to e up with something else, j something inal. My friend Sanne, whos good at poetry, offered to help me write the essay from beginning to end in verse. I jumped for joy. Keesing was trying to play a joke oh this ridiculous subject, but Id make sure the joke was on him. I finished my poem, and it was beautiful! It was about a mother dud a father swan with three baby dugs who were bitten to death by the father because they quacked too much. Luckily, Keesing took the joke the right way. He read the poem to the class, adding his own ents, and to several other classes as well. Sihen Ive been allowed to talk and havent been assigned ara homework. On the trary, Keesings always i making jokes these days. Yours, Anne WEDNESDAY, JUNE 24, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Its sweltering. Everyone is huffing and puffing, and in this heat I have to walk everywhere. Only now do I realize how pleasant a streetcar is, but we Jews are no longer allowed to make use of this luxury; our own two feet are good enough for us. Yesterday at lunchtime I had an appoi with the dentist on Jan Luykenstraat. Its a long way from our school on Stadstimmertuihat afternoon I nearly fell asleep at my desk. Fortunately, people automatically offer you something to drink. The dental assistant is really kind. The only mode of transportatioo us is the ferry. The ferryman at Josef Israelkade took us across when we asked him to. Its not the fault of the Dutch that we Jews are having such a bad time. I wish I didnt have to go to sy bike was stolen durier vacation, and Father gave Mothers bike to some Christian friends for safekeeping. Thank goodness summer vacation is almost here; one more week and our torment will be over. Something ued happened yesterday m. As I assing the bicycle racks, I heard my name being called. I turned around and there was the nice boy Id met the evening before at my friend Wilmas. Hes Wilmas sed cousin. I used to think Wilma was nice, which she is, but all she ever talks about is boys, and that gets to be a bore. He came toward me, somewhat shyly, and introduced himself as Hello Silberberg. I was a little surprised and wasnt sure what he wanted, but it didnt take me long to find out. He asked if I would allow him to apao school. "As long as youre headed that way, Ill go with you," I said. And so we walked together. Hello is sixteen and good at telling all kinds of funny stories. He was waiting for me again this m, and I expect he will be from now on. JULY, 1942 WEDNESDAY, JULY 1, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Until today I holy couldnt find the time to write you. I was with friends all day Thursday, we had pany on Friday, and thats how it went until today. Hello and I have gotten to know each other very well this past week, aold me a lot about his life. He es from Gelsenkir and is living with his grandparents. His parents are in Belgium, but theres no way he get there. Hello used to have a girlfriend named Ursula. I know her too. Shes perfectly sweet and perfectly b. Ever since he met me, Hello has realized that hes been falling asleep at Ursuls side. So Im kind of a pep tonic. You never know what yood for! Jacque spent Saturday night here. Sunday afternoon she was at Hannelis, and I was bored stiff. Hello was supposed to e over that evening, but he called around six. I answered the phone, and he said, "This is Helmuth Silberberg. May I please speak to Anne?" "Oh, Hello. This is Anne.” "Oh, hi, Anne. How are you?" “ "Fihanks.” "I just wao say Im sorry but I t e tonight, though I would like to have a word with you. Is it all right if I e by and pick you up in about ten minutes "Yes, thats fine. Bye-bye!” "Okay, Ill be right over. Bye-bye!” I hung up, quickly ged my clothes and fixed my hair. I was so nervous I leaned out the window to watch for him. He finally showed up. Mirairacles, I didnt rush dowairs, but waited quietly until he rang the bell. I went down to open the door, a right to the point. "Anne, my grandmother thinks youre too young for me to be seeing you on a regular basis. She says I should be going to the Lowenbachs, but you probably know that Im not going out with Ursul anymore.” "No, I didnt know. What happened? Did you two have a fight?” "No, nothing like that. I told Ursul that we werent suited to each other and so it was better for us not to go together anymore, but that she was wele at my house and I hoped I would be wele at hers. Actually, I thought Ursul was hanging around with another boy, and I treated her as if she were. But that wasnt true. And then my uncle said I should apologize to her, but of course I didnt feel like it, and thats why I broke up with her. But that was just one of the reasons. "Now my grandmother 藏书网wants me to see Ursul and not you, but I dont agree and Im not going to. Sometimes old people have really old-fashioned ideas, but that doesnt mean I have to go along with them. I need my grandparents, but in a certain sehey need me too. From now on Ill be free on Wednesday evenings. You see, my grandparents made me sign up for a wood-carving class, but actually I go to a club anized by the Zionists. My grandparents dont wao go, because theyre anti-Zionists. Im not a fanatic Zionist, but it is me. Anyway, its been such a mess lately that Im planning to quit. So Wednesday will be my last meeting. That means I see you Wednesday evening, Saturday afternoon, Saturday evening, Sunday afternoon and maybe even more." "But if yrandparents dont want you to, you? shouldnt go behind their backs.” "Alls fair in love and wa.r.” Just then we passed Blankevoorts Bookstore and there eter Schiff with two other boys; it was the first time hed said hello to me in ages, and it really made me feel good. Monday evening Hello came over to meet Father and Mother. I had bought a cake and some dy, and we had tea and cookies, the works, but her Hello nor I felt like sitting stiffly on our chairs. So we went out for a walk, and he didnt deliver me to my door until ten past eight. Father was furious. He said it was very wrong of me not to get home on time. I had to promise to be home by ten to eight iure. Ive been asked to Hellos on Saturday. Wilma told me that one night when Hello was at her house, she asked him, "Who do you like best, Ursul or Anne?” He said, "Its none of your business.” But as he was leaving (they hadnt talked to each other the rest of the evening), he said, "Well, I like Ater, but dont tell anyone. Bye!" And whoosh. . . he was out the door. Ihing he says or does, I see that Hello is in love with me, and its kind of nice for a ge. Margot would say that Hello is emily suitable. I think so too, but hes more than that. Mother is also full of praise: "A good-looking boy. Nid polite." Im glad hes so popular with everyone. Except with my girlfriends. He thinks theyre very childish, and hes right about that. Jacque still teases me about him, but Im not in love with him. Not really. Its all right for me to have boys as friends. Nobody minds. Mother is always asking me who Im going to marry when I grow up, but I bet shell never guess its Peter, because I talked her out of that idea myself, without batting an eyelash. I love Peter as Ive never loved anyone, and I tell myself hes only going around with all those irls to hide his feelings for me. Maybe he thinks Hello and I are in love with each other, which were not. Hes just a friend, or as Mother puts it, a beau. Yours, Anne SUNDAY, JULY 5, 1942 Dear Kitty, The graduation ceremony in the Jewish Theater on Friday went as expected. My report card wasnt too bad. I got one D, a algebra and all the rest Bs, except for two B+s and two B-s. My parents are pleased, but theyre not like other parents when it es to grades. They never worry about report cards, good or bad. As long as Im healthy and happy and dont talk bauch, theyre satisfied. If these three things are all right, everything else will take care of itself. Im just the opposite. I dont want to be a poor student. I ted to the Jewish Lyceum on a ditional basis. I was supposed to stay in the seventh grade at the Montessori School, but when Jewish children were required to go to Jewish schools, Mr. Elte finally agreed, after a great deal of persuasion, to accept Lies Goslar and me. Lies also passed this year, though she has to repeat her geometry exam. Poor Lies. It isnt easy for her to study at home; her baby sister, a spoiled little two-year-old, plays in her room all day. If Gabi does her way, she starts screaming, and if Lies doesnt look after her, Mrs. Goslar starts screaming. So Lies has a hard time doing her homework, and as long as thats the case, the tut shes beeing wont help much. The Goslar household is really a sight. Mrs. Goslars parents live door, but eat with the family. The theres a hired girl, the baby, the always absentminded and absent Mr. Goslar and the always nervous and irrita Ie Mrs. Goslar, whos expeg another baby. Lies, whos all thumbs, gets lost in the mayhem. My sister Margot has also gotten her report card. Brilliant, as usual. If we had such a thing as "cum laude," she would have passed with honors, shes so smart. Father has been home a lot lately. Theres nothing for him to do at the office; it must be awful to feel youre not needed. Mr. Kleiman has taken over Opekta, and Mr. Kugler, Gies & Co., the pany dealing in spices and spice substitutes that was set up in 1941. A few days ago, as we were taking a stroll around our neighborhood square, Father began to talk about going into hiding. He said it would be very hard for us to live cut off from the rest of the world. I asked him why he was bringing this up now. "Well, Anne," he replied, "you know that for more than a year weve been bringing clothes, food and furniture to other people. We dont want our belongings to be seized by the Germans. Nor do we want to fall into their clutches ourselves. So well leave of our own accord and not wait to be hauled away.” "But when, Father?" He sounded so serious that I felt scared. "Dont you worry. Well take care of everything. just enjoy your carefree life while you .” That was it. Oh, may these somber words not e true for as long as possible. The doorbells ringing, Hellos here, time to stop. Yours, Anne WEDNESDAY, JULY 8, 1942 Dearest Kitty, It seems like years since Sunday m. So much has happes as if the whole world had suddenly turned upside down. But as you see, Kitty, Im still alive, and thats the main thing, Father says. Im alive all right, but dont ask where or how. You probably dont uand a word Im saying today, so Ill begin by telling you what happened Sunday afternoon. At three oclock (Hello had left but was supposed to e back later), the doorbell rang. I didnt hear it, since I was out on the baly, lazily reading in the sun. A little while later Margot appeared i doorway looking very agitated. "Father has received a call-up notice from the SS," she whispered. "Mother has goo see Mr. van Daan" (Mr. van Daan is Fathers business partner and a good friend.) I was stunned. A call-up: everyone knows what that means. Visions of tration camps and lonely cells raced through my head. How could we let Father go to such a fate? "Of course hes not going," declared Margot as we waited for Mother in the living room. "Moo Mr. van Daan to ask whether we move to our hiding plaorrow. The van Daans are going with us. There will be seven of us altogether." Silence. We couldnt speak. The thought of Father off visiting someone in the Jewish Hospital and pletely unaware of what was happening, the long wait for Mother, the heat, the suspense -- all this reduced us to silence. Suddenly the doorbell rang again. "Thats Hello," I said. "Dont open the door!" exclaimed Margot to stop me. But it wasnt necessary, since we heard Mother and Mr. van Daan downstairs talking to Hello, and thewo of them came inside and shut the door behind them. Every time the bell raher Margot or I had to tiptoe downstairs to see if it was Father, and we did anyone else in. Margot and I were sent from the room, as Mr. van Daan wao talk to Mother alone. When she and I were sitting in our bedroom, Margot told me that the call-up was not for Father, but for her. At this sed shock, I began to cry. Margot is sixteen -- apparently they want to send girls her age away on their own. But thank goodness she wont be going; Mother had said so herself, which must be what Father had meant whealked to me about oing into hiding. Hiding. . . where would we hide? Iy? In the try? In a house? In a shack? When, where, how. . . ? These were questions I wasnt allowed to ask, but they still kept running through my mind. Margot and I started pag our most important belongings into a schoolbag. The first thing I stu was this diary, and then curlers, handkerchiefs, schoolbooks, a b and some old letters. Preoccupied by the thought of going into hiding, I stuck the craziest things in the bag, but Im not sorry. Memories mean more to me than dresses. Father finally came hQme around five oclock, and we called Mr. Kleiman to ask if he could e by that evening. Mr. van Daa ao get Miep. Miep arrived and promised to return later that night, taking with her a bag full of shoes, dresses, jackets, underwear and stogs. After that it was quiet in our apartment; none of us felt like eating. It was still hot, and everything was very strange. We had rented upstairs room to a Mr. Goldschmidt, a divorced man in his thirties, arently had nothing to do that evening, since despite all our polite hints he hung around until ten oclock. Miep and Jan Gies came at eleven. Miep, whos worked for Fathers pany since 1933, has bee a close friend, and so has her husband Jan. Once again, shoes, stogs, books and underwear disappeared into Mieps bag and Jans deep pockets. At eleven-thirty they too disappeared. I was exhausted, and even though I kd be my last night in my own bed, I fell asleep right away and didnt wake up until Mother called me at five-thirty the m. Fortunately, it wasnt as hot as Sunday; a warm raihroughout the day. The four of us were ed in so many layers of clothes it looked as if we were going off to spend the night in a refrigerator, and all that just so we could take more clothes with us. No Jew in our situation would dare leave the house with a suitcase full of clothes. I was wearing two undershirts, three pairs of underpants, a dress, and over that a skirt, a jacket, a raincoat, two pairs of stogs, heavy shoes, a cap, a scarf and lots more. I was suffog even before we left the house, but no ohered to ask me how I felt. Margot stuffed her schoolbag with schoolbooks, went to get her bicycle and, with Miep leading the way, rode off into the great unknown. At any rate, thats how I thought of it, since I still didnt know where our hiding place was. At seven-thirty we too closed the door behind us; Moortje, my cat, was the only living creature I said good-bye to. Acc to a note we left foldschmidt, she was to be taken to the neighbors, who would give her a good home. The stripped beds, the breakfast things oable, the pound of meat for the cat i -- all of these created the impression that wed left in a hurry. But we werent ied in impressions. We just wao get out of there, to get away and reach our destination in safety. Nothing else mattered. More tomorrow. Yours, Anne THURSDAY, JULY 9, 1942 Dearest Kitty, So there we were, Father, Mother and I, walking in the p rain, each of us with a schoolbag and a shopping bag filled to the brim with the most varied assortment of items. The people on their way to work at that early have us sympathetic looks; you could tell by their faces that thebbr>?y were sorry they couldnt offer us some kind of transportation; the spicuous yellooke for itself. Only when we were walking dowreet did Father and Mother reveal, little by little, what the plan was. For months wed been moving as much of our furniture and apparel out of the apartment as we could. It was agreed that wed go into hiding on July 16. Because of Margots call-up notice, the plan had to be moved up ten days, which meant wed have to make do with less orderly rooms. The hiding place was located in Fathers office building. Thats a little hard for outsiders to uand, so Ill explain. Father didnt have a lot of people w in his office, just Mr. Kugler, Mr. Kleiman, Miep and a twenty-three-year-old typist named Bep Voskuijl, all of whom were informed of our ing. Mr. Voskuijl, Beps father, works in the warehouse, along with two assistants, none of whom were told anything. Heres a description of the building. The large warehouse on the ground floor is used as a workroom and storeroom and is divided into several differeions, such as the sto and the milling room, where amon, cloves and a pepper substitute are ground. o the warehouse doors is another outside door, a separate entrao the office. Just ihe office door is a sed door, and beyond that a stairway. At the top of the stairs is another door, with a frosted window on which the word "Office" is written in black letters. This is the big front office -- very large, very light and very full. Bep, Miep and Mr. Kleiman work there during the day. After passing through an alcove taining a safe, a wardrobe and a big supply cupboard, you e to the small, dark, stuffy back office. This used to be shared by Mr. Kugler and Mr. van Daan, but now Mr. Kugler is its only oct. Mr. Kuglers office also be reached from the hallway, but only through a glass door that be opened from the i not easily from the outside. If you leave Mr. Kuglers offid proceed through the long, narrow hallast the coal bin and go up four steps, you find yourself in the private office, the showpiece of the entire building. Elegant mahogany furniture, a linoleum floor covered with thrs, a radio, a fancy lamp, everything first class. door is a spacious kit with a hot-water heater and two gas burners, and beside that a bathroom. Thats the sed floor. A wooden staircase leads from the downstairs hallway to the third floor. At the top of the stairs is a landing, with doors oher side. The door on the left takes you up to the spice ste area, attid loft in the front part of the house. A typically Dutch, very steep, awisting flight of stairs also runs from the front part of the house to another door opening onto the street. The door to the right of the landing leads to the "Secret Annex" at the back ofthe house. No one would ever suspect there were so many rooms behind that plain gray door. Theres just one small step in front of the door, and then youre iraight ahead of you is a steep flight of stairs. To the left is a narrow hallening onto a room that serves as the Frank familys living [I MAP HERE] room and bedroom. door is a smaller room, the )edroom and study of the two young ladies of the family. ro the right of the stairs is a windowless washroom. with a link. The door in the er leads to the toilet and another oots and my room. If you go up the itairs and open the door at the top, youre surprised to see such a large, light and spacious room in an old alside house like this. It tains a stove (thanks to the fact hat it used to be Mr. Kuglers laboratory) and a sink. This will be the kit and bedroom of Mr. and Mrs. van Daan, as well as the general living room, dining room and study for us all. A tiny side room is to be Peter van Daans bedroom. Then, just as in the front part of the building, theres an attid a loft. So there you are. Now Ive introduced you to the whole of our lovely Annex! Yours, Anne FRIDAY, JULY 10, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Ive probably bored you with my long description of our house, but I still think you should know where Ive ended up; how I ended up here is something youll figure out from my letters. But first, let me tinue my story, because, as you know, I wasnt finished. After we arrived at 263 Prinsengracht, Miep quickly led us through the long hallway and up the wooden staircase to the floor and into the Annex. She shut the door behind us, leaving us alone. Margot had arrived much earlier on her bike and was waiting for us. Our living room and all the other rooms were so full of stuff that I t find the words to describe it. All the cardboard boxes that had beeo the offi the last few months were piled on the floors and beds. The small room was filled from floor to g with linens. If we wao sleep in properly made beds that night, we had to get going and straighten up the mess. Mother and Margot were uo move a muscle. They lay down on their bare mattresses, tired, miserable and I dont know what else. But Father and I, the two er-uppers in the family, started in right away. All day long we unpacked boxes, filled cupboards, hammered nails and straightened up the mess, until we fell exhausted into our beds at night. We haden a hot meal all day, but we didnt care; Mother and Margot were too tired and keyed up to eat, and Father and I were too busy. Tuesday m we started where we left off the night before. Bep and Miep went grocery shopping with our ration coupons, Father worked on our blackout ss, we scrubbed the kit floor, and were once again busy from sunup to sundown. Until Wednesday, I didnt have a ce to think about the enormous ge in my life. Then for the first time since our arrival in the Secret Annex, I found a moment to tell you all about it and to realize what had happeo me and what was yet to happen. Yours, Anne SATURDAY, JULY 11, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Father, Mother and Margot still t get used to the chiming of the Westertoren clock, which tells us the time every quarter of an hour. Not me, I liked it from the start; it sounds so reassuring, especially at night. You no doubt want to hear what I think of being in hiding. Well, all I say is that I dont really know yet. I dont think Ill ever feel at home in this house, but that doesnt mean I hate it. Its more like being on vacation in some strange pension. Kind of an odd way to look at life in hiding, but thats how things are. The Annex is an ideal place to hide in. It may be damp and lopsided, but theres probably not a more fortable hiding pla all of Amsterdam. No, in all of Holland. Up to now our bedroom, with its blank walls, was very bare. Thanks to Father -- whht my entire postcard and movie-star colle here beforehand -- and to a brush and a pot of glue, I was able to plaster the walls with pictures. It looks much more cheerful. When the van Daans arrive, well be able to build cupboards and other odds and ends out of the wood piled iic. Margot and Mother have recovered somewhat. Yesterday Mother felt well enough to cook split-pea soup for the first time, but then she was downstairstalking and fot all about it. The beans were scorched black, and no amount of scraping could get them out of the pan. Last night the four of us went down to the private offid listeo England on the radio. I was so scared someone might hear it that I literally begged Father to take me back upstairs. Mother uood my ay a with me. Whatever we do, were very afraid the neighbors might hear or see us. We started off immediately the first day sewing curtains. Actually, you hardly call them that, siheyre nothing but scraps of fabric, varying greatly in shape, quality and pattern, which Father and I stitched crookedly together with unskilled fingers. These works of art were tacked to the windows, where theyll stay until we e out of hiding. The building on ht is a branch of the Keg pany, a firm from Zaandam, and on the left is a furniture workshop. Though the people who work there are not on the premises after hours, any sound we make might travel through the walls. Weve forbidden Margot to cough at night, even though she has a bad cold, and are giving her large doses of codeine. Im looking forward to the arrival of the van Daans, which is set for Tuesday. It will be much more fun and also not as quiet. You see, its the silehat makes me so nervous during the evenings and nights, and Id give anything to have one of our helpers sleep here. Its really not that bad here, since we do our own cooking and listen to the radio in Daddys office. Mr. Kleiman and Miep, and Bep Voskuijl too, have helped us so much. Weve already ed loads of rhubarb, strawberries and cherries, so for the time being I doubt well be bored. We also have a supply of reading material, and were going to buy lots of games. Of course, we t ever look out the windo outside. And we have to be quiet so the people downstairs t hear us. Yesterday we had our hands full. We had to pit two crates of cherries for Mr. Kugler to . Were going to use the empty crates to make bookshelves. Someones calling me. Yours, Anne ENT ADDED BY ANNE OEMBER 2g, 1942: Not beina able to ao outside upsets me more than I say, and Im terrified our hidina place will be discovered and that well be shot. That, of course, is a fairly dismal prospect. SUNDAY, JULY 12, 1942 Theyve all been so o me this last month because of my birthday, a every day I feel myself drifting further away from Mother and Margot. I worked hard today and they praised me, only to start pig on me again five minutes later. You easily see the differeween the way they deal with Margot and the way they deal with me. For example, Margot broke the vacuum er, and because of that weve been without light for the rest of the day. Mother said, "Well, Margot, its easy to see youre not used t; otherwise, youd have knower than to yank the plug out by the cord." Margot made some reply, and that was the end of the story. But this afternoon, when I wao rewrite something on Mothers shopping list because her handwriting is so hard to read, she would me. She bawled me out again, and the whole family wound up getting involved. I dont fit in with them, and Ive felt that clearly in the last few weeks. Theyre so seal together, but Id rather be seal on my own. Theyre always saying how is with the four of us, and that we get along so well, without giving a moments thought to the fact that I dohat way. Daddys the only one who uands me, now and again, though he usually sides with Mother and Margot. Ahing I t stand is having them talk about me in front of outsiders, telling them how I cried or how sensibly Im behaving. Its horrible. And sometimes they talk about Moortje and I t take that at all. Moortje is my ot. I miss her every minute of the day, and no one knows how often I think of her; whenever I do, my eyes fill with tears. Moortje is so sweet, and I love her so much that I keep dreaming shell e back to us. I have plenty of dreams, but the reality is that well have to stay here until the war is over. We t ever go outside, and the only visitors we have are Miep, her husband Jan, Bep Voskuijl, Mr. Voskuijl, Mr. Kugler, Mr. Kleiman and Mrs. Kleiman, though she hasnt e because she thinks its too dangerous. ENT ADDED BY ANNE IEMBER 1942: Daddys always so nice. He uands me perfectly, and I wish we could have a heart-to-heart talk sometime without my bursting instantly into tears. But apparently that has to do with my age. Id like to spend all my time writing, but that would probably get b. Up to now Ive only fided my thoughts to my diary. I still havent gotten around to writing amusing sketches that I could read aloud at a later date. Iure Im going to devote less time to seality and more time to reality. AUGUST, 1942 FRIDAY, AUGUST 14, 1942 Dear Kitty, Ive deserted you for aire month, but so little has happehat I t find a newsworthy item to relate every single day. The van Daans arrived on July 13. We thought they were ing on the fourteenth, but from the thirteenth to sixteenth the Germans were sending out call-up notices right a and causing a lot of u, so they decided it would be safer to leave a day too early than a day too late. Peter van Daan arrived at hirty in the m (while we were still at breakfast). Peters going on sixteen, a shy, awkward boy whose pany wont amount to much. Mr. and Mrs. van Daan came half an hour later. Much to our amusement, Mrs. van Daan was carrying a hatbox with a large chamber pot inside. "I just dont feel at home without my chamber pot," she exclaimed, and it was the first item to find a perma plader the divan. Instead of a chamber pot, Mr. van D. was lugging a collapsible tea table under his arm. From the first, we ate our meals together, and after three days it felt as if the seven of us had bee one big family. Naturally, the van Daans had much to tell about the week wed been away from civilization. We were especially ied in what had happeo our apartment and toldschmidt. Mr. van Daan filled us in: "Monday m at nine, Mr. Goldschmidt phoned and asked if I could e over. I went straightaway and found a very distraught Mr. Goldschmidt. He showed me a hat the Frank family had left behind. As instructed, he lanning t the cat to the neighbors, which I agreed was a good idea. He was afraid the house was going to be searched, so we w=nt through all the rooms, straightening up here and there and clearing the breakfast things off the table. Suddenly I saw a notepad on Mrs. Franks desk, with an address in Maastricht written on it. Even though I knew Mrs. Frank had left it on purpose, I preteo be surprised and horrified and begged Mr. Goldschmidt to burn this incriminating piece of paper. I swore up and down that I knew nothing about your disappearance, but that the note had given me an idea. Mr. Goldschmidt, I said, I bet I know what this address refers to. About six months ago a high-ranking officer came to the office. It seems he and Mr. Frank grew up together. He promised to help Mr. Frank if it was ever necessary. As I recall, he was stationed in Maastricht. I think this officer has kept his word and is somehow planning to help them cross over to Belgium and then to Switzerland. Theres no harm in telling this to any friends of the Franks who e asking about them. Of course, you doo mention the part about Maastricht. And after that I left. This is the story most of your friends have been told, because I heard it later from several other people.” We thought it was extremely funny, but we laughed even harder when Mr. van Daan told us that certain people have vivid imaginations. For example, one family living on our square claimed they sawall four of us riding by on our bikes early in the m, and another woman was absolutely positive wed been loaded into some kind of military vehicle in the middle of the night. Yours, Anne FRIDAY, AUGUST 21, 1942 Dear Kitty, Now our Secret Annex has truly bee secret. Because so many houses are being searched for hidden bicycles, Mr. Kugler thought it would be better to have a bookcase built in front of the entrao our hiding place. It swings out on its hinges and opens like a door. Mr. Voskuijl did the carpentry work. (Mr. Voskuijl has been told that the seven of us are in hiding, and hes been most helpful.) Now whenever we want to go downstairs we have to dud then jump. After the first three days we were all walking around with bumps on our foreheads from banging our heads against the low doorway. Theer cushio by nailing a towel stuffed with wood shavings to the doorframe. Lets see if it helps! Im not doing much schoolwork. Ive given myself a vacation until September. Father wants to start tut me then, but we have to buy all the books first. Theres little ge in our lives here. Peters hair was washed today, but thats nothing special. Mr. van Daan and I are always at loggerheads with each other. Mama always treats me like a baby, which I t stand. For the rest, things are goier. I dont thiers gotten any nicer. Hes an obnoxious boy who lies around on his bed all day, only rousing himself to do a little carpentry work before returning to his nap. What a dope! Mama gave me another one of her dreadful sermons this m. We take the opposite view of everything. Daddys a sweetheart; he may get mad at me, but it never lasts lohan five minutes. Its a beautiful day outside, nid hot, and in spite of everything, we make the most of the weather by lounging on the folding bed iic. Yours, Anne SEPTEMBER, 1942 WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Mr. and Mrs. van Daan have had a terrible fight. Ive never seen anything like it, siher and Father wouldnt dream of shouting at each other like that. The argument was based on something so trivial it didnt seem worth wasting a single word on it. Oh well, to each his own. Of course, its very difficult for Peter, who gets caught in the middle, but no oakes Peter seriously anymore, since hes hypersensitive and lazy. Yesterday he was beside himself with worry because his tongue was blue instead of pink. This rare phenomenon disappeared as quickly as it came. Today hes walking around with a heavy scarf on because hes got a stiff neck. His Highness has been plaining of lumbago too. Aches and pains in his heart, kidneys and lungs are also par for the course. Hes an absolute hypodriac! (Thats the right word, isnt it?) Mother and Mrs. van Daa getting along very well. There are enough reasons for the fri. To give you one small example, Mrs. van D. has removed all but three of her sheets from our unal linen closet. Shes assuming that Mothers be used for both families. Shell be in for a nasty surprise when she discovers that Mother has followed her lead. Furthermore, Mrs. van D. is ticked off because were using her a instead of ours. Shes still trying to find out what weve doh our plates; theyre a lot closer thahinks, siheyre packed in cardboard boxes iic, behind a load of Opekta advertising material. As long as were in hiding, the plates will remain out of her reach. Since Im always having acts, its just as well! Yesterday I broke one of Mrs. van D.s soup bowls. "Oh!" she angrily exclaimed. "t you be more careful? That was my last one.” Please bear in mind, Kitty, that the two ladies speak abomich (I dont dare ent on the gentlemen: theyd be highly insulted). If you were to hear their butempts, youd laugh your head off. Weve given up pointing out their errors, since correg them doesnt help anyway. Whenever I quote Mother or Mrs. van Daan, Ill write proper Dutstead to duplicate their speech. Last week there was a brief interruption in our monotonous routihis rovided by Peter -- and a book about women. I should explain that Margot aer are allowed to read nearly all the books Mr. Kleiman lends us. But the adults preferred to keep this special book to themselves. This immediately piqued Peters curiosity. What forbidden fruit did it tain? He snuck off with it when his mother was downstairs talking, and took himself and his booty to the loft. For two days all was well. Mrs. van Daan knew what he to, but kept mum until Mr. van Daan found out about it. He threw a fit, took the book away and assumed that would be the end of the business. However, hed ed to take his sons curiosity into at. Peter, not in the least fazed by his fathers swift a, began thinking up ways to read the rest of this vastly iing book. In the meantime, Mrs. van D. asked Mother for her opinion. Mother didnt think this particular book was suitable for Margot, but she saw no harm iing her read most other books. You see, Mrs. van Daan, Mother Said, theres a big differeween Margot aer. To begin with, Margots a girl, and girls are always more mature than boys. Sed, shes already read many serious books and doesnt go looking for those which are no longer forbidden. Third, Margots much more sensible and intellectually advanced, as a result of her four years at an excellent school.” Mrs. van Daan agreed with her, but felt it was wrong as a matter of principle to let youngsters read books written for adults. Meanwhile, Peter had thought of a suitable time when no one would be ied iher him or the book. At seven-thirty in the evening, wheire family was listening to the radio in the private office, he took his treasure and stole off to the loft again. He should have been back by eight-thirty, but he was so engrossed in the book that he fot the time and was just ing dowairs when his father ehe room. The se that followed was not surprising: after a slap, a whad a tug-of-war, the book lay oable aer was in the loft. This is how matters stood when it was time for the family to eat. Peter stayed upstairs. No one gave him a moments thought; hed have to go to bed without his dinner. We tinued eating, chatting merrily away, when suddenly we heard a pierg whistle. We lay down our forks and stared at each other, the shock clearly visible on our pale faces. Then we heard Peters voice through the ey: "I won t e down!" Mr. van Daa up, his napkin falling to the floor, and shouted, with the blood rushing to his face, "Ive had enough!” Father, afraid of what might happen, grabbed him by the arm and the two meo the attic. After much struggling and kig, Peter wound up in his room with the door shut, and we went oing. Mrs. van Daan wao save a piece of bread for her darling son, but Mr. van D. was adamant. "If he doesnt apologize this minute, hell have to sleep in the loft.” We protested that going without dinner was enough punishment. What if Peter were to catch cold? We wouldnt be able to call a doctor. Peter didnt apologize, auro the loft. Mr. van Daan decided to leave well enough alohough he did he m that Peters bed had bee in. At seveer went to the attic again, but ersuaded to e downstairs when Father spoke a few friendly words to him. After three days of sullen looks and stubborn silence, everything was back to normal. Yours, Anne MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Today Ill tell you the general news here in the Annex. A lamp has been mounted above my divan bed so that iure, when I hear the guns going off, Ill be able to pull a cord and swit the light. I t use it at the moment because were keeping our window open a little, day and night. The male members of the van Daan ti have built a very handy wood-stained food safe, with real ss. Up to now this glorious cupboard has been located iers room, but ierests of fresh air its been moved to the attic. Where it oood, theres now a shelf. I advised Peter to put his table underh the shelf, add a nice rug and hang his own cupboard where the table now stands. That might make his little cubbyhole more fy, though I certainly wouldnt like to sleep there. Mrs. van Daan is unbearable. Im tinually being scolded for my incessant chatter when Im upstairs. I simply let the words bounce right off me! Madame now has a rick up her sleeve: trying to get out of washing the pots and pans. If theres a bit of food left at the bottom of the pan, she leaves it to spoil instead of transferring it to a glass dish. Then iernoon when Margot is stuck with ing all the pots and pans, Madame exclaims, "Oh, poor Margot, you have so much work to do!” Every other week Mr. Kleiman brings me a couple of books written firls my age. Im enthusiastic about the loop ter Heul series. Ive enjoyed all of Cissy van Marxveldts books very much. Ive read The Za Summer four times, and the ludicrous situations still make me laugh. Father and I are currently w on our family tree, aells me something about each person as we go along. Ive begun my schoolwork. Im w hard at French, cramming five irregular verbs into my head every day. But Ive fotten muuch of what I learned in school. Peter has taken up his English with great reluce. A few schoolbooks have just arrived, and I brought a large supply of notebooks, pencils, erasers and labels from home. Pim (thats our pet name for Father) wants me to help him with his Dutch lessons. Im perfectly willing to tutor him in exge for his assistah Frend other subjects. But he makes the most unbelievable mistakes! I sometimes listen to the Dutch broadcasts from London. Prince Bernhard retly annouhat Princess juliana is expeg a baby in January, which I think is wonderful. No one here uands why I take su i in the Royal Family. A few nights ago I was the topic of discussion, and we all decided I was an ignoramus. As a result, I threw myself into my schoolwork the day, since I have little desire to still be a freshman when Im fourteen or fifteen. The fact that Im hardly allowed to read anything was also discussed. At the moment, Mothers readilemen, Wives and Servants, and of course Im not allowed to read it (though Margot is!). First I have to be more intellectually developed, like my genius of a sister. Then we discussed my ignorance of philosophy, psychology and physiology (I immediately looked up these big words in the diary!). Its true, I dont know anything about these subjects. But maybe Ill be smarter year! Ive e to the shog clusion that I have only one long-sleeved dress and three cardigans to wear in the winter. Fathers given me permission to knit a white wool sweater; the yarn isnt very pretty, but itll be warm, and thats what ts. Some of our clothing was left with friends, but unfortunately we wont be able to get to it until after the rovided its still there, of course. Id just finished writing something about Mrs. van Daan when she walked into the room. Thump, I slammed the book shut. "Hey, Anne, t I even take a peek?” "No, Mrs. van Daan.” "Just the last page then?” "No, not even the last page, Mrs. van Daan.” Of course, I nearly died, sihat particular page tained a rather unflattering description of her. Theres something happening every day, but Im too tired and lazy to write it all down. Yours, Anne FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Father has a friend, a man in his mid-seventies named Mr. Dreher, whos sick, poor and deaf as a post. At his side, like a useless appendage, is his wife, twenty-seven years younger and equally poor, whose arms and legs are loaded with real and fake bracelets and rings left over from more prosperous days. This Mr. Dreher has already been a great nuisao Father, and Ive always admired the saintly patieh which he hahis pathetian on the phone. When we were still living at home, Mother used to advise him to put a gramophone in front of the receiver, ohat would repeat every three minutes, "Yes, Mr. Dreher" and "No, Mr. Dreher," sihe old man never uood a word of Fathers lengthy replies anyway. Today Mr. Dreher phohe offid asked Mr. Kugler to e and see him. Mr. Kugler wasnt in the mood and said he would send Miep, but Miep celed the appoi. Mrs. Dreher called the office three times, but since Miep was reportedly out the eernoon, she had to imitate Beps voice. Downstairs in the office as well as upstairs in the Ahere was great hilarity. Now each time the phs, Bep says Thats Mrs. Dreher!" and Miep has to laugh, so that the people oher end of the line are greeted with an impolite giggle. t you just picture it? This has got to be the greatest offi the whole wide world. The bosses and the office girls have such fun together! Some evenings I go to the van Daans for a little chat. We eat "mothball cookies” (molasses cookies that were stored in a closet that was mothproofed) and have a good time. Retly the versation was about Peter. I said that he often pats me on the cheek, which I dont like. They asked me in a typically grown-up way whether I could ever learn to love Peter like a brother, since he loves me like a sister. "Oh, no!" I said, but what I was thinking was, "Oh, ugh!" Just imagine! I added that Peters a bit stiff, perhaps because hes shy. Boys who arent used to being around girls are like that. I must say that the Annex ittee (the meion) is very creative. Listen to the scheme theyve e up with to get a message to Mr. Broks, aa Co. sales representative and friend whos surreptitiously hidden some of our things for us! Theyre going to type a letter to a store owner in southern Zealand who is, ily, one of Opekta s ers and ask him to fill out a form and send it ba the enclosed self-addressed envelope. Father will write the address on the envelope himself. Ohe letter is returned from Zealand, the form be removed and a handwritten message firming that Father is alive be ied in the envelope. This way Mr. Broks read the letter without suspeg a ruse. They chose the province of Zealand because its close to Belgium (a letter easily be smuggled across the border) and because no one is allowed to travel there without a special permit. An ordinary salesman like Mr. Broks would never be granted a permit. Yesterday Father put on another act. Groggy with sleep, he stumbled off to bed. His feet were cold, so I lent him my bed socks. Five minutes later he flung them to the floor. Then he pulled the blas over his head because the light bothered him. The lamp was switched off, and he gingerly poked his head out from uhe covers. It was all very amusing. We started talking about the fact that Peter says Margot is a "buttinsky." Suddenly Daddys voice was heard from the depths: "Sits on her butt, you mean. Mouschi, the cat, is being o me as time goes by, but Im still somewhat afraid of her. Yours, Anne SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Mother and I had a so-called "discussion" today, but the annoying part is that I burst into tears. I t help it. Daddy is always o me, and he also uands me much better. At moments like these I t stand Mother. Its obvious that Im a strao her; she doesnt even know what I think about the most ordinary things. We were talking about maids and the fact that youre supposed to refer to them as "domestic help" these days. She claimed that when the war is over, thats what theyll want to be called. I didnt quite see it that way. Then she added that I talk about later" so often and that I act as if I were such a lady, even though Im not, but I dont think building sand castles in the air is such a terrible thing to do, as long as you dont take it too seriously. At any rate, Daddy usually es to my defense. Without him I wouldnt be able to stick it out here. I do along with Margot very well either. Even though our family never has the same kind of outbursts they have upstairs, I find it far from pleasant. Margots and Mothers personalities are so alien to me. I uand my girlfriends better than my own mother. Isnt that a shame? For the umpteenth time, Mrs. van Daan is sulking. Shes very moody and has been removing more and more of her belongings and log them up. Its too bad Mother doesnt repay every van Daan "disappearing act" with a Frank "disappearing act.” Some people, like the van Daans, seem to take special delight not only in raising their own children but in helping others raise theirs. Margot doesnt , since shes naturally good, kind and clever, perfe itself, but I seem to have enough mischief for the two of us. More than ohe air has been filled with the van Daans admonitions and my saucy replies. Father and Mother always defend me fiercely. Without them I wouldnt be able to jump bato the fray with my usual posure. They keep telling me I should talk less, mind my own business and be more modest, but I seem doomed to failure. If Father werent so patient, Id have long ago given up hope of ever meeting my parents quite moderate expectations. If I take a small helping of a vegetable I loathe a potatoes instead, the van Daans, especially Mrs. van Daan, t get over how spoiled I am. "e on, An some more vegetables," she says. "No, thank you, maam," I reply. "The potatoes are more than enough.” "Vegetables are good for you; your mother says so too. Have some more," she insists, until Father intervenes and upholds my right to refuse a dish I dont like. Then Mrs. van D. really flies off the handle: "You should have been at our house, where children were brought up the way they should be. I dont call this a proper upbringing. Anne is terribly spoiled. Id never allow that. If Anne were my daughter. . .” This is always how her tirades begin and end: "If Anne were my daughter. . ." Thank goodness Im not. But to get back to the subject of raising childreerday a silence fell after Mrs. van D. finished her little speech. Father then replied, "I think Anne is very well brought up. At least shes learned not to respond to your interminable sermons. As far as the vegetables are ed, all I have to say is look whos calling the kettle black.” Mrs. van D. was soundly defeated. The pot calling the ketde black refers of course to Madame herself, since she t tolerate beans or any kind of cabbage in the evening because they give her "gas." But I could say the same. What a dope, dont you think? In any case, lets hope she stops talking about me. Its so funny to see how quickly Mrs. van Daan flushes. I dont, and it secredy annoys her no end. Yours, Anne MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 28,1942 Dearest Kitty, I had to stop yesterday, though I was nowhere near finished. Im dying to tell you about another one of our clashes, but before I do Id like to say this: I think its odd that grown-ups quarrel so easily and so often and about such petty matters. Up to now I always thought bickering was just something children did and that they outgrew it. Often, of course, theres sometimes a reason to have a real quarrel, but the verbal exges that take place here are just plain bickering. I should be used to the fact that these squabbles are daily occurrences, but Im not and never will be as long as Im the subject of nearly every discussion. (They refer to these as "discussions” instead of "quarrels," but Germans dont know the differehey criticize everything, and I meahing, about me: my behavior, my personality, my manners; every ine, from head to toe and back again, is the subject of gossip ae. Harsh words and shouts are stantly being flung at my head, though Im absolutely not used to it. Acc to the powers that be, Im supposed to grin and bear it. But I t! I have no iion of taking their insults lying down. Ill show them that Anne Frank wasnt borerday. Theyll sit up and take notid keep their big mouths shut when I make them see they ought to attend to their own manners instead of mine. How dare they act that way! Its simply barbaric. Ive been astoime and again, at such rudeness and most of all. . . at such stupidity (Mrs. van Daan). But as soon as Ive gotteo the idea, and that shouldnt take long, Ill give them a taste of their own medie, and then theyll ge their tune! Am I really as bad-mannered, headstrong, stubborn, pushy, stupid, lazy, etc., etc., as the van Daans say I am? No, of course not. I know I have my faults and shortings, but they blow them all out of proportion! If you only knew, Kitty, how I seethe when they scold and mock me. It wont take long before I explode with pent-up rage. But enough of that. Ive bored you long enough with my quarrels, a I t resist adding a highly iing dinner versation. Somehow we landed on the subject of Pims extreme diffidence. His modesty is a well-known fact, which eveupidest person wouldnt dream of questioning. All of a sudden Mrs. van Daan, who feels the herself into every versation, remarked, "Im very modest airing too, much more so than my husbandbbr>!” Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous? This sentence clearly illustrates that shes ly what youd call modest! Mr. van Daan, who felt obliged to explain the "much more so than my husband,” answered calmly, "I have no desire to be modest airing. In my experience, you get a lot further by being pushy!" And turning to me, he added, "Dont be modest airing, A will get you nowhere.” Mreed pletely with this viewpoint. But, as usual, Mrs. van Daan had to add her two ts. This time, however, instead of addressing me directly, she turo my parents and said, "You must have a stralook on life to be able to say that to Ahings were different when I was growing up. Though they probably havent ged much sihen, except in your modern household!” This was a direct hit at Mothers modern child-rearihods, which shes defended on many occasions. Mrs. van Daan was so upset her face turned bright red. People who flush easily bee even mitated when they feel themselves getting hot uhe collar, and they quickly lose to their oppos. The nonflushed mother, who now wao have the matter over and doh as quickly as possible, paused for a moment to think before she replied. "Well, Mrs. van Daan, I agree that its much better if a person isnt overmodest. My husband, Margot aer are all exceptionally modest. Your husband, Anne and I, though ly the opposite, do ourselves be pushed around.” Mrs. van Daan: "Oh, but Mrs. Frank, I dont uand what you mean! Holy, Im extremely modest airing. How c..an you say that Im pushy?” Mother: "I didnt say you were pushy, but no one would describe you as having a retiring disposition.” Mrs. van D.: "Id like to know in what way Im pushy! If I didnt look out for myself here, no one else would, and Id soon starve, but that doesnt mean Im not as modest airing as your husband.” Mother had no choice but to laugh at this ridiculous self-defense, which irritated Mrs. van Daan. ly a borer, she tinued her magnifit at in a mixture of German and Dutch, until she got so tangled up in her own words tha..t she finally rose from her chair and was just about to leave the room when her eye fell on me. You should have seen her! As luck would have it, the moment Mrs. van D. turned around I was shaking my head in a bination of passion and irony. I wasnt doing it on purpose, but Id followed her tirade so ily that my rea was pletely involuntary. Mrs. van D. wheeled around and gave me a tongue-lashing: hard, Germanic, mean and vulgar, exactly like some fat, red-faced fishwife. It was a joy to behold. If I could draw, Id like to have sketched her as she was then. She struck me as so ical, that silly little scatterbrain! Ive learned ohing: you only really get to knoerson after a fight. Only then you judge their true character! Yours, AUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1942 Dearest Kitty, The strahings happen to you when youre in hiding! Try to picture this. Because we dont have a bathtub, we wash ourselves in a washtub, and because theres only hot water in the office (by which I meaire lower floor), the seven of us take turns making the most of this great opportunity. But sinone of us are alike and are all plagued by varying degrees of modesty, each member of the family has selected a different place to wash. Peter takes a bath in the office kit, even though it has a glass door. When its time for his bath, he goes around to each of us in turn and annouhat we shouldnt ast the kit for the half hour. He siders this measure to be suffit. Mr. van D. takes his bath upstairs, figuring that the safety of his own room outweighs the difficulty of having to carry the hot water up all those stairs. Mrs. van D. has yet to take a bath; shes waiting to see which is the best place. Father bathes in the private offid Mother i behind a fire s, while Margot and I have declared the front office to be our bathing grounds. Sihe curtains are drawn on Saturday afternoon, we scrub ourselves in the dark, while the one who isnt ih looks out the window through a k in the curtains and gazes in wo９９ｌib? the endlessly amusing people. A week ago I decided I didnt like this spot and have been on the lookout for more fortable bathing quarters. It eter who gave me the idea of setting my washtub in the spacious office bathroom. I sit down, turn on the light, lock the door, pour out the water without anyones help, and all without the fear of being seen. I used my lovely bathroom for the first time on Sunday and, strange as it may seem, I like it better than any other place. The plumber was at work downstairs on Wednesday, moving the water pipes and drains from the office bathroom to the hallway so the pipes wont freeze during a cold wihe plumbers visit was far from pleasant. Not only were we not allowed to run water during the day, but the bathroom was also off-limits. Ill tell you how we hahis problem; you may find it unseemly of me t it up, but Im not so prudish about matters of this kind. On the day of our arrival, Father and I improvised a chamber pot, sacrifig a ing jar for this purpose. For the duration of the plumbers visit, ing jars were put into service during the daytime to hold our calls of nature. As far as I was ed, this wasnt half as difficult as having to sit still all day and not say a word. You imagine how hard that was for Miss Quack, Quack, Quack. On ordinary days we have to speak in a whisper; not being able to talk or move at all is ten times worse. After three days of stant sitting, my backside was stiff and sore. Nightly calisthenics helped. Yours, Anne OCTOBER, 1942 WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Mr. and Mrs. van Daan have had a terrible fight. Ive never seen anything like it, siher and Father wouldnt dream of shouting at each other like that. The argument was based on something so trivial it didnt seem worth wasting a single word on it. Oh well, to each his own. Of course, its very difficult for Peter, who gets caught in the middle, but no oakes Peter seriously anymore, since hes hypersensitive and lazy. Yesterday he was beside himself with worry because his tongue was blue instead of pink. This rare phenomenon disappeared as quickly as it came. Today hes walking around with a heavy scarf on because hes got a stiff neck. His Highness has been plaining of lumbago too. Aches and pains in his heart, kidneys and lungs are also par for the course. Hes an absolute hypodriac! (Thats the right word, isnt it?) Mother and Mrs. van Daa getting along very well. There are enough reasons for the fri. To give you one small example, Mrs. van D. has removed all but three of her sheets from our unal linen closet. Shes assuming that Mothers be used for both families. Shell be in for a nasty surprise when she discovers that Mother has followed her lead. Furthermore, Mrs. van D. is ticked off because were using her a instead of ours. Shes still trying to find out what weve doh our plates; theyre a lot closer thahinks, siheyre packed in cardboard boxes iic, behind a load of Opekta advertising material. As long as were in hiding, the plates will remain out of her reach. Since Im always having acts, its just as well! Yesterday I broke one of Mrs. van D.s soup bowls. "Oh!" she angrily exclaimed. "t you be more careful? That was my last one.” Please bear in mind, Kitty, that the two ladies speak abomich (I dont dare ent on the gentlemen: theyd be highly insulted). If you were to hear their butempts, youd laugh your head off. Weve given up pointing out their errors, since correg them doesnt help anyway. Whenever I quote Mother or Mrs. van Daan, Ill write proper Dutstead to duplicate their speech. Last week there was a brief interruption in our monotonous routihis rovided by Peter -- and a book about women. I should explain that Margot aer are allowed to read nearly all the books Mr. Kleiman lends us. But the adults preferred to keep this special book to themselves. This immediately piqued Peters curiosity. What forbidden fruit did it tain? He snuck off with it when his mother was downstairs talking, and took himself and his booty to the loft. For two days all was well. Mrs. van Daan knew what he to, but kept mum until Mr. van Daan found out about it. He threw a fit, took the 99liｂ?book away and assumed that would be the end of the business. However, hed ed to take his sons curiosity into at. Peter, not in the least fazed by his fathers swift a, began thinking up ways to read the rest of this vastly iing book. In the meantime, Mrs. van D. asked Mother for her opinion. Mother didnt think this particular book was suitable for Margot, but she saw no harm iing her read most other books. You see, Mrs. van Daan, Mother Said, theres a big differeween Margot aer. To begin with, Margots a girl, and girls are always more mature than boys. Sed, shes already read many serious books and doesnt go looking for those which are no longer forbidden. Third, Margots much more sensible and intellectually advanced, as a result of her four years at an excellent school.” Mrs. van Daan agreed with her, but felt it was wrong as a matter of principle to let youngsters read books written for adults. Meanwhile, Peter had thought of a suitable time when no one would be ied iher him or the book. At seven-thirty in the evening, wheire family was listening to the radio in the private office, he took his treasure and stole off to the loft again. He should have been back by eight-thirty, but he was so engrossed in the book that he fot the time and was just ing dowairs when his father ehe room. The se that followed was not surprising: after a slap, a whad a tug-of-war, the book lay oable aer was in the loft. This is how matters stood when it was time for the family to eat. Peter stayed upstairs. No one gave him a moments thought; hed have to go to bed without his dinner. We tinued eating, chatting merrily away, when suddenly we heard a pierg whistle. We lay down our forks and stared at each other, the shock clearly visible on our pale faces. Then we heard Peters voice through the ey: "I won t e down!" Mr. van Daa up, his napkin falling to the floor, and shouted, with the blood rushing to his face, "Ive had enough!” Father, afraid of what might happen, grabbed him by the arm and the two meo the attic. After much struggling and kig, Peter wound up in his room with the door shut, and we went oing. Mrs. van Daan wao save a piece of bread for her darling son, but Mr. van D. was adamant. "If he doesnt apologize this minute, hell have to sleep in the loft.” We protested that going without dinner was enough punishment. What if Peter were to catch cold? We wouldnt be able to call a doctor. Peter didnt apologize, auro the loft. Mr. van Daan decided to leave well enough alohough he did he m that Peters bed had bee in. At seveer went to the attic again, but ersuaded to e downstairs when Father spoke a few friendly words to him. After three days of sullen looks and stubborn silence, everything was back to normal. Yours, Anne MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Today Ill tell you the general news here in the Annex. A lamp has been mounted above my divan bed so that iure, when I hear the guns going off, Ill be able to pull a cord and swit the light. I t use it at the moment because were keeping our window open a little, day and night. The male members of the van Daan ti have built a very handy wood-stained food safe, with real ss. Up to now this glorious cupboard has been located iers room, but ierests of fresh air its been moved to the attic. Where it oood, theres now a shelf. I advised Peter to put his table underh the shelf, add a nice rug and hang his own cupboard where the table now stands. That might make his little cubbyhole more fy, though I certainly wouldnt like to sleep there. Mrs. van Daan is unbearable. Im tinually being scolded for my incessant chatter when Im upstairs. I simply let the words bounce right off me! Madame now has a rick up her sleeve: trying to get out of washing the pots and pans. If theres a bit of food left at the bottom of the pan, she leaves it to spoil instead of transferring it to a glass dish. Then iernoon when Margot is stuck with ing all the pots and pans, Madame exclaims, "Oh, poor Margot, you have so much work to do!” Every other week Mr. Kleiman brings me a couple of books written firls my age. Im enthusiastic about the loop ter Heul series. Ive enjoyed all of Cissy van Marxveldts books very much. Ive read The Za Summer four times, and the ludicrous situations still make me laugh. Father and I are currently w on our family tree, aells me something about each person as we go along. Ive begun my schoolwork. Im w hard at French, cramming five irregular verbs into my head every day. But Ive fotten muuch of what I learned in school. Peter has taken up his English with great reluce. A few schoolbooks have just arrived, and I brought a large supply of notebooks, pencils, erasers and labels from home. Pim (thats our pet name for Father) wants me to help him with his Dutch lessons. Im perfectly willing to tutor him in exge for his assistah Frend other subjects. But he makes the most unbelievable mistakes! I sometimes listen to the Dutch broadcasts from London. Prince Bernhard retly annouhat Princess juliana is expeg a baby in January, which I think is wonderful. No one here uands why I take su i in the Royal Family. A few nights ago I was the topic of discussion, and we all decided I was an ignoramus. As a result, I threw myself into my schoolwork the day, since I have little desire to still be a freshman when Im fourteen or fifteen. The fact that Im hardly allowed to read anything was also discussed. At the moment, Mothers readilemen, Wives and Servants, and of course Im not allowed to read it (though Margot is!). First I have to be more intellectually developed, like my genius of a sister. Then we discussed my ignorance of philosophy, psychology and physiology (I immediately looked up these big words in the diary!). Its true, I dont know anything about these subjects. But maybe Ill be smarter year! Ive e to the shog clusion that I have only one long-sleeved dress and three cardigans to wear in the winter. Fathers given me permission to knit a white wool sweater; the yarn isnt very pretty, but itll be warm, and thats what ts. Some of our clothing was left with friends, but unfortunately we wont be able to get to it until after the rovided its still there, of course. Id just finished writing something about Mrs. van Daan when she walked into the room. Thump, I slammed the book shut. "Hey, Anne, t I even take a peek?” "No, Mrs. van Daan.” "Just the last page then?” "No, not even the last page, Mrs. van Daan.” Of course, I nearly died, sihat particular page tained a rather unflattering description of her. Theres something happening every day, but Im too tired and lazy to write it all down. Yours, Anne FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Father has a friend, a man in his mid-seventies named Mr. Dreher, whos sick, poor and deaf as a post. At his side, like a useless appendage, is his wife, twenty-seven years younger and equally poor, whose arms and legs are loaded with real and fake bracelets and rings left over from more prosperous days. This Mr. Dreher has already been a great nuisao Father, and Ive always admired the saintly patieh which he hahis pathetian on the phone. When we were still living at home, Mother used to advise him to put a gramophone in front of the receiver, ohat would repeat every three minutes, "Yes, Mr. Dreher" and "No, Mr. Dreher," sihe old man never under>stood a word of Fathers lengthy replies anyway. Today Mr. Dreher phohe offid asked Mr. Kugler to e and see him. Mr. Kugler wasnt in the mood and said he would send Miep, but Miep celed the appoi. Mrs. Dreher called the office three times, but since Miep was reportedly out the eernoon, she had to imitate Beps voice. Downstairs in the office as well as upstairs in the Ahere was great hilarity. Now each time the phs, Bep says Thats Mrs. Dreher!" and Miep has to laugh, so that the people oher end of the line are greeted with an impolite giggle. t you just picture it? This has got to be the greatest offi the whole wide world. The bosses and the office girls have such fun together! Some evenings I go to the van Daans for a little chat. We eat "mothball cookies” (molasses cookies that were stored in a closet that was mothproofed) and have a good time. Retly the versation was about Peter. I said that he often pats me on the cheek, which I dont like. They asked me in a typically grown-up way whether I could ever learn to love Peter like a brother, since he loves me like a sister. "Oh, no!" I said, but what I was thinking was, "Oh, ugh!" Just imagine! I added that Peters a bit stiff, perhaps because hes shy. Boys who arent used to being around girls are like that. I must say that the Annex ittee (the meion) is very creative. Listen to the scheme theyve e up with to get a message to Mr. Broks, aa Co. sales representative and friend whos surreptitiously hidden some of our things for us! Theyre going to type a letter to a store owner in southern Zealand who is, ily, one of Opekta s ers and ask him to fill out a form and send it ba the enclosed self-addressed envelope. Father will write the address on the envelope himself. Ohe letter is returned from Zealand, the form be removed and a handwritten message firming that Father is alive be ied in the envelope. This way Mr. Broks read the letter without suspeg a ruse. They chose the province of Zealand because its close to Belgium (a letter easily be smuggled across the border) and because no one is allowed to travel there without a special permit. An ordinary salesman like Mr. Broks would never be granted a permit. Yesterday Father put on another act. Groggy with sleep, he stumbled off to bed. His feet were cold, so I lent him my bed socks. Five minutes later he flung them to the floor. Then he pulled the blas over his head because the light bothered him. The lamp was switched off, and he gingerly poked his head out from uhe covers. It was all very amusing. We started talking about the fact that Peter says Margot is a "buttinsky." Suddenly Daddys voice was heard from the depths: "Sits on her butt, you mean. Mouschi, the cat, is being o me as time goes by, but Im still somewhat afraid of her. Yours, Anne SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Mother and I had a so-called "discussion" today, but the annoying part is that I burst into tears. I t help it. Daddy is always o me, and he also uands me much better. At moments like these I t stand Mother. Its obvious that Im a strao her; she doesnt even know what I think about the most ordinary things. We were talking about maids and the fact that youre supposed to refer to them as "domestic help" these days. She claimed that when the war is over, thats what theyll want to be called. I didnt quite see it that way. Then she added that I talk about later" so often and that I act as if I were such a lady, even though Im not, but I dont think building sand castles in the air is such a terrible thing to do, as long as you dont take it too seriously. At any rate, Daddy usually es to my defense. Without him I wouldnt be able to stick it out here. I do along with Margot very well either. Even though our family never has the same kind of outbursts they have upstairs, I find it far from pleasant. Margots and Mothers personalities are so alien to me. I uand my girlfriends better than my own mother. Isnt that a shame? For the umpteenth time, Mrs. van Daan is sulking. Shes very moody and has been removing more and more of her belongings and log them up. Its too bad Mother doesnt repay every van Daan "disappearing act" with a Frank "disappearing act.” Some people, like the van Daans, seem to take special delight not only in raising their own children but in helping others raise theirs. Margot doesnt , since shes naturally good, kind and clever, perfe itself, but I seem to have enough mischief for the two of us. More than ohe air has been filled with the van Daans admonitions and my saucy replies. Father and Mother always defend me fiercely. Without them I wouldnt be able to jump bato the fray with my usual posure. They keep telling me I should talk less, mind my own business and be more modest, but I seem doomed to failure. If Father werent so patient, Id have long ago given up hope of ever meeting my parents quite moderate expectations. If I take a small helping of a vegetable I loathe a potatoes instead, the van Daans, especially Mrs. van Daan, t get over how spoiled I am. "e on, An some more vegetables," she says. "No, thank you, maam," I reply. "The potatoes are more than enough.” "Vegetables are good for you; your mother says so too. Have some more," she insists, until Father intervenes and upholds my right to refuse a dish I dont like. Then Mrs. van D. really flies off the handle: "You should have been at our house, where children were brought up the way they should be. I dont call this a proper upbringing. Anne is terribly spoiled. Id never allow that. If Anne were my daughter. . .” This is always how her tirades begin and end: "If Anne were my daughter. . ." Thank goodness Im not. But to get back to the subject of raising childreerday a silence fell after Mrs. van D. finished her little speech. Father then replied, "I think Anne is very well brought up. At least shes learned not to respond to your interminable sermons. As far as the vegetables are ed, all I have to say is look whos calling the kettle black.” Mrs. van D. was soundly defeated. The pot calling the ketde black refers of course to Madame herself, since she t tolerate beans or any kind of cabbage in the evening because they give her "gas." But I could say the same. What a dope, dont you think? In any case, lets hope she stops talking about me. Its so funny to see how quickly Mrs. van Daan flushes. I dont, and it secredy annoys her no end. Yours, Anne MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 28,1942 Dearest Kitty, I had to stop yesterday, though I was nowhere near finished. Im dying to tell you about another one of our clashes, but before I do Id like to say this: I think its odd that grown-ups quarrel so easily and so often and about such petty matters. Up to now I always thought bickering was just something children did and that they outgrew it. Often, of course, theres sometimes a reason to have a real quarrel, but the verbal exges that take place here are just plain bickering. I should be used to the fact that these squabbles are daily occurrences, but Im not and never will be as long as Im the subject of nearly every discussion. (They refer to these as "discussions” instead of "quarrels," but Germans dont know the differehey criticize everything, and I meahing, about me: my behavior, my personality, my manners; every ine, from head to toe and back again, is the subject of gossip ae. Harsh words and shouts are stantly being flung at my head, though Im absolutely not used to it. Acc to the powers that be, Im supposed to grin and bear it. But I t! I have no iion of taking their insults lying down. Ill show them that Anne Frank wasnt borerday. Theyll sit up and take notid keep their big mouths shut when I make them see they ought to attend to their own manners instead of mine. How dare they act that way! Its simply barbaric. Ive been astoime and again, at such rudeness and most of all. . . at such stupidity (Mrs. van Daan). But as soon as Ive gotteo the idea, and that shouldnt take long, Ill give them a taste of their own medie, and then theyll ge their tune! Am I really as bad-mannered, headstrong, stubborn, pushy, stupid, lazy, etc., etc., as the van Daans say I am? No, of course not. I know I have my faults and shortings, but they blow them all out of proportion! If you only knew, Kitty, how I seethe when they scold and mock me. It wont take long before I explode with pent-up rage. But enough of that. Ive bored you long enough with my quarrels, a I t resist adding a highly iing dinner versation. Somehow we landed on the subject of Pims extreme diffidence. His modesty is a well-known fact, which eveupidest person wouldnt dream of questioning. All of a sudden Mrs. van Daan, who feels the herself into every versation, remarked, "Im very modest airing too, much more so than my husband!” Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous? This sentence clearly illustrates that shes ly what youd call modest! Mr. van Daan, who felt obliged to explain the "much more so than my husband,” answered calmly, "I have no desire to be modest airing. In my experience, you get a lot further by being pushy!" And turning to me, he added, "Dont be modest airing, A will get you nowhere.” Mreed pletely with this viewpoint. But, as usual, Mrs. van Daan had to add her two ts. This time, however, instead of addressing me directly, she turo my parents and said, "You must have a stralook on life to be able to say that to Ahings ..were different when I was growing up. Though they probably havent ged much sihen, except in your modern household!” This was a direct hit at Mothers modern child-rearihods, which shes defended on many occasions. Mrs. van Daan was so upset her face turned bright red. People who flush easily bee even mitated when they feel themselves getting hot uhe collar, and they quickly lose to their oppos. The nonflushed mother, who now wao have the matter over and doh as quickly as possible, paused for a moment to think before she replied. "Well, Mrs. van Daan, I agree that its much better if a person isnt overmodest. My husband, Margot aer are all exceptionally modest. Your husband, Anne and I, though ly the opposite, do ourselves be pushed around.” Mrs. van Daan: "Oh, but Mrs. Frank, I dont uand what you mean! Holy, Im extremely modest airing. How you say that Im pushy?” Mother: "I didnt say you were pushy, but no one would describe you as having a retiring disposition.” Mrs. van D.: "Id like to know in what way Im pushy! If I didnt look out for myself here, no one else would, and Id soon starve, but that doesnt mean Im not as modest airing as your husband.” Mother had no choice but to laugh at this ridiculous self-defense, which irritated Mrs. van Daan. ly a borer, she tinued her magnifit at in a mixture of German and Dutch, until she got so tangled up in her own words that she finally rose from her chair and was just about to leave the room when her eye fell on me. You should have seen her! As luck would have it, the moment Mrs. van D. turned around I was shaking my head in a bination of passion and irony. I wasnt doing it on purpose, but Id followed her tirade so ily that my rea was pletely involuntary. Mrs. van D. wheeled around and gave me a tongue-lashing: hard, Germanic, mean and vulgar, exactly like some fat, red-faced fishwife. It was a joy to behold. If I could draw, Id like to have sketched her as she was then. She struck me as so ical, that silly little scatterbrain! Ive learned ohing: you only really get to knoerson after a fight. Only then you judge their true character! Yours, Anne TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1942 Dearest Kitty, The strahings happen to you when youre in hiding! Try to picture this. Because we dont have a bathtub, we wash ourselves in a washtub, and because theres only hot water in the office (by which I meaire lower floor), the seven of us take turns making the most of this great opportunity. But sinone of us are alike and are all plagued by varying degrees of modesty, each member of the family has selected a different place to wash. Peter takes a bath in the office kit, even though it has a glass door. When its time for his bath, he goes around to each of us in turn and annouhat we shouldnt ast the kit for the half hour. He siders this measure to be suffit. Mr. van D. takes his bath upstairs, figuring that the safety of his own room outweighs the difficulty of having to carry the hot water up all those stairs. Mrs. van D. has yet to take a bath; shes waiting to see which is the best place. Father bathes in the private offid Mother i behind a fire s, while Margot and I have declared the front office to be our bathing grounds. Sihe curtains are drawn on Saturday afternoon, we scrub ourselves in the dark, while the one who isnt ih looks out the window through a k in the curtains and gazes in wo the endlessly amusing people. A week ago I decided I didnt like this spot and have been on the lookout for more fortable bathing quarters. It eter who gave me the idea of setting my washtub in the spacious office bathroom. I sit down, turn on the light, lock the door, pour out the water without anyones help, and all without the fear of being seen. I used my lovely bathroom for the first time on Sunday and, strange as it may seem, I like it better than any other place. The plumber was at work downstairs on Wednesday, moving the water pipes and drains from the office bathroom to the hallway so the pipes wont freeze during a cold wihe plumbers visit was far from pleasant. Not only were we not allowed to run water during the day, but the bathroom was also off-limits. Ill tell you how we hahis problem; you may find it unseemly of me t it up, but Im not so prudish about matters of this kind. On the day of our arrival, Father and I improvised a chamber pot, sacrifig a ing jar for this purpose. For the duration of the plumbers visit, ing jars were put into service during the daytime to hold our calls of nature. As far as I was ed, this wasnt half as difficult as having to sit still all day and not say a word. You imagine how hard that was for Miss Quack, Quack, Quack. On ordinary days we have to speak in a whisper; not being able to talk or move at all is ten times worse. After three days of stant sitting, my backside was stiff and sore. Nightly calisthenics helped. Yours, Anne NOVEMBER, 1942 MONDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 1942 Dear Kitty, Bep stayed with us Friday evening. It was fun, but she didnt sleep very well because shed drunk some wine. For the rest, theres nothing special to report. I had an awful headache yesterday ao bed early. Margots being exasperating again. This m I began s out an index card file from the office, because itd fallen over and gotten all mixed up. Before long I was going nuts. I asked Margot aer to help, but they were too lazy, so I put it away. Im not crazy enough to do it all by myself! Anne Frank PS. I fot to mention the importahat Im probably going to get my period soon. I tell because I keep finding a whitish smear in my panties, and Mother predicted it would start soon. I hardly wait. Its such a momentous event. Too bad I t use sanitary napkins, but you t get them anymore, and Mamas tampons be used only by women whove had a baby. i ENT ADDED BY ANNE ON JANUARY 22, 1944: I wouldnt be able to write that kind of thing anymore. Now that Im rereading my diary after a year and a half, Im surprised at my childish innoce. Deep down I know I could never be that i again, however much Id like to be. I uand the mood aes and the ents about Margot, Mother and Father as if Id written them only yesterday, but I t imagine writina so openly about other matters. It embarrasses me areatly to read the panes dealina with subjects that I remembered as beina han they actually were. My descriptions are so indelicate. But enouah of that. I also uand my homesiess and yearning for Moortje. The whole time Ive been here Ive longed unsciously and at times sciously for trust, love and physical affe. This longing may ge in iy, but its always there. THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1942 Dear Kitty, The British have finally scored a few successes in Afrid Stalingrad hasnt falle, so the men are happy and we had coffee ahis m. For the rest, nothing special to report. This week Ive been reading a lot and doing little work. Thats the way things ought to be. Thats surely the road to success. Mother and I are getting aloer lately, but were never close. Fathers not very open about his feelings, but hes the same sweetheart hes always bee the stove a few days ago and the entire room is still filled with smoke. I prefer tral heating, and Im probably not the only one. Margots a stiheres no other word for it), a stant source of irritation, m, noon and night. Anne Frank SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Mothers nerves are very mu edge, and that doesnt bode well for me. Is it just a ce that Father and Mother never sargot and always blame me for everything? Last night, for example, Margot was reading a book with beautiful illustrations; she got up and put the book aside for later. I wasnt doing anything, so I picked it up and began looking at the pictures. Margot e back, saw "her" book in my hands, knitted her brow and angrily demahe book back. I wao look through it some more. Margot got madder by the minute, and Mother butted in: "Margot was reading that book; give it back to her.” Father came in, and without even knowing what was going on, saw that Margot was being wronged and lashed out at me: "Id like to see what youd do if Margot was looking at one of your books!” I promptly gave in, put the book down and, acc to them, left the room in a huff." I was her huffy nor cross, but merely sad. It wasnt right of Father to pass judgment without knowing what the issue was. I would have given the book tot myself, and a lot sooner, if Father and Mother hadnt intervened and rushed to take Margots part, as if she were suffering some great injustice. Of course, Mother took Margots side; they always take each others sides. Im so used to it that Ive bee pletely indifferent to Mothers rebukes and Margots moodiness. I love them, but only because theyre Mother and Margot. I dont give a darn about them as people. As far as Im ed, they go jump in a lake. Its different with Father. When I see him being partial tot, approving Margots every a, praising her, hugging her, I feel a gnawing ache inside, because Im crazy about him. I model myself after Father, and theres no one in the world I love more. He doesnt realize that he treats Margot differently than he does me: Margot just happens to be the smartest, the ki, the prettiest and the best. But I have a right to be taken seriously too. Ive always been the and mischief maker of the family; Ive always had to pay double for my sins: oh scoldings and then again with my own sense of despair. Im no longer satisfied with the meaningless affe or the supposedly serious talks. I long for something from Father that hes incapable of giving. Im not jealous of Margot; I never have been. Im not envious of her brains or her beauty. Its just that Id like to feel that Father really loves me, not because Im his child, but because Im me, Anne. I g to Father because my pt of Mother is growing daily and its only through him that Im able to retain the last ounce of family feeling I have left. He doesnt uand that I sometimes o vent my feelings for Mother. He doesnt want to talk about it, and he avoids any discussion involving Mothers failings. A Mother, with all her shortings, is tougher for me to deal with. I dont know how I should act. I t very well front her with her carelessness, her sarcasm and her hard-heartedness, yet I t tio take the blame for everything. Im the opposite of Mother, so of course we clash. I doo judge her; I dont have that right. Im simply looking at her as a mother. Shes not a mother to me -- I have to mother myself. Ive cut myself adrift from them. Im charting my own course, and well see where it leads me. I have no choice, because I picture what a mother and a wife should be and t seem to find anything of the sort in the woman Im supposed to call "Mother.” I tell myself time and again to overlook Mothers bad example. I only want to see her good points, and to look inside myself for whats lag in her. But it doesnt work, and the worst part is that Father and Mother dont realize their own inadequacies and how much I blame them for letting me down. Are there any parents who make their children pletely happy? Sometimes I think God is trying to test me, both now and iure. Ill have to bee a good person on my own, without ao serve as a model or advise me, but itll make me stronger in the end. Who else but me is ever going to read these letters? Who else but me I turn to for fort? Im frequently in need of solation, I often feel weak, and more often than not, I fail to meet expectations. I know this, and every day I resolve to do better. They arent sistent ireatment of me. One day they say that Annes a sensible girl aled to know everything, and the hat Annes a silly goose who doesnt know a thing a imagines shes learned all she o know from books! Im no lohe baby and spoiled little darling whose every deed be laughed at. I have my own ideas, plans and ideals, but am uo articulate them yet. Oh well. So mues into my head at night when Im alone, or during the day when Im obliged to put up with people I t abide or who invariably misinterpret my iions. Thats why I always wind up ing bay diary -- I start there ahere because Kittys alatient. I promise her that, despite everything, Ill keep going, that Ill find my own way and choke back my tears. I only wish I could see some results or, just once, receive encement from someone who loves me. Dont n me, but think of me as a person who sometimes reaches the bursting point! Yours, Anne MONDAY, NOVEMBER 9,1942 Dearest Kitty, Yesterday eters birthday, his sixteenth. I stairs by eight, aer and I looked at his presents. He received a game of Monopoly, a razor and a cigarette lighter. Not that he smokes so muot at all; it just looks so distinguished. The biggest surprise came from Mr. van Daan, who reported at ohat the English had landed in Tunis, Algiers, Casabland Oran. "This is the beginning of the end," everyone was saying, but Churchill, the British Prime Minister, who must have heard the same thing beied in England, declared, "This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning." Do you see the difference? However, theres reason for optimism. Stalingrad, the Russian city that has been utack for three months, still hasnt fallen into German hands. Irue spirit of the Annex, I should talk to you about food. (I should explain that theyre real gluttons up oop floor.) Bread is delivered daily by a very nice baker, a friend of Mr. Kleimans. Of course, we dont have as much as we did at home, but its enough. We also purchase ration books on the black market. The price keeps going up; its already risen from 27 to 33 guilders. And that for mere sheets of printed paper! To provide ourselves with a source of nutrition that will keep, aside from the hundred s of food weve stored here, we bought three hundred pounds of beans. Not just for us, but for the office staff as well. Wed hung the sacks of beans on hooks in the hallway, just inside our secret entrance, but a few seams split uhe weight. So we decided to move them to the attid Peter was entrusted with the heavy lifting. He mao get five of the six sacks upstairs intad was busy with the last one when the sack broke and a flood, or rather a hailstorm, of brown bea flying through the air and dowairs. Sihere were about fifty pounds of beans in that sack, it made enough o raise the dead. Downstairs they were sure the house was falling down around their heads. Peter was stunned, but then burst into peals of laughter when he saw me standing at the bottom of the stairs, like an island in a sea of brown, with waves of beans lapping at my ankles. We promptly began pig them up, but beans are so small and slippery that they roll into every ceivable er and hole. Now each time we go upstairs, we bend over and hunt around so resent Mrs. van Daan with a handful of beans. I almost fot to mention that Father has recovered from his illness. Yours, Anne P.S. The radio has just annouhat Algiers has fallen. Morocco, Casabland Oran have been in English hands for several days. Were now waiting for Tunis. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Great news! Were planning to take ah person into hiding with us! Yes, really. We always thought there was enough room and food for one more person, but we were afraid of plag an eveer burden on Mr. Kugler and Mr. Kleiman. But since reports of the dreadful things being doo the Jews are getting worse by the day, Father decided to sound out these two gentlemen, and they thought it was an excellent plan. "Its just as dangerous, whether there are seven ht," they noted rightly. Ohis was settled, we sat down aally went through our circle of acquaintarying to e up with a single person who would blend in well with our extended family. This wasnt difficult. After Father had rejected all the van Daaives, we chose a dentist named Alfred Dussel. He lives with a charming Christian lady whos quite a bit youhan he is. Theyre ..probably not married, but thats beside the point. Hes known to be quiet and refined, and he seemed, from our superficial acquaintah him, to be nice. Miep knows him as well, so shell be able to make the necessary arras. If he es, Mr. Dussel will have to sleep in my room instead of Margot, who will have to make do with the folding bed.* [*After Dussel arrived, Margot slept in her parents bedroom.] Well ask him t along something to fill cavities with. Yours, Anne THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Miep came to tell us that shed been to see Dr. Dussel. He asked her the moment she ehe room if she knew of a hiding plad was enormously pleased when Miep said she had something in mind. She added "that hed o go into hiding as soon as possible, preferably Saturday, but he thought this was highly improbable, since he wa his records up to date, settle his ats and attend to a couple of patients. Miep relayed the message to us this m. We didnt think it was wise to wait so long. All these preparations require explanations to various people who we feel ought to be kept in the dark. Miep went to ask if Dr. Dussel couldnt mao e on Saturday after all, but he said no, and now hes scheduled to arrive on Monday. I think its odd that he doesnt jump at our proposal. If they pick him up oreet, it wont help either his records or his patients, so why the delay? If you ask me, its stupid of Father to humor him. Otherwise, no news. Yours, Anne TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1942 Dearest Kitty! Mr. Dussel has arrived. Everythi smoothly. Miep told him to be at a certain pla front of the post office at 11 A.M., when a man would meet him, and he was at the appointed place at the appoiime. Mr. Kleima up to him, annouhat the man he was expeg to meet was uo e and asked him to drop by the office to see Miep. Mr. Kleiman took a streetcar back to the office while Mr. Dussel followed on foot. It was elevey when Mr. Dussel tapped on the office door. Miep asked him to remove his coat, so the yellow star couldnt be seen, and brought him to the private office, where Mr. Kleima him occupied until the ing lady had gone. On the pretext that the private office was needed for something else, Miep took Mr. Dussel upstairs, opehe bookcase and stepped inside, while Mr. Dussellooked on in amazement. In the meahe seven of us had seated ourselves around the dining table to await the latest addition to our family with coffee and ac. Miep first led him into the Frank familys room. He immediately reized our furniture, but had no idea we were upstairs, just above his head. Wheold him, he was so astonished he nearly faihank goodness she didnt leave him in suspense any longer, but brought him upstairs. Mr. Dussel sank into a chair and stared at us in dumbstruck silence, as though he thought he could read the truth on our faces. Theuttered, "Aber . . . but are you nicht in Belgium? The officer, the auto, they were not ing? Your escape was not w?” We explaihe whole thing to him, about how wed deliberately spread the rumor of the officer and the car to throw the Germans and anyone else who might e looking for us off the track. Mr. Dussel eechless in the face of sugenuity, and could do nothing but gaze around in surprise as he explored the rest of our lovely and ultrapractical Annex. We all had lunch together. Theook a short nap, joined us for tea, put away the few belongings Miep had been able t here in advand began to feel much more at home. Especially when we handed him the following typewritten rules and regulations for the Secret Annex (a van Daan produ): PROSPECTUS AND GUIDE TO THE SECRET ANNEX A Unique Facility for the Temporary Aodation of Jews and Other Dispossessed Persons Open all year round: Located iiful, quiet, wooded surroundings in the heart of Amsterdam. No private residences in the viity. be reached by streetcar 1..3 or 17 and also by car and bicycle. For those to whom such transportation has been forbidden by the German authorities, it also be reached on foot. Furnished and unfurnished rooms and apartments are available at all times, with or without meals. Price: Free. Diet: Low-fat. Runnina water ihroom (sorry, no bath) and on various inside and outside walls. Cozy wood stoves for heating. Ample ste space for a variety of goods. Twe, modern safes. Private radio with a direct lio London, New York, Tel Aviv and many other stations. Available to all residents after 6 P.M. No listening to forbidden broadcasts, with certain exceptions, i.e., German stations may only be tuned in to listen to classical music. It is absolutely forbidden to listen to German news bulletins (regardless of where they are transmitted from) and to pass them on to others. Rest hours: From 10 P.M. to 7:30 A.M.; 10:15 A.M. on Sundays. Owing to circumstances, residents are required to observe rest hours during the daytime when instructed to do so by the Ma. To ehe safety of all, rest hours must be strictly observed!!! Free-time activities: None allowed outside the house until further notice. Use of language: It is necessary to speak softly at all times. Only the language of civilized people may be spoken, thus no German. Reading and relaxation: No German books may be read, except for the classid works of a scholarly nature. Other books are optional. Calisthenics: Daily. Singing: Only softly, and after 6 P.M. Movies: Priements required. Classes: A weekly correspondence course in shorthand. Courses in English, French, math and history offered at any hour of the day ht. Payment in the form of tut, e.g., Dutch. Separate department for the care of small household pets (with the exception of vermin, for which special permits are required). Mealtimes: Breakfast: At 9 A.M. daily except holidays and Sundays; at approximately 11:30 A.M. on Sundays and holidays. Lunch: A light meal. From 1:15 P.M. to 1:45 P.M. Dinner: Mayor not be a hot meal. Mealtime depends on news broadcasts. Obligations with respect to the Supply Corps: Residents must be prepared to help with office work at all times. Baths: The washtub is available to all residents after 9 A.M. on Sundays. Residents may bathe ihroom, kit, private office or front office, as they choose. Alcohol: For medial purposes only. The end. Yours, Anne THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Just as we thought, Mr. Dussel is a very nice man. Of course he didnt mind sharing a room with me; to be ho, Im ly delighted at having a stranger use my things, but you have to make sacrifices food cause, and Im glad I make this small one. "If we save even one of our friends, the rest doesnt matter," said Father, and hes absolutely right. The first day Mr. Dussel was here, he asked me all sorts of questions -- for example, what time the ing lady es to the office, how weve arrao use the washroom and when were allowed to go to the toilet. You may laugh, but these things arent so easy in a hiding place. During the daytime we t make any hat might be heard downstairs, and when someone else is there, like the ing lady, we have to be extra careful. I patiently explained all this to Mr. Dussel, but I was surprised to see how slow he is to cat. He asks everything twid still t remember what youve told him. Maybe hes just fused by the sudden ge and hell get over it. Otherwise, everything is going fine. Mr. Dussel has told us much about the outside world weve missed for so long. He had sad news. tless friends and acquaintances have been taken off to a dreadful fate. Night after night, green and gray military vehicles cruise the streets. They kno every door, asking whether any Jews live there. If so, the whole family is immediately taken away. If not, they proceed to the house. Its impossible to escape their clutches unless you go into hiding. They often go around with lists, knog only on those doors where they know theres a big haul to be made. They frequently offer a bounty, so much per head. Its like the slave hunts of the olden days. I doo make light ofthisj its much tic for that. In the evenings when its dark, I often see long lines of good, i people, apanied by g children, walking on and on, ordered about by a handful of men who bully ahem until they nearly drop. No one is spared. The sick, the elderly, children, babies and pregnant women -- all are marched to their death. Were so fortunate here, away from the turmoil. We wouldnt have to give a moments thought to all this suffering if it werent for the fact that were so worried about those we hold dear, whom we o longer help. I feel wicked sleeping in a warm bed, while somewhere out there my dearest friends are dropping from exhaustion or being ko the ground. I get frightened myself when I think of close friends who are now at the mercy of the cruelest monsters ever to stalk the earth. And all because theyre Jews. Yours, Anne FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1942 Dearest Kitty, We dont really know how to react. Up to now very little news about the Jews had reached us here, ahought it best to stay as cheerful as possible. Every now and then Miep used to mention what had happeo a friend, and Mother or Mrs. van Daan would start to cry, so she decided it was better not to say any more. But we bombarded Mr. Dussel with questions, and the stories he had to tell were so gruesome and dreadful that we t get them out of our heads. Once weve had time to digest the news, well probably go back to our usual joking and teasing. It wont do us or those outside any good if we tio be as gloomy as we are now. And what would be the point of turning the Secret Annex into a Melancholy Annex? No matter what Im doing, I t help thinking about those whone. I catch myself laughing and remember that its a disgrace to be so cheerful. But am I supposed to spend the whole day g? No, I t do that. This gloom will pass. Added to this misery theres another, but of a more personal nature, and it pales in parison to the suffering Ive just told you about. Still, I t help telling you that lately Ive begun to feel deserted. Im surrounded by too great a void. I never used to give it much thought, since my mind was filled with my friends and having a good time. Now I thiher about unhappy things or about myself. Its taken a while, but Ive finally realized that Father, no matter how kind he may be, t take the play former world. When it es to my feelings, Mother and Margot ceased to t long ago. But why do I bother you with this foolishness? Im terribly ungrateful, Kitty, I know, but when Ive been scolded for the umpteenth time and have all these other woes to think about as well, my head begins to reel! Yours, Anne SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 2g, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Weve been using too much electricity and have now exceeded our ration. The result: excessive ey and the prospect of having the electricity cut off. No light for fourteen days; thats a pleasant thought, isnt it? But who knows, maybe it wont be so long! Its too dark to read after four or four-thirty, so we while away the time with all kinds of crazy activities: telling riddles, doing calistheni the dark, speaking English or French, reviewing books -- after a while everythis b. Yesterday I discovered a new pastime: using a good pair of binoculars to peek into the lighted rooms of the neighbors. During the day our curtains t be opened, not even an inch, but theres no harm when its so dark. I never khat neighbors could be so iing. Ours are, at any rate. Ive e across a few at dinner, one family making home movies and the dentist across the way w on a frightened old lady. Mr. Dussel, the man who was said to get along so well with children and to absolutely adore them, has turned out to be an old-fashioned disciplinarian and preacher of unbearably long sermons on manners. Since I have the singular pleasure (!) of sharing my far too narrow room with His Excellency, and since Im generally sidered to be the worst behaved of the three young people, its all I do to avoid having the same old scoldings and admonitioedly flung at my head and to pretend not to hear. This wouldnt be so bad if Mr. Dussel werent such a tattletale and hadnt singled out Mother to be the recipient of his reports. If Mr. Dussels just read me the riot act, Mother lectures me all ain, this time throwing the whole book at me. And if Im really lucky, Mrs. van D. calls me to at five minutes later and lays down the law as well! Really, its not easy being the badly brought-up ter of attention of a family of nitpickers. I night, as I ponder my many sins and exaggerated shortings, I get so fused by the sheer amount of things I have to sider that I either laugh or cry, depending on my mood. Then I fall asleep with the strange feeling of wanting to be different than I am or being different than I want to be, or perhaps of behaving differently than I am or want to be. Oh dear, now Im fusing you too. Five me, but I dont like crossing things out, and iimes of scarcity, tossing aiece of paper is clearly taboo. So I only advise you not to reread the above passage and to make no attempt to get to the bottom of it, because youll never find your way out again! Yours, Anne DECEMBER, 1942 MONDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Hanukkah and St. Nicholas Day nearly cided this year; they were only one day apart. We didnt make much of a fuss with Hanukkah, merely exging ?９9ｌib.a few small gifts and lighting the dles. Since dles are in short supply, we lit them for only ten minutes, but as long as we sing the song, that doesnt matter. Mr. van Daan made a menorah out of wood, so that was taken care of too. St. Nicholas Day on Saturday was much more fun. During dinner Bep and Miep were so busy whispering to Father that our curiosity was aroused and we suspected they were up to something. Sure enough, at eight oclock we all trooped downstairs through the hall in pitch darkness (it gave me the shivers, and I wished I was safely back upstairs!) to the alcove. We could swit the light, sihis room doesnt have any windows. When that was done, Father opehe big et. "Oh, how wonderful!" we all cried. In the er was a large basket decorated with colorful paper and a mask of Black Peter. We quickly took the basket upstairs with us. Inside was a little gift for everyone, including an appropriate verse. Since youre famthar with the kinds of poems peo ple write each other on St. Nicholas Day, I wont copy them down for you. I received a Kewpie doll, Father got bookends, and so on. Well anyway, it was a nice idea, and sihe eight of us had never celebrated St. Nicholas Day before, this was a good time to begin. Yours, Anne PS. We also had presents for everyone downstairs, a few things .left over from the Good Old Days; plus Miep and Bep are always grateful for money. Today we heard that Mr. van Daan s ashtray, Mr. Dussels picture frame and Fathers bookends were made by her than Mr. Voskuijl. How anyone be so clever with his hands is a mystery to me! THURSDAY, DECEMBER 10, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Mr. van Daao be in the meat, sausage and spice business. He was hired for his knowledge of spices, areat delight, its his sausage talents that have e in handy now. We ordered a large amount of meat (uhe ter, of course) that we were planning to preserve in case there were hard times ahead. Mr. van Daan decided to make bratwurst, sausages awurst. I had fun watg him put the meat through the grinder: owice, three times. Then he added the remaining ingredi ents to the grou and used a long pipe to force the mixture into the gs. We ate the bratwurst with sauerkraut for lunch, but the sausages, which were going to be ed, had to dry first, so we hung them over a pole suspended from the g. Everyone who came into the room burst into laughter when they saw the dangling sausages.It was such a ical sight. The kit was a shambles. Mr. van Daan, clad in his wifes apron and looking fatter than ever, was w away at the meat. What with his bloody hands, red fad spotted apron, he looked like a real butcher. Mrs. D. was trying to do everything at once: learning Dutch out of a book, stirring the soup, watg the meat, sighing and moaning about her broken rib. Thats what happens when old (!) ladies do such stupid exercises to get rid of their fat behinds! Dussel had an eye iion and was sittio the stove dabbing his eye with ile tea. Pim, seated in the one ray of sunshine ing through the window, kept having to move his chair this way and that to stay out of the way. His rheumatism must have been b him because he was slightly hunched over and was keeping an eye on Mr. van Daan with an agonized expression on his face. He reminded me of those aged invalids you see in the poor-house. Peter was romping around the room with Mouschi, the cat, while Mother, Margot and I were peeling boiled potatoes. When you get right down to it, none of us were doing our work properly, because we were all so busy watg Mr. van Daan. Dussel has opened his dental practice. Just for fun, Ill describe the session with his very first patient. Mother was ironing, and Mrs. van D., the first victim, sat down on a chair in the middle of the room. Dussel, unpag his case with an air of importance, asked for some eau de cologne, which could be used as a disiant, and vaseline, which would have to do for wax. He looked in Mrs. van D.s mouth and found two teeth that made her wih pain and utter i cries every time he touched them. After a lengthy examinatiohy as far as Mrs. van D. was ed, si actually took no lohan two minutes), Dussel began to scrape out a cavity. But Mrs. van D. had no iion of letting him. She flailed her arms and legs until Dussel finally let go of his probe and it . . . remaiu Mrs. van D.s tooth. That really did it! Mrs. van D. lashed out wildly in all dires, cried (as much as you with an instrument like that in your mouth), tried to remove it, but only mao push it in even farther. Mr. Dussel calmly observed the se, his hands on his hips, while the rest of the audience roared with laughter. Of course, that was very mean of us. If itd been me, Im sure I would have yelled even louder. After a great deal of squirming, kig, screaming and shouting, Mrs. van D. finally mao yank the thing out, and Mr. Dussel went on with his work as if nothing had happened. He was so quick that Mrs. van D. didnt have time to pull any more shenanigans. But then, he had more help than hes ever had before: no fewer than two assis tants; Mr. van D. and I performed our job well. The whole se resembled one of those engravings from the Middle Ages entitled" A Quack at Work." In the meantime, however, the patient was gettiless, since she had to keep an eye on "her" soup and "her” food. Ohing is certain: itll be a while before Mrs. van D. makes another dental appoi! Yours, Anne SUNDAY, DECEMBER 13, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Im sitting here nid cozy in the front office, peering out through a k in the heavy curtains. Its dusky, but theres just enough light to write by. Its really strag people ast. They all seem to be in such a hurry that they nearly trip over their owhose on bicycles whiz by so fast I t even tell whos on the bike. The people in this neighborhood arent particularly attractive to look at. The children especially are so dirty you wouldnt want to touch them with a ten-foot pole. Real slum kids with runny noses. I hardly uand a word they say. Yesterday afternoon, when Margot and I were taking a bath, I said, "What if we took a fishing rod and reeled in each of those kids one by one as they walked by, stuck them iub, washed and meheir clothes and then. . .” "And then tomorrow theyd be just as dirty and tattered as they were before," Margot replied. But Im babbling. There are also other things to look at cars, boats and the rain. I hear the streetcar and the children and Im enjoying myself. Our thoughts are subject to as little ge as we are. Theyre like a merry-go-round, turning from the Jews to food, from food to politics. By the way, speaking of Jews, I saw two yesterday when I eeking through ; the curtains. I felt as though I were gazing at one of the Seven Wonders of the World. It gave me such a funny feeling, as if Id denouhem to the authorities and was now spying on their misfortune. Across from us is a houseboat. The captain lives there with his wife and children. He has a small yapping dog. We know the little dog only by its bark and by its tail, which we see whe runs around the deck. Oh, what a shame, its just started raining and most of the people are hidden uheir umbrellas. All I see are raincoats, and now and again the back of a stog-capped head. Actually, I dont eveo look. By now I reize the women at a glance: goo fat from eating potatoes, dressed in a red reen coat and worn-out shoes, a shopping bag dangling from their arms, with faces that are either grim ood-humored, depending on the mood of their husbands. Yours, Anne TUESDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1942 Dearest Kitty, The Annex was delighted to hear that well all be receiving ara quarter pound of butter for Christmas. Acc to the neer, everyone is entitled to half a pound, but they mean those lucky souls who get their ration books from the gover, not Jews in hiding like us who only afford to buy four rather tha ration books on the black market. Each of us is going to bake something with the butter. This m I made two cakes and a batch of cookies. Its very busy upstairs, and Mother has informed me that Im not to do any studying or reading until all the household chores have been finished. Mrs. van Daan is lying in bed nursing her bruised rib. She plains all day long, stantly demands that the bandages be ged and is generally dissatisfied with everything. Ill be glad whes ba her feet and up after herself because, I must admit, shes extraordinarily hardw a, and as long as shes in good physical aal dition, shes quite cheerful. As if I dont hear "shh, shh" enough during the day because Im always making "too much" noise, my dear roommate has e up with the idea of saying "shh, shh" to me all night too. Acc to him, I shouldnt even turn over. I refuse to take any notice of him, and the im９９lｉb?e he shushes me, Im going to shush him right back. He gets more exasperating aistical as the days go by. Except for the first week, I havent seen even one of the cookies he so generously promised me. Hes partic ularly infuriating on Sundays, when he switches on the light at the crack of dawn to exercise for ten minutes. To me, the torment seems to last for hours, sihe chairs I use to make my bed longer are stantly being jiggled under my sleepy head. After rounding off his limbering-up exercises with a few vigorous arm swings, His Lordship begins dressing. His underwear is hanging on a hook, so first he lumbers over to get it and then lumbers back, past my bed. But his tie is oable, so once again he pushes and bumps his ast the chairs. But I mustnt waste any more of your time griping about disgusting old men. It wont help matters anyway. My plans for revenge, such as unscrewing the lightbulb, log the door and hiding his clothes, have unfortu nately had to be abandoned ierests of peace. Oh, Im being so sensible! Weve got to be reasonable about everything we do here: studying, listen ing, holding our tongues, helping others, being kind, making promises and I dont know what else! Im afraid my on sense, which was in short supply to begin with, will be used up too quickly and I wont have a by the time the war is over. Yours, Anne JANUARY, 1943 WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 13, 1943 Dearest Kitty, This m I was stantly interrupted, and as a result I havent been able to finish a sihing Ive begun. We have a new pastime, namely, filling packages with pravy. The gravy is one of ..Gies & Co.s products. Mr. Kugler hasnt been able to find anyone else to fill the packages, and besides, its cheaper if we do the job. Its the kind of work they do in prisons. Its incredibly b and makes us dizzy and giggly. Terrible things are happening outside. At any time of night and day, poor helpless people are being dragged out of their homes. Theyre allowed to take only a knapsad a little cash with them, and eveheyre robbed of these poss９９ｌｉb?t>essions on the way. Families are torn apart; men, women and children are separated. Children e home from school to find that their parents have disap peared. Womeurn from shopping to find their houses sealed, their famthes gohe Christians in Holland are also living in fear because their sons are beio Germany. Everyone is scared. Every night hundreds of planes pass over Holland on their way to German cities, to sow their bombs on German soil. Every hour hundreds, or maybe even thousands, of people are being killed in Russia and Afrio one keep out of the flict, the entire world is at war, and even though the Allies are doier, the end is nowhere in sight. As for us, were quite fortunate. Luckier than millions of people. Its quiet and safe here, and were using our moo buy food. Were so selfish that we talk about "after the war" and look forward to new clothes and shoes, when actually we should be saving every penny to help others when the war is over, to salvage whatever we . The children in this neighborhood run around in thin shirts and wooden shoes. They have no coats, no caps, no stogs and no oo help them. Gnawing on a carrot to still their hunger pangs, they walk from their cold houses through cold streets to an even colder classroom. Things have gotten so bad in Holland that hordes of children stop passersby ireets to beg for a piece of bread. I could spend hours telling you about the suffering the war has brought, but Id only make myself more miserable. All we do is wait, as calmly as possible, for it to end. Jews and Christians alike are waiting, the whole world is waiting, and many are waiting for death. Yours, Anne SATURDAY, JANUARY 30, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Im seething with rage, yet I t show it. Id like to scream, stamp my foot, give Mood shaking, cry and I dont know what else because of the nasty words, mog looks and accusations that she hurls at me day after day, pierg me like arrows from a tightly strung bow, which are nearly impossible to pull from my body. Id like to scream at Mother, Margot, the van Daans, Dussel and Father too: "Leave me alone, let me have at least one night when I dont cry myself to sleep with my eyes burning and my head pounding. Let me get away, away from everything, away from this world!" But I t do that. I t let them see my doubts, or the wounds theyve inflicted on me. I couldheir sympathy or their good-humored derision. It would only make me want to scream even more. Everyohinks Im showing off when I talk, ridicu lous when Im silent, i when I answer, ing when I have a good idea, lazy when Im tired, selfish whe oe more than I should, stupid, cowardly, calculatic., etc. All day long I hear nothing but what an exasperating child I am, and although I laugh it off and pretend not to mind, I do mind. I wish I could ask God to give me another personality, ohat doesnt antagonize everyone. But thats impossible. Im stuck with the character I was born with, a Im sure Im not a bad person. I do my best to please everyone, more than theyd ever suspe a million years. When Im upstairs, I try to laugh it off because I dont want them to see my troubles. More than once, after a series of absurd reproaches, Ive s Mother: "I dont care what you say. Why dont you just wash your hands of me -- Im a hopeless case." Of course, shed tell me not to talk bad virtually ignore me for two days. Then suddenly all would be fotten and shed treat me like everyone else. Its impossible for me to be all smiles one day and venomous the . Id rather choose the golden mean, which isnt so golden, and k?eep my thoughts to myself. Perhaps sometime Ill treat the others with the same pt as they treat me. Oh, if only I could. Yours, Anne FEBRUARY, 1943 FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Though its been ages since Ive written to you about the squabbles, theres still no ge. In the begin ning Mr. Dussel took our soon-fotten clashes very seriously, but now hes growo them and no lories to mediate. Margot aer arely what youd call "young"; theyre both so quiet and b. o them, I stick out like a sore thumb, and Im always being told, "Margot aer dont act that way. Why dont you follow your sisters example!" I hate that. I fess that I have absolutely no desire to be like Margot. Shes too weak-willed and passive to suit me; she lets herself be swayed by others and always backs down under pressure. I want to have more spunk! But I keep ideas like these to myself. Theyd only laugh at me if I offered this in my defense. During meals the air is filled with tension. Fortunately, the outbursts are sometimes held in check by the "soup eaters," the people from the office who e up to have a cup of soup for lunch. This afternoon Mr. van Daan again brought up the fact that Margot eats so little. "I suppose you do it to keep yure," he added in a mog tone. Mother, who always es tots defense, said in a loud voice, "I t stand that stupid chatter of yours a minute longer.” Mrs. van D. turned red as a beet. Mr. van D. stared straight ahead and said nothing. Still, we often have a good laugh. Not long ago Mrs. van D. was eaining us with some bit of nonsense or another. She was talking about the past, about how well she got along with her father and what a flirt she was. "And you know," she tinued, "my father told me that if a gentleman ever got fresh, I was to say, Remem ber, sir, that Im a lady, and hed know what I meant." We split our sides laughing, as if shed told us a good joke. Eveer, though hes usually quiet, occasionally gives rise to hilarity. He has the misfortune of ad fn words without knowing what they mean. Oernoon we couldnt use the toilet because there were visitors in the office. Uo wait, he went to the bathroom but didnt flush the toilet. To warn us of the unpleasant odor, he tacked a sign to the bathroom door: "RSVP -- gas!" Of course, he meant "Danger -- gas!" but he thought "RSVP" looked more elegant. He didnt have the fai idea that it meant "please reply.” Yours, Anne SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Pim is expeg the invasion any day now. Churchill has had pneumonia, but is gradually gettier. Gandhi, the champion of Indian freedom, is on one of his umpteenth hurikes. Mrs?. van D. claims shes fatalistic. But whos the most afraid when the guns go off? her tharonella van Daan. Jan brought along the episcopal letter that the bishops addressed to their parishioners. It was beautiful and inspiring. "People of the herlands, stand up and take a. Each of us must choose our own ons to fight for the freedom of our try, our people and our reli gion! Give your help and support. Aow!" This is what theyre preag from the pulpit. Will it do any good? Its defioo late to help our fellow Jews. Guess whats happeo us now? The owner of the building sold it without inf Mr. Kugler and Mr. Kleiman. One m the new landlord arrived with an architect to look the place over. Thank goodness Mr. Kleiman was in the office. He showed the gentlemen allbbr>?99lｉb. there was to see, with the exception of the Secret Annex. He claimed hed left the key at home and the new owner asked no further questions. If only he doesnt e back demanding to see the Annex. In that case, well be in big trouble! Father emptied a card file for Margot and me and filled it with index cards that are blank on one side. This is to bee our reading file, in which Margot and I are supposed to note down the books weve read, the author and the date. Ive learwo new words: "brothel" and "coquette." ?Ive bought a separate notebook for new words. Theres a new division of butter and margarine. Each person is to get their portion on their own plate. The distribution is very unfair. The van Daans, who always make breakfast for everyone, give themselves one and a half times more than they do us. My parents are much too afraid of an argument to say anything, which is a shame, because I think people like that should always be given a taste of their own medie. Yours, Anne MARCH, 1943 THURSDAY, MARCH 4, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Mrs. van D. has a new niame -- weve started calling her Mrs. Beaverbrook. Of course, that doesnt mean anything to you, so let me explain. A certain Mr. Beaverbrook often talks on the English radio about what he siders to be the far too le bombardment of Germany. Mrs. van Daan, who always tradicts everyone, including Churchill and the news reports, is in plete agreement with Mr. Beaverbrook. So we thought it would be a good idea for her to be married to him, and since she was flattered by the notion, weve decided to call her Mrs. Beaverbrook from now on. Were getting a new warehouse employee, sihe old one is beio Germany. Thats bad for him but good for us because the new one wont be famthar with the building. Were still afraid of the men who work in the warehouse. Gandhi is eating again. The black market is doing a booming business. If we had enough moo pay the ridiculous prices, we could stuff ourselves silly. reengrocer buys potatoes from the "Wehrmacht" and brings them in sacks to the private office. Since he suspects were hiding here, he makes a point of ing during lunchtime, when the warehouse employees are out. So much pepper is being ground at the moment that we sneeze and cough with every breath we take. Everyo藏书网ne who es upstairs greets us with an "ah-CHOO." Mrs. van D. swears she wont go downstairs; one more whiff of pepper and shes going to get sick. I dont think Father has a very nice business. Noth ing but pe and pepper. As long as youre in the food business, why not make dy? A veritable thuorm of words came crashing down on me again this m. The air flashed with so many coarse expressions that my ears were ringing with "Annes bad this" annd "van Daans good that." Fire and brimstone! Yours, Anne WEDNESDAY, MARCH 10, 1943 Dearest Kitty, We had a short circuit last night, and besides that, the guns were booming away until dawn. I still havent gotten over my fear of planes and shooting, and I crawl into Fathers bed nearly every night for fort. I know it sounds childish, but wait till it happens to you! The ack-ack guns make so muoise you t hear your own voice. Mrs. Beaverbrook, the fatalist, practically burst into tears and said in a timid little voice, "Oh, its so awful. Oh, the guns are so loud!" -- which is another way of saying "Im so scared.” It didnt seem nearly as bad by dlelight as it did in the dark. I was shivering, as if I had a fever, and begged Father tht the dle. He was adamant: there was to be no light. Suddenly we heard a burst of mae-gun fire, and thats ten times worse than antiaircraft guns. Mother jumped out of bed and, to Pims great annoyance, lit the dle. Her resolute ao his grumbling was, "After all, Anne is not an ex-soldier!" And that was the end of that! Have I told you any of Mrs. van D.s other fears? I dont think so. To keep you up to date oest adventures in the Secret Annex, I should tell you this as well. One night Mrs. van D. thought she heard loud footsteps iid she was so afraid of burglars, she woke her husband. At that very same moment, the thieves disappeared, and the only sound Mr. van D. could hear was the frightened pounding of his fatalistic wifes heart. "Oh, Putti!" she cried. (Putti is Mrs. van D.s pet name for her husband.) "They must have taken all our sausages and dried beans. And what about Peter? Oh, do you thiers still safe and sound in his bed?” "Im sure they havent stoleer. Stop being such a ninny, a me get back to sleep!” Impossible. Mrs. van D. was too scared to sleep. A few nights later the entir藏书网e van Daan family was awakened by ghostly noises. Peter went to the attic with a flashlight and -- scurry, scurry -- what do you think he saw running away? A whole slew of enormous rats! Once we knew who the thieves were, we let Mouschi sleep iid never saw our uninvited guests again. . . at least not at night. A few evenings ago (it was seven-thirty and still light), Peter went up to the loft to get some old neers. He had to hold on tightly to the trapdoor to climb down the ladder. He put down his hand without looking, and nearly fell off the ladder from shod pain. Without realizing it, hed put his hand on a large rat, which had bitten him in the arm. By the time he reached us, white as a sheet and with his knees knog, the blood had soaked through his pajamas. No wonder he was so shaken, siting a rat isnt much fun, especially when it takes a k out of your arm. Yours, Anne FRIDAY, MARCH 12, 1943 Dearest Kitty, May I introduce: Mama Frank, the childrens advocate! Extra butter for the youngsters, the problems fag todays youth -- you , and Mother defends the younger geion. After a skirmish or two, she always gets her way. One of the jars of pickled tongue is spoiled. A feast for Mouschi and Boche. You have Boche yet, despite the fact that she was here before we went into hiding. Shes the warehouse and office cat, who keeps the rats at bay ioreroom. Her odd, politiame easily be explained. For a while the firm Gies & Co. had two cats: one for the warehouse and one for the attic. Their paths crossed from time to time, whivariably resulted in a fight. The warehouse cat was always the aggressor, while the attic cat was ultimately the victor, just as in politics. So the warehouse cat was he German, or "Boche," and the attic cat the Englishman, or "Tommy." Sometime after that they got rid of Tommy, but Boche is always there to amuse us when we go downstairs. VVeve eaten so many brown beans and navy beans that I t stand to look at them. Just thinking about them makes me sick. Our evening serving of bread has been celed. Daddy just said that hes not in a very cheerful mood. His eyes look so sad again, the poor man! I t tear myself away from the book A Knock at the Door by Ina Bakker Boudier. This family saga is extremely well written, but the parts dealing with war, writers and the emancipation of wome very good. To be ho, these subjects dont i me much. Terrible bombing raids on Germany. Mr. van Daan is grouchy. The reason: the cigarette she. The debate about whether or not to start eating the ed food ended in our favor. I t wear any of my shoes, except my ski boots, which are not very practical around the house. A pair of straw thongs that were purchased for 6.50 guilders were worn down to the soles within a week. Maybe Miep will be able te up something on the black market. Its time to cut Fathers hair. Pim swears that I do such a good job hell never go to another barber after the war. If only I didnt nick his ear so often! Yours, Anne THURSDAY, MARCH 18, 1943 My dearest Kitty, Turkeys ehe war. Great excitement. Anxiously awaiting radio reports. FRIDAY, MARCH 19, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Ihan an hour, joy was followed by disappoi. Turkey hasered the war yet. It was only a et mialking about Turkey giving up its rality sometime soon. The neer vendor in Dam Square was shouting "Turkey on Englands side!" and the papers were being snatched out of his hands. This was how wed heard the encing rumor. Thousand-guilder notes are being declared invalid. Thatll be a blow to the black marketeers and others like them, but even more to pe Ie in hiding and anyone else with mohat t be ated for. To turn in a thousand-guilder bill, you have to be able to state how you came by it and provide proof. They still be used to pay taxes, but only until week. The five-hundred notes will lapse at the same time. Gies & Co. still had some unated-for thousand-guilder bills, which they used to pay their estimated taxes for the ing years, so everything seems to be aboveboard. Dussel has received an old-fashioned, foot-operated dentists drill. That means Ill probably be getting a thh checkup soon. Dussel is terribly lax when it es to obeying the rules of the house. Not only does he write letters to his Charlotte, hes also carrying on a chatty correspondeh various other people. Margot, the Annexs Dutch teacher, has been correg these letters for him. Father has forbidden him to keep up the practid Margot has stopped correg the letters, but I think it wont be long before he starts up again. The Fuhrer has been talking to wounded soldiers. We listened on the radio, and it athetic. The questions and answers went something like this: "My name is Heinrich Scheppel.” "Where were you wounded?” "Near Stalingrad.” "What kind of wound is it?” "Two frostbitte and a fracture of the left arm.” This is a report of the hideous puppet show aired on the radio. The wounded seemed proud of their wounds -- the more the better. One was so beside himself at the thought of shaking hands (I presume he still had one) with the Fuhrer that he could barely say a word. I happeo drop Dussels soap on the floor and step on it. Now theres a whole piece missing. Ive already asked Father to pensate him for the damages, especially since Dussel only gets one bar of inferior wartime soap a month. Yours, Anne THURSDAY, MARCH 25, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Mother, Father, Margot and I were sitting quite pleasantly together last night wheer suddenly came in and whispered in Fathers ear. I caught the words "a barrel falling over in the warehouse" and "someone fiddling with the door.” Margot heard it too, but was trying to calm me down, since Id turned white as chalk and was extremely nervous. The three of us waited while Father aer went downstairs. A minute or two later Mrs. van Daan came up from where shed been listening to the radio and told us that Pim had asked her to turn it off and tiptoe upstairs. But you know what happens when youre trying to be quiet -- the old stairs creaked twice as loud. Five minutes later Peter and Pim, the color drained from their faces, appeared again to relate their experiences. They had positiohemselves uhe staircase and waited. Nothing happened. Then all of a sudden they heard a couple of bangs, as if two doors had been slammed shut ihe house. Pim bounded up the stairs, while Peter went to warn Dussel, who finally pre sented himself upstairs, though not without kig up a fuss and making a lot of hen we all tiptoed in our stoged feet to the van Daans on the floor. Mr. van D. had a bad cold and had already goo bed, so we gathered around his bedside and discussed our suspis in a whisper. Every time Mr. van D. coughed loudly, Mrs. van D. and I nearly had a nervous fit. He kept coughing until someone came up with the bright idea of giving him codeine. His cough subsided immediately. Once again we waited and waited, but heard nothing. Finally we came to the clusion that the burglars had taken to their heels when they heard footsteps in an otherwise quiet building. The problem now was that the chairs in the private office were ly grouped around the radio, which was tuo England. If the burglars had forced the door and the air-raid wardeo notice it and call the police, there could be very serious repercus sions. So Mr. van Daan got up, pulled on his coat and pants, put on his hat and cautiously followed Father dowairs, with Peter (armed with a heavy hammer, to be on the safe side) right behind him. The ladies (including Margot and me) waited in suspeil the meurned five minutes later aed that there was no sign of any activity in the building. We agreed not to run any water or flush the toilet; but since everyoomach was ing from all the tension, you imagihe stench after wed each had a turn ihroom. Is like these are always apanied by other disasters, and this was no exception. Number ohe Westertoren bells stopped chiming, and Id always found them so f. wo: Mr. Voskuijlleft early last night, and we werent sure if hed givehe key and shed fotten to lock the door. But that was of little importanow. The night had just begun, aill werent sure what to expect. We were somewhat reassured by the fact that betwee-fifteen -- when the burglar had first ehe building and put our lives in jeopardy, ahirty, we hadnt heard a sound. The more we thought about it, the less likely it seemed that a burglar would have forced a door so early in the evening, when there were still people out oreets. Besides that, it occurred to us that the warehouse ma the Keg pa dht still have been at work. What with the excitement and the thin walls, its easy to mistake the sounds. Besides, your imagination often plays tricks on you in moments of danger. So we went to bed, though not to sleep. Father and Mother and Mr. Dussel were awake most of the night, and Im not exaggerating when I say that I hardly got a wink of sleep. This m the me downstairs to see if the outside door was still locked, but all was well! Of course, we gave the entire office staff a blow-by-blow at of the i, which had been far from pleasant. Its much easier to laugh at these kinds of things after theyve happened, and Bep was the only one who took us seriously. Yours, Anne PS. This m the toilet was clogged, and Father had to sti a long wooden pole and fish out several pounds of excrement and strawberry recipes (which is what we use for toilet paper these days). Afterward we burhe pole. SATURDAY, MARCH 27, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Weve finished our shorthand course and are now w on improving our speed. Arent we smart! Let me tell you more about my "time killers" (this is what I call my courses, because all we ever do is try to make the days go by as quickly as possible so we are that much closer to the end of our time here). I adore mythology, espe cially the Greek and Roman gods. Everyohinks my i is just a passing fancy, siheyve never heard of a teenager with an appreciation of mythology. Well then, I guess Im the first! Mr. van Daan has a cold. Or rather, he has a scratchy throat, but hes making an enormous to-do over it. He gargles with ile tea, coats the roof of his mouth with a tincture of myrrh and rubs Mentholatum over his chest, nose, gums and tongue. And to top it off, hes in a foul mood! Rauter, some German bigwig, retly gave a speech. "All Jews must be out of the German-occupied territories before July 1. The province of Utrecht will be sed of Jews [as if they were cockroaches] between April 1 and May 1, and the provinces of North and South Hollaween May 1 and June 1." These poor people are being shipped off to filthiy slaughterhouses like a herd of sid ed cattle. But Ill say no more on the subject. My own thoughts give me nightmares! One good piece of news is that the Labor Exge was set on fire in an act of sabotage. A few days later the ty Clerks Office also went up in flames. Men posing as German police bound and gagged the guards and mao destroy some important dots. Yours, Anne APRIL, 1943 THURSDAY, APRIL 1, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Im not really in the mood for pranks (see the date). On the trary, today I safely quote the saying" Misfortunes never e singly.” First, Mr. Kleiman, our merry sunshine, had another bout of gastroiinal hemierday and will have to stay in bed for at least three weeks. I should tell you that his stomach has been b him quite a bit, and theres no cure. Sed, Bep has the flu. Third, Mr. Voskuijl has to go to the hospital week. He probably has an ulcer and will have to undergery. Fourth, the managers of Pomosin Industries came from Frankfurt to discuss the new Opekta deliveries. Father had gohe important points with Mr. Kleiman, and there wasnt enough time to give Mr. Kugler a thh briefing. The gentlemen arrived from Frankfurt, and Father was already shaking at the thought of how the talks would go. "If only I could be there, if only I were downstairs," he exclaimed. "Go lie down with your ear to the floor. Theyll be brought to the private office, and youll be able to hear everything. Fathers face cleared, aerday m at ten-thirty Margot and Pim (two ears are better thaook up their posts on the floor. By nooalks werent finished, but Father was in no shape to tinue his listen ing campaign. He was in agony from having to lie for hours in su unusual and unfortable position. At two-thirty we heard voices in the hall, and I took his place; Margot kept me pany. The versation was so long-winded and b that I suddenly fell asleep on the cold, hard linoleum. Margot didnt dare touch me for fear theyd hear us, and of course she couldnt shout. I slept food half hour and then awoke with a start, having fotten every word of the important discussion. Luckily, Margot had paid more attention. Yours, Anne FRIDAY, APRIL 2, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Oh my, aem has been added to my list of sins. Last night~ was lying in bed, waiting for Father to tuck me in an say my prayers with me, when Mother came into the room, sat on m..y bed and asked very gently, "Anne, Daddy isnt ready. How about if I listen to your prayers tonight?” "No, Momsy," I replied. Mot up, stood beside my bed for a moment and then slowly walked toward the door. Suddenly she turned, her face torted with pain, and said, "I dont want to be angry with you. I t make you love me!" A few tears slid down her cheeks as she went out the door. I lay still, thinking how mean it was of me to reject her so cruelly, but I also khat I was incapable of answering her any other way. I t be a hypocrite and pray with her when I dont feel like it. It just doesnt work that way. I felt sorry for Mother -- very, very sorry -- because for the first time in my life I noticed she wasnt indifferent to my ess. I saw the sorrow in her face whealked about not being able to make me love her. Its hard to tell the truth, ahe truth is that shes the one whos rejected me. Shes the one whose tactless ents and cruel jokes about matters I dont think are funny have made me iive to any sign of love on her part. Just as my heart sinks every time I hear her harsh words, thats how her heart sank when she realized there was no more love between us. She cried half the night and did any sleep. Father has avoided looking at me, and if his eyes do happen to ine, I read his unspoken words: "How you be so unkind? How dare you make your mother so sad!” Everyone expects me to apologize, but this is not something I apologize for, because I told the truth, and sooner or later Mothjr was bound to find out anyway. I seem to be indifferent to Mothers tears and Fathers glances, and I am, because both of them are now feeling what Ive always felt. I only feel sorry for Mother, who will have to figure out what her attitude should be all by herself. For my part, I will tio remain silent and aloof, and I dont io shrink from the truth, because the los postpohe harder it will be for them to accept it when they do hear it! Yours, Anne TUESDAY, APRIL 27, 1943 Dearest Kitty, The house is still trembling from the aftereffects of the quarrels. Everyone is mad at everyone else: Mother and I, Mr. van Daan and Father, Mother and Mrs. van D. Terrific atmosphere, dont you think? Once again Annes usual list of shortings has beeensively aired. erman visitors were back last Saturday. They stayed until six. We all sat upstairs, not daring to move an inch. If theres no one else w in the building or in the neighborhood, you hear every siep in the private office. Ive got ants in my pants again from having to sit still so long. Mr. Voskuijl has been hospitalized, but Mr. Kleimans back at the office. His stomach stopped bleeding soohan it normally does. He told us that the ty Clerks Office took ara beating because the firemen flooded the entire building instead of just putting out the fire. That does my heart good! The Carlton Hotel has beeroyed. Two British planes loaded with firebombs landed right on top of the German Officers Club. The entire er of Vijzelstraat and Singel has gone up in flames. The number of air strikes on German cities is increasing daily. We havent had a good nights rest in ages, and I have bags under my eyes from lack of sleep. Our food is terrible. Breakfast sists of plain, unbuttered brea az coffee. For the last two weeks lunch has been e. spinach or cooked lettuce with huge potatoes that have a rotten, sweetish taste. If youre trying to diet, the Annex is the place to be! Upstairs they plain bitterly, but we dont think its such a tragedy. All the Dutch men who either fought or were mobilized in 1940 have been called up to work in prisoner-of-war camps. I bet theyre taking this precaution because of the invasion! Yours, Anne MAY, 1943 SATURDAY, MAY 1, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Yesterday was Dussels birthday. At first he acted as if he didnt want to celebrate it, but when Miep arrived with a large shopping bag overflowing with gifts, he was as excited as a little kid. His darling Lotje" has sent him eggs, butter, cookies, lemonade, bread, ac, spice cake, flowers, es, chocolate, books and writing paper. He piled his presents on a table and displayed them for no fewer than three days, the silly old goat! You musthe idea that hes starving. We found bread, cheese, jam and eggs in his cupboard. Its absolutely disgraceful that Dussel, whom weve treated with such kindness and whom we took in to save from destru, should stuff himself behind our backs and not give us anything. After all, weve shared all we had with him! But whats worse, in our opinion, is that hes so stingy with resper. Kleiman, Mr. Voskuijl and Bep. He doesnt give them a thing. In Dussels view the es that Kleiman so badly needs for his sick stomach will be his own stomach even more. Tonight the guns have been banging away so much that Ive already had to gather up my belongings four times. Today I packed a suitcase Wl f;the stuff Id need in case we had to flee, but as M ther correctly noted, "Where would you go?” All of Holland is being punishe or the workers strikes. Martial law has been declared, and everyone is going to get one less butter couponbbr>. What naughty children. I washed Mothers hair this evening, which is no easy task these days. We have to use a very sticky liquid ser because theres no more shampoo. Besides that, Moms had a hard time bing her hair because the family b has only teh left. Yours, Anne SUNDAY, MAY 2, 1943 When I think about our lives here, I usually e to the clusion that we live in a paradise pared to the Jews who arent in hiding. All the same, later on, when everything has returo normal, Ill probably wonder hoho always lived in sufortable circumstances, could have "sunk" so low. With respeanners, I mean. For example, the .9９ｌｉｂ?same oilcloth has covered the dining table ever since weve been here. After so much use, its hardly what youd call spotless. I do my best to it, but sihe dishcloth was also purchased before we went into hiding and sists of more holes than cloth, its a thaask. The van Daans have been sleeping all winter long on the same flannel sheet, which t be washed because detergent is rationed and in short supply. Besides, its of such poor quality that its practically useless. Father is walking around in frayed trousers, and his tie is also showing signs of wear and tear. Mamas corset soday and is beyond repair, while Margot is wearing a bra thats two sizes too small, Mother and Margot have shared the same three undershorts the entire winter, and mine are so small they dont even cover my stomach. These are all things that be overe, but I sometimes wonder: how we, whose every possession, from my underpants to Fathers shaving brush, is so old and worn, ever hope tain the position we had before the war? SUNDAY, MAY 2, 1943 The Attitude of the Annex Residents Toward the War Mr. van Daan. In the opinion of us all, this revered gentleman has great insight into politievertheless, he predicts well have to stay here until the end of 43. Thats a very long time, as possible to hold out until then. But who assure us that this war, which has caused nothing but pain and sorrow, will then be over? And that nothing will have happeo us and our helpers long before that time.? No one! Thats why ead every day is filled with tension. Expectation and hope gee tension, as does fear -- for example, when we hear a noise inside or outside the house, when the guns go off or when we read new "proclamations" in the paper, since were afraid our helpers might be forced to go into hiding themselves sometime. These days everyone is talking about having to hide. We dont know hoeople are actually in hiding; of course, the number is relatively small pared to the general population, but later on well no doubt be asto how many good people in Holland were willing to take Jews and Christians, with or without money, into their homes. Therere also an unbelievable number of people with false identity papers. Mrs. van Daan. When this beautiful damsel (by her own at) heard that it was getting easier these days to obtain false IDs, she immediately proposed that we each have one made. As if there were nothing to it, as if Father and Mr. van Daan were made of money. Mrs. van Daan is always sating the most ridiculous things, and her Putti is often exasperated. But thats not surprising, because one day Kerli announces, "When this is allover, Im going to have myself baptized"; and the , "As long as I remember, Ive wao go to Jerusalem. I only feel at home with other jews!” Pim is a big optimist, but he always has his reasons. Mr. Dussel makes up everything as he goes along, and anyone wishing to tradict His Majesty had better think twice. In Alfred Dussels home his word is law, but that doesnt suit Anne Frank in the least. What the other members of the Annex family think about the war doesnt matter. When it es to politics, these four are the only ones who t. Actually, only two of them do, but Madame van Daan and Dussel include themselves as well. TUESDAY, MAY 18, 1943 Dearest Kit, I retly witnessed a fierce dogfight between German and English pilots. Unfortunately, a couple of Allied airmen had to jump out of their burning plane. Our milkman, who lives in Halfweg, saw four adians sitting along the side of the road, and one of them spoke fluent Dutch. He asked the milkman if he had a light for his cigarette, and then told him the crew had sisted of six men. The pilot had been buro death, and the fifth crew member had hidden himself somewhere. The German Security Police came to pick up the four remaining men, none of whom were injured. After parachuting out of a flaming plane, how anyone have such presenind? Although its undeniably hot, we have to light a fire every other day to burn etable peelings and garbage. We t throw anything into trash s, because the warehouse employees might see it. One small act of carelessness and were done for! All college students are being asked to sign an official statement to the effect that they "sympathize with the Germans and approve of the New Order." Eighty pert have decided to obey the dictates of their sce, but the penalty will be severe. Any student refusing to sign will be sent to a German labor camp. Whats to bee of the youth of our try if theyve all got to do hard labor in Germany? Last night the guns were making so muoise that Mother shut the window; I was in Pims bed. Suddenly, right above our heads, we heard Mrs. van D. leap up, as if shed been bitten by Mouschi. This was followed by a loud boom, which sounded as if a firebomb had landed beside my bed. "Lights! Lights!" I screamed. Pim switched on the lamp. I expected the room to burst into flames any minute. Nothing happened. We all rushed upstairs to see what was going on. Mr. and Mrs. van D. had seen a red glow through the open window, ahought there was a fire nearby, while she was certain our house was ablaze. Mrs. van D. was already standing beside her bed with her knees knog when the boom came. Dussel stayed upstairs to smoke a cigarette, and we crawled bato bed. Less than fifteen minutes later the shooting started again. Mrs. van D. sprang out of bed a downstairs to Dussel s room to seek the fort she was uo find with her spouse. Dussel weled her with the words "e into my bed, my child!” We burst into peals of laughter, and the roar of the guns bothered us no more; our fears had all bee away. Yours, Anne JUNE, 1943 SUNDAY, JUNE 13, 1943 Dearest Kitty, The poem Father posed for my birthday is too o keep to myself. Since Pim writes his verses only in German, Margot volunteered to translate it into Dutch. See for yourself whether Margot hasnt done herself ９９lｉb?proud. It begins with the usual summary of the years events and then tinues: As you among us, but small no more, Your life be trying, for we have the chore Of being your teachers, a terrible bore. "Weve got experieake it from me!” "Weve dohis all before, you see. We know the ropes, we know the same.” Siime immemorial, always the same. Ones own shortings are nothing but fluff, But everyone elses are heavier stuff: Faultfinding es easy when this is our plight, But its hard for your parents, try as they might, To treat you with fairness, and kindness as well; Nitpigs a habit thats hard to dispel. Men youre living with old folks, all you do Is put up with their nagging -- its hard but its true. The pill may be bitter, but down it must go, For its meant to keep the peace, you know. The many months here have not been in vain, Since wasting time noes against your Brain. You read and study nearly all the day, Determio chase the boredom away. The more difficult question, much harder to bear, Is "What oh do I have to wear? Ive got no more panties, my clothes are too tight, My shirt is a loincloth, Im really a siaht! To put on my shoes I must off my toes, Dh dear, Im plagued with so many woes!” Margot had trouble getting the part about food to rhyme, so Im leaving it out. But aside from that, dont you think its a good poem? For the rest, Ive been thhly spoiled and have received a number of lovely presents, including a big book on my favorite subject, Greek and Roman mythology. Nor I plain about the lack of dy; everyone had dipped into their last reserves. As the Benjamin of the Annex, I got more than I dese藏书网rve. Yours, Anne TUESDAY, JUNE 15, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Heaps of things have happened, but I often think Im b you with my dreary chitchat and that youd just as soon have fewer letters. So Ill keep the news brief. Mr. Voskuijl wasnt operated on for his ulcer after all. Ohe doctors had him on the operating table and opened him up, they saw that he had cer. It was in su advaage that aion ointless. So they stitched him up agai him in the hospital for three weeks, fed him well a him bae. But they made an unfivable error: they told the poor maly what was in store for him. He t work anymore, and hes just sitting at home, surrounded by his eight children, brooding about his approag death. I feel very sorry for him and hate not being able to go out; otherwise, Id visit him as often as I could aake his mind off matters. Now the good man o longer let us know whats being said and done in the warehouse, which is a disaster for us. Mr. Voskuijl was reatest source of help and suppor when it came to safety measures. We miss him very much. month its our turn to hand over our radio to the authorities. Mr. Kleiman has a small set hidden in his home that hes giving us to replace our beautiful et radio. Its a pity we have to turn in Philips, but when youre in hiding, you t afford t the authorities down on your heads. Of course, well put the "baby” radio upstairs. Whats a destine radio when there are already destine Jews and destine money? All over the try people are trying to get hold of an old radio that they hand over instead of their "morale booster." Its true: as the reports from outside grow worse and worse, the radio, with its wondrous voice, helps us not to lose heart and to keep telling ourselves, "Cheer up, keep your spirits high, things are bound to get better!” Yours, Anne JULY, 1943 SUNDAY, JULY 11, 1943 Dear Kitty, To get back to the subject of child-rearing (for the umpteenth time), let me tell you that Im doing my best to be helpful, friendly and kind and to do all I to keep the rain of rebukes down to a light drizzle. Its not easy trying to behave like a model child with people you t stand, especially when you dont mean a word of it. But I see that a little hypocrisy gets me a lot further than myoid method of sayily what I think (even though no one ever asks my opinion or cares one way or another). Of course, I often fet my role and find it impossible to curb my anger when theyre unfair, so that they spend the month saying the most imperti girl in the world. Dont you think Im to be pitied sometimes? Its a good thing Im not the grouchy type, because then I might bee sour and bad-tempered. I usually see the humorous side of their scoldings, but its easier when somebody else is being raked over the coals. Further, Ive decided (after a great deal of thought) to drop the shorthand. First, so that I have more time for my other subjects, and sed, because of my eyes. Thats a sad story. Ive bee very nearsighted and should have had glasses ages ago. (Ugh, wont I look like a dope!). But as you know, people in hiding t. . . Yesterday all anyone here could talk about was Annes eyes, because Mother had suggested I go to the ophthalmologist with Mrs. Kleiman. Just hearing this made my knees weak, sis no small matter. Going outside! Just think of it, walking dowreet! I t imagi. I etrified at first, and then glad. But its not as simple as all that; the various authorities who had to approve such a step were uo reach a quick decision. They first had to carefully weigh all the difficulties and risks, though Miep was ready to set off immediately with me in tow. In the meantime, Id taken my gray coat from the closet, but it was so small it looked as if it might have beloo my little sister. We lowered the hem, but I still couldnt button it. Im really curious to see what they decide, only I dont think theyll ever work out a plan, because the British have landed in Sicily and Fathers all set for a "quick finish.” Beps been giving Margot and me a lot of office work to do. It makes us both feel important, and its a big help to her. Anyone file letters and make entries in a sales book, but we do it with remarkable accuracy. Miep has so much to carry she looks like a pack mule. She goes forth nearly every day te up vegetables, and then bicycles back with her purchases in large shopping bags. Shes also the one whs five library books with her every Saturday. We long for Saturdays because that means books. Were like a bunch of little kids with a present. Ordinary people dont know how much books mean to someone whos cooped up. Our only diversions are reading, studying and listening to the radio. Yours, Anne TUESDAY, JULY 13, 1943 The Best Little Table Yesterday afternoon Father gave me permission to ask Mr. Dussel whether he would please be so good as to allow me (see how polite I am?) to use the table in our room two afternoons a week, from four to five-thirty. I already sit there every day from two-thirty to four while Dussel takes a nap, but the rest of the time the room and the table are off-limits to me. Its impossible to study door iernoon, because theres too much going on. Besides, Father sometimes likes to sit at the desk during the afternoon. So it seemed like a reasonable request, and I asked Dussel very politely. What do you think the learned gentlemans reply was? "No." Just plain "No!” I was insed and wasnt about to let myself be put off like that. I asked him the reason for his "No," but this did me anywhere. The gist of his reply was: "I have to study too, you know, and if I t do that iernoons, I wont be able to fit it in at all. I have to finish the task Ive set for myself; otherwise, theres no point in starting. Besides, you arent serious about your studies. Mythology -- what kind of work is that? Reading and knitting dont t either. I use that table and Im not going to give it up!” I replied, "Mr. Dussel, I do take my wsork seriously. I t study door iernoons, and I would appreciate it if you would resider my request!” Having said these words, the insulted Aurned around and pretehe learned doctor wasnt there. I was seething with rage ahat Dussel had been incredibly rude (which he certainly had been) and that Id been very polite. That evening, when I mao get hold of Pim, I told him what had happened and we discussed what my step should be, because I had no iion of giving up and preferred to deal with the matter myself. Pim gave me a rough idea of how to approach Dussel, but cautioned me to wait until the day, since I was in such a flap. I ighis last piece of advid waited for Dussel after the dishes had been done. Pim was sitti door and that had a calming effect. I began, "Mr. Dussel, you seem to believe further discussion of the matter is pointless, but I beg you to resider.” Dussel gave me his most charming smile and said, "Im alrepared to discuss the matter, even though its already beeled.” I went on talking, despite Dussels repeated interruptions. When you first came here,” I said, "we agreed that the room was to be shared by the two of us. If we were to divide it fairly, youd have the entire m and Id have the eernoon! Im not asking for that much, but two afternoons a week does seem reasoo me.” Dussel leapt out of his chair as if hed sat on a pin. "You have no busialking about yhts to the room. Where am I supposed to go? Maybe I should ask Mr. van Daan to build me a cubbyhole iic. Youre not the only one who t find a quiet place to work. Youre always looking for a fight. If your sister Margot, who has mht to work space than you do, had e to me with the same request, Id never even have thought of refusing, but you. . .” And once again he brought up the business about the mythology and the knitting, and once again Anne was insulted. However, I showed no sign of it a Dussel finish: "But no, its impossible to talk to you. Youre shamefully self-tered. No one else matters, as long as you get your way. Ive never seen such a child. But after all is said and done, Ill be obliged to let you have your way, since I dont eople saying later on that Anne Frank failed her exams because Mr. Dussel refused to relinquish his table!” He went on and on until there was such a deluge of words I could hardly keep up. For one fleeting moment I thought, "Him and his lies. Ill smack his ugly mug so hard hell go boung off the wall!" But the moment I thought, "Calm down, hes not wetting so upset about!” At long last Mr. Dussel s fury ent, and he left the room with an expression of triumph mixed with wrath, his coat pockets bulging with food. I went running over to Father and reted the eory, or at least those parts he hadnt been able to follow himself. rim decided to talk to Dussel that very same evening, and they spoke for more than half an hour. They first discussed whether Anne should be allowed to use the table, yes or no. Father said that he and Dussel had dealt with the subjece before, at which time hed professed to agree with Dussel because he didnt want to tradict the elder in front of the younger, but that, even then, he hadnt thought it was fair. Dussel felt I had nht to talk as if he were an intruder laying claim to everything in sight. But Father protested strongly, since he himself had heard me say nothing of the kind. And so the versatio bad forth, with Father defending my "selfishness" and my "busywork" and Dussel grumbling the whole time. Dussel finally had to give in, and I was grahe opportunity to work without interruption two afternoons a week. Dussel looked very sullen, didnt speak to me for two days and made sure he occupied the table from five to five-thirty -- all very childish, of course. Anyone whos so petty aic at the age of fifty-four was born that way and is never going to ge. FRIDAY, JULY 16, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Theres been another break-in, but this time a real one! Peter went down to the warehouse this m at seven, as usual, and noticed at ohat both the warehouse door and the street door were open. He immediately reported this to Pim, who went to the private office, tuhe radio to a German station and locked the door. Then they both went back upstairs. In such cases our orders are not to wash ourselves or run any water, to be quiet, to be dressed by eight and not to go to the bathroom," and as usual we followed these to the letter. We were all glad wed slept so well and hadnt heard anything. For a while we were indignant because no one from the office came upstairs the entire m; Mr. Kleima us oerhooks until eleven-thirty. He told that the burglars had forced the outside door and the warehouse door with a crowbar, but when they didnt find anything worth stealing, they tried their lu the floor. They stole two cashboxes taining 40 guilders, blank checkbooks and, worst of all, coupons for 330 pounds of sugar, our entire allotment. It wont be easy to wangle new ones. Mr. Kugler thinks this burglar bel?９9ｌｉｂ.ongs to the same gang as the one who made an unsuccessful attempt six weeks ago to open all three doors (the warehouse door and the two outside doors). The burglary caused air, but the Annex seems to thrive oement. Naturally, we were glad the cash register and the typewriters had been safely tucked away in our clothes closet. Yours, Anne PS. Landing in Sicily. Aep closer to the . . . ! MONDAY, JULY 19,1943 Dearest Kitty, North Amsterdam was very heavily bombed on Sunday. There arently a great deal of destru. Ereets are in ruins, and it will take a while for them to dig out all the bodies. So far there have been two hundred dead and tless wounded; the hospitals are bursting at the seams. Weve been told of children searg forlornly in the sm ruins for their dead parents. It still makes me shiver to think of the dull, distant drohat sighe approag destru. FRIDAY, JULY 23, 1943 Bep is currently able to get hold of notebooks, especially journals and ledgers, useful for my bookkeeping sister! Other kinds are for sale as well, but dont ask what theyre like or how long theyll last. At the moment theyre all labeled "No Coupons Needed!" Like everything else you purchase without ration stamps, theyre i totally worthless. They sist of twelve sheets of gray I paper with narrow lihat slant across the page. Margot is thinking about taking a course in calligraphy; Ive advised her to go ahead and do it. Mother wo me because of my eyes, but I think thats silly. Whether I do I that or something else, it all es down to the same I thing. Since youve never been through a war, Kitty, and since you know very little about life in hiding, in spite of my letters, let me tell you, just for fun, what we each want to do first when were able to go outside again. Margot and Mr. van Daan wish, above all else, to have a hot bath, filled to the brim, which they lie in for more than half an hour. Mrs. van Daan would like a cake, Dussel think of nothing but seeing his Charlotte, and Mother is dying for a cup of real coffee. Father would like to visit Mr. Voskuijl, Peter would go downtown, and as for me, Id be so overjoyed I wouldnt know where to begin. Most of all I long to have a home of our own, to be able to move around freely and have someone help me with my homewain, at last. In other words, to go back to school! Bep has offered to get us some fruit, at so-called bargain prices: grapes 2.50 guilders a pound, gooseberries 70 ts a pound, one peach 50 ts, melons 75 ts a pound. No wohe papers write every evening in big, fat letters: "Keep Prices Down!” MONDAY, JULY 26, 1943 Dear Kitty, Yesterday was a very tumultuous day, and were still all wound up. Actually, you may wonder if theres ever a day that passes without some kind of excitement. The first warning sire off in the m while we were at breakfast, but we paid no attention, because it only meant that the planes were crossing the coast. I had a terrible headache, so I lay down for an hour after breakfast and theo the office at around two. At two-thirty Margot had finished her office work and was just gatherihings together when the sirens began wailing again. So she and I trooped back upstairs. oo soon, it seems, for less than five minutes later the guns were booming so loudly that we went and stood in the hall. The house shook and the bombs kept falling. I was clutg my "escape bag," more because I wao have something to hold on to than because I wao run away. I know we t leave here, but if we had to, being seen oreets would be just as dangerous as getting caught in an air raid. After half an hour the drone of engines faded and the house began to hum with activity agaier emerged from his lookout post in the front attic, Dussel remained in the front office, Mrs. van D. felt safest in the private office, Mr. van Daan had been watg from the loft, and those of us on the landing spread out to watch the ns of smoke rising from the harbor. Before long the smell of fire was everywhere, and outside it looked as if the city were enveloped in a thick fog. A big fire like that is not a pleasant sight, but fortunately for us it was all over, and we went baCk to our various chores. Just as we were starting dinner: another air-raid alarm. The food was good, but I lost my appetite the moment I heard>? the siren. Nothing happened, however, and forty-five minutes later the all clear was sounded. After the dishes had been washed: another air-raid warning, gunfire and swarms of planes. "Oh, gosh, twi one day," we thought, "thats twi one day," we thought, "thats twiany." Little good that did us, because once agai the bombs rained down, this time ohers of the city. Acc to British reports, Schiphol Airport was bombed. The planes dived and climbed, the air was abuzz with the drone of engines. It was very scary, and the whole time I kept thinking, "Here it es, this is it.” I assure you that when I went to bed at nine, my legs were still shaking. At the stroke of midnight I woke up again: more planes! Dussel was undressing, but I took no notid leapt up, wide awake, at the sound of the first shot. I stayed in Fathers bed until one, in my own bed until ohirty, and was ba Fathers bed at two. But the planes kept on ing. At last they stopped firing and I was able to go back "home" again. I finally fell asleep at half past two. Seven oclock. I awoke with a start and sat up in bed. Mr. van Daan was with Father. My first thought was: burglars. "Everything," I heard Mr. van Daan say, and I thought everything had been stolen. But no, this time it was wonderful news, the best weve had in months, maybe even sihe war began. Mussolini has resigned and the King of Italy has takehe gover. We jumped for joy. After the awful events of yesterday, finally something good happens and brings us. . . hope! Hope for ao the war, hope for peace. Mr. Kugler dropped by and told us that the Fokker aircraft factory had been hit hard. Meanwhile, there was another air-raid alarm this m, with planes flying over, and another warning siren. Ive had it up to here with alarms. Ive hardly slept, and the last thing I want to do is work. But now the suspense about Italy and the hope that the war will be over by the end of the year are keeping us awake. . Yours, Anne THURSDAY, JULY 29, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Mrs. van Daan, Dussel and I were doing the dishes, and I was extremely quiet. This is very unusual for me and they were sure to notice, so in order to avoid any questions, I quickly racked my brains for a ral topic. I thought the book Henry from Across the Street might fit the bill, but I couldnt have been more wrong; if Mrs. van Daa jump down my throat, Mr. Dussel does. It all boiled down to this: Mr. Dussel had reehe book tot and me as an example of excellent writing. We thought it was anything but that. The little boy had been portrayed well, but as for the rest. . . the less said the better. I mentioned something to that effect while we were doing the dishes, and Dussel launched into a veritable tirade. "How you possibly uand the psychology of a man? That of a child isnt so difficult [!]. But youre far too young to read a book like that. Even a twenty-year-old man would be uo prehend it." (So why did he go out of his way to reend it tot and me?) Mrs. van D. and Dussel tiheir harangue: "You know way too much about things youre not supposed to. Youve been brought up all wrong. Later on, when youre older, you wont be able to enjoy anything anymore. Youll say, Oh, I read that twenty years ago in some book. Youd better hurry if you want to catch a husband or fall in love, since everything is bound to be a disappoio you. You already know all there is to know in theory. But in practice? Thats aory!” you imagine how I felt? I astonished myself by calmly replying, "You may think I havent been raised properly, but many people would disagree!” They apparently believe that good child-rearing includes trying to pit me against my parents, sihats all they ever do. And not telling a girl my age about grown-up subjects is fine. We all see what happens when. people are raised that way. At that moment I could have slapped them both for poking fun at me. I was beside myself with rage, and if I only knew how much longer we had to put up with each others pany, Id start ting the days. Mrs. van Daans a fine oo talk! She sets an example all right -- a bad one! Shes known to be exceedingly pushy, egotistical, ing, calculating aually dissatisfied. Add to that, vanity and coquettishness and theres no question about it: shes a thhly despicable person. I could write aire book about Madame van Daan, and who knows, maybe someday I will. Anyone put on a charmierior when they want to. Mrs. van D. is friendly ters, especially men, so its easy to make a mistake when you first get to know her. Mother thinks that Mrs. van D. is too stupid for words, Margot that shes too unimportant, Pim tha藏书网t shes too ugly (literally and figuratively!), and after long observation (Im never prejudiced at the beginning), Ive e to the clusion that shes all three of the above, and lots more besides. She has so many bad traits, why should I si just one of them? Yours, Anne P.S. Will the reader please take into sideration that this story was written before the writers fury had cooled? AUGUST, 1943 TUESDAY, AUGUST 3, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Things are going well on the political front. Italy has bahe Fascist Party. The people are fighting the Fascists in many places -- even the army has joihe fight. How a try like that tio wage war against England? Our beautiful radio was taken away last week. Dussel was very angry at Mr. Kugler for turning it in on the appointed day. Dussel is slipping lower and lower in my estimation, and hes already below zero. hatever he says about politics, histeography or ything else is so ridiculous that I hardly dare repeat it: Hitler will fade from history; the harbor in Rotterdam is bigger than the one in Hamburg; the English are idiots for not taking the opportunity to bomb Italy to smithereec., etc. We just had a t９９ｌｉb?hird air raid. I decided to grit my teeth and practice being ceous. Mrs. van Daan, the one who always said "Let them fall" and "Better to end with a bang than not to end at all," is the most cowardly one among us. She was shaking like a leaf this m and even burst into tears. She was forted by her husband, with whom she retly declared a truce after a week of squabbling; I nearly got seal at the sight. Mouschi has now proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that having a cat has disadvantages as well as advahe whole house is crawling with fleas, and its getting worse each day. Mr. Kleiman sprinkled yellow powder in every nook and y, but the fleas havent taken the slightest notice. Its making us all very jittery; were forever imagining a bite on our arms and legs or other parts of our bodies, so we leap up and do a few exercises, si gives us an excuse to take a better look at our arms or necks. But now were paying the price for having had so little physical exercise; were so stiff we hardly turn our heads. The real calisthenics fell by the wayside long ago. Yours, Anne WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 4,1943 Dearest Kitty, Now that weve been in hiding for a little over a year, you know a great deal about our lives. Still, I t possibly tell you everything, sis all so different pared to ordinary times and ordinary people. heless, to give you a closer look into our lives, from time to time Ill describe part of an ordinary day. Ill start with the evening and night. Nine in the evening. Bedtime always begins in the Annex with an enormous hustle and bustle. Chairs are shifted, beds pulled out, blas unfolded -- nothing stays where it is during the daytime. I sleep on a small divan, which is only five feet long, so we have to add a few chairs to make it longer. forter, sheets, pillows, blas: everything has to be removed from Dussel s bed, where its kept during the day. In the room theres a terrible creaking: thats Margots folding bed bei up. More blas and pillows, anything to make the wooden slats a bit more fortable. Upstairs it sounds like thunder, but its only Mrs. van D.s bed being shoved against the window so that Her Majesty, arrayed in her pink bed jacket, sniff the night air through her delicate little nostrils. Nine oclock. After Peters finished, its my turn for the bathroom. I wash myself from head to toe, and more often than not I find a tiny flea floating in the sink (only during the hot months, weeks or days). I brush my teeth, curl my hair, manicure my nails and dab peroxide on my upper lip to bleach the black hairs -- all this ihan half an hour. hirty. I throw on my bathrobe. With soap in one hand, and potty, hairpins, panties, curlers and a wad of cotton iher, I hurry out of the bathroom. The in line invariably calls me baove the gracefully curved but unsightly hairs that Ive left in the sink. Ten oclock. Time to put up the blackout s and say good-night. For the fifteen minutes, at least, the house is filled with the creaking of beds and the sigh of broken springs, and then, provided our upstairs neighbors arent having a marital spat in bed, all is quiet. Eleven-thirty. The bathroom door creaks. A narrow strip of light falls into the room. Squeaking shoes, a large coat, even larger than the man i . . . Dussel is returning from his nightly work in Mr. Kuglers office. I hear him shuffiing bad forth for ten whole mihe rustle of paper (from the food hes tug away in his cupboard) and the bed being made up. Then the figure disappears again, and the only sound is the occasional suspicious noise from the bathroom. Approximately three oclock. I have to get up to use the tin under my bed, which, to be on the safe side, has a rubber mat underh in case of leaks. I always hold my breath while I go, si clatters into the like a brook down a mountainside. The potty is returo its place, and the figure in the white nightgown (the ohat causes Margot to exclaim every evening, "Oh, that i nighty!") climbs bato bed. A certain somebody lies awake for about fifteen minutes, listening to the sounds of the night. In the first place, to hear whether there are any burglars downstairs, and then to the various beds -- upstairs, door and in my room -- to tell whether the others are asleep or half awake. This is no fun, especially when it s a member of the family named Dr. Dussel. First, theres the sound of a fish gasping for air, and this is repeated nine or ten times. Then, the lips are moistened profusely. This is alternated with little smag sounds, followed by a long period of tossing and turning and rearranging the pillows. After five minutes of perfect quiet, the same sequence repeats itself three more times, after which hes presumably lulled himself back to sleep for a while. Sometimes the guns go off during the night, between one and four. Im never aware of it before it happens, but all of a sudden I find myself standing beside my bed, out of sheer habit. Occasionally Im dreaming so deeply (ular French verbs or a quarrel upstairs) that I realize only when my dream is over that the shooting has stopped and that Ive remained quietly in my room. But usually I wake up. Then I grab a pillow and a handkerchief, throw on my robe and slippers and dash door to Father, just the way Margot described in this birthday poem: When shots rino out in the dark of night, The door creaks open and into sight e a hanky, a pillow, a figure in white. . . Once Ive reached the big bed, the worst is over, except when the shooting is extra loud. Six forty-five. Brrring . . . the alarm clock, which raises its shrill voice at any hour of the day ht, whether you want it to or not. Creak. . . wham. . . Mrs. van D. turns it off. Screak . . . Mr. van D. gets up, puts oer and races to the bathroom. Seven-fifteen. The door creaks again. Dussel go to the bathroom. Alo last, I remove the blackout s . . . and a new day begins in the Annex. Yours, Anne THURSDAY, AUGUST 5, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Today lets talk about the lunch break. Its twelve-thirty. The whole gang breathes a sigh of relief: Mr. van Maaren, the man with the shady past, and Mr. de Kok have gone home for lunch. Upstairs you hear the thud of the vacuum er on Mrs. van D.s beautiful and only rug. Margot tucks a few books under her arm and heads for the class for "slow learners," which is what Dussel seems to be. Pim goes and sits in a er with his stant panion, Dis, in hopes of finding a bit of pead quiet. Mother hastens upstairs to help the busy little housewife, and I tidy up both the bathroom and myself at the same time. Twelve forty-five. One by ohey trickle in: first Mr. Gies and theher Mr. Kleiman or Mr. Kugler, followed by Bep and sometimes even Miep. One. Clustered around the radio, they all listen raptly to the BBC. This is the only time the members of the Annex family dont interrupt each other, since even Mr. van Daan t argue with the speaker. One-fifteen. Food distribution. Everyone from downstairs gets a cup of soup, plus dessert, if there happens to be any. A tented Mr. Gies sits on the divan or leans against the desk with his neer, cup and usually the cat at his side. If one of the three is missing, he doesate to let his protest be heard. Mr. Kleimaes the latest news from town, and hes an excellent source. Mr. Kugler hurries up the stairs, gives a short but solid kno the door and es iher wringing his hands or rubbing them in glee, depending oher hes quiet and in a bad mood or talkative and in a good mood. One forty-five. Everyone rises from the table and goes about their business. Margot and Mother do the dishes, Mr. and Mrs. van D. head for the divaer for the attic, Father for his divan, Dussel too, and Anne does her homework. What es is the quietest hour of the day; when theyre all asleep, there are no disturbao judge by his face, Dussel is dreaming of food. But I dont look at him long, because the time whizzes by and before you know it, itll be 4 P.M. and the pedantic Dr. Dussel will be standing with the clo his hand because Im one minute ,late clearing off the table. Yours, Anne SATURDAY, AUGUST 7, 1943 Dearest Kitty, A few weeks ago I started writing a story, something I made up from beginning to end, and Ive e so much that the produy pen are piling up. Yours, Anne MONDAY, AUGUST 9, 1943 Dearest Kitty, We now tih a typical day in the Annex. Since weve already had lunch, its time to describe dinner. Mr. van Daan. Is served first, and takes a generous portion of whatever he likes. Usually joins in the versation, never fails to give his opinion. Once hes spoken, his word is final. If anyone dares to suggest otherwise, Mr. van D. put up a good fight. Oh, he hiss like a cat. . . but Id rather he didnt. Once youve seen it, you never want to see it again. His opinion is the best, he knows the most about everything. Grahe man has a good head on his shoulders, but its swelled to no small degree. Madame. Actually, the best thing would be to say nothing. Some days, especially when a foul mood is on the way, her face is hard to read. If you analyze the discussions, you realize shes not the subject, but the guilty party! A fact everyone prefers to ignore. Even so, you could call her the instigator. Stirring up trouble, now thats what Mrs. van Daan calls fun. Stirring up trouble between Mrs. Frank and Anne. Margot and Mr. Frank aren t qwte as easy. But lets return to the table. Mrs. van D. may think she doesnt always get enough, but thats not the case. The choicest potatoes, the tastiest morsel, the te bit of whatever there is, thats Madames motto. The others all have their turn, as long as I get the best. (Exactly what she accuses Anne Frank of doing.) Her sed watchword is: keep talking. As long as somebodys listening, it doeso occur to her to wonder whether theyre ied. She must think that whatever Mrs. van Daan says will i everyone. Smile coquettishly, pretend you know everything, offer everyone a piece of advid mother them -- thats sure to make a good impression. But if you take a better look, the good impression fades. One, shes hardw; two, cheerful; three, coquettish -- and sometimes a cute face. Thats Petronella van Daan. The third diner. Says very little. Young Mr. van Daan is usually quiet and hardly makes his presenown. As far as his appetite is ed, hes a Danaldean vessel that never gets full. Even after the most substantial meal, he look you calmly in the eye and claim he could have eaten twice as much. Number four -- Margot. Eats like a bird and doesnt talk at all. She eats only vegetables and fruit. "Spoiled," in the opinion of the van Daans. "Too little exercise and fresh air," in ours. Beside her -- Mama. Has a hearty appetite, does her share of the talking. No one has the impression, as they do with Mrs. van Daan, that this is a housewife. Whats the differeweewo? Well, Mrs. van D. does the cooking and Mother does the dishes and polishes the furniture. Numbers six and seven. I wont say much about Father ahe former is the most modest person at the table. He always looks to see whether the others have been served first. He needs nothing for himself; the best things are for the children. Hes goodness personified. Seated o him is the Annexs little bundle of nerves. Dussel. Help yourself, keep your eyes on the food, eat and dont talk. And if you have to say something, then foodness sake talk about food. That doeso quarrels, just ting. He es enormous portions, and "no" is not part of his vocabulary, whether the food is good or bad. Pants that e up to his chest, a red jacket, black pateher slippers and horn-rimmed glasses -- thats how he looks whe work at the little table, always studying and never progressing. This is interrupted only by his afternoon nap, food and -- his favorite spot -- the bathroom. Three, four or five times a day theres bound to be someone waiting outside the bathroom door, hopping impatiently from one foot to arying to hold it in and barely managing. Does Dussel care? Not a whit. From seven-fifteen to seven-thirty, from twelve-thirty to one, from two to two-fifteen, from four to four-fifteen, from six to six-fifteen, from eleven-thirty to twelve. You set your watch by them; these are the times for his &quular sessions." He never deviates or lets himself be swayed by the voices outside the door, begging him to open up before a disaster occurs. Number nine is not part of our Annex family, although she does share our house and table. Hep has a healthy appetite. She s her plate and isnt choosy. Heps easy to please and that pleases us. She be characterized as follows: cheerful, good-humored, kind and willing. TUESDAY, AUGUST 10, 1943 Dearest Kitty, . A new idea: during meals I talk more to myself than to the others, which has two advantages. First, theyre glad they dont have to listen to my tinuous chatter, and sed, I dont have to get annoyed by their opinions. I dont think my opinions are stupid but other people do, so its better to keep them to myself. I apply the same tactic when I have to eat something I loathe. I put the dish in front of me, pretend its delicious, avoid looking at it as much as possible, and its gone before Ive had time to realize what it is. When I get up in the m, another very disagreeable moment, I leap out of bed, think to myself, "Youll be slipping bader the covers soon," walk to the window, take down the blackout s, sniff at the cratil I feel a bit of fresh air, and Im awake. I strip the bed as fast as I so I woempted to get ba. Do you know what Mother calls this sort of thing? The art of living. Isnt that a funny expression? Weve all been a little fused this past week because our dearly beloved Westertoren bells have been carted off to be melted down for the war, so we have no idea of the exact time, either night or day. I still have hopes that theyll e up with a substitute, made of tin or copper or some such thing, to remind the neighborhood of the clock. Everywhere I go, upstairs or down, they all cast admiring gla my feet, which are adorned by a pair of exceptionally beautiful (for times like these!) shoes. Miep mao snap them up for 27.50 guilders. Burgundy-colored suede aher with medium-sized high heels. I feel as if I were on stilts, and look even taller than I already am. Yesterday was my unlucky day. I pricked my right thumb with the blunt end of a big needle. As a result, Margot had to peel potatoes for me (take the good with the bad), and writing was awkward. Then I bumped into the cupboard door so hard it nearly knocked me over, and was scolded for making such a racket. They would me run water to bathe my forehead, so now Im walking around with a giant lump over my right eye. To make matters worse, the little toe on my right foot got stu the vacuum er. It bled and hurt, but my other ailments were already causing me so much trouble that I let this one slide, which was stupid of me, because now Im walking around with an ied toe. What with the salve, the gauze and the tape, I t get my heavenly new shoe on my foot. Dussel has put us in danger for the umpteenth time. He actually had Miep bring him a book, an anti-Mussolini tirade, which has been banned. On the way here she was knocked down by an SS motorcycle. She lost her head and shouted "You brutes!" a on her way. I dont dare think what would have happened if shed been taken down to headquarters. Yours, Anne A Daily Chore in Our Little unity: Peeling Potatoes! One persoo get some neers; ahe knives (keeping the best for himself, of course); the third, the potatoes; and the fourth, the water. Mr. Dussel begins. He may not aleel them very well, but he does peel nonstop, glang left and right to see if everyone is doing it the way he does. No, theyre not! "Look, Anne, I am taking peeler in my hand like so and going from the top to bottom! Nein, not so . . . but so!” "I think my way is easier, Mr. Dussel," I say tentatively. "But this is best way, Ahis you take from me. Of course, it is no matter, you do the way you want.” We go on peeling. I gla Dussel out of the er of my eye. Lost in thought, he shakes his head (over me, no doubt), but says no more. I keep on peeling. Then I look at Father, oher side of me. To Father, peeling potatoes is not a chore, but precision work. When he reads, he has a deep wrinkle in the back of his head. But when hes preparing potatoes, beans etables, he seems to be totally absorbed in his task. He puts on his potato-peeling face, and when its set in that particular way, it would be impossible for him to turn out anythihan a perfectly peeled potato. I keep on w. I glance up for a sed, but thats all the time I need. Mrs. van D. is trying to attract Dussels attention. She starts by looking in his dire, but Dussel pretends not to notice. She winks, but Dussel goes on peeling. She laughs, but Dussel still doesnt look up. Then Mother laughs too, but Dussel pays them no mind. Having failed to achieve her goal, Mrs. van D. is obliged to ge tactics. Theres a brief silehen she says, "Putti, why dont you put on an apron? Otherwise, Ill have to spend all day tomorr to get the spots out of your suit!” "Im not getting it dirty.” Another brief silence. "Putti, why dont you sit down? "Im fihis way. I like standing up!” Silence. "Putti,藏书网 look out, du spritzt s!".* [*Now youre splashing!] "I know, Mommy, but Im being careful.” Mrs. van D. casts about for aopic. "Tell me, Putti, why arent the British carrying out any bombing raids today?” "Because the weathers bad, Kerli!” "But yesterday it was suice weather and they werent flying theher.” "Lets drop the subject.” "Why? t a person talk about that or offer an opinion? "Well, why in the world not?” "Oh, be quiet, Mammi!"* [*Mommy] "Mr. Frank always answers his wife.” Mr. van D. is trying to trol himself. This remark always rubs him the wrong way, but Mrs. van D.s not oo quit: "Oh, theres never going to be an invasion!” Mr. van D. turns white, and wheices it, Mrs. van D. turns red, but shes not about to be deterred: "The British arent doing a thing!” The bomb bursts. "And now shut up, Doter noch mal!* [*F out loud!"] Mother barely stifle a laugh, and I stare straight ahead. Ses like these are repeated almost daily, uheyve just had a terrible fight. In that case, her Mr. nor Mrs. van D. says a word. Its time for me to get some more potatoes. I go up to the attic, where Peter is busy pig fleas from the cat. He looks up, the otices it, and whoosh. . . hes gone. Out the window and into the rain gutter. Peter swears; I laugh and slip out of the room. Freedom in the Annex Five-thirty. Beps arrival signals the beginning of htly freedom. Things get going right away. I go upstairs with Bep, who usually has her dessert before the rest of us. The moment she sits down, Mrs. van D. begins stating her wishes. Her list usually starts with "Oh, by the way, Bep, something else Id like. . ." Bep winks at me. Mrs. van D. doesnt miss a ake her wishes known to whoever es upstairs. It must be one of the reasons none of them like to go up there. Five forty-five. Bep leaves. I go down two floors to have a look around: first to the kit, then to the private offid then to the coal bin to ope door for Mouschi. After a long tour of iion, I wind up in Mr. Kuglers office. Mr. van Daan is bing all the drawers and files for todays mail. Peter picks up Boche and the warehouse key; Pim lugs the typewriters upstairs; Margot looks around for a quiet place to do her office work; Mrs. van D. puts a kettle of water oove; Mother es dowairs with a pan of potatoes; we all know our jobs. Sooer es back from the warehouse. The first question they ask him is whether hes remembered the bread. No, he hasnt. He crouches before the door to the front offiake himself as small as possible and crawls on his hands and ko the steel et, takes out the bread and starts to leave. At any rate, thats what he intends to do, but before he knows whats happened, Mouschi has jumped over him and goo sit uhe desk. Peter looks all around him. Aha, theres the cat! He crawls bato the offid grabs the cat by the tail. Mouschi hisses, Peter sighs. What has he aplished? Mouschis now sitting by the window lig herself, very pleased at having escaped Peters clutches. Peter has no choice but to lure her with a piece of bread. Mouschi takes the bait, follows him out, and the door closes. I watch the entire se through a cra the door. Mr. van Daan is angry and slams the door. Margot and I exge looks and think the same thing: he must have worked himself inte again because of some blunder on Mr. Kuglers part, and hes fotten all about the Keg pa door. Aep is heard in the hallway. Dussel es in, goes toward the window with an air of propriety, sniffs. . . coughs, sneezes and clears his throat. Hes out of luck -- it epper. He tinues on to the front office. The curtains are open, which means he t get at his writing paper. He disappears with a scowl. Margot and I exge anlance. "One less page for his sweetheart tomorrow," I hear her say. I nod in agreement. An elephants tread is heard oairway. Its Dussel, seeking fort in his favorite spot. We tinue w. Knock, knock, knock. . . Three taps means diime! MONDAY, AUGUST 23, 1943 Wenn Die Uhr Halb Neune Schlaat . . .* [* When the clock strikes half past eight.] Margot and Mother are nervous. "Shh . . . Father. Be quiet, Otto. Shh . . . Pim! Its eight-thirty. e here, you t ruer anymore. Walk softly!" A sample of whats said to Father ihroom. At the stroke of half past eight, he has to be in the living room. No running water, no flushing toilet, no walking around, no noise whatsoever. As long as the office staff hasnt arrived, sounds travel more easily to the warehouse. The door opens upstairs at eight-twenty, and this is followed by three geaps on the floor. . . Annes hot cereal. I clamber up the stairs to get my doggie dish. Back downstairs, everything has to be done quickly, quickly: I y hair, put away the potty, shove the bed ba place. Quiet! The clock is striki-thirty! Mrs. van D. ges shoes and shuffles through the room in her slippers; Mr. van D. too -- a veritable Charlie Chaplin. All is quiet. The ideal family se has now reached its high point. I want to read or study and Margot does too. Father and Mother ditto. Father is sitting (with Dis and the diary, of course) on the edge of the sagging, squeaky bed, which doesnt even have a det mattress. Two bolsters be piled on top of each other. "I dohese," he thinks. "I mahout them!” Once he starts reading, he doesnt look up. He laughs now and then and tries to get Mother to read a story. "I dont have the time right now!” He looks disappointed, but then tio read. A little while later, when he es across anood passage, he tries again: "You have to read this, Mother!” Mother sits on the folding bed, either reading, sewing, knitting or studying, whichever is on her list. An idea suddenly occurs to her, and she quickly says, so as not tet, "Anne, remember to . . . Margot, jot this down. . . “ After a while its quiet again. Margot slams her book shut; Father knits his forehead, his eyebrows f a funny curve and his wrinkle of tration reappearing I at the back of his head, and he buries himself in his book 1 again; Mother starts chatting with Margot; and I get curious and listen too. Pim is drawn into the versation . . . Nine oclock. Breakfast! SEPTEMBER, 1943 FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Every time I write to you, something special has happened, usually unpleasant rather than pleasant. This time, however, something wonderful is going on. On Wednesday, September 8, we were listening to the seven ocloews ..when we heard an annou: "Here is some of the best news of the war so far: Italy has capitulated." Italy has unditionally surrehe Dutch broadcast from England began at eight-fifteen with the news: "Listeners, an hour and fifteen minutes ago, just as I finished writing my daily report, we received the wonderful news of Italys capitulation. I tell you, I ossed my notes into the aper basket with more delight than I did today!” "God Save the King," the Ameriational anthem and the Russian Iionale” were played. As always, the Dutch program lifting without being too optimistic. The British have landed in Naples. Northern Italy is occupied by the Germans. The truce was signed on Friday, September 3, the day the British landed in Italy. The Germans are ranting and raving in all the neers at the treachery of Badoglio and the Italian king. Still, theres bad news as well. Its about Mr. Kleiman. As you know, we all like him very much. Hes unfailingly cheerful and amazingly brave, despite the fact that hes always sid in pain and t eat much or do a lot of walking. "When Mr. Kleimaers a room, the sun begins to shine," Mother said retly, and shes absolutely right. Now it seems he has to go to the hospital for a very difficult operation on his stomach, and will have to stay there for at least four weeks. You should have seen him wheold us good-bye. He acted so normally, as though he were just off to do an errand. Yours, Anne THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Relationships here in the Annex are getting worse all the time. We dont dare open our mouths at mealtime (except to slip in a bite of food), because no matter what we say, someone is bound to resent it or take it the wrong way. Mr. Voskuijl occasionally es to visit us. Unfortunately, hes not doing very well. He isnt making it any easier for his family, because his attitude seems to be: what do I care, Im going to die anyway! When I think how touchy everyone is here, I just imagine what it must be like at the Voskuijls. Ive been taking valerian every day to fight the ay and depression, but it doesnt stop me from being even more miserable the day. A good hearty laugh would help better than ten valerian drops, but weve almost fotten how to laugh. Sometimes Im afraid my face is going to sag with all this sorrow and that my mouth is going to permaly droop at the ers. The others arent doing aer. Everyone here is dreading the great terror known as winter. Another fact that doesly brighten up our days is that Mr. van Maaren, the man who works in the warehouse, is getting suspicious about the９9ｌｉｂ? Annex. A person with any brains must have noticed by now that Miep sometimes says shes going to the lab, Bep to the file room and Mr. Kleiman to the Opekta supplies, while Mr. Kugler claims the Annex doesnt belong to this building at all, but to the o door. We wouldnt care what Mr. van Maaren thought of the situation except that hes known to be unreliable and to possess a high degree of curiosity. Hes not one who be put off with a flimsy excuse. One day Mr. Kugler wao be extra cautious, so at twenty past twelve he put on his coat ao the drugstore around the er. Less than five minutes later he was back, and he sneaked up the stairs like a thief to visit us. At one-fifteearted to leave, but Bep met him on the landing and warned him that van Maaren was in 藏书网the office. Mr. Kugler did an about-fad stayed with us until ohirty. Theook off his shoes a in his stoged feet (despite his cold) to the front attid dowher stairway, taking oep at a time to avoid the creaks. It took him fifteen mio iate the stairs, but he wound up safely in the office after haviered from the outside. In the meantime, Bep had gotten rid of van Maaren and e to get Mr. Kugler from the Annex. But hed already left and at that moment was still tiptoeing dowairs. What must the passersby have thought when they saw the manager putting on his shoes outside? Hey, you there, in the socks! Yours, Anne WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Its Mrs. van Daans birthday. Other thaion stamp each for cheese, meat and bread, all she received from us was a jar of jam. Her husband, Dussel and the office staff gave her nothing but flowers and also food. Such are the times we live in! Bep had a nervous fit last week because she had so many errands to do. Ten times a day people were sending her out for something, each time insisting she ght away o again or that shed do all wrong. And when you think that she has her regular office work to do, that Mr. Kleiman is sick, that Miep is home with a cold and that Bep herself has a sprained ankle, boyfriend troubles and a grouchy father, its no wonder shes at the end of her tether. We forted her and told her that if shed put her foot down once or twid say she didnt have the time, the shopping lists would shrink of their own accord. Saturday there was a big drama, the likes of which have never been seen here before. It started with a discussion of van Maaren and ended in a general argument and tears. Dussel plaio Mother that he was being treated like a leper, that no one was friendly to him and that, after all, he hadnt done anything to deserve it. This was followed by a lot of sweet talk, which luckily Mother didnt fall for this time. She told him we were dis.９９lｉｂ.appointed in him and that, on more than one occasion, hed been a source of great annoyance. Dussel promised her the moon, but, as usual, we havent seen so much as a beam. Theres trouble brewing with the van Daans, I tell! Fathers furious because theyre cheating us: theyve been holding back meat and other things. Oh, what kind of bombshell is about to burst now? If only I werent so involved in all these skirmishes! If only I could leave here! Theyre driving us crazy! Yours, Anne OCTOBER, 1943 SUNDAY, OCTOBER 17, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Mr. Kleiman is back, thank goodness! He looks a bit pale, a he cheerfully set off to sell some clothes for Mr. van Daan. The disagreeable fact is that Mr. van Daan has run out of money. He lost his last hundred guilders in the warehouse, which is still creating trouble for us: the men are w how a hundred guilders could wind up in the warehouse on a Monday m. Suspi ?99liｂ?abounds. Meanwhile, the hundred guilders have been stolen. Whos the thief? But I was talking about the money she. Mrs. van D. has scads of dresses, coats and shoes, none of which she feels she do without. Mr. van D.s suit is difficult to sell, aers bike ut on the block, but is back again, sinobody wa. But the story doeshere. You see, Mrs. van D. is going to have to part with her fur coat. In her opinion, the firm should pay for our upkeep, but thats ridiculous. They just had a flaming row about it and have ehe "oh, my sweet Putti" and "darling Kerli" stage of reciliation. My mind boggles at the profanity this honorable house has had to endure in the past month. Father walks around with his lips pressed together, and whenever he ９９ｌｉｂ?hears his name, he looks up in alarm, as ifhes afraid hell be called upon to resolve another delicate problem. Mothers sht up her cheeks are blotched with red, Margot plains of headaches, Dussel t sleep, Mrs. van D. frets and fumes all day long, and Ive gone pletely round the bend. To tell you the truth, I sometimes fet who were at odds with and who were not. The only way to take my mind off it is to study, and Ive been doing a lot of that lately. Yours, Anne FRIDAY, OCTOBER 29,1943 My dearest Kitty, Mr. Kleiman is out again; his stomach wont give him a moments peace. He doesnt even know whether its stopped bleeding. He came to tell us he wasnt feeling well and was going home, and for the first time he seemed really down. Mr. and Mrs. van D. have had ming batt..les. The reason is simple: theyre broke. They wao sell an overcoat and a suit of Mr. van D. s, but were uo find any buyers. His prices were way too high. Some time ago Mr. Kleiman was talking about a furrier he knows. This gave Mr. van D. the idea of selling his wifes fur coat. Its made of rabbit skin, and shes had it for seventeen years. Mrs. van D. got 325 guilders for it, an enormous amount. She wao keep the money herself to buy new clothes after the war, and it took some doing before Mr. van D. could make her uand that it was desperately o cover household expenses. You t imagihe screaming, shouting, stamping of feet and swearing that went on. It was terrifying. My family stood holding its breath at the bottom of the stairs, in case it might be necessary t them apart. All the bickering, tears and nervous tension have bee such a stress and strain that I fall into my bed at night g and thanking my lucky stars that I have half an hour to myself. Im doing fine, except Ive got no appetite. I keep hearing: "Goodness, you look awful!" I must admit theyre doing their best to keep me in dition: theyre plyih dextrose, cod-liver oil, brewers yeast and calcium. My nerves oftehe better of me, especially on Sundays; thats when I really feel miserable. The atmosphere is stifling, sluggish, leaden. Outside, you dont hear a single bird, and a deathly, oppressive silence hangs over the house and gs to me as if it were going t me into the deepest regions of the underworld. At times like these, Father, Mother and Margot dont matter to me in the least. I wander from room to room, climb up and dowairs and feel like a songbird whose wings have been ripped off and who keeps hurling itself against the bars of its dark cage. "Let me out, where theres fresh air and laughter!" a voice within me cries. I dont even bother to reply anymore, but lie down on the divan. Sleep makes the silend the terrible fear go by more quickly, helps pass the time, sis impossible to kill it. Yours, Anne NOVEMBER, 1943 WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 1943 Dearest Kitty, To take our minds off matters as well as to develop them, Father ordered a catalog from a correspondence sargot pored through the thick brochure three times without finding anything to her liking and within her budget. Father was easier to satisfy and decided to write and ask for a trial lesson in "Elementary Latin." No sooner said than dohe lesson arrived, Margot set to work enthusiastically and decided to take the course, despite the expes much too hard for me, though Id really like to learn Latin. To give me a new project as well, Father asked Mr. Kleiman for a childrens Bible so I could finally learn something about the estament. "Are you planning to give Anne a Bible for Hanukkah?" Margot asked, someerturbed. "Yes. . . Well, maybe St. Nicholas Day would be a better occasion," Father replied. Jesus and Hanukkah doly go together. Sihe vacuum ers broken, I have to take an old brush to the rug every night. The windows closed, the lights on, the stoves burning, and there I am brushing away at the rug. "Thats sure to be a problem," I thought to myself the first time. "Therere bound to be plaints." I was right: Mot a headache from the thick clouds of dust whirling around the room, Margots new Latin diary was caked with dirt, and rim grumbled that the floor didnt look any different anyway. Small thanks for my pains. Weve decided that from now oove is going to be lit at seven-thirty on Sunday ms instead of five-thirty. I think its risky. What will the neighbors think of our smoking ey? Its the same with the curtains. Ever since we first went into hiding, theyve been tacked firmly to the windows. Sometimes one of the ladies entlemen t resist the urge to peek outside. The result: a storm of reproaches. The response: "Oh, nobody will notice." Thats how every act of carelessness begins >and ends. No one will notio one will hear, no one will pay the least bit of attention. Easy to say, but is it true? At the moment, the tempestuous quarrels have subsided; only Dussel and the van Daans are still at loggerheads. When Dussel is talking about Mrs. van D., he invariably calls her that old bat" or "that stupid hag," and versely, Mrs. van D. refers to our ever so learned gentleman as an "old maid" or a "toueurotic spinster, etc. The pot calling the kettle black! Yours, Anne MONDAY EVENING, NOVEMBER 8,1943 Dearest Kitty, If you were to read all my letters iting, youd be struck by the fact that they were written in a variety of moods. It annoys me to be so depe on the moods here in the Annex, but Im not the only one: were all subject to them. If Im engrossed in a book, I have to rearrange my thoughts before I mih other people, because otherwise they might think I was strange. As you see, Im currently in the middle of a depression. I couldnt really tell you what set it off, but I think it stems from my cowardice, which fronts me at every turn. This evening, when Bep was still here, the doorbell rang long and loud. I instantly turned white, my stomach ed, and my heart beat wildly -- and all because I was afraid. At night in bed I see myself alone in a dungeon, without Father and Mother. Or Im roaming the streets, or the Annex is on fire, or they e in the middle of the night to take us away and I crawl under my bed in desperation. I see everything as if it were actually taking place. And to think it might all happen soon! Miep often says she envies us because we have such pead quiet here. That may be true, but shes obviously not thinking about our fear. I simply t imagihe world will ever be normal again for us. I do talk about "after the war," but its as if I were talking about a castle in the air, something that Ii never e true. I see the ei ght of us in the Annex as if we were a patch of blue sky surrounded by menag black clouds. The perfectly round spot on which were standing is still safe, but the clouds are moving in on us, and the riween us and the approag danger is being pulled tighter and tighter. Were surrounded by darkness and danger, and in our desperate search for a way out we keep bumping into each other. We look at the fighting down below and the pead beauty up above. In the meantime, weve been cut off by the dark mass of clouds, so that we go her up nor down. It looms before us like an imperable wall, trying to crush us, but not yet able to. I only cry out and implore, ", ring, open wide a us out!” Yours, Anne THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 1943 Dearest Kitty, I have a good title for this chapter: Ode to My Fountain Pen In Memoriam My fountain pen was always one of my most prized possessions; I valued it highly, especially because it had a thiib, and I only write ly with thiibs. It has led a long and iing fountain-pen life, which I will summarize below. When I was nine, my fountain pen (packed in cotton) arrived as a "sample of no ercial value" all the way from Aa, where my grandmother (the kindly donor) used to live. I lay in bed with the flu, while the February winds howled around the apartment house. This splendid fountain pen came in a red leather case, and I showed it to my girlfriends the first ce I got. Me, Anne Frank, the proud owner of a fountain pen. When I was ten, I was allowed to take the pen to school, and to my surprise, the teacher eve me write with it. When I was eleven, however, my treasure had to be tucked away again, because my sixth-grade teacher allowed us to use only school pens and inkpots. When I was twelve, I started at the Jewish Lyceum and my fountain pen was given a new case in honor of the occasion. Not only did it have room for a pencil, it also had a zipper, which was much more impressive. When I was thirteen, the fountain pe with me to the Annex, and together weve raced through tless diaries and positions. Id turned fourteen and my fountain pen was enjoying the last year of its life with me when . . . It was just after five on Friday afternoon. I came out of my room and was about to sit down at the table to write when I was roughly pushed to one side to make room for Margot and Father, who wao practice their Latin. The fountain pen remained unused oable, while its owner, sighing, was forced to make do with a very tiny er of the table, where she began rubbing beans. Thats how we remove mold from the beans aore them to their inal state. At a quarter to six I swept the floor, dumped the dirt into a neer, along with the rotten beans, and tossed it into the stove. A giant flame shot up, and I thought it was wonderful that the stove, which had been gasping its last breath, had made such a miraculous recovery. All was quiet again. The Latin students had left, and I sat down at the table to pick up where Id left off. But no matter where I looked, my fountain pen was nowhere in sight. I took another look. Margot looked, Mother looked, Father looked, Dussel looked. But it had vanished. "Maybe it fell iove, along with the beans!" Margot suggested. "No, it couldnt have!" I replied. But that evening, when my fountaiill hadnt turned up, we all assumed it had been burned, especially because celluloid is highly inflammable. Our darkest fears were firmed the day when Father went to empty the stove and discovered the clip, used to fasten it to a pocket, among the ashes. Not a trace of the gold nib was left. "It must have melted into stone," Father jectured. Im left with one solation, small though it may be: my fountain pen was cremated, just as I would like to be someday! Yours, Anne WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Ret events have the house rog on its foundations. Owing to an outbreak of diphtheria at Beps, she wont be allowed to e in tact with us for six weeks. Without her, the cooking and shopping will be very difficult, not to mention how much well miss her pany. Mr. Kleiman is still in bed and has eaten nothing but gruel for three weeks. Mr. Kugler is up to his ne work. Margot sends her Latin lessons to a teacher, who corrects and theurns them. Shes registered under Beps he teachers very nice, and witty too. I bet hes glad to have such a smart student. Dussel is in a turmoil and we dont know why. It a?ll began with Dussels saying nothing when he stairs; he didnt exge so much as a word with either Mr. or Mrs. van Daan. We all noticed it. This went on for a few days, and then Mother took the opportunity to warn him about Mrs. van D., who could make life miserable for him. Dussel said Mr. van Daan had started the silent treatment and he had no iion of breaking it. I should explain that yesterday was November 16, the first anniversary of his living in the Annex. Mother received a plant in honor of the occasion, but Mrs. van Daan, who had alluded to the date for weeks and made no bones about the fact that she thought Dussel should treat us to dinner, received nothing. Instead of making use of the opportunity to thank us -- for the first time -- for unselfishly taking him in, he didnt utter a word. And on the m of the sixteenth, when I asked him whether I should offer him my gratulations or my dolences, he replied that either one would do. Mother, having cast herself in the role of peacemaker, made no headway whatsoever, and the situation finally ended in a draw. I say without exaggeration that Dussel has definitely got a screw loose. We often laugh to ourselves because he has no memory, no fixed opinions and no on sense. Hes amused us more than once by trying to pass on the news hes just heard, sihe message invariably gets garbled in transmission. Furthermore, he answers every reproach or accusation with a load of fine 1 promises, which he never mao keep. "Der Mann hat einen grosse Una ist so klein van Taten!"* [*A well-known expression: "The spirit of the man is great, How puny are his deeds.” Yours, Anne SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Last night, just as I was falling asleep, Hanneli suddenly appeared before me. I saw her there, dressed in rags, her face thin and worn. She looked at me with such sadness and reproa her enormous eyes that I could read the message in them: "Oh, Anne, why have you deserted me? Help me, help me, rescue me from this hell!” And I t help her. I only stand by and watch while other people suffer and die. All I do is pray to God t her back to us. I saw Hanneli, and no one else, and I uood why. I misjudged her, wasnt mature enough to uand how difficult it was for her. She was devoted tirlfriend, and it must have seemed as though I were trying to take her away. The poor thing, she must have felt awful! I know, because I reize the feeling in myself! I had an occasional flash of uanding, but then got selfishly ed up again in my own problems and pleasures. It was mean of me to treat her that way, and now she was looking at me, oh so helplessly, with her pale fad beseeg eyes. If only I could help her! Dear God, I have everything I could wish for, while fate has her in its deadly clutches. She was as devout as I am, maybe even more so, and she too wao do what was right. But then why have I been chosen to live, while shes probably going to die? Whats the differeween us? Why are we now so far apart? To be ho, I hadnt thought of her for months -- no, for at least a year. I hadnt fotten her entirely, a wasnt until I saw her before me that I thought of all her suffering. Oh, Hanneli, I hope that if you live to the end of the war aurn to us, Ill be able to take you in and make up for the wrong Ive done you. But even if I were ever in a position to help, she wouldnt more than she does now. I wonder if she ever thinks of me, and what shes feeling? Merciful God, fort her, so that at least she wont be alone. Oh, if only You could tell her Im thinking of her with passion and love, it might help her go on. Ive got to stop dwelling on this. It wo me anywhere. I keep seeing her enormous eyes, and they haunt me. Does Hanneli really and truly believe in God, or has religion merely been foisted upon her? I dont even know that. I ook the trouble to ask. Hanneli, Hanneli, if only I could take you away, if only I could share everything I have with you. Its too late. I t help, or undo the wrong Ive done. But Ill never fet her again and Ill alray for her! Yours, Anne DECEMBER, 1943 MONDAY, DECEMBER 6, 1943 Dearest Kitty, The closer it got to St. Nicholas Day, the more we all thought back to last years festively decorated basket. More than anyone, I thought it would be terrible to skip a celebration this year. After long deliberation, I finally came up with an idea, something funny. I sulted rim, and a week ago we set to work writing a verse for each person. Sunday evening at a quarter to eight we trooped upstairs carrying the big laundry basket, which had been decorated with cutouts and bows made of pink and blue carbon paper. On top was a large piece of brown ing paper with a ached. Everyone was rather amazed at the sheer size of the gift. I removed the note and read it aloud: "Once again St. Nicholas Day Has even e to our hideaway; It wont be quite as Jun, I fear, As the happy day we had last year. Then we were hopeful, no reason to doubt That optimism would win the bout, And by the time this year came round, Wed all be free, and s* and sound. Still, lets not Jet its St. Nicholas Day, Though weve nothio give away. Well have to find something else to do: So everyone please look in their shoe!” As each person took their own shoe out of the basket, there was a roar of laughter. Inside each shoe was a little ed package addressed to its owner. Yours, Anne Dearest Kitty, A bad case of flu has prevented me from writing to you until today. Being sick here is dreadful. With every cough, I had to duder the bla -- owice, three times -- and try to keep from coughing anymore. Most of the time the tickle refused to go away, so I had to drink milk with honey, sugar or cough drops. I get dizzy just thinking about all the cures Ive been subjected to: sweating out the fever, steam treatment, wet presses, dry presses, hot drinks, swabbing my throat, lying still, heating pad, hot-water bottles, lemonade and, every two hours, the thermometer. Will these remedies really make you better? The worst part was when Mr. Dussel decided to play doctor and lay his pomaded head on my bare chest to listen to the sounds. Not only did his hair tickle, but I was embarrassed, even though he went to school thirty years ago and does have some kind of medical degree. Why should he lay his head on my heart? After all, hes not my boyfriend! For that matter, he wouldnt be able to tell a healthy sound from an uhy one. Hed have to have his ears ed first, since hes being alarmingly hard of hearing. But enough about my illness. Im fit as a fiddle again. Ive grown almost half an ind gaiwo pounds. Im pale, but itg to get bay books. Ausnahmsweise* (the only word that will do here [* By way of exception]), were all getting oogether. No squabbles, though that probably wont last long. There hasnt been such pead quiet in this house for at least six months. Bep is still in isolation, but any day now her sister will no longer be tagious. For Christmas, were gettira cooking oil, dy and molasses. For Hanukkah, Mr. Dussel gave Mrs. van Daan and Mother a beautiful cake, which hed asked Miep to bake. On top of all the work she has to do! Margot and I received a brooch made out of a penny, all bright and shiny. I t really describe it, but its lovely. I also have a Christmas present for Miep and Bep. For a whole month Ive saved up the sugar I put on my hot cereal, and Mr. Kleiman has used it to have fondant made. The weather is drizzly and overcast, the stove stinks, and the food lies heavily on our stomachs, produg a variety of rumbles. The war is at an impasse, spirits are low. Yours, Anne FRIDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1943 Dear Kitty, As Ive written you many times before, moods have a tendency to affect us quite a bit here, and in my case its beeing worse lately. "Himmelhoch jaud, zu Tode betrubt"* [* A famous line from Goethe: "On top of the world, or in the depths of despair."] certainly applies to me. Im "on top of the world" when I think of how fortunate we are and pare myself to other Jewish children, and "in the depths of despair" when, for example, Mrs. Kleiman es by and talks about Jopies hockey club, oe trips, school plays and afternoon teas with friends. I dont think Im jealous of Jopie, but I long to have a really good time for ond to laugh so hard it hurts. Were stu this house like lepers, especially during winter and the Christmas and New Years holidays. Actually, I shouldnt even be writing this, si makes me seem so ungrateful, but I t keep everything to myself, so Ill repeat what I said at the beginning: "Paper is more patient than people.” Whenever someone es in from outside, with the wind in their clothes and the cold on their cheeks, I feel like burying my head uhe blao keep from thinking, "When will we be allowed to breathe fresh air again?" I t do that -- on the trary, I have to hold my head up high and put a bold fa things, but the thoughts keep ing anyway. Not just once, but over and over. Believe me, if youve been shut up for a year and a half, it get to be too much for you sometimes. But feelings t be ignored, no matter how unjust rateful they seem. I long to ride a bike, dance, whistle, look at the world, feel young and know that Im free, a I t let it show. just imagine what would happen if all eight of us were to feel sorry for ourselves or walk around with the distent clearly visible on our faces. Where would that get us? I sometimes wonder if anyone will ever uand what I mean, if anyone will ever overlook my ingratitude and not worry about whether or not Im Jewish and merely see me as a teenager badly in need of some good plain fun. I dont know, and I wouldnt be able to talk about it with anyone, since Im sure Id start to cry. g bring relief, as long as you dont cry alone. Despite all my theories and efforts, I miss -- every day and every hour of the day -- having a mother who uands me. Thats why with everything I do and write, I imagihe kind of mom Id like to be to my children later on. The kind of mom who doesnt take everything people say too seriously, but who does take me seriously. I find it difficult to describe what I mean, but the word mom" says it all. Do you know what Ive e up with? In order to give me the feeling of calling my mother something that sounds like "Mom," I often call her" Momsy." Sometimes I shorten it to "Moms"; an imperfect "Mom." I wish I could honor her by removing the "s." Its a good thing she doesnt realize this, si would only make her unhappy. Well, thats enough of that. My writing has raised me somewhat from "the depths of despair.” Yours, Anne Its the day after Christmas, and I t help thinking about Pim and the story he told me this time last year. I didnt uand the meaning of his words then as well as I do now. If only hed bring it up again, I might be able to show him I uood what he meant! I think Pim told me because he, who knows the "intimate secrets" of so many others, o express his own feelings for once; Pim alks about himself, and I dont think Margot has any inkling of what hes been through. Poor Pim, he t fool me into thinking hes fotten that girl. He never will. Its made him very aodating, since hes not blind to Mothers faults. I hope Im going to be a little like him, without having to gh what he has! Anne MONDAY, DECEMBER 27, 1943 Friday evening, for the first time in my life, I received a Christmas present. Mr. Kleiman, Mr. Kugler and the girls had prepared a wonderful surprise for us. Miep made a delicious Christmas cake with "Peace 1944" written on top, and Bep provided a batch of cookies that to prewar standards. There was a jar of yogurt for Peter, Margot and me, and a bottle of beer for each of the adults. And once agaihing was ed so nicely, with pretty pictures glued to the packages. For the rest, the holidays passed by quickly for us. Anne WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 29, 1943 I was very sad again last night. Grandma and Hanneli came to me once more. Grandma, oh, my sweet Grandma. How little we uood what she suffered, how kind she always was and what an i she took ihing that ed us. And to think that all that time she was carefully guardierrible secret. * [*Annes grandmother was terminally ill.] Grandma was always so loyal and good. She would never have let any of us down. Whatever happened, no matter how much I misbehaved, Grandma always stuck up for me. Grandma, did you love me, or did you not uaher? I dont know. How lonely Grandma must have been, in spite of us. You be lonely even when youre loved by many people, since youre still not bd"dI" any 0 y s one an only. And Hanneli? Is she still alive? Whats she doing? Dear God, watch over her and bring her back to us. Hanneli, youre a reminder of what my fate might have been. I keep seeing myself in your place. So why am I often miserable about what goes on here? Shouldnt I be happy, tented and glad, except when Im thinking of Hanneli and those suffering along with her? Im selfish and cowardly. Why do I always think and dream the most awful things and want to scream in terror? Because, in spite of everything, I still dont have enough faith in God. Hes given me so much, which I dont deserve, a each day I make so many mistakes! Thinking about the suffering of those you hold dear reduce you to tears; in fact, you could spend the whole day g. The most you do is pray fod to perform a miracle and save at least some of them. And I hope Im doing enough of that! AHURSDAY, DECEMBER 30, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Sihe last raging quarrels, things have settled down here, not only between ourselves, Dussel and "upstairs," but also between Mr. and Mrs. van D. heless, a few dark thunderclouds are heading this way, and all because of . . . food. Mrs. van D. came up with the ridiculous idea fewer potatoes in the m and saving them for later in the day. Mother and Dussel and the rest of us didnt agree with her, so now were dividing up the potatoes as well. It seems the fats and oils arent being doled out fairly, and Moing to have to put a stop to it. Ill let you know if there are any iing developments. For the last few months now weve been splitting up the meat (theirs with fat, ours without), the soup (they eat it, we dont), the potatoes (theirs peeled, ou９9lｉb?rs not), the extras and now the fried potatoes too. If only we could split up pletely! Yours, Anne P.S. Bep had a picture postcard of the entire Royal Family copied for me. Juliana looks very young, and so does the Queen. The three little girls are adorable. It was incredibly nice of Bep, dont you think? JANUARY, 1944 SUNDAY, JANUARY 2, 1944 Dearest Kitty, This m, when I had nothing to do, I leafed through the pages of my diary and came across so maers dealing with the subject of "Mother" in such strong terms that I was shocked. I said to myself, "Anne, is that really you talking about hate? Oh, Anne, how could you?” I tio sit with the open book in my hand and wonder why I was filled with so muger and hate that I had to fide it all to you. I tried to uand the Anne of last year and make apologies for her, because as long as I leave you with these accusations and dont attempt to explain rompted them, my sce wont be clear. I was suffering then (and still do) from moods that kept my head under water (figuratively speaking) and allowed me to see things only from my own perspective, without calmly sidering what the others -- those whom I, with my mercurial temperament, had hurt or offended -- had said, and then ag as they would have done. I hid inside myself, thought of no o myself and calmly wrote down all my joy, sarcasm and sorrow in my diary. Because this diary has bee a kind of memory book, it means a great deal to me, but I could easily write "over and doh" on many of its pages. I was furious at Mother (and still am a lot of the time). Its true, she didnt uand me, but I didnt uand her either. Because she loved me, she was tender and affeate, but because of the difficult situations I put her in, and the sad circumstances in which she fo藏书网und herself, she was nervous and irritable, so I uand why she was often short with me. I was offeook it far too much to heart and was i aly to her, which, in turn, made her unhappy. We were caught in a vicious circle of unpleasantness and sorrow. Not a very happy period for either of us, but at least its ing to an end. I didnt want to see what was going on, and I felt very sorry for myself, but thats uandable too. Those violent outbursts on paper are simply expressions of ahat, in normal life, I could have worked off by log myself in my room and stamping my foot a few times or calling Mother names behind her back. The period of tearfully passing judgment on Mother is over. Ive grown wiser and Mothers nerves are a bit steadier. Most of the time I mao hold my tongue when Im annoyed, and she does too; so on the surface, we seem to be getting aloer. But theres ohing I t do, and thats to love Mother with the devotion of a child. I soothe my sce with the thought that its better for unkind words to be down on paper than for Mother to have to carry them around in her heart. Yours, Anne THURSDAY, JANUARY 6, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Today I have two things to fess. Its going to take a long time, but I have to tell them to someone, and youre the most likely didate, since I know youll keep a secret, no matter what happens. The first is about Mother. As you know, Ive frequently plained about her and then tried my best to be nice. Ive suddenly realized whats wrong with her. Mother has said that she sees us more as friends than as daughters. Thats all very nice, of course, except that a friend t take the place of a mother. I need my mother to set a good example and be a person I respect, but in most matters shes an example of what not to do. I have the feeling that Margot thinks so differently about these things that shed never be able to uand what Ive just told you. And Father avoids all versations having to do with Mother. I imagine a mother as a woman who, first and foremost, possesses a great deal of tact, especially toward her adolest children, and not one who, like Momsy, pokes fun at me when I cry. Not because Im in pain, but because of other things. This may seem trivial, but theres one i Ive never fiven her for. It happened one day when I had to go to the dentist. Mother and Margot plao go with me and agreed I should take my bicycle. When the dentist was finished and we were back outside, Margot and Mother very sweetly informed me that they were going downtown to buy or look at something, I dont remember what, and of course I wao go along. But they said I couldnt e because I had my bike with me. Tears e rushed to my eyes, and Margot and Man laughing at me. I was so furious that I stuck my to at them, right there oreet. A little old lady happeo be passing by, and she looked terribly shocked. I rode my bike home and must have cried for hours. Strangely enough, even though Mother has wounded me thousands of times, this particular wound still stings whenever I think of how angry I was. I find it difficult to fess the sed one because its about myself. Im not prudish, Kitty, a every time they give a blow-by-blow at of their trips to the bathroom, which they often do, my whole body rises i. Yesterday I read an article on blushing by Sis Heyster. It was as if shed addressed it directly to me. Not that I blush easily, but the rest of the article did apply. What she basically says is that during puberty girls withdraw into themselves and begin thinking about the wondrous ges taking pla their bodies. I feel that too, which probably ats for my ret embarrassment over Margot, Mother and Father. Oher hand, Margot is a lot shyer than I am, a shes not in the least embarrassed. I think that whats happening to me is so wonderful, and I dont just mean the ges taking pla the outside of my body, but also those on the inside. I never discuss myself or any of these things with others, which is why I have to talk about them to myself. Whenever I get my period (and thats only been three times), I have the feeling that in spite of all the pain, disfort and mess, Im carrying around a sweet secret. So even though its a nuisance, in a certain way Im always looking forward to the time when Ill feel that secret inside me once again. Sis Heyster also writes that girls my age feel very insecure about themselves and are just beginning to discover that theyre individuals with their own ideas, thoughts and habits. Id just turhirteen when I came here, so I started thinking about myself and realized that Ive bee an "indepe person" soohan most girls. Sometimes when I lie i night I feel a terrible urge to touch my breasts and listen to the quiet, steady beating of my heart. Unsciously, I had these feelings even before I came here. Once when I ending the night at Jacques, I could no longer restrain my curiosity about her body, which shed always hidden from me and which Id never seen. I asked her whether, as proof of our friendiship, we could touch each others breasts. Jacque refused. I also had a terrible desire to kiss her, which I did. Every time I see a female nude, such as the Venus in my art history book, I go iasy. Sometimes I find them so exquisite I have tle to hold back my tears. If only I had a girlfriend! THURSDAY, JANUARY 6, 1944 Dearest Kitty, My longing for someoo talk to has bee so unbearable that I somehow took it into my head to select Peter for this role. On the few occasions when I have goo Peters room during the day, Ive always thought it was nid cozy. But Peters too polite to show someohe door when theyre b him, so Ive never dared to stay long. Ive always been afraid hed think I est. Ive been looking for an excuse to linger in his room a him talking without his notig, aerday I got my ce. Peter, you see, is currently going through a crossword-puzzle craze, and he doesnt do anything else all day. I was helping him, and we soon wound up sitting across from each other at his table, Peter on the chair and me on the divan. It gave me a wonderful feeling when I looked into his dark blue eyes and saw how bashful my ued visit had made him. I could read his innermost thoughts, and in his face I saw a look of helplessness and uainty as to how to behave, and at the same time a flicker of awareness of his masity. I saw his shyness, and I melted. I wao say, "Tell me about yourself. Look beh my chatty exterior." But I found that it was easier to think up questions than to ask them. The evening came to a close, and nothing happened, except that I told him about the article on blushing. Not what I wrote you, of course, just that he would grow more secure as he got older. “ That night I lay in bed and cried my eyes out, all the i while making sure no one could hear me. The idea that I had to beg Peter for favors was simply revolting. But people will do almost anything to satisfy their longings; take me, for example, Ive made up my mind to visit Peter more often and, somehow, get him to talk to me. You mustnt think Im in love with Peter, because Im not. If the van Daans had had a daughter instead of a son, Id have tried to make friends with her. This m I woke up just before seven and immediately remembered what Id been dreaming about. I was sitting on a chair and across from me eter. . . Peter Schiff. We were looking at a book of drawings by Mary Bos. The dream was so vivid I even remember some of the drawings. But that wasnt all -- the dream went oers eyes suddenly met mine, and I stared for a long time into those velvety browhen he said very softly, "If Id only known, Id have e to you long ago!" I turned abruptly away, overe by emotion. And then I felt a soft, oh-so-cool ale cheek against mine, and it felt so good, so good . . . At that point I woke up, still feeling his cheek against mine and his browaring deep into my heart, so deep that he could read how much Id loved him and how much I still do. Again my eyes filled with tears, and I was sad because Id lost him once more, a the same time glad because I knew with certainty that Peter is still the only one for me. Its funny, but I often have such vivid images in my dreams. One night I saw Grammy* [*Grammy is Annes grandmother on her fathers side, and Grandma her grandmother on her mothers side.] so clearly that I could even make out her skin of soft, kly velvet. Aime Grandma appeared to me as a guardian angel. After that it was Hanneli, who still symbolizes to me the suffering of my friends as well as that of Jews in general, so that when Im praying for her, Im also praying for all the Jews and all those in need. And now Peter, my dearest Peter. Ive never had such a clear mental image of him. I dont need a photograph, I see him oh so well. Yours, Anne FRIDAY, ]ANUARY 7, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Im su idiot. I fot that I haveold you the story of my orue love. When I was a little girl, way ba kindergarten, I took a liking to Sally Kimmel. His father was gone, and he and his mother lived with an aunt. One of Sallys cousins was a good-looking, slender, dark-haired boy named Appy, who later turned out to look like a movie idol and aroused more admiration than the short, ical, chubby Sally. For a long time we went everywhere together, but aside from that, my love was ued until Peter crossed my path. I had an out-and-out crush on him. He liked me too, and we were inseparable for one whole summer. I still see us walking hand in hand through our neighborhood, Peter in a white cotton suit and me in a short summer dress. At the end of the summer vacation he went to the seventh grade at the middle school, while I was in the sixth grade at the grammar school. Hed pick me up on the way home, or Id pick him up. Peter was the ideal boy: tall, good-looking and slender, with a serious, quiet and intelligent face. He had dark hair, beautiful brown eyes, ruddy cheeks and a nicely pointed nose. I was crazy about his smile, which made him look so boyish and mischievous. Id gone away to the tryside during summer vacation, and when I came back, Peter was no lo his old address; hed moved and was living with a much older boy, arently told him I was just a kid, because Peter stopped seeing me. I loved him so much that I didnt want to face the truth. I kept ging to him until the day I finally realized that if I tio chase after him, people would say I was boy-crazy. The years went by. Peter hung around with girls his own age and no longer bothered to say hello to me. I started school at the Jewish Lyceum, and several boys in my class were in love with me. I e a honored by their attentions, but that was all. Later on, Hello had a terrible crush on me, but as Ive already told you, I never fell in love again. Theres a saying: "Time heals all wounds." Thats how it was with me. I told myself Id fotteer and no longer liked him in the least. But my memories of him were s that I had to admit to myself that the only reason I no longer liked him was that I was jealous of the irls. This m I realized that nothing has ged; on the trary, as Ive grown older and more mature, my love has grown along with me. I uand noeter thought I was childish, a still hurts to think hed fotten me pletely. I saw his face so clearly; I knew for certain that no o Peter could have stu my mind that way. Ive been in an utter state of fusion today. When Father kissed me this m, I wao shout, "Oh, if only you were Peter!" Ive been thinking of him stantly, and all day long Ive beeing to myself, "Oh, Petel, my darling, darliel . . .” Where I find help? I simply have to go on living and praying to God that, if we ever get out of here, Peters path will ine and hell gaze into my eyes, read the love in them and say, "Oh, Anne, if Id only known, Id have e to you long ago.” Once when Father and I were talking about sex, he said I was too young to uand that kind of desire. But I thought I did uand it, and now Im sure I do. Nothing is as dear to me now as my darliel! I saw my fa the mirror, and it looked so different. My eyes were clear and deep, my cheeks were rosy, which they hadnt been in weeks, my mouth was much softer. I looked happy, ahere was something so sad in my expression that the smile immediately faded from my lips. Im not happy, since I know Petels not thinking of me, a I still feel his beautiful eyes gazing at me and his cool, soft cheek against mine. . . Oh, Petel, Petel, how am I ever going to free myself from your image? Wouldnt anyone who took your place be a poor substitute? I love you, with a love so great that it simply couldnt keep growing inside my heart, but had to leap out and reveal itself in all its magnitude. A week ago, even a day ago, if youd asked me, "Which of your friends do you think youd be most likely to marry?" Id have answered, "Sally, since he makes me feel good, peaceful and safe!" But now Id cry, "Petel, because I love him with all my heart and all my soul. I surrender myself pletely!" Except for that ohing: he may touch my face, but thats as far as it goes. This m I imagined I was in the front attic with Petel, sitting on the floor by the windows, and after talking for a while, we both began to cry. Moments later I felt his mouth and his wonderful cheek! Oh, Petel, e to me. Think of me, my dearest Petel! WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 12, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Beps been back for the last two weeks, though her sister wont be allowed back at school until week. Bep herself spent two days in bed with a bad cold. Miep and Jan were also out for two days, with upset stomachs. Im currently going through a dand ballet craze and am diligently practig my daeps every evening. Ive made an ultramodern dane out of a lacy lavender slip belonging to Momsy. Bias tape is threaded through the top and tied just above the bust. A pink corded ribbon pletes the ensemble. I tried to turn my tennis shoes into ballet slippers, but with no success. My stiff limbs are well on the way to being as limber as they used to be. A terrific exercise is to sit on the floor, place a heel in each hand and raise both legs in the air. I have to sit on a cushion, because otherwise my poor backside really takes a beating. Everyone here is reading a book called A Cloudless M. Mother thought it was extremely good because it describes a number of adolest problems. I thought to myself, a bit ironically, "Why dont you take more i in your own adolests first!” I think Mother believes that Margot and I have a better relationship with our parents than anyone in the whole wide world, and that no mother is more involved in the lives of her children than she is. She must have my sister in mind, since I dont believe Margot has the same problems and thoughts as I do. Far be it from me to point out to Mother that one of her daughters is not at all what she imagines. Shed be pletely bewildered, and anyway, shed never be able to ge; Id like to spare her that grief, especially since I know that everything would remain the same. Mother does sehat Margot loves her much more than I do, but she thinks Im just going through a phase. Margots gotten muicer. She seems a lot different than she used to be. Shes not nearly as catty these days and is being a real friend. She no lohinks of me as a litde kid who doesnt t. Its funny, but I sometimes see myself as others see me. I take a leisurely look at the person called "Anne Frank" and browse through the pages of her life as though she were a stranger. Before I came here, when I didnt think about things as much as I do now, I occasionally had the feeling that I didnt belong to Momsy, Pim and Margot and that I would always be an outsider. I sometimes went around for six months at a time pretending I was an orphan. Then Id chastise myself for playing the victim, when really, Id always been so fortunate. After that Id force myself to be friendly for a while. Every m when I heard footsteps oairs, I hoped it would be Mother ing to say good m. Id greet her warmly, because I honesly did look forward to her affebbr>..ate glance. But then shed snap at me for having made some ent or other (and Id go off to school feeling pletely disced. On the way home Id make excuses for her, telling myself that she had so many worries. Id arrive home in high spirits, chatting een to the dozen, until the events of the m would repeat themselves and Id leave the room with my schoolbag in my hand and a pensive look on my face. Sometimes Id decide to stay angry, but then I always had so much to talk about after school that Id fet my resolution and want Mother to stop whatever she was doing and lend a willing ear. Theime would e once more when I no longer listened for the steps oa藏书网irs a lonely and cried into my pillow every night. Everything has gotten much worse here. But you already khat. Now God has sent someoo help me: Peter. I fondle my pendant, press it to my lips and think, "What do I care! Petel is mine and nobody knows it!" With this in mind, I rise above every nasty remark. Which of the people here would suspect that so much is going on in the mind of a teenage girl? SATURDAY, JANUARY 15, 1944 My dearest Kitty, Theres no reason for me to go on describing all our quarrels and arguments down to the last detail. Its enough to tell you that weve divided many things like meat and fats and oils and are frying our own potatoes. Retly weve beeing a little extra rye bread because by four oclock were so hungry for dinner we barely trol our rumbling stomachs. Mothers birthday is rapidly approag. She received some extra sugar from Mr. Kugler, which sparked off jealousy on the part of the van Daans, because Mrs. van D. didnt receive any on her birthday. But whats the point of b you with harsh words, spiteful versations and tears when you know they bore us even more? Mother has expressed a wish, which isnt likely to e true any time soon: not to have to see Mr. van Daans face for two whole weeks. I wonder if everyone who shares a house sooner or later ends up at odds with their fellow residents. Or have we just had a stroke of bad luck? At mealtime, when Dussel helps himself to a quarter of the half-filled gravy boat and leaves the rest of us to do without, I lose my appetite and feel like jumping to my feet, knog him off his chair and throwing him out the door. Are most people so stingy and selfish? Ive gained some insight into human nature since I came here, which is good, but Ive had enough for the present. Peter says the same. The war is going to go oe our quarrels and our longing for freedom and fresh air, so we should try to make the best of our stay here. Im preag, but I also believe that if I live here much longer, Ill turn into a dried-up old beanstalk. And all I really want is to be an hoo-goodeenager! Yours, Anne WEDNESDAY EVENING, JANUARY 19, 1944 Dearest Kitty, I (there I go again!) dont know whats happened, but since my dream I keep notig how Ive ged. By the way, I dreamed about Peter again last night and once again I felt his eyes pee mine, but this dream was less vivid and not quite as beautiful as the last. You know that I always used to be jealous of Margots relationship with Father. Theres not a tray jealousy left now; I still feel hurt when Fathers nerves cause him to be unreasooward me, but then I think, "I t blame you for being the way you are. You talk so much about the minds of children and adolests, but you dont know the first thing about them!" I long for more than Fathers affeore than his hugs and kisses. Isnt it awful of me to be so preoccupied with myself? Shouldnt I, who want to be good and kind, five them first? I five Mother too, but every time she makes a sarcastic remark or laughs at me, its all I do to trol myself. I know Im far from being what I should; will I ever be? Anne Frank P.S. Father asked if I told you about the cake. For Mothers birthday, she received a real mocha cake, prewar quality, from the office. It was a really nice day! But at the moment theres no room in my head for things like that. SATURDAY, JANUARY 22, 1944 Dearest Kitty, you tell me why people go to such lengths to hide their real selves? Or why I always behave very differently when Im in the pany of others? Why do people have so little trust in one another? I know there must be a reason, but sometimes I think its horrible that you t ever fide in anyone, not even those closest to you. It seems as if Ive grown up sihe night I had that dream, as if Ive beore indepe. Youll be amazed when I tell you that even my attitude toward the van Daans has ged. Ive stopped looking at all the discussions and arguments from my familys biased point of view. Whats brought on such a radical ge? Well, you see, I suddenly realized that if Mother had been different, if shed been a real mom, our relationship would have been very, very different. Mrs. van Daan is by no means a wonderful perso half the arguments could have been avoided if Mother hadnt been so hard to deal with every time they got onto a tricky subject. Mrs. van Daan does have one good point, though: you talk to her. She may be selfish, stingy and underhanded, but shell readily back down as long as you dont provoke her and make her unreasohis tactic doesnt work every time, but if youre patient, you keep trying and see how far you get. All the flicts about our upbringing, about not pampering children, about the food -- about everything, absolutely everything -- might have taken a different turn if wed remained open and on friendly terms instead of always seeing the worst side. I kly what yoing to say, Kitty. "But, Anne, are these words really ing from your lips? From you, who have had to put up with so many unkind words from upstairs? From you, who are aware of all the injustices?” Ahey are ing from me. I want to take a fresh look at things and form my own opinion, not just ape my parents, as in the proverb "The apple never falls far from the tree." I want to reexamihe van Daans and decide for myself whats true and whats been blown out of proportion. If I wind up being disappointed in them, I always side with Father and Mother. But if not, I try to ge their attitude. And if that doesnt work, Ill have to stick with my own opinions and judgment. Ill take every opportunity to speak openly to Mrs. van D. about our many differences and not be afraid -- despite my reputation as a smart aleck -- to offer my impartial opinion. I wont say anythiive about my own family, though that doesnt mean I wont defend them if somebody else does, and as of today, my gossiping is a thing of the past. Up to now I was absolutely vihat the van Daans were eo blame for the quarrels, but now Im sure the fault was largely ours. We were right as far as the subject matter was ed, but intelligent people (such as ourselves!) should have more insight into how to deal with others. I hope Ive got at least a touch of that insight, and that Ill find an occasion to put it to good use. Yours, Anne MONDAY, JANUARY 24, 1944 Dearest Kitty, A very strahing has happeo me. (Actually, "happened" isnt quite the right word.) Before I came here, whenever a home or at school talked about sex, they were either secretive or disgusting. Any words having to do with sex were spoken in a low whisper, and kids who werent in the know were often laughed at. That struck me as odd, and I often wondered why people were so mysterious or obnoxious whealked about this subject. But because I couldnt ge things, I said as little as possible or asked my girlfriends for information. After Id learned quite a lot, Mother once said to me, "Anne, let me give you some good adviever discuss this with boys, and if they bring it up, dont ahem.” I still remember my exact reply. "No, of course not," I exclaimed. "Imagine!" And nothing more was said. When we first went into hiding, Father often told me about things Id rather have heard from Mother, and I learhe rest from books or things I picked up in versations. Peter van Daan wasnt ever as obnoxious about this subject as the boys at school. Or maybe just once or twice, in the beginning, though he wasnt trying to get me to talk. Mrs. van Daan oold us shed never discussed these matters with Peter, and as far as she knew, her had her husband. Apparently she didnt even know how much Peter knew or where he got his information. Yesterday, when Margot, Peter and I were peeling potatoes, the versation somehow turo Boche. "Were still not sure whether Boche is a birl, are we?" I asked. Yes we are, he answered. "Boche is a tomcat.” I began to laugh. "Some tomcat if hes pregnant.” Peter and Margot joined in the laughter. You see, a month or teter informed us that Boche was sure to have kittens before long, because her stomach was rapidly swelling. However, Boches fat tummy turned out to be due to a bunch of stolen bones. No kittens were growing inside, much less about to be born. Peter felt called upon to defend himself against my accusation. "e with me. You see for yourself. I was h around with the cat one day, and I could definitely see it was a he. “ Uo restrain my curiosity, I went with him to the warehouse. Boche, however, wasnt receiving visitors at that hour, and was nowhere in sight. We waited for a while, but when it got cold, we went back upstairs. Later that afternoon I heard Peter go downstairs for the sed time. I mustered the ce to walk through the silent house by myself and reached the warehouse. Boche was on the pag table, playing with Peter, who was getting ready to put him on the scale and weigh him. "Hi, do you want to have a look?" Without any preliminaries, he picked up the cat, turned him over on his back, deftly held his head and paws and began the lesson. "This is the male sexual an, these are a few stray hairs, and thats his backside.” The cat flipped himself over and stood up on his little white feet. If any other boy had pointed out the "male sexual an" to me, I would never have given him a sed glance. But Peter went on talking in a normal voice about what is otherwise a very awkward subjeor did he have any ulterior motives. By the time hed finished, I felt so much at ease that I started ag normally too. We played with Boche, had a good time, chatted a bit and finally sauhrough the long warehouse to the door. "Were you there when Mouschi was fixed?” "Yeah, sure. It doesnt take long. They give the cat ahetic, of course.” "Do they take something out?” "No, the vet just snips the tube. Theres nothing to see oside.” I had to get up my o ask a question, si wasnt as "normal" as I thought. "Peter, the German weschlechtsteil means sexual an, doesnt it? But then the male and female ones have different names.” "I know that.” "The female one is a vagina, that I know, but I dont know what its called in males.” "Oh well," I said. "How are we supposed to know these words? Most of the time you just e across them by act.” "Why wait? Ill ask my parents. They know more than I do and theyve had more experience.” We were already oairs, so nothing more was said. Yes, it really did happen. Id never have talked to a girl about this in such a normal tone of voice. Im also certain that this isnt what Mother meant when she warned me about boys. All the same, I wasly my usual self for the rest of the day. When I thought back to our talk, it struck me as odd. But Ive lear least ohing: there are young people, even those of the opposite sex, who discuss these things naturally, without crag jokes. Is Peter really going to ask his parents a lot of questions? Is he really the way he seemed yesterday? Oh, what do I know?!!! Yours, Anne FRIDAY, JANUARY 28, 1944 Dearest Kitty, I weeks Ive developed a great liking for family trees and the genealogical tables of royal families. Ive e to the clusion that once you begin your search, you have to keep digging deeper and deeper into the past, which leads you to even more iing discoveries. Although Im extremely diligent when it es to my schoolwork and pretty much follow the BBe Servi the radio, I still spend many of my Sundays s out and looking over my movie-star colle, which has grown to a very respectable size. Mr. Kugler makes me happy every Monday by bringing me a copy of ema & Theater magazihe less worldly members of our household often refer to this small indulgence as a waste of money, yet they never fail to be surprised at how accurately I list the actors in any given movie, even after a year. Bep, who ofteo the movies with her boyfriend on her day off, tells me on Saturday the name of the show theyre going to see, and I then proceed to rattle off the names of the leading actors and actresses and the reviews. Moms retly remarked ; that I wouldo go to the movies later on, because ! I know all the plots, the names of the stars and the reviews by heart. Whenever I e sailing in with a new hairstyle, I I read the disapproval on their faces, and I be sure someone will ask which movie star Im trying to imitate. My reply, that its my own iion, is greeted with ~ skepticism. As for the hairdo, it doesnt hold its set for ~ more than half an hour. By that time Im so sid tired i of their remarks that I race to the bathroom aore my hair to its normal mass of curls. Yours, Anne FRIDAY, JANUARY 28, 1944 Dearest Kitty, This m I was w whether you ever felt like a cow, having to chew my stale news over and ain until youre so fed up with the monotonous fare that you yawn aly wish Anne would dig up something new. Sorry, I know you find it dull as ditchwater, but imagine how sid tired I am of hearing the same old stuff. If the talk at mealtime isnt about politics ood food, then Mother or Mrs. van D. trot out stories about their childhood that weve heard a thousand times before, or Dussel goes on and on about beautiful racehorses, his Charlottes extensive wardrobe, leaky rowboats, boys who swim at the age of four, ag muscles and frightened patients. It all boils down to this: whenever one of the eight of us opens his mouth, the other seven finish the story for him. We know the punch line of every joke before it gets told, so that whoevers telling it is left to laugh alohe various milkmen, grocers and butchers of the two former housewives have been praised to the skies or run into the ground so many times that in our imaginations theyve grown as old as Methuselah; theres absolutely no ce of anything new or fresh being brought up for discussion in the Annex. Still, all this might be bearable if only the grown-ups werent in the habit of repeating the stories we hear from Mr. Kleiman, jan or Miep, each time embellishing them with a few details of their own, so that I often have to pinch my arm uhe table to keep myself from setting the enthusiastic storyteller on the right track. Little children, such as Anne, must never, ever correct their elders, no matter how many bluhey make or how often they let their imaginations run away with them. Jan and Mr. Kleiman love talking about people who have gone underground or into hiding; they know were eager to hear about others in our situation and that we truly sympathize with the sorrow of those whove been arrested as well as the joy of prisoners whove been freed. Going underground or into hiding has bee as routine as the proverbial pipe and slippers that used to await the man of the house after a long day at work. There are maance groups, such as Free herlands, that fe identity cards, provide financial support to those in hiding, anize hiding places and find work for young Christians who go underground. Its amazing how much these generous and unselfish people do, risking their own lives to help and save others. The best example of this is our own helpers, who have mao pull us through so far and will hopefully bring us safely to shore, because otherwise theyll find themselves sharing the fate of those theyre trying to proteever have they uttered a single word about the burden we must be, never have they plaihat were too much trouble. They e upstairs every day and talk to the men about business and politics, to the women about food and wartime difficulties and to the children about books and neers. They put on their most cheerful expressions, bring flowers and gifts for birthdays and holidays and are always ready to do what they . Thats something we should never fet; while others display their heroism in battle ainst the Germans, our helpers prove theirs every day by their good spirits and affe. The most bizarre stories are making the rounds, yet most of them are really true. For instance, Mr. Kleimaed this week that a soccer match was held in the province of Gelderland; oeam sisted entirely of men who had gone underground, and the other of eleven Military Poli. In Hilversum, new registration cards were issued. In order for the many people in hiding to get their rations (you have to show this card to obtain your ration book or else pay 60 guilders a book), the registrar asked all those hiding in that district to pick up their cards at a specified hour, when the dots could be collected at a separate table. All the same, you have to be careful that stunts like these dont reach the ears of the Germans. Yours, Anne SUNDAY, JANUARY 30, 1944 My dearest Kit, Another Sunday has rolled around; I dont mind them as much as I did in the beginni..ng, but theyre b enough. I still havent goo the warehouse yet, but maybe sometime soon. Last night I went downstairs in the dark, all by myself, after havihere with Father a few nights before. I stood at the top of the stairs while German planes flew bad forth, and I knew I was on my own, that I couldnt t on others for support. My fear vanished. I looked up at the sky and trusted in God. I have an intense o be alone. Father has noticed Im not my usual self, but I t tell him whats b me. All I want to do is scream "Let me be, leave me alone!” Who knows, perhaps the day will e when Im left alone more than Id like! Anne Frank FEBRUARY, 1944 THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 3, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Invasion fever is mounting daily throughout the try. If you were here, Im sure youd be as impressed as I am at the many preparations, though youd no doubt laugh at all the fuss were making. Who knows, it may all be for nothing! The papers are full of invasion news and are driving everyone ih such statements as: "In the event of a British landing in Holland, the Germans will do what they to defend the try, even flooding it, if necessary." Theyve published maps of Holland with the potential flood areas marked. Since large portions of Amsterdam were shaded in, our first question was what we should do if the water ireets rose to above our waists. This tricky question elicited a variety of responses: "Itll be impossible to walk or ride a bike, so well have to wade through the water.” "Dont be silly. Well have to try and swim. Well all put on our bathing suits and caps and swim uer as much as we , so nobody see were Jews.” "Oh, baloney! I just imagihe ladies swimming with the rats biting their legs!” (That was a man, of course; well see who screams loudest!) "We wont even be able to leave the house. The warehouse is so unstable itll collapse if theres a flood.” "Listen, everyone, all joking aside, we really ought to try a a boat.” "Why bother? I have a better idea. We each take a pag crate from the attid row with a wooden spoon.” "Im going to walk ９９ｌｉb?on stilts. I used to be a whiz at it when I was young." "Jan Gies woo. Hell let his wife ride piggyback, and then Miep will be on stilts.” So now you have a rough idea of whats going on, dont you, Kit? This lighthearted banter is all very amusing, but reality will prove otherwise. The sed question about the invasion was bound to arise: what should we do if the Germans evacuate Amsterdam? "Leave the city along with the others. Disguise ourselves as well as we .” "Whatever happens, dont go outside! The best thing to do is to stay put! The Germans are capable of herding the entire population of Holland into Germany, where theyll all die.” "Of course well stay here. This is the safest place. Well try to talk Kleiman and his family into io live with us. Well somehow get hold of a bag of wood shavings, so we sleep on the floor. Lets ask Miep and Kleiman t some blas, just in case. And well order some extra cereal grains to supplement the sixty-five pounds we already have. Jan try to find some more beans. At the moment weve got about sixty-five pounds of beans and ten pounds of split peas. And dont fet the fifty s of vegetables.” "What about the rest, Mive us the latest figures. , "Ten s of fish, forty s of milk, twenty pounds of powdered milk, three bottles of oil, four crocks of butter, four jars of meat, two big jars of strawberries, two jars of raspberries, twenty jars of tomatoes, ten pounds of oatmeal, nine pounds of rice. Thats it.” Our provisions are holding out fairly well. All the same, we have to feed the office staff, which means dipping into our stock every week, so its not as much as it seems. We have enough coal and firewood, dles too. "Lets all make little moneybags to hide in our clothes so we take our money with us if we o leave here.” "We make lists of what to take first in case we have to run for it, and pack our knapsacks in advance." "Wheime es, well put two people on the lookout, one in the loft at the front of the house and one in the back.” "Hey, whats the use of so much food if there isnt any water, gas or electricity?” "Well have to cook on the wood stove. Filter the water and boil it. We should some big jugs and fill them with water. We also store water ihree kettles we use for ing, and in the washtub.” "Besides, we still have about two hundred and thirty pounds of winter potatoes in the spice storeroom.” All day long thats all I hear. Invasion, invasion, nothing but invasion. Arguments about going hungry, dying, bombs, fire extinguishers, sleeping bags, identity cards, poison gas, etc., etot exactly cheerful. A good example of the explicit warnings of the male ti is the following versation with Jan: Annex: "Were afraid that when the Germareat, theyll take the entire population with them.” Jan: "Thats impossible. They havent got enough trains.” Annex: "Trains? Do you really think theyd put civilians on trains? Absolutely not. Everyone would have to hoof it." (Or, as Dussel always says, per pedes apostolorum.) Jan: "I t believe that. Youre always looking on the dark side. What reason would they have to round up all the civilians and take them along?” Annex: "Dont you remember Goebbels saying that if the Germans have to go, theyll slam the doors to all the occupied territories behind them?” Jan: "Theyve said a lot of things.” Annex: "Do you think the Germans are too noble or humao do it? Their reasoning is: if we go under, well drag everyone else down with us.” Jan: "You say what you like, I just dont believe Annex: "Its always the same old story. No one wants to see the danger until its staring them in the face.” Jan: "But you dont know anything for sure. Youre just making an assumption.” Annex: "Because weve already been through it all ourselves, First in Germany and then here. What do you thinks happening in Russia?” Jan: "You shouldnt include the Jews. I dont think anyone knows whats going on in Russia. The British and the Russians are probably exaggerating fanda purposes, just like the Germans.” Annex: "Absolutely not. The BBC has always told the truth. And even if the news is slightly exaggerated, the facts are bad enough as they are. You t deny that millions of peace-loving citizens in Poland and Russia have been murdered assed.” Ill spare you the rest of our versations. Im very calm and take no notice of all the fuss. Ive reached the point where I hardly care whether I live or die. The world will keep on turning without me, and I t do anything to ge events anyway. Ill just let matters take their course and trate on studying and hope that everything will be all right in the end. Yours, Anne TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1944 Dear Kitty, I t tell you how I feel. One minute Im longing for pead quiet, and the for a little fun. Weve fotten how to laugh -- I mean, laughing so hard you t stop. This m I had "the giggles"; you know, the kind we used to have at school. Margot and I were giggling like real teenagers. Last night there was another se with Mother. Margot was tug her wool bla around her when suddenly she leapt out of bed and carefully examihe bla. What do you think she found? A pin! Mother had patched the bla and fotten to take it out. Father shook his head meaningfully and made a ent about how careless Mother is. Soon afterward Mother came in from the bathroom, and just to tease her I said, "Du bist doch eie Rabenmutter." [Oh, you are cruel.] Of course, she asked me why Id said that, aold her about the pin shed overlooked. She immediately assumed her haughtiest expression and said, "Youre a fine oo talk. When youre sewing, the entire floor is covered with pins. And look, youve left the manicure set lying around again. You never put that away either!” I said I hadnt used it, and Margot backed me up, since she was the guilty party. Mother went on talking about how messy I was until I got fed up and said, rather curtly, "I wasnt even the one who said you were careless. Im always getting blamed for other peoples mistakes!” Mother fell silent, ahan a mier I was obliged to kiss her good-night. This i may not have been very important, but these days everythis on my nerves. Anne Mary Frank SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 12, 1944 Dearest Kitty, The sun is shining, the sky is deep blue, theres a magnifit breeze, and Im longing -- really longing -- for everything: versation, freedom, friends, being alone. I long. . . to cry! I feel as if I were about to explode. I kn would help, but I t cry. Im restless. I walk from one room to another, breathe through the cra the window frame, feel my heart beating as if to say, "Fulfill my longing at last. . .” I think spring is inside me. I feel spring awakening, I feel it in my entire body and soul. I have to force myself to aally. Im in a state of utter fusion, dont know what to read, what to write, what to do. I only know that Im longing for something. . . Yours, Anne 186 ANNE FRANK MONDAY, FEBRUARY 14, 1944 Dearest Kitty, A lot has ged for me siurday. Whats happened is this: I was longing for something (and still am), but. . . a small, a very small, part of the problem has been resolved. On Sunday m I noticed, to my great joy (Ill be ho with you), that Peter kept looking at me. Not in the usual way. I dont know, I t explain it, but I suddenly had the feeling he wasnt as in love with Margot as I used to think. All day long I tried not to look at him too much, because whenever I did, I caught him looking at me and then -- well, it made me feel wonderful inside, and thats not a feeling I should have too often. Sunday evening everyone, except Pim and me, was clustered around the radio, listening to the "Immortal Music of the German Masters." Dussel kept twisting and turning the knobs, whinoyed Peter, and the others too. After restraining himself for half an hour, Peter asked somewhat irritably if he would stop fiddling with the radio. Dussel replied in his haughtiest tone, &qu.t>ot;Ich mach das s!" [Ill decide that.] Peter got angry and made an i remark. Mr. van Daan sided with him, and Dussel had to back down. That was it. The reason for the disagreement wasnt particularly iing in and of itself, but Peter has apparently taketer very much to heart, because this m, when I was rummaging around in the crate of books iic, Peter came up and began telling me what had happened. I didnt know anything about it, but Peter soon realized hed found an attentive listener and started warming up to his subject. "Well, its like this," he said. "I dont usually talk much, since I know beforehand Ill just be toied. I start stuttering and blushing and I twist my words around so much I finally have to stop, because I t find the right words. Thats what happened yesterday. I meant to say somethiirely different, but once I started, I got all mixed up. Its awful. I used to have a bad habit, and sometimes I wish I still did: whenever I was mad at someone, Id beat them up instead uing with them. I know this method wo me anywhere, and thats why I admire you. Youre a loss for words: you say exactly what you want to say and arent in the least bit shy.” "Oh, youre wrong about that," I replied. "Most of what I say es out very differently from the way Id planned. Plus I talk too mud too long, and thats just as bad.” "Maybe, but you have the advahat no one see youre embarrassed. You dont blush o to pieces." I couldnt help beily amused at his words. However, since I wanted him to go on talking quietly about himself, I hid my laughter, sat down on a cushion on the floor, ed my arms around my knees and gazed at him ily. Im glad theres someone else in this house who flies into the same rages as I do. Peter seemed relieved that he could criticize Dussel without being afraid Id tell. As for me, I leased too, because I sensed a strong feeling of fellowship, which I only remember having had with my girlfriends. Yours, Anne TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 1944 The minor run-in with Dussel had several repercussions, for which he had only himself to blame. Monday evening Dussel came in to see Mother and told her triumphantly that Peter had asked him that m if hed slept well, and then added how sorry he was about what had happened Sunday evening -- he hadnt really meant what hed said. Dussel assured him he hadnt taken it to heart. So everYthing was right as rain again. Mother passed this story on to me, and I was secretly amazed that Peter, whod been so angry at Dussel, had humbled himself, despite all his assurao the trary. I couldnt refrain from soundier out on the subject, and he instantly replied that Dussel had been lying. You should have seeers face. I wish Id had a camera. Indignatie, indecision, agitation and much more crossed his fa rapid succession. That evening Mr. van Daan aer really told Dussel off. But it couldnt have been all that bad, sier had another dental appoioday. Actually, they never wao speak to each ain. WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 1944 Peter and I hadnt talked to each other all day, except for a few meaningless words. It was too cold to go up to the attid anyway, it was Margots birthday. At twelve-thirty he came to look at the presents and hung around chatting lohan was strictly necessary, something hed never have doherwise. But I got my the afternoon. Since I felt like spoiling Margot on her birthday, I went to get the coffee, and after that the potatoes. When I came to Peters room, he immediately took his papers off the stairs, and I asked if I should close the trapdoor to the attic. "Sure," he said, "go ahead. When youre ready to e back down, just knod Ill open it for you.” I thanked him, went upstairs and spent at least ten minutes searg around in the barrel for the smallest potatoes. My back started ag, and the attic was cold. Naturally, I didnt bother to knock but opehe trap-door myself. But he obligingly got up and took the pan out of my hands. "I did my best, but I couldnt find any smaller ones.” "Did you look in the big barrel?” "Yes, Ive been through them all.” By this time I was at the bottom of the stairs, and he examihe pan of potatoes he was still holding. "Oh, but these are fine," he said, and added, as I took the pan from him, "My pliments!” As he said this, he gave me such a warm, tender look that I started glowing inside. I could tell he wao please me, but since he couldnt make a long plimentary speech, he said everything with his eyes. I uood him so well and was very grateful. It still makes me happy to think back to those words and that look! When I went downstairs, Mother said she needed more potatoes, this time for dinner, so I volunteered to go back up. Wheered Peters room, I apologized for disturbing him again. As I was going up the stairs, he stood up, went over to staweeairs and the wall, grabbed my arm and tried to stop me. "Ill go," he said. "I have to go upstairs anyway.” I replied that it wasnt really necessary, that I didnt have to get only the small ohis time. vinced, he let go of my arm. On my way back, he opehe trapdoor and once again took the pan from me. Standing by the door, I asked, "What are you w on?” "French," he replied. I asked if I could take a look at his lessons. Then I went to wash my hands and sat down across from him on the divan. After Id explained some Fren, we began to talk. He told me that after the war he wao go to the Dutch East Indies and live on a rubber plantatioalked about his life at home, the black market and how he felt like a worthless bum. I told him he had a big inferiority plex. He talked about the war, saying that Russia and England were bound to go tainst each other, and about the Jews. He said life would have been much easier if hed been a Christian or could bee oer the war. I asked if he wao be baptized, but that wasnt what he meaher. He said hed never be able to feel like a Christian, but that after the war hed make sure nobody would know he was Jewish. I felt a momentary pang. Its such a shame he still has a touch of dishoy in him. Peter added, "The Jews have been and always will be the chosen people!” I answered, "Just this once, I hope theyll be chosen for something good!” But we went on chatting very pleasantly, about Father, about judging human character and all sorts of things, so many that I t even remember them all. I left at a quarter past five, because Bep had arrived. That evening he said something else I thought was nice. We were talking about the picture of a movie star Id once given him, which has been hanging in his room for at least a year and a half. He liked it so much that I offered to give him a few more. "No," he replied, "Id rather keep the one Ive got. I look at it every day, and the people in it have bey friends.” I now have a better uanding of why he always hugs Mouschi so tightly. He obviously needs affe too. I fot to mention something else he was talking about. He said, "No, Im not afraid, except when it es to things about myself, but Im w on that.” Peter has a huge inferiority plex. For example, he always thinks hes so stupid and were so smart. When I help him with French, he thanks me a thousand times. One of these days Im going to say, "Oh, cut it out! Youre much better at English and geography!” Anne Frank THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 1944 Dear Kitty, I stairs this m, since I promised Mrs. van D. Id read her some of my stories. I began with "Evas Dream," which she liked a lot, and then I read a few passages from "The Secret Annex," which had her in stitches. Peter also listened for a while (just the last part) and asked if Id e to his room sometime to read more. I decided I had to take a ce right then and there, so I got my notebook a him read that bit where Cady and Hans talk about God. I t really tell what kind of impression it made on him. He said something I dont quite remember, not about whether it was good, but about the idea behind it. I told him I just wanted him to see that I didnt write only amusing things. He nodded, and I left the room. Well see if I hear anything more! Yours, Anne Frank FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 1944 My dearest Kitty, Whenever I go upstairs, its always so I see "him." Now that I have something to look forward to, my life here has improved greatly. At least the objey friendship is always here, and I dont have to be afraid of rivals (except for Margot). Dont think Im in love, because Im not, but I do have the feeling that somethiiful is going to develop betweeer and me, a kind of friendship and a feeling of trust. I go see him whenever I get the ce, and its not the way it used to be, when he didnt know what to make of me. On the trary, hes still talking away as Im heading out the door. Mother doesnt like me going upstairs. She always says Im b Peter and that I should leave him alone. Holy, t she credit me with some intuition? She always looks at me so oddly when I go to Peters room. When I e down again, she asks me where Ive been. Its terrible, but Im beginning to hate her! Yours, Anne M. Frank SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 19, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Its Saturday again, and that should tell you enough. This m all was quiet. I spent nearly an hour upstairs makiballs, but I only spoke to "him" in passing. When everyo upstairs at two-thirty to either read or take a nap, I went downstairs, with bla and all, to sit at the desk and read or write. Before long I couldnt take it anymore. I put my head in my arms and sobbed my heart out. The tears streamed down my cheeks, and I felt desperately unhappy. Oh, if only he" had e to e. It ast four by the time I went upstairs again. At five oclock I set off to get some potatoes, hoping once again that wed meet, but while I was still ihroom fixing my hair, he went to see Boche. I wao help Mrs. van D. a upstairs with my book and everything, but suddenly I felt the tears ing again. I raced downstairs to the bathroom, grabbing the hand mirror on the way. I sat there ooilet, fully dressed, long after I was through, my tears leaving dark spots on the red of my apron, and I felt utterly dejected. Heres what was going through my mind: "Oh, Ill never reach Peter this way. Who knows, maybe he doesnt even like me and he doesnt need ao fide in. Maybe he only thinks of me in a casual sort of way. Ill have to go back to being alone, without ao fide in and without Peter, without hope, fort or anything to look forward to. Oh, if only I could rest my head on his shoulder and not feel so hopelessly alone aed! Who knows, maybe he doesnt care for me at all and looks at the others in the same tender way. Maybe I only imagi was especially for me. Oh, Peter, if only you?9９ｌｉb? could hear me or see me. If the truth is disappointing, I wont be able to bear it.” A little later I felt hopeful and full of expectation again, though my tears were still flowing -- on the inside. Yours, Anne M. Frank SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 1944 What happens in other peoples houses during the rest of the week happens here in the Annex on Sundays. While other people put on their best clothes and go strolling in the sun, we scrub, sweep and do the laundry. Eight oclock. Though the rest of us prefer to sleep in, Dussel gets up at eight. He goes to the bathroom, then downstairs, then up again and then to the bathroom, where he devotes a whole hour to washing himself. hirty. The stoves are lit, the blackout s is taken down, and Mr. van Daan heads for the bathroom. One of my Sunday m ordeals is having to lie in bed and look at Dussels back when hes praying. I know it sounds strange, but a praying Dussel is a terrible sight to behold. Its not that he cries ets seal, not at all, but he does spend a quarter of an hour -- aire fifteen minutes -- rog from his toes to his heels. Bad forth, bad forth. It goes on forever, and if I dont shut my eyes tight, my head starts to spin. Ten-fifteen. The van Daans whistle; the bathrooms free. In the Frank family quarters, the first sleepy faces are beginning to emerge from their pillows. Thehing happens fast, fast, fast. Margot and I take turns doing the laundry. Sis quite cold downstairs, we put on pants and head scarves. Meanwhile, Father is busy ihroom. Either Margot or I have a turn ihroom at eleven, and then were all . Eleven-thirty. Breakfast. I wont dwell on this, siheres enough talk about food without my bringing the subject up as well. Twelve-fifteen. We each go our separate ways. Father, clad in overalls, gets down on his hands and knees and brushes the rug so vigorously that the room is enveloped in a cloud of dust. Mr. Dussel makes the beds (all wrong, of course), always whistling the same Beethoven violin certo as he goes about his work. Mother be heard shuffling around the attic as she hangs up the washing. Mr. van Daan puts on his hat and disappears into the lions, usually followed by Peter and Mouschi. Mrs. van D. dons a long apron, a black wool jacket and overshoes, winds a red wool scarf around her head, scoops up a bundle of dirty laundry and, with a well-rehearsed washerwomans nod, heads downstairs. Margot and I do the dishes and straighten up the room. WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 23,1944 My dearest Kitty, The weathers been wonderful since yesterday, and Ive perked up quite a bit. My writing, the best thing I have, is ing along well. I go to the attic almost every m to get the stale air out of my lungs. This m when I went there, Peter was busy ing up. He finished quickly and came over to where I was sitting on my favorite spot on the floor. The two of us looked out at the blue sky, the bare chestnut tree glistening with dew, the seagulls and other birds glinting with silver as they swooped through the air, and we were so move>d arahat we couldnt speak. He stood with his head against a thick beam, while I sat. We breathed in the air, looked outside and both felt that the spell shouldnt be broken with words. We remained like this for a long while, and by the time he had to go to the loft to chop wood, I knew he was a good, det boy. He climbed the ladder to the loft, and I followed; during the fifteen minutes he was chopping wood, we didnt say a word either. I watched him from where I was standing, and could see he was obviously doing his best to chop the right way and show off his strength. But I also looked out the open window, letting my eyes roam over a large part of Amsterdam, over the rooftops and on to the horizon, a strip of blue so pale it was almost invisible. "As long as this exists," I thought, "this sunshine and this cloudless sky, and as long as I enjoy it, how I be sad?” The best remedy for those who are frightened, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere they be alone, aloh the sky, nature and God. For then and only then you feel that everything is as it should be and that God wants people to be happy amid natures beauty and simplicity. As long as this exists, and that should be forever, I know that there will be solace for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances. I firmly believe that nature bring fort to all who suffer. Oh, who knows, perhaps it wont be long before I share this overwhelming feeling of happiness with someone who feels the same as I do. Yours, Anne P.S. Thoughts: To Peter. Weve been missing out on so much here, so very much, and for such a long time. I miss it just as much as you do. Im not talking about external things, since were well provided for in that sense; I meaernal things. Like you, I long for freedom and fresh air, but I think weve been amply pensated for their loss. On the inside, I mean. This m, when I was sitting in front of the window and taking a long, deep look outside at God and nature, I was happy, just plain happy. Peter, as long as people feel that kind of happiness within themselves, the joy of nature, health and much more besides, theyll always be able to recapture that happiness. Riches, prestige, everything be lost. But the happiness in your ow only be dimmed; it will always be there, as long as you live, to make you happy again. Whenever youre feeling lonely or sad, try going to the loft on a beautiful day and looking outside. Not at the houses and the rooftops, but at the sky. As long as you look fearlessly at the sky, youll know that youre pure within and will find happiness once more. SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 1944 My dearest Kitty, From early in the m to late at night, all I do is think about Peter. I fall asleep with his image before my eyes, dream about him and wake up with him still looking at me. I have the strong feeling that Peter and I arent really as different as we may seem on the surface, and Ill explain why: her Peter nor I have a mother. His is too superficial, likes to flirt and doesnt herself much with what goes on in his head. Miakes an active i in my life, but has no tact, sensitivity or motherly uanding. Both Peter and I are struggling with our innermost feelings. Were still unsure of ourselves and are too vulnerable, emotionally, to be dealt with shly. Whehat happens, I want to run outside or hide my feelings. Instead, I bang the pots and pans, splash the water and am generally noisy, so that everyone wishes I were miles aeters rea is to shut himself up, say little, sit quietly and daydream, all the while carefully hiding his true self. But how and when will we finally reach each other? I dont know how much longer I tio keep this yearning under trol. Yours, Anne M. Frank MONDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 1944 My dearest Kitty, Its like a nightmare, ohat goes on long after Im awake. I see him nearly every hour of the day a I t be with him, I t let the others notice, and I have to pretend to be cheerful, though my heart is ag. Peter Schiff aer van Daan have melted into oer, whos good and kind and whom I long for desperately. Mothers horrible, Fathers nice, which makes him even more exasperating, and Margots the worst, since she takes advantage of my smiling face to claim me for herself, when all I want is to be left alone. Peter didnt join me iic, but went up to the loft to do some carpentry work. At every rasp and bang, another k of my ce broke off and I was even more unhappy. In the distance a clock was tolling Be pure i, be pure in mind!” Im seal, I know. Im despo and foolish, I know that too. Oh, help me! Yours, Anne M. Frank MARCH, 1944 WEDNESDAY, MARCH 1, 1944 Dearest Kitty, My own affairs have been pushed to the background by . . . a break-in. Im b you with all my break-ins, but what I do when burglars take such pleasure in h Gies & Go. with their presehis i is much more plicated than the last one, in July 1943. Last night at seven-thirty Mr. van Daan was heading, as usual, for Mr. Kuglers office when he saw that both the glass door and the office door were open. He was surprised, but he went on through and was even more astoo see that the alcove doors were open as well and that there was a terrible mess in the front office. "Theres been a burglary" flashed through his mind. But just to make sure, he went downstairs to the front door, checked the lod found everything closed. "Bep aer must just have been very careless this evening," Mr. van. D. cluded. He remained for a while in Mr. Kuglers office, switched off the lamp a upstairs without w much about the open doors or the messy office. Early this m Peter k our door to tell us that the front door was wide open and that the projector and Mr. Kuglers new briefcase had disappeared from the closet. Peter was instructed to lock the door. Mr. van Daan told us his discoveries of the night before, and we were extremely worried. The only explanation is that the burglar must have had a duplicate key, sihere were no signs of a forced entry. He must have sneaked in early in the evening, shut the door behind him, hidden himself when he heard Mr. van Daan, fled with the loot after Mr. van Daa upstairs and, in his hurry, not bothered to shut the door. Who could have our key? Why didnt the burglar go to the warehouse? Was it one of our own warehouse employees, and will he turn us in, now that hes heard Mr. van Daan and maybe even seen him? Its really scary, since we dont know whether the burglar will take it into his head to try a in again. Or was he so startled when he heard someone else in the building that hell stay away? Yours, Anne P.S. Wed be delighted if you could hunt up a good detective for us. Obviously, theres one dotion: he must be relied upon not to mform on people in hiding. THURSDAY, MARCH 2, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Margot and I were iic together today. I t enjoy being there with her the way I imagid be with Peter (or someone else). I know she feels the same about most things as I do! While doing the dishes, Bep began talking to Mother and Mrs. van Daan about how disced she gets. What help did those two offer her? Our tactless mother, especially, only made things go from bad to worse. Do you know what her advice was? That she should think about all the other people in the world who are suffering! How thinking about the misery of others help if youre miserable yourself? I said as much. Their response, of course, was that I should stay out of versations of this sort. The grown-ups are such idiots! As if Peter, Margot, Bep and I didnt all have the same feelings. The only thing that helps is a mothers love, or that of a very, very close friend. But these two mothers dont uand the first thing about us! Perhaps Mrs. van Daan does, a bit more than Mother. Oh, I wish I could have said something to poor Bep, something that I know from my own experience would have helped. But Father came between us, pushing me roughly aside. Theyre all so stupid! I also talked tot about Father and Mother, about how could be here if they werent so aggravating. Wed be able tanize evenings in which everyone could take turns discussing a given subject. But weve already been through all that. Its impossible for me to talk here! Mr. van Daan goes on the offensive, Mets sarcastid t say anythina in a normal voice, Father doesnt feel like taking part, nor does Mr. Dussel, and Mrs. van D. is attacked so often that she just sits there with a red face, hardly able to put up a fight anymore. And what about us? We arent allowed to have an opinion! My, my, arent they progressive! Not have an opinion! People tell you to shut up, but they t keep you from having an opinion. You t forbid someoo have an opinion, no matter how young they are! The only thing that would help Bep, Margot, Peter and me would be great love aion, which we do here. And no one, especially not the idiotic sages around here, is capable of uanding us, since were more sensitive and much more advanced in our thinking than any of them ever suspect! Love, what is love? I dont think you really put it into words. Love is uanding someone, g for him, sharing his joys and sorrows. This eventually includes physical love. Youve shared something, given something away and received something iurn, whether or not youre married, whether or not you have a baby. Losing your virtue doesnt matter, as long as you know that for as long as you live youll have someo your side who uands you, and who doesnt have to be shared with anyone else! Yours, Anne M. Frank At the moment, Mroug at me again; shes clearly jealous because I talk to Mrs. van Daan more than to her. What do I care! I mao get hold of Peter this afternoon, aalked for at least forty-five minutes. He wao tell me something about himself, but didnt find it easy. He finally got it out, though it took a long time. I holy didnt know whether it was better for me to stay or to go. But I wanted so much to help him! I told him about Bep and how tactless our mothers are. He told me that his parents fight stantly, about politid cigarettes and all kinds of things. As Ive told you before, Peters very shy, but not too shy to admit that hed be perfectly happy not to see his parents for a year or two. "My father isnt as nice as he looks," he said. "But iter of the cigarettes, Mothers absolutely right." I also told him about my mother. But he came to Fathers defense. He thought he was a "terrific guy.” Tonight when I was hanging up my apron after doing the dishes, he called me over and asked me not to say anything downstairs about his parents having had anument and not being on speaking terms. I promised, though Id already told Margot. But Im sure Margot wont pass it on. "Oh no, Peter," I said, you dont have to worry about me. Ive learned not to blab everything I hear. I never repeat what you tell me.” He was glad to hear that. I also told him what terrible gossips we are, and said, "Margots quite right, of course, when she says Im not being ho, because as much as I want to stop gossiping, theres nothing I like better than discussing Mr. Dussel.” "Its good that you admit it," he said. He blushed, and his sincere pliment almost embarrassed me too. Thealked about "upstairs" and "downstairs" some more. Peter was really rather surprised to hear that dont like his parents. "Peter," I said, "you know Im always ho, so why shouldnt I tell you this as well? We see their faults too.” I added, "Peter, Id really like to help you. Will you let me? Youre caught in an aosition, and I know, even though you dont say anything, that it upsets you.” "Oh, your help is always wele!” "Maybe itd be better for you to talk to Father. You tell him anything, he wont pass it on.” "I know, hes a real pal.” "You like him a lot, dont you?” Peter nodded, and I tinued, "Well, he likes you too, you know!” He looked up quickly and blushed. It was really toug to see hoy these few words made him. "You think so?" he asked. "Yes," I said. "You tell from the little things he lets slip now and then.” Then Mr. van Daan came in to do some dictating. Peters a "terrific guy," just like Father! Yours, Anne M. Frank FRIDAY, MARCH 3,1944 My dearest Kitty, When I looked into the dle tonight, I felt calm and happy again. It seems Grandma is in that dle, and its Grandma who watches over and protects me and makes me feel happy again. But. . . theres someone else who governs all my moods and thats. . . Peter. I went to get the potatoes today, and while I was standing oairway with my pan full, he asked, "What did you d the lunch break?” I sat down oairs, and we began to talk. The potatoes didnt make it to the kit until five-fifteen (an hour after Id goo get them). Peter didnt say anything more about his parents; we just talked about books and about the past. Oh, he gazes at me with such warmth in his eyes; I dont think it will take mue to fall in love with him. He brought the subject up this evening. I went to his room after peeling potatoes and remarked on how hot it was. "You tell the temperature by looking at Margot and me, because we turn white when its cold and red when its hot." I said. "In love?" he asked. "Why should I be in love?" It retty silly answer (or, rather, question). "Why not?" he said, and then it was time for dinner. What did he mean? Today I finally mao ask him whether my chatter bothered him. All he said was, "Oh, its fih me!" I t tell how much of his reply was due to shyness. Kitty, I sound like someone whos in love and talk about nothing but her dearest darling. Aer is a darling. Will I ever be able to tell him that? Only if he thinks the same of me, but Im the kind of person you have to treat with kid gloves, I know that all too well. And he likes to be left alone, so I dont know how much he likes me. In any case, were getting to know each other a little better. I wish we dared to say more. But who knows, maybe that time will e soohan I think! Once or twice a day he gives me a knowing glance, I wink back, and were both happy. It seems crazy to talk about his being happy, a I have the overwhelming feelihinks the same way I do. Yours, Anne M. Frank SATURDAY, MARCH 4, 1944 Dear Kitty, This is the first Saturday in months that hasiresome, dreary and b. The reason is Peter. This m as I was on my way to the attic to hang up my apron, Father asked whether I wao stay and practice my French, and I said yes. We spoke French together for a while and I explained something to Peter, and then we worked on lish. Father read aloud from Dis, and I was ih heaven, since I was sitting on Fathers chair, close to Peter. I went downstairs at quarter to eleven. When I went back up at eleven-thirty, Peter was already waiting for me oairs. We talked until quarter to one. Whenever I leave the room, for example after a meal, aer has a d no one else hear, he says, "Bye, Anne, see you later.” Oh, Im so happy! I wonder if hes going to fall in love with me after all? In any case, hes a nice boy, and you have no idea how good it is to talk to him! Mrs. van D. thinks its all right for me to talk to Peter, but today she asked me teasingly, " I trust you two up there?” "Of course," I protested. "I take that as an insult!” M, noon and night, I look forward to seeier. Yours, Anne M. Frank PS. Before I fet, last night everything was blaed in snow. Now its thawed and theres almost nothi. MONDAY, MARCH 6, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Ever sier told me about his parents, Ive felt a certain sense of responsibthty toward him-dont you think thats stras as though their quarrels were just as much my business as his, a I dont dare bring it up anymore, because Im afraid it makes him unfortable. I wouldnt want to intrude, not for all the money in the world. I tell by Peters face that he pohings just as deeply as I do. Last night I was annoyed when Mrs. van D. scoffed, "The thinker!" Peter flushed and looked embarrassed, and I nearly blew my top. Why dont these people keep their mouths shut? You t imagine what its like to have to stand on the sidelines and see how lonely he is, without being able to do anything. I imagine, a?9９lｉｂ.s if I were in his place, how despo he must sometimes feel at the quarrels. And about love. Poor Peter, he o be loved so much! It sounded so cold when he said he didnt need any friends. Oh, hes s! I dont think he means it. He gs to his masity, his solitude and his feigned indif- ference so he maintain his role, so hell never, ever have to show his feelings. Poor Peter, how long he keep it up? Wont he explode from this superhuman effort? Oh, Peter, if only I could help you, if only you would let me! Together we could banish our loneliness, yours and mine! Ive been doing a great deal of thinking, but not saying much. Im happy when I see him, and happier still if the sun shines wheogether. I washed my hair yesterday, and because I knew he was door, I was very rambunctious. I couldnt help it; the more quiet and serious I am on the ihe noisier I get oside! Who will be the first to discover the k in my armor? Its just as well that the van Daans dont have a daughter. My quest could never be so challenging, so beautiful and so h someone of the same sex! Yours, Anne M. Frank PS. You know Im always ho with you, so I think I should tell you that I live from one enter to the . I keep hoping to discover that hes dying to see me, and Im in raptures when I notice his bashful attempts. I think hed like to be able to express himself as easily as I do; little does he know its his awkwardhat I find so toug. TUESDAY, MARCH 7,1944 Dearest Kitty, When I think bay life in 1942, it all seems so unreal. The Anne Frank who ehat heaveence was pletely different from the one who has grown wise within these walls. Yes, it was heavenly. Five admirers on every street er, twenty or so friends, the favorite of most of my teachers, spoiled rotten by Father and Mother, bags full of dy and a big allowance. What more could anyone ask for? Youre probably w how I could have charmed all those people. Peter says It s ecause I m "attractive," but that isnt it entirely. The teachers were amused aertained by my clever answers, my witty remarks, my smthng fad my critical mind. Thats all I was: a terrible flirt, coquettish and amusing. I had a few plus points, which kept me in everybodys good graces: I was hardw, ho and generous. I would never have refused anyone who wao peek at my answers, I was magnanimous with my dy, and I wasnt stuck-up. Would all that admiratioually have made me overfident? Its a good thing that, at the height of my glory, I was suddenly plunged into reality. It took me more than a year to get used to doing without admiration. How did they see me at school? As the class edian, the eternal ringleader, never in a bad mood, never a crybaby. Was it any wohat everyone wao bicycle to school with me or do me little favors? I look back at that Anne Frank as a pleasant, amusing, but superficial girl, who has nothing to do with me. What did Peter say about me? "Whenever I saw you, you were surrounded by a flock of girls and at least two boys, you were always laughing, and you were always the ter of attention!" He was right. Whats remained of that Anne Frank? Oh, I havent fotten how to laugh or toss off a remark, Im just as good, if not better, at raking people over the coals, and I still flirt and be amusing, if I want to be . . . But theres the catch. Id like to live that seemingly carefree and happy life for an evening, a few days, a week. At the end of that week Id be exhausted, and would be grateful to the first person to talk to me about something meaningful. I want friends, not admirers. Peo- ple who respect me for my character and my deeds, not my flattering smile. The circle around me would be much smaller, but what does that matter, as long as theyre sincere? In spite of everything, I wasnt altogether happy in 1942; I ofte Id beeed, but because I was on the go all day long, I didnt think about it. I enjoyed myself as much as I could, trying sciously or unsciously to fill the void with jokes. Looking back, I realize that this period of my life has irrevocably e to a close; my happy-go-lucky, carefree schooldays are gone forever. I dont even miss them. Ive outgrown them. I o longer just kid around, since my serious side is always there. I see my life up to New Years 1944 as if I were looking through a powerful magnifying glass. When I was at home, my life was filled with sunshihen, in the middle of 1942, everything ged ht. The quarrels, the accusations -- I couldnt take it all in. I was caught off guard, and the only way I ko keep my bearings was to talk back. The first half of 1943 brought g spells, loneliness and the gradual realization of my faults and short- ings, which were numerous and seemed even more so. I filled the day with chatter, tried to draw Pim closer to me and failed. This left me on my own to face the difficult task of improving myself so I wouldnt have to hear their reproaches, because they made me so despo. The sed half of the year was slightly better. I became a teenager, and was treated more like a grown-up. I began to think about things and to write stories, finally ing to the clusion that the others no longer had anything to do with me. They had nht to swing me bad forth like a pendulum on a clock. I wao ge myself in my own way. I realized I could man- age without my mother, pletely and totally, and that hurt. But what affected me even more was the realization that I was never going to be able to fide in Father. I didnt trust a myself. After New Years the sed big ge occurred: my dream, through which I discovered my longing for . . . a boy; not firlfriend, but for a boyfriend. I also discovered an inner happiness underh my superficial and cheerful exterior. From time to time I was quiet. Now I live only for Peter, since what happens to me iure depends largely on him! I lie i night, after ending my prayers with the words "Ich Janke air fur all das Cute una Liebe una Se,"* [* Thank you, God, for all that is good and dear aiful.] and Im filled with joy. I think of going into hiding, my health and my whole being as das Cute; Peters love (which is still so new and fragile and whieither of us dares to say aloud), the future, happiness and love as das Liebe; the world, nature and the tremendous beauty of everything, all that splendor, as das Se. At suents I dont think about all the misery, but about the beauty that still remains. This is where Mother and I differ greatly. Her advi the faelancholy is: "Think about all the suffering in the world ahankful youre not part of it." My advice is: "Go outside, to the try, enjoy the sun and all nature has to o outside and try to recapture the happiness within yourself; think of all the beauty in yourself and ihing around you and be happy.” I dont think Mothers advice be right, because what are you supposed to do if you bee part of the suffering? Youd be pletely lost. On the trary, beauty remains, even in misfortune. If you just look for it, you discover more and more happiness and regain your balance. A person whos happy will make others happy; a person who has ce and faith will never die in misery! Yours, Anne M. Frank WEDNESDAY, MARCH 8, 1944 Margot and I have been writing each other notes, just for fun, of course. As strange, but I only remember the day after what has happehe night before. For example, I suddenly remembered that Mr. Dussel was sn loudly last night. (Its now quarter to three on Wednesday af- ternoon and Mr. Dussel is sn again, which is why it flashed through my mind, of course.) When I had to use the potty, I deliberately made more o get the sn to stop. Margot: Which is better, the sn or the gasping for air? Ahe sns better, because it stops when I make noise, without waking the person iion. What I didnt write tot, but what Ill fess to you, dear Kitty, is that Ive been dreaming of Peter a great deal. The night before last I dreamed I was skating right here in our living room with that little boy from the Apollo ice-skating rink; he was with his sister, the girl with the spindly legs who always wore the same blue dress. I introduced myself, overdoing it a bit, and asked him his eter. In my dream I wondered just hoeters I actually knew! Then I dreamed we were standing iers room, fag each other beside the stairs. I said something to him; he gave me a kiss, but replied that he didnt love me all that mud that I shouldnt flirt. In a desperate and pleading voice I said, "Im not flirting, Peter!” When I woke up, I was glad Peter hasnt said it after all. Last night I dreamed we were kissing each other, but Peters cheeks were very disappointing: they werent as soft as they looked. They were more like Fathers cheeks -- the cheeks of a man who already shaves. FRIDAY, MARCH 10, 1944 My dearest Kitty, The proverb "Misfortunes never e singly" defi- nitely applies to today. Peter just got through saying it. Let me tell you all the awful things that have happened and that are still hanging over our heads. First, Miep is sick, as a result of Henk and Aagjes weddierday. She caught cold in the Westerkerk, where the service was held. Sed, Mr. Kleiman hasuro work sihe last time his stomach started bleeding, so Beps beeo hold down the fort alohird, the police have arrested a man (whose name I wont put in writing). Its terrible not only for him, but for us as well, since hes been supplying us with potatoes, butter and jam. Mr. M., as Ill call him, has five children uhe age of thirteen, and another on the way. Last night we had another little scare: we were in the middle of dinner when suddenly someone knocked on the wall door. For the rest of the evening we were nervous and gloomy. Lately I havent been at all in the mood to write down whats been going on here. Ive been more ed up in myself. Do me wrong, Im terribly upset about whats happeo pood-hearted Mr. M., but theres not mu for him in my diary. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I was iers room from four-thirty to five-fifteen. We ?９9lib.worked on our Frend chatted about ohing and another. I really look forward to that hour or so iernoon, but best of all is that I thiers just as pleased to see me. Yours, Anne M. Frank THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL 213 SATURDAY, MARCH 11, 1944 Dearest Kitty, I havent been able to sit still lately. I wander up- stairs and down and then back again. I like talking to Peter, but Im always afraid of being a nuisance. Hes told me a bit about the past, about his parents and about himself, but its not enough, and every five minutes I wonder why I find myself longing for more. He used to think I was a real pain in the neck, and the feeling was mutual. Ive ged my mind, but how do I know hes ged his? I think he has, but that doesnt necessarily mean we have to bee the best of friends, although as far as Im ed, it would make our time here more bearable. But I wohis drive me crazy. I spend enough time thinking about him and dont have to get you all worked up as well, simply because Im so miserable! SUNDAY, MARCH 12, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Things are getting crazier here as the days go by. Peter hasnt looked at me since yesterday. Hes been ag as if hes mad at me. Im doing my best not to chase after him and to talk to him as little as possible, but its not easy! Whats going on, what makes him keep me at arms length one minute and rush bay side the ? Perhaps Im imagining that its worse than it really is. Perhaps hes just moody like me, and tomorrow everything will be all right again! I have the hardest time trying to maintain a normal facade when Im feeling so wretched and sad. I have to talk, help around the house, sit with the others and, above all, act cheerful! Most of all I miss the outdoors and having a place where I be alone for as long as I want! I think Im getting everything all mixed up, Kitty, but then, Im in a state of utter fusion: on the one hand, Im half crazy with desire for him, hardly be in the same room without looking at him; and oher hand, I wonder why he should matter to me so mud why I t be calm again! Day and night, during every waking hour, I do nothing but ask myself, "Have you given him enough ce to be alone? Have you been spending too much time upstairs? Do you talk too much about serious subjects hes not yet ready to talk about? Maybe he doesnt even like you? Has it all been your imagination? But then why has he told you so much about himself? Is he sorry he did?" And a whole lot more. Yesterday afternoon I was so worn out by the sad news from the outside that I lay down on my divan for a nap. All I wanted was to sleep and not have to think. I slept until four, but then I had to go door. It wasnt easy, answering all Mothers questions and iing an excuse to explain my nap to Father. I pleaded a headache, which wasnt a lie, since I did have one. . . on the inside! Ordinary people, ordinary girls, teenagers like myself, would think Im a little nuts with all my self-pity. But thats just it. I pour my heart out to you, and the rest of the time Im as impudent, cheerful and self-fident as possible to avoid questions and keep from getting on my own nerves. Margot is very kind and would like me to fide in her, but I t tell her everything. She takes me too seriously, far too seriously, and spends a lot of time thinking about her loony sister, looking at me closely whenever I open my mouth and w, "Is she ag, or does she really mean it?” Its because were always together. I dont want the person I fide in to be around me all the time. When will I untangle my jumbled thoughts? When will I find inner peace again? Yours, Anne TUESDAY, MARCH 14, 1944 Dearest Kitty, It might be amusing for you (though not for me) to hear what were going to eat today. The ing lady is w downstairs, so at the moment Im seated at the van Daans oilcloth-covered table with a handkerchief sprinkled with fragrant preerfume pressed to my nose and mouth. You probably dont have the fai idea what Im talking about, so let me "begin at the begin- ning." The people who supply us with food coupons have been arrested, so we have just our five black-market ra- -, tion books-no coupons, no fats and oils. Since Miep and Mr. Kleiman are sick again, Bep t mahe shop- ping. The food is wretched, and so are we. As of tomor- roont have a scrap of fat, butter or margarine. We t eat fried potatoes for breakfast (which weve been doing to save on bread), so were having hot cereal instead, and because Mrs. van D. thinks were starving, we bought some half-and-half. Lunch today sists of mashed potatoes and pickled kale. This explains the precautionary measure with the handkerchief. You wouldnt believe how much kale stink when its a few years old! The kit smells like a mixture of spoiled plums, rotten eggs and brine. Ugh, just the thought of having to eat that muck makes me want to throw up! Besides that, our potatoes have tracted such strange diseases that o of every two buckets of pommes de terre winds up in the garbage. We eain ourselves by trying to figure out which disease theyve got, and weve reached the clusion that they suffer from cer, smallpox and measles. Holy, being in hiding during the fourth year of the war is no piic. If only the whole stinking mess were over! To tell you the truth, the food wouldnt matter so mue if life here were more pleasant in other ways. But thats just it: this tedious existence is starting to make us all disagreeable. Here are the opinions of the five grown-ups on the present situation (childre allowed to have opinions, and for once Im stig to the rules): Mrs. van Daan: "Id stopped wanting to be queen of the kit long ago. But sitting around doing nothing was b, so I went back to cooking. Still, I t help plaining: its impossible to cook without oil, and all those disgusting smells make me siy stomach. Besides, what do I get iurn for my efforts? Ingratitude and rude remarks. Im always the black sheep; I get blamed for everything. Whats more, its my opinion that the war is making very little progress. The Germans will win in the end. Im terrified that were going to starve, and when Im in a bad mood, I snap at everyone who es near.” Mr. van Daan: "I just smoke and smoke and smoke. Then the food, the political situation and Kerlis moods dont seem so bad. Kerlis a sweetheart. If I dont have anything to smoke, I get sick, then I o eat meat, life bees unbearable, nothings good enough, and theres bound to be a flaming row. My Kerlis an idiot.” Mrs. Frank: "Foods not very important, but Id love a slice of rye bread right now, because Im so hungry. If I were Mrs. van Daan, Id have put a stop to Mr. van Daans smoking long ago. But I desperately need a cigarette now, because my heads in such a whirl. The van Daans are horrible people; the English may make a lot of mistakes, but the war is progressing. I should keep my mouth shut and be grateful Im not in Poland.” Mr. Frank: "Everythings fine, I dont need a thing. Stay calm, weve got plenty of time. Just give me my potatoes, and Ill be quiet. Better set aside some of my rations for Bep. The political situation is improving, Im extremely optimistic.” Mr. Dussel: "I must plete the task Ive set for myself, everything must be finished on time. The political situation is looking gut, its eempossible for us to get caught. Me, me, me . . . .” Yours, Anne THURSDAY, MARCH 16, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Whew! Released from the gloom and doom for a few moments! All Ive been hearing today is: "If this and that happens, were in trouble, and if so-and-so gets sick, well be left to fend for ourselves, and if . . .” Well, you know the rest, or at any rate I assume youre famthar enough with the residents of the Ao guess what theyd be talking about. The reason for all the "ifs" is that Mr. Kugler has been called up for a six-day work detail, Bep is down with a bad cold and will probably have to stay home tomorrow, Miep hasnt gotten over her flu, and Mr. Kleimans stom- ach bled so much he lost sciousness. What a tale of woe! We think Mr. Kugler should go directly to a reliable doctor for a medical certificate of ill health, which he present to the City Hall in Hilversum. The warehouse -- employees have been given a day off tomorrow, so Bep will be alone in the office. If (theres another "if) Bep has to stay home, the door will remain locked and well have to be as quiet as mice so the Keg pany wont hear us. At one oclock Jan will e for half an hour to che us poor forsaken souls, like a zookeeper. This afternoon, for the first time in ages, Jan gave us some news of the outside world. You should have seen us gathered around him; it looked exactly like a print: "At Grandmothers Knee.” He regaled his grateful audieh talk of-what else?-food. Mrs. P., a friend of Mieps, has been cooking his meals. The day before yesterday Jan ate carrots with green peas, yesterday he had the leftovers, today shes cooking marroeas, and tomorrow shes plan- ning to mash the remaining carrots with potatoes. We asked about Mieps doctor. "Doctor?" said Jan. "What doctor? I called him this m and got his secretary on the line. I asked for a flu prescription and was told I could e pick it up tomor- row m betwee and nine. If youve got a particularly bad case of flu, the doctor himself es to the phone and says, Stick out your tongue and say "Aah.” Oh, I hear it, your throats ied. Ill write out a prescription and you bring it to the phar- macy. Good day. And thats that. Easy job hes got, diagnosis by phone. But I shouldnt blame the doctors." After all, a person has only two hands, and these days therere too many patients and too few doctors.” Still, we all had a good laugh at Jans phone call. I just imagine what a doctors waiting room looks like these days. Doctors no lourn up their the poorer patients, but at those with minor illnesses. "Hey, what are you doing here?” they think. "Go to the end of the line; real patients have priority!” Yours, Anne THURSDAY, MARCH 16, 1944 Dearest Kitty, The weather is geous, indescribably beautiful; Ill be going up to the atti a moment. I now know why Im so much more restless thaer. He has his own room, where he work, dream, think and sleep. Im stantly being chased from one er to another. Im never alone in the room I share with Dussel, though I long to be so much. Thats another reason I take refuge iic. When Im there, or with you, I be myself, at least for a little while. Still, I dont want to moan and groan. On the trary, I want to be brave! Thank goodhe others notiothing of my innermost feelings, except that every day Im growing cooler and more ptuous of Mother, less affe- ate to Father and less willing to share a sihought with Margot; Im closed up tighter than a drum. Above all, I have to maintain my air of fideno one must know that my heart and mind are stantly at war with each other. Up to now reason has always wotle, but will my emotiohe upper hand? Sometimes I fear they will, but more often I actually hope they do! Oh, its so terribly hard not to talk to Peter about these things, but I know I have to let him begin; its so hard to act during the daytime as if everything Ive said and done in my dreams had aken place! Kitty, Anne is crazy, but then these are crazy times and even crazier circumstances. The part is being able to write down all my thoughts and feelings; otherwise, Id absolutely suffocate. I wonder eter thinks about all these things? I keep thinking Ill be able to talk to him about them one day. He must have guessed something about the inner me, since he couldnt possibly love the outer Anne hes known so far! How could someone like Peter, who loves pead quiet, possibly stand my bustle and noise? Will he be the first and only person to see whats beh my granite mask? Will it take him long? Isnt there some old saying about love being akin to pity? Isnt that whats happening here as well? Because I often pity him as much as I do myself! I holy dont know how to begin, I really dont, so how I expect Peter to when talking is so much harder for him? If only I could write to him, then at least hed know what I was trying to say, sis so hard to say it out loud! Yours, Anne M. Frank FRIDAY, MARCH 17, 1944 My dearest darling, Everything turned out all right after all; Bep just had a sore throat, not the flu, and Mr. Kugler got a medical certificate to excuse him from the work detail. The entire Annex breathed a huge sigh of relief. Everythings fine here! Except that Margot and I are rather tired of our parents. Do me wrong. I still love Father as much as ever and Margot loves both Father and Mother, but when youre as old as we are, you want to make a few decisions for yourself, get out from uheir thumb. Whenever I go upstairs, they ask what Im going to do, they wo me salt my food, Mother asks me every evening at eight-fifteen if it isnt time for me to ge into my nighty, I and they have to approve every book I read. I must admit, theyre not at all strict about that a me read nearly everything, but Margot and I are sid tired of having to listen to their ents and questions all day long. Theres something else that displeases them: I no longer feel like giving them little kisses m, noon and night. All those cute niames seem so affected, and Fathers fondness for talking about farting and going to the bathroom is disgusting. In short, Id like nothier than to do without their pany for a while, and they dont uand that. Not that Margot and I have ever said any of this to them. What would be the point? They wouldnt uand anyway. Margot said last night, "What really bothers me is that if you happen to put your head in your hands and sigh once or twice, they immediately ask whether you have a headache or dont feel well.” For both of us, its been quite a blow to suddenly realize that very little remains of the close and harmoni- ous family we used to have at home! This is mostly because everythings out of kilter here. By that I mean that were treated like childre es to external matters, while, inwardly, were much older than irls e. Even though Im only fourteen, I know what I want, I know whht and wh, I have my own opinions, ideas and principles, and though it may sound odd ing from a teenager, I feel Im more of a person than a child -- I feel Im pletely indepe of others. I know Im better at debating or carrying on a discussion than Mother, I know Im more objective, I dont exaggerate as much, Im much tidier aer with my hands, and because of that I feel (this may make you laugh) that Im superior to her in many ways. To love someone, I have to admire and respect the person, but I feel her respeor admiration for Mother! Everything would be all right if only I had Peter, since I admire him in many ways. Hes so det and clever! Yours, Anne M. Frank SATURDAY, MARCH 18, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Ive told you more about myself and my feelings than Ive ever told a living soul, so why shouldnt that include sex? Parents, and people in general, are very peculiar when it es to sex. Instead of telling their sons and daughters everything at the age of twelve, they send the children out of the room the moment the subject arises and leave them to find out everything on their own. Later on, when parents notice that their children have, somehow, e by their information, they assume they know more (or less) than they actually do. So why dont they try to make amends by asking them whats what? A major stumbling block for the adults -- though in my opinion its no more than a pebble -- is that theyre afraid their children will no longer look upon marriage as sacred and pure ohey realize that, in most cases, this purity is a lot of nonsense. As far as Im ed, its n for a man t a little experieo a marriage. After all, it has nothing to do with the marriage itself, does it? Soon after I turned eleven, they told me about menstruation. But even then, I had no idea where the blood came from or what it was for. When I was twelve and a half, I learned some more from Jacque, who wasnt as ignorant as I was. My own intuition told me what a man and a woman do when theyre together; it seemed like a crazy idea at first, but when Jacque firmed it, I roud of myself for having figured it out! It was also Jacque who told me that children didnt e out of their mothers tummies. As she put it, "Where the ingredients go in is where the finished produes out!" Jacque and I found out about the hymen, and quite a few other details, from a book on sex education. I also khat you could keep from having children, but how that worked inside your body remained a mystery. When I came here, Father told me about prostitutes, etc., but all in all there are still unanswered questions. If mothers doheir childrehing, they hear it in bits and pieces, and that t be right. Even though its Saturday, Im not bored! Thats because Ive been up iic with Peter. I sat there dreaming with my eyes closed, and it was wonderful. Yours, Anne M. Frank SUNDAY, MARCH 19, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Yesterday was a very important day for me. After lunch everything was as usual. At five I put oatoes, and Mave me some blood sausage to take to Peter. I didnt want to at first, but I finally went. He wouldnt accept the sausage, and I had the dreadful feel- ing it was still because of that argument wed had about distrust. Suddenly I couldnt bear it a moment longer and my eyes filled with tears. Without another word, I re- turhe platter to Mother ao the bathroom to have a good cry. Afterward I decided to talk things out with Peter. Before dihe four of us were helping him with a crossword puzzle, so I couldnt say anything. But as we were sitting down to eat, I whispered to him, "Are you going to practice your shorthand藏书网 tonight, Peter?” "No," was his reply. "Id like to talk to you later on.” He agreed. After the dishes were done, I went to his room and asked if hed refused the sausage because of our last quar- rel. Luckily, that wasnt the reason; he just thought it was bad mao seem so eager. It had been very hot downstairs and my face was as red as a lobster. So after taking down some water for Margot, I went back up to get a little fresh air. For the sake of appearances, I first went and stood beside the van Daans window befoing to Peters room. He was standing on the left side of the open window, so I went over to the right side. Its much easier to talk o an open window in semidarkhan in broad daylight, and I thier felt the same way. We told each other so much, so very much, that I t repeat it all. But it felt good; it was the most won- derful evening Ive ever had in the Annex. Ill give you a brief description of the various subjects we touched on. First we talked about the quarrels and how I see them in a very different light these days, and then about how weve bee alienated from our parents. I told Peter about Mother and Father and Margot and myself. At one point he asked, "You always give each ood-night kiss, dont you?” "One? Dozens of them. You dont, do you?” "No, Ive never really kissed anyone.” "Not even on your birthday?" "Yeah, on my birthday I have.” We talked about how her of us really trusts our parents, and how his parents love each reat deal and wish hed fide in them, but that he doesnt want to. How I cry my heart out in bed and he goes up to the loft and swears. How Margot and I have only retly gotten to know each other aill tell each other very little, since were always together. We talked about every imagihing, about trust, feelings and ourselves. Oh, Kitty, he was just as I thought he would be. Thealked about the year 1942, and how different we were back then; we dont even reize ourselves from that period. How we couldnt stand each other at first. Hed thought I was a noisy pest, and Id quickly cluded that he was nothing special. I didnt uand why he didnt flirt with me, but now Im glad. He also mentioned how he ofteo retreat to his room. I said that my noise and exuberand his silence were two sides of the same , and that I also liked pead quiet but dont have anything for myself alone, except my diary, and that everyone would rather see the bae, starting with Mr. Dussel, and that I dont always want to sit with my parents. We discussed how glad he is that my parents have children and how glad I am that hes here. How I now uand his o withdraw and his relationship to his parents, and how much Id like to help him when they argue. "But youre always a help to me!" he said. "How?" I asked, greatly surprised. "By being cheerful.” That was the hing he said all evening. He also told me that he didnt mind my ing to his room the way he used to; in fact, he liked it. I also told him that all of Fathers and Mothers pet names were meaningless, that a kiss here and there didnt automatically lead to trust. We also talked about doing things your own way, the diary, loneliness, the differeween everyones inner and outer selves, my mask, etc. It was wonderful. He must have e to love me as a friend, and, for the time being, thats enough. Im so grateful and happy, I t find the words. I must apolo- gize, Kitty, since my style is not up to my usual standard today. Ive just written whatever came into my head! I have the feeling that Peter and I share a secret. Whenever he looks at me with those eyes, with that smile and that wink, its as if a light goes on inside me. I hope things will stay like this and that well have many, many more happy hours together. Yrateful and happy Anne MONDAY, MARCH 20, 1944 Dearest Kitty, This m Peter asked me if Id e again one evening. He swore I wouldnt be disturbing him, and said that where there was room for ohere was room for two. I said I couldnt see him every evening, since my parents didnt think it was a good idea, but he thought I shouldhat bother me. So I told him Id like to e some Saturday evening and also asked him if hed let me know when you could see the moon. "Sure," he said, "maybe we go downstairs and look at the moon from there." I agreed; Im not really so scared of burglars. In the meantime, a shadow has fallen on my happiness. For a long time Ive had the feeling that Margot likes Peter. Just how much I dont know, but the whole situation is very unpleasant. Now every time I go see Peter Im hurting her, without meaning to. The funny thing is that she hardly lets it show. I know Id be insanely jealous, but Margot just says I shouldnt feel sorry for her. "I think its so awful that youve bee the odd o," I added. "Im used to that," she replied, somewhat bitterly. I dont dare tell Peter. Maybe later on, but he and I o discuss so many other things first. Mother slapped me last night, which I deserved. I mustnt carry my indifferend pt for her too far. In spite of everything, I should try once again to be friendly and keep my remarks to myself! Even Pim isnt as nice as he used to be. Hes been trying not to treat me like a child, but now hes much too cold. Well just have to see what es of it! Hes warned me that if I dont do my algebra, I wo any tut after the war. I could simply wait and see what happens, but Id like to start again, provided I get a new book. Thats enough for now. I do nothing but gaze at Peter, and Im filled to overflowing! Yours, Anne M. Frank Evidenargots goodness. I received this today, March 20, 1944: Anne, yesterday when I said I wasnt jeal- ous of you, I wasnt beiirely ho. The situation is this: Im not jealous of either you or Peter. Im just sorry I havent found anyone willi whom to share my thoughts and feelings, and Im not likely to in the near future. But thats why I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that you will both be able to place your trust in each other. Youre already missing out on so much here, things other people take franted. Oher hand, Im certain Id never have gotten as far with Peter, because I think Id o feel very close to a person before I could share my thoughts. Id want to have the feeling that he uood me through and through, even if I didnt say much. For this reason it would have to be someone I felt was intellectually superior to me, and that isnt the case with Peter. But I imagine your feeling close to him. So theres no need for you to reproach yourself because you think you te taking something I was entitled to; nothing could be further from the truth. You aer have everything to gain by your friendship. My answer: Dearest Margot, Your letter was extremely kind, but I still dont feel pletely happy about the situation, and I dont think I ever will. At the moment, Peter and I dont trust each other as much as you seem to think. Its just that when youre standing beside an open window at twthght, you say more to each other than in bright sunshis also easier to whisper your feelings than to shout them from the rooftops. I think youve begun to feel a kind of sisterly affe for Peter and would like to help him, just as much as I would. Perhaps youll be able to do that someday, though thats not the kind of trust we have in mind. I believe that trust has to e from both sides; I also think thats the reason why Father and I have never really grown so close. But lets not talk about it anymore. If theres anything you still want to discuss, please write, because its easier for me to say what I mean as on paper than face-to-face. You know how le much I admire you, and only hope that some of yoodness and Fathers goodness will rub off on me, because, in that sense, you two are a lot alike. Yours, Anne WEDNESDAY, MARCH 22,1944 Dearest Kitty, I received this letter last night from Margot: Dear Anne, After your letter of yesterday I have the unpleasant feeling that your sce bothers you whenever you go to Peters to work or talk; theres really no reason for that. In my heart, I know theres someone who deserves t my trust (as I do his), and I wouldnt be able to tolerate Peter in his place. However, as you wrote, I do think of Peter as a kind of brother. . . a younger brother; weve been sending out feelers, and a brotherly and sisterly affeayor may not develop at some later date, but its certainly not reached that stage yet. So theres no need for you to feel sorry for me. Now that youve found panionship, enjoy it as much as you . In the meahings are getting more and more wonderful here. I think, Kitty, that true love may be developing in the Annex. All those jokes about marryier if we stayed here long enough werent so silly after all. Not that Im thinking of marrying him, mind you. I dont even know what hell be like when he grows up. Or if well even love each other enough to get married. Im sure noeter loves me too; I just dont know in what way. I t figure out if he wants only a good friend, or if hes attracted to me as a girl or as a sister. When he said I always helped him when his parents were arguing, I was tremendously happy; it was oep toward making me believe in his friendship. I asked him yesterday what hed do if there were a dozen Annes who kept popping in to see him. His answer was: "If they were all like you, it wouldnt be so bad." Hes extremely hospitable, and I think he really likes to see me. Mean- while, hes been w hard at learning French, even studying in bed until ten-fifteen. Oh, when I think back to Saturday night, to our words, our voices, I feel satisfied with myself for the very first time; what I mean is, Id still say the same and wouldnt want to ge a thing, the way I usually do. Hes so handsome, whether hes smthng or just sitting still. Hes so sweet and good aiful. I think what surprised him most about me was when he discovered that Im not at all the superficial, worldly Anne I appear to be, but a dreamer, like he is, with just as many troubles! Last night after the dinner dishes, I waited for him to ask me to stay upstairs. But nothing happened; I went away. He came downstairs to tell Dussel it was time to listen to the radio and hung around the bathroom for a while, but when Dussel took too long, he went back upstairs. He paced up and down his room ao bed early. The entire evening I was so restless I kept going to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. I read a bit, daydreamed some more, looked at the clod waited, waited, waited, all the while listening to his foot- steps. I went to bed early, exhausted. Tonight I have to take a bath, and tomorrow? Tomorrows so far away! Yours, Anne M. Frank My answer: Dearest Margot, I think the best thing is simply to wait and see what happens. It t be much longer before Peter and I will have to decide whether to go back to the ere or do some- thing else. I dont know how itll turn out; I t see any farther than the end of my nose. But Im certain of ohing: if Peter and I do bee friends, Im going to tell him youre also very fond of him and are prepared to help him if he needs you. You wouldnt wao, Im sure, but I dont care; I dont knoeter thinks of you, but Ill ask him wheime es. Its certainly nothing bad -- on the trary! Youre wele to join us iic, or wherever we are. You wont be disturbing us, because we have an unspoken agreement to talk only in the evenings when its dark. Keep your spirits up! Im doing my best, though its not always easy. Your time may e soohan you think. Yours, Anne THURSDAY, MARCH 23, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Things are more or less back to normal here. Our en have been released from prison, thank goodness! Mieps been back since yesterday, but today it was her husbands turn to take to his bed-chills and fever, the usual flu symptoms. Bep is better, though she still has a cough, and Mr. Kleiman will have to stay home for a long time. Yesterday a plane crashed nearby. The crew was able to parachute out in time. It crashed on top of a school, but luckily there were no children ihere was a small fire and a couple of people were killed. As the airmen made their dest, the Germans sprayed them with bullets. The Amsterdammers who saw it seethed with rage at such a dastardly deed. We-by which I mean the ladies-were also scared out of our wits. Brrr, I hate the sound of gunfire. Now about myself. I was with Peter yesterday and, somehow, I holy dont knoe wound up talking about sex. Id made up my mind a long time ago to ask him a few things. He knows everything; when I said that Margot and I werent very well informed, he was amazed. I told him a lot about Margot and me and Mother and Father and said that lately I didnt dare ask them anything. He offered to enlighten me, and I gratefully accepted: he described how traceptives work, and I asked him very boldly how boys could tell they were grown up. He had to think about that one; he said hed tell me tonight. I told him what had happeo Jacque, and said that girls are defenseless against strong boys. "Well, you dont have to be afraid of me," he said. When I came back that evening, he told me how it is with boys. Slightly embarrassing, but still awfully o be able to discuss it with him. her he nor I had ever imagined wed be able to talk so openly to a girl or a boy, respectively, about sutimate matters. I think I know everything now. He told me a lot about what he called Prasentivmitteln* [* Should be Praservativmitteln: prophylactics] in German. That night ihroom Margot and I were talking about Bram and Trees, two friends of hers. This m I was in for a nasty surprise: after breakfast Peter beed me upstairs. "That was a dirty trick you played on me," he said. "I heard what you and Margot were saying ihroom last night. I think you just wao find out how much Peter knew and then have a good laugh!” I was stunned! I did everything I could to talk him out of that eous idea; I could uand how he must have felt, but it just wasnt true! "Oh no, Peter," I said. "Id never be so mean. I told you I wouldnt pass on anything you said to me and I wont. To put on an act like that and then deliberately be so mean. . . er, thats not my idea ofa joke. It wouldnt be fair. I didnt say anything, ho. Wont you believe me?" He assured me he did, but I think well have to talk about it again sometime. Ive dohing all day but worry about it. Thank goodness he came right out and said what was on his mind. Imagine if hed gone around thinking I could be that mean. Hes so sweet! Now Ill have to tell him everything! Yours, Anne FRIDAY, MARCH 24, 1944 Dear Kitty, I often go up to Peters room after dinner nowadays to breathe in the fresh evening air. You get around to meaningful versations more quickly in the dark than with the sun tig your face. Its cozy and snug sitting beside him on a chair and looking outside. The van Daans and Dussel make the silliest remarks when I disappear into his room. "Annes zweite Heimat,"* [* Annes sed home] they say, or "Is it proper fentleman to receive young girls in his room at night with the lights out?" Peter has amazing presenind in the face of these so-called witticisms. My mother, ially, is also bursting with curiosity and simply dying to ask what we talk about, only shes secretly afraid Id refuse to answer. Peter says the grown-ups are just jealous because were young and that we shouldnt take their obnoxious ents to heart. Sometimes he es downstairs to get me, but thats awkward too, because in spite of all his precautions his face turns bright red and he hardly get the words out of his mouth. Im glad I dont blush; it must be extremely unpleasant. Besides, it bothers me that Margot has to sit downstairs all by herself, while Im upstairs enjoyiers pany. But what I do about it? I wouldnt mind it if she came, but shed just be the odd o, sitting there like a lump on a log. Ive had to listen to tless remarks about our sudden friendship. I t tell you how often the versation at meals has been about an Annex wedding, should the war last another five years. Do we take any notice of this parental chitchat? Hardly, sis all so silly. Have my parents fotten that they were young once? Apparently they have. At any rate, they laugh at us when were serious, and theyre serious when were joking. I dont know whats going to happe, or whether well run out of things to say. But if it goes on like this, well eventually be able to be together without talking. If only his parents would stop ag sely. Its probably because they dont like seeing me so ofteer and I certainly ell them what we talk about. Imagine if they kneere discussing sutimate things. Id like to ask Peter whether he knows what girls look like down there. I dont think boys are as plicated as girls. You easily see what boys look like in photographs or pictures of male nudes, but with women its different. In women, the genitals, or whatever theyre called, are hiddeween their legs. Peter has probably never seen a girl up close. To tell you the truth, her have I. Boys are a lot easier. How oh would I go about describing a girls parts? I tell from what he said that he doesnt kly how it all fits together. He was talking about the "Muttermund," [* cervix], but thats on the inside, where you t see it. Everythings pretty well arranged in us women. Until I was eleven or twelve, I didnt realize there was a sed set of labia on the inside, since you couldhem. Whats even funnier is that I thought urine came out of the clitoris. I asked Mother oime what that little bump was, and she said she didnt know. She really play dumb when she wants to! But to get back to the subject. How oh you explain what it all looks like without any models? Shall I try anyway? Okay, here goes! When youre standing up, all you see from the front is hair. Between ys there are two soft, cushiony things, also covered with hair, which press together when youre standing, so you t see whats ihey separate when you sit down, and theyre very red and quite fleshy on the inside. In the upper part, betweeer labia, theres a fold of skin that, on sed thought, looks like a kind of blister. Thats the clitoris. Then e the inner labia, which are also pressed together in a kind of crease. When they open up, you see a fleshy little mound, no bigger thaop of my thumb. The upper part has a couple of small holes in it, which is where the urine es out. The lower part looks as if it were just skin, ahats where the vagina is. You barely find it, because the folds of skin hide the opening. The holes so small I hardly imagine how a man could get in there, much less how a baby could e out. Its hard enough trying to get your index finger ihats all there is, a plays su important role! Yours, Anne M. Frank SATURDAY, MARCH 25, 1944 Dearest Kitty, You never realize how much youve ged until after its happened. Ive ged quite drastically, everything about me is different: my opinions, ideas, critical outlook. Inwardly, outwardly, nothings the same. And, I might safely add, sis true, Ive ged for the better. I oold you that, after years of being adored, it was hard for me to adjust to the harsh reality of grown-ups and rebukes. But Father and Mother are largely to blame for my having to put up with so much. At home they wanted me to enjoy life, which was fine, but here they shouldnt have enced me to agree with them and only shown me "their" side of all the quarrels and gossip. It was a long time before I discovered the score was fifty-fifty. I now know that many blunders have been itted here, by young and old alike. Father and Mothers biggest mistake in dealing with the van Daans is that theyre never did and friendly (admittedly, the friendliness might have to be feigned). Above all, I want to keep the peace, and to her quarrel nossip. With Father and Margot thats not difficult, but it is with Mother, which is why Im glad she gives me an occasional rap on the knuckles. You win Mr. van Daan to your side by agreeing with him, listening quietly, not saying mud most of all . . . responding to his teasing and his y jokes with a joke of your own. Mrs. van D. be won over by talking openly to her and admitting when youre wrong. She also frankly admits her faults, of which she has many. I know all too well that she doesnt think as badly of me as she did in the beginning. And thats simply because Im ho and tell people right to their faces what I think, eves not very flattering. I want to be ho; I think it gets you further and also makes you feel better about yourself. Yesterday Mrs. van D. was talking about the rice we gave Mr. Kleiman. "All we do is give, give, give. But at a certain point I think that enough is enough. If hed only take the trouble, Mr. Kleiman could sge up his own rice. Why should we give away all our supplies? We hem just as badly.” "No, Mrs. van Daan," I replied. "I dont agree with you. Mr. Kleiman may very well be able to get hold of a little rice, but he doesnt like having to worry about it. Its not our place to criticize the people who are helping us. We should give them whatever they need if ossibly spare it. One less plate of rice a week wont make that much difference; we always eat beans.” Mrs. van D. did my way, but she added that, even though she disagreed, she was willing to back down, and that was airely different matter. Well, Ive said enough. Sometimes I know what my place is and sometimes I have my doubts, but Ill eventually get where I want to be! I know I will! Especially now that I have help, sier helps me through many a rough patd rainy day! I holy dont know how much he loves me and whether well ever get as far as a kiss; in any case, I dont want to force the issue! I told Father I often go see Peter and asked if he approved, and of course he did! Its much easier now to tell Peter things Id nor- mally keep to myself; for example, I told him I want to write later on, and if I t be a writer, to write in addition to my work. I dont have mu the way of money or worldly possessions, Im not beautiful, intelligent or clever, but Im happy, and I io stay that way! I was born happy, I love people, I have a trusting nature, and Id like everyone else to be happy too. Your devoted friend, Anne M. Frank Ay day, though clear and bright, Is just as dark as any night. (I wrote this a few weeks ago and it no longer holds true, but I included it because my poems are so few and far between.) MONDAY, MARCH 27, 1944 Dearest Kitty, At least one long chapter on our life in hiding should be about politics, but Ive been avoiding the subject, si is me so little. Today, however, Ill devote aire letter to politics. Of course, there are many different opinions on this topid its not surprising to hear it frequently discussed in times of war, but. . . arguing so much about politics is just plain stupid! Let them laugh, swear, make bets, grumble and do whatever they want as long as they stew in their own juice. But dohem argue, sihat only makes things worse. The people who e from outside bring us a lot of hat later proves to be untrue; however, up to now our radio has never lied. Jan, Miep, Mr. Kleiman, Bep and Mr. Kugler go up and down in their political moods, though Ja of all. Here in the Ahe mood never varies. The end- less debates over the invasion, air raids, speeches, etc., etc., are apanied by tless exclamations such as "Eempossible!, Urn Gottes Willen* [* Oh, for heavens sake]. If theyre just getting started now, how long is it going to last!, Its going splendidly, But, great!” Optimists and pessimists -- not to mention the realists -- air their opinions with unflagging energy, and as with everything else, theyre all certain that they have a monopoly oruth. It annoys a certain lady that her spouse has such supreme faith in the British, and a certain husband attacks his wife because of her teasing and dispar- aging remarks about his beloved nation! And so it goes from early in the m to late at night; the funny part is that they never get tired of it. Ive discovered a trick, and the effect is overwhelming, just like prig someoh a pin and watg them jump. Heres how it works: I start talking about politics. All it takes is a single question, a word or a sentence, and before you know it, the entire family is involved! As if the German "Wehrmaews" and the English BBC werent enough, theyve now added special air-raid annous. In a word, splendid. But the other side of the is that the British Air Force is operating around the cloot uhe German propaganda mae, which is king out lies twenty-four hours a day! So the radio is switched on every m at eight (if not earlier) and is listeo every hour until en or even eleven at night. This is the best evide that the adults have infiience, but also that their brains have turo mush (some of them, I mean, since I wouldnt want to insult anyone). One broadcast, two at the most, should be enough to last the entire day. But no, those old ninpoops. . . never mind, Ive already said it all! "Music While You Work," the Dutch broadcast from England, Frank Phillips or Queen Wilhelmina, they each get a turn and fInd a willing listener. If the adults areing or sleeping, theyre clustered around the radio talking about eating, sleeping and politics. Whew! Its getting to be a bore, and its all I do to keep from turning into a dreary old yself! Though with all the old folks arouhat might not be such a bad idea! Heres a shining example, a speech made by our beloved Winston Churchill. Nine oclock, Sunday evening. The teapot, us cozy, is oable, and the guests ehe room. Dussel sits to the left of the radio, Mr. van D. in front of it aer to the side. Mother is o Mr. van D., willi Mrs. van D. behind them. Margot and I are sitting in the last roim at the table. I realize this isnt a very clear description of our seating arras, but it doesnt matter. The men smoke, Peters eyes close from the strain of listening, Mama is dressed in her long, dark negligee, Mrs. van D. is trembling because of the planes, which take no notice of the speech but fly blithely on toward Essen, Father is slurping his tea, and Margot and I are united in a sisterly way by the sleeping Mouschi, who has taken possession of both our knees. Margots hair is in curlers and my nightgown is too small, too tight and too short. It all looks so intimate, cozy and peaceful, and for o really is. Yet I await the end of the speech willi dread. Theyre impatient, straining at the leash to start anument! Pst, pst, like a cat luring a mouse from its hole, they goad each other into quarrels and dissent. Yours, Anne TUESDAY, MARCH 28, 1944 My dearest Kitty, As much as Id like to write more on politics, I have lots of other o report today. First, Mother has virtually forbiddeo go up to Peters, since, acc to her, Mrs. van Daan is jealous. Sed, Peters invited Margot to join us upstairs. Whether he really means it or is just saying it out of politeness, I dont know. Third, I asked Father if he thought I should take any notirs. van Daans jealousy and he said I didnt have to. What should I do now? Mothers angry, doesnt want me going upstairs, wants me to go back to doing my homework in the room I share willi Dussel. She may be jealous herself. Father doesnt begrudge us those few hours and thinks its nice we get along so well. Margot likes Peter too, but feels that three people t talk about the same things as two. Furthermore, Mother thinks Peters in love with me. To tell you the truth, I wish he were. Then wed be even, and itd be a lot easier to get to know each other. She also claims hes always looking at me. Well, I suppose we do give each other the occasional wink. But I t help it if he keeps admiring my dimples, I? Im in a very difficult position. Mainst me and Im against her. Father turns a blio the silent struggle between Mother and me. Mother is sad, because she still loves me, but Im not at all unhappy, because she no longer means anything to me. As for Peter. . . I dont want to give him up. Hes so sweet and I admire him so much. He and I could have a really beautiful relationship, so why are the old folks poking their noses into our business again? Fortu- nately, Im used to hiding my feelings, so I ma to show how crazy I am about him. Is he ever going to say anything? Am I ever going to feel his cheek against mihe way I felt Petels cheek in my dream? Oh, Peter ael, youre one and the same! They dont uand us; theyd never uand that were tent just to sit beside each other and not say a word. They have no idea of what draws us together! Oh, when will we overe all these difficulties? As good that we have to surmount them, si makes the end that much more beautiful. When he lays his head on his arms and closes his eyes, hes still a child; when he plays with Mouschi or talks about her, hes loving; when he carries the potatoes or other heavy loads, hes strong; when he goes to watch the gunfire or walks through the dark house to look for burglars, hes brave; and when hes so awkward and clumsy, hes hopelessly endearing. Its muicer when he explains something to me than when I have to teach him. I wish he were superior to me in nearly every way! What do we care about our two mothers? Oh, if only hed say something. Father always says Im ceited, but Im not, Im merely vain! I havent had many people tell me I retty, except for a boy at school who said I looked so cute when I smiled. Yesterday Peter paid me a true - pliment, and just for fun Ill give you a rough idea of our versation. Peter often says, "Smile!" I thought it was strange, so yesterday I asked him, "Why do you always wao smile?” "Because you get dimples in your cheeks. How do you do that?” "I was born with them. Theres also one in my . Its the only mark of beauty I possess.” "No, no, thats not true!” "Yes it is. I know Im not beautiful. I never have been and I never will be!” "I dont agree. I think youre pretty.” "I am not.” "I say you are, and youll have to take my word for it." So of course I then said the same about him. Yours, Anne M. Frank WEDNESDAY, MARCH 29, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Mr. Bolkestein, the et Minister, speaking och broadcast from London, said that after the war a colle would be made of diaries aers dealing with the war. Of course, everyone pouny diary. Just imagine how iing it would be if I were to publish a novel about the Secret Ahe title alone would make people think it was a detective story. Seriously, though, ten years after the eople would find it very amusing to read how we lived, what we ate and what we talked about as Jews in hiding. Although I tell you a great deal about our lives, you still know very little about us. Hhtehe women are during air raids; last Sunday, for instance, when 350 British planes dropped 550 tons of bombs on IJmuiden, so that the houses trembled like blades of grass in the wind. Or how many epidemics are raging here. You know nothing of these matters, and it would take me all day to describe everything down to the last detail. People have to stand in lio buy vegetables and all kinds of goods; doctors t visit their patients, siheir cars and bikes are stolen the moment they turn their backs; burglaries and thefts are so on that you ask yourself whats suddenly gotten into the Dutake them so light-fingered. Little childre- and eleven- year-olds, smash the windows of peoples homes and steal whatever they lay their hands on. People dont dare leave the house for even five minutes, siheyre liable to e bad find all their belongings gone. Every day the neers are filled with reward notices for the return of stolen typewriters, Persian rugs, electric clocks, fabrics, etc. The electric clocks on street ers are dismantled, public phones are stripped down to the last wire. Morale among the Dutch t be good. Everyones hungry; except for the ersatz coffee, a weeks food ratio last two days. The invasions long in ing, the men are being shipped off to Germany, the children are sick or undernourished, everyones wearing worn-out clothes and run-down shoes. A new sole costs 7.50 guil- ders on the black market. Besides, few shoemakers will do repairs, or if they do, you have to wait four months for your shoes, which might very well have disappeared in the meantime. One good thing has e out of this: as the food gets worse and the decrees more severe, the acts of sabo- tage against the authorities are increasing. The ration board, the police, the officials-theyre all either helping their fellow citizens or denoung them and sending them off to prison. Fortunately, only a small pertage of Dutch people are on the wrong side. Yours, Anne FRIDAY, MARCH 31, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Just imagis still fairly cold, a most people have been without coal for nearly a month. Sounds awful, doesnt it? Theres a general mood of optimism about the Russian front, because thats going great guns! I dont often write about the political situation, but I must tell you where the Russians are at the moment. Theyve reached the Polish border and the Prut River in Romania. Theyre close to Odessa, and theyve surrouernopol. Every night were expeg ara unique from Stalin. Theyre firing off so many salutes in Moscow, the city must be rumbling and shaking all day long. Whether they like to pretend the fightings nearby or they simply dont have any other way to express their joy, I dont know! Hungary has been occupied by German troops. There are still a million Jews living there; they too are doomed. Nothing special is happening here. Today is Mr. van Daans birthday. He received two packets of tobacco, one serving of coffee, which his wife had mao save, lemon punch from Mr. Kugler, sardines from Miep, eau de cologne from us, lilacs, tulips and, last but not least, a cake with raspberry filling, slightly gluey because of the poor quality of the flour and the lack of butter, but deli- cious anyway. All that talk about Peter and me has died down a bit. Hes ing to pick me up tonight. Pretty nice of him, dont you think, since he hates doing it! Were very good friends. We spend a lot of time together and talk about every imaginable subject. Its so having to hold back when we e to a delicate topic, the way I would with other boys. For example, we were talking about blood and somehow the versation turo menstruatioc. He thinks we women are quite tough to be able to withstand the loss of blood, and that I am too. I wonder why? My life here has gotteer, much better. God has not forsaken me, and He never will. Yours, Anne M. Frank APRIL, 1944 SATURDAY, APRIL 1, 1944 My dearest Kitty, A everything is still so difficult. You do know what I mean, dont you? I long so much for him to kiss me, but that kiss is taking its owime. Does he still think of me as a friend? Dont I mean anything more? You and I both know that Im strong, that I carry most burdens alone. Ive never beeo sharing my worries with anyone, and Ive never g to a mother, but Id love to lay my head on his shoulder and just sit there quietly. I t, I simply t fet that dream of Peters cheek, whehing was so good! Does he have the same longing? Is he just too shy to say he loves me? Why does he want me near him so much? Oh, why doesnt he say something? Ive got to stop, Ive got to be calm. Ill try to be strong again, and if Im patient, the rest will follow. But -- and this is the worst part -- I seem to be chasing him. Im always the one who has to go upstairs; he never es to me. But thats because of the rooms, and he uands why I object. Oh, Im sure he uands more than I think . Yours, Anne M. Frank MONDAY, APRIL 3, 1944 My dearest Kitty, trary to my usual practice, Im going to write you a detailed description of the food situation, sis bee a matter of some difficulty and importanot only here in the Annex, but in all of Holland, all of Europe and even beyond. Iwenty-one months weve lived here, weve been through a good many "food cycles" -- youll uand what that means in a moment. A "food cycle" is a period in which we have only one particular dish or type of vegetable to eat. For a long time we ate nothing but endive. Eh sand, ehout sand, eh mashed potatoes, endive-and-mashed potato casserole. Then it inach, followed by kohlrabi, salsify, cucumbers, tomatoes, sauerkraut, etc., etc. Its not much fun when you have to eat, say, sauer- kraut every day for lund dinner, but when youre hungry enough, you do a lot of things. Now, however, were going through the most delightful period so far, because there are ables at all. Our weekly lunch menu sists of brown beans, split-pea soup, potatoes with dumplings, potato kugel and, by the grace of God, turnip greens or rotten carrots, and then its back to brown beans. Because of the bread she, otatoes at every meal, starting with breakfast, but then we fry them a little. To make soup we use brown beans, navy beans, potatoes, packages of vege- table soup, packages of chi soup and packages of bean soup. There are brown beans ihing, including the bread. For dinner we always have potatoes with imitation gravy and -- thank goodness weve still got it -- beet salad. I must tell you about the dumplings. We make them with gover-issue flour, water a. Theyre so gluey and tough that it feels as if you had rocks in your stomach, but oh well! The high point is our weekly slice of liv?erwurst, and the jam on our unbuttered bread. But were still alive, and much of the time it still tastes good too! Yours, Anne M. Frank WEDNESDAY, APRIL 5, 1944 My dearest Kitty, For a long time now I didnt know why I was b to do any schoolwork. The end of the war still seemed so far away, so unreal, like a fairy tale. If the war isnt over by September, I wont go back to school, since I dont want to be two years behind. Peter filled my days, nothing but Peter, dreams and thoughts until Saturday night, when I felt so utterly miserable; oh, it was awful. I held back my tears when I was with Peter, laughed uproariously with the van Daans as we drank lemon pund was cheerful aed, but the minute I was alone I knew I was going to cry my eyes out. I slid to the floor in my nightgown and began by saying my prayers, very fervently. Then I drew my ko my chest, lay my head on my arms and cried, all huddled up on the bare floor. A loud sht me back down to earth, and I choked back my tears, since I didnt want anyo door to hear me. Then I tried to pull myself together, saying over and over, "I must, I must, I must. . . " Stiff from sitting in su unusual position, I fell back against the side of the bed a up my struggle until just before ten-thirty, when I climbed bato bed. It was over! And now its really over. I finally realized that I must do my schoolwork to keep from being ignorant, to get on in life, to bee a journalist, because thats what I want! I know I write. A few of my stories are good, my descriptions of the Secret Annex are humorous, muy diary is vivid and alive, but. . . it remains to be seeher I really have talent. "Evas Dream" is my best fairy tale, and the odd thing is that I dont have the fai idea where it came from. Parts of "Cadys Life" are also good, but as a whole its nothing special. Im my best and harshest critic. I know whats good and what isnt. Unless you write yourself, you t knoonderful it is; I always used to bemoan the fact that I couldnt draw, but now Im overjoyed that at least I write. And if I dont have the talent to write books or neer articles, I always write for myself. But I want to achieve more than that. I t imagine having to live like Mother, Mrs. van Daan and all the women who go about their work and are then fotten. I o have something besides a husband and children to devote myself to! I dont want to have lived in vain like most people. I want to be useful enjoyment to all people, even those Ive never met. I want to go on living even after my death! And thats why Im so grateful to God for having givehis gift, which I use to develop myself and to express all thats inside me! When I write I shake off all my cares. My sor- row disappears, my spirits are revived! But, and thats a big question, will I ever be able to write something great, will I ever bee a journalist or a writer? I hope so, oh, I hope so very much, because writing allows me to record everything, all my thoughts, ideals and fantasies. I havent worked on "Cadys Life" fes. In my mind Ive worked out exactly what happe, but the story doeso be ing along very well. I might never finish it, and itll wind up in the aper basket or the stove. Thats a horrible thought, but then I say to myself, "At the age of fourteen and with so little experience, you t write about philosophy.” So onward and upward, with renewed spirits. Itll all work out, because Im determio write! Yours, Anne M. Frank THURSDAY, APRIL 6, 1944 Dearest Kitty, You asked me what my hobbies and is are and Id like to answer, but Id better warn you, I have lots of them, so dont be surprised. First of all: writing, but I dont really think of that as a hobby. wo: genealogical charts. Im looking in every neer, book and dot I find for the family trees of the French, German, Spanish, English, Austrian, Russian, Nian and Dutch royal famthes. Ive made great progress with many of them, because for ! a long time Ive been taking notes while reading biogra- I, phies or history books. I even copy out many of the passages on history. So my third hobby is history, and Fathers already bought me numerous books. I hardly wait for the day when Ill be able to go to the public library a out Iii the information I need. Number four is Greek and Roman mythology. I have various books on this subject too. I ame the nine Muses and the seven loves of Zeus. I have the wives of Hercules, etc., etc., down pat. My other hobbies are movie stars and family photographs. Im crazy about reading and books. I adore the history of the arts, especially when it s writers, poets and painters; musis may e later. I loathe algebra, geometry and arithmetic. I enjoy all my other school subjects, but historys my favorite! Yours, Anne M. Frank TUESDAY, APRIL 11, 1944 My dearest Kitty, My heads in a whirl, I really dont know where to begin. Thursday (the last time I wrote you) everything was as usual. Friday afternoon (Good Friday) we played Monopoly; Saturday afternoon too. The days passed very quickly. Around two oclo Saturday, heavy firing ii began-mae guns, acc to the men. For the rest, everything was quiet. Sunday afternooer came to see me at four-thirty, at my invitation. At five-fifteen we went to the Ii front attic, where we stayed until six. There was a beautil ful Mozart cert on the radio from six to seven-fifteen; I especially ehe Kleine Nachtmusik. I hardly bear to listen i, since beautiful music stirs me to the very depths of my soul. Sunday evenier couldnt take his balli, because the washtub was down in the office kit, filled with laundry. The two of us went to the front attic together, and in order to be able to sit fortably, I took along the only cushion I could find in my room. We seated ourselves on a pag crate. Sih the crate and the cushion were very narroere sitting quite close, leaning against two other crates; Mouschi kept us pany, so we werent without a chaperon. Suddenly, at a quarter to nine, Mr. van Daan whistled and asked if we had Mr. Dussels cushion. We jumped up a downstairs willi the cushion, the cat and Mr. van Daan. This cushion was the souruch misery. Dussel was angry because Id taken the one he uses as a pillow, and he was afraid it might be covered with fleas; he had the entire house in an uproar because of this one cushion. In revenge, Peter and I stuck two hard brushes in his bed, but had to take them out again when Dussel uedly decided to go sit in his room. We had a really good laugh at this little intermezzo. But our fun was short-lived. At hirty Peter knocked gently on the door and asked Father to e upstairs and help him with a difficult English sentence. "That sounds fishy," I said tot. "Its obviously a pretext. You tell by the way the mealking that theres been a break-in!" I was right. The warehouse was being broken into at that very moment. Father, Mr. van Daan aer were downstairs in a flash. Margot, Mother, Mrs. van D. and I waited. Four frightened womeo talk, so thats what we did until we heard a bang downstairs. After that all was quiet. The clock struck quarter to ten. The color had drained from our faces, but we remained calm, even though we were afraid. Where were the men? What was that bang? Were they fighting with the burglars? We were too scared to think; all we could do was wait. Ten oclock, footsteps oairs. Father, pale and nervous, came inside, followed by Mr. van Daan. "Lights out, tiptoe upstairs, were expeg the police!" There wasnt time to be scared. The lights were switched off, I grabbed a jacket, a down upstairs. "What happeell us quickly!” There was no oo tell us; the men had gone back downstairs. The four of them didnt e back up until ten past ten. Two of them kept watch at Peters open window. The door to the landing was locked, the book- case shut. We draped a sweater over ht-light, and theold us what had happened: Peter was on the landing when he heard two loud bangs. He went downstairs and saw that a large panel was missing from the left half of the warehouse door. He dashed upstairs, alerted the "Home Guard," and the four of them went downstairs. When they ehe warehouse, the burglars were going about their business. Without thinking, Mr. van Daan yelled "Police!" Hur- ried footsteps outside; the burglars had fled. The board ut ba the door so the police wouldnt notice the gap, but then a swift kick from outside sent it flying to the floor. The men were amazed at the burglars audacity. Both Peter and Mr. van Daa a murdere e over them. Mr. van Daan slammed an ax against the floor, and all was quiet again. Once more the panel was re- placed, and once more the attempt was foiled. Outside, a man and a woman shone a glaring flashlight through the opening, lighting up the entire warehouse. "What the . . ." mumbled one of the men, but now their roles had been reversed. Instead of poli, they were now burglars. All four of them raced upstairs. Dussel and Mr. van Daan snatched up Dussels books, Peter opehe doors and windows i and private office, hurled the phoo the ground, and the four of them finally ended up behind the bookcase. END OF PART ONE In all probability the man and woman with the flashlight had alerted the police. It was Sunday night, Easter Sunday. The day, Easter Monday, the office was going to be closed, which meant we wouldnt be able to move around until Tuesday m. Think of it, having to sit in such terror for a day and two nights! We thought of nothing, but simply sat there in pitch darkness -- in her fear, Mrs. van D. had switched off the lamp. We whispered, and every time we heard a creak, someone said, "Shh, shh.” It was ten-thirty, then eleven. Not a sound. Father and Mr. van Daan took turns ing upstairs to us. Then, at eleven-fifteen, a noise below. Up above you could hear the whole family breathing. For the rest, no one moved a muscle. Footsteps in the house, the private office, the kit, then. . . oaircase. All sounds of breathing stopped, eight hearts pounded. Foot- steps oairs, then a rattling at the bookcase. This moment is indescribable. "Now were done for," I said, and I had visions of all fifteen of us being dragged away by the Gestapo that very night. More rattling at the bookcase, twice. Then we heard a fall, and the footsteps receded. We were out of danger, so far! A shiver went though everyones body, I heard several sets of teeth chattering, no one said a word. We stayed like this until eleven-thirty. There were no more sounds in the house, but a light was shining on our landing, right in front of the bookcase. Was that because the police thought it looked so suspicious or because they simply fot? Was anyone going to e bad turn it off? We found our tongues again. There were no longer any people ihe building, but perhaps someone was standing guard outside. We then did three things: tried to guess what was going on, trembled with fear ao the bathroom. Sihe buckets were iic, all we had eters metal aper basket. Mr. van Daa first, then Father, but Mother was too embarrassed. Father brought the waste- basket to the room, where Margot, Mrs. van Daan and I gratefully made use of it. Mother finally gave in. There was a great demand for paper, and luckily I had some in my pocket. The wastebasket stank, everythi on in a whisper, and we were exhausted. It was midnight. "Lie down on the floor and go to sleep!" Margot and I were each given a pillow and a bla. Margot lay dowhe food cupboard, and I made my bed betweeable legs. The smell wasnt quite so bad when you were lying on the floor, but Mrs. van Daan quietly went and got some powdered blead draped a dish towel over the potty as a further precaution. Talk, whispers, fear, stench, farting and people tinually going to the bathroom; try sleeping through that! By two-thirty, however, I was so tired I dozed off and didnt hear a thing until three-thirty. I woke up when Mrs. van D. lay her head on my feet. "For heavens sake, give me something to put on!" I said. I was handed some clothes, but dont ask what: a pair of wool slacks over my pajamas, a red sweater and a black skirt, white uogs and tattered kneesocks. Mrs. van D. sat back down on the chair, and Mr. van D. lay down with his head on my feet. From three- thirty onward I was engrossed in thought, and still shiver- ing so much that Mr. van Daan couldnt sleep. I reparing myself for the retur..n of the police. Wed tell them we were in hiding; if they were good people, wed be safe, and if they were Nazi sympathizers, we could try to bribe them! "We should hide the radio!" moaned Mrs. van D. "Sure, iove," answered Mr. van D. "If they find us, they might as well find the radio!” "Then theyll also find Annes diary," added Father. "So burn it," suggested the most terrified of the group. This and the police rattling on the bookcase were the moments when I was most afraid. Oh, not my diary; if my diary goes, I go too! Thank goodness Father didnt say anything more. Theres no point in reting all the versations; so much was said. I forted Mrs. van Daan, who was very frightened. We talked about esg, being interrogated by the Gestapo, phoning Mr. Kleiman and being ceous. "We must behave like soldiers, Mrs. van Daan. If our time has e, well then, itll be for Queen and try, for freedom, truth and justice, as theyre always telling us on the radio. The only bad thing is that well drag the others down with us!” After an hour Mr. van Daan switched places with his wife again, and Father came and sat beside me. The men smoked one cigarette after another, an occasional sigh was heard, somebody made arip to the potty, and thehing began allain. Four oclock, five, five-thirty. I went and sat with Peter by his window and listened, so close we could feel each others bodies trembling; we spoke a word or two from time to time and listened ily. door they took down the blackout s. They made a list of everything they were planning to tell Mr. Kleimahe phone, because they inteo call him at seven and ask him to send someone over. They were taking a big ce, sihe police guard at the door or in the warehouse might hear them calling, but there was an eveer risk that the police would return. Im enclosing their list, but for the sake of clarity, Ill copy it here. Buralary: Poli building, up to bookcase, but no farther. Burglars apparently interrupted, forced warehouse door, fled through garden. Mairance bolted; Kugler must have left through sed door. Typewriter and adding mae safe in black chest in private office. Mieps or Beps laundry in washtub in kit. Only Bep ler have key to sed door; lock may be broken. Try to warn jan a key, look around office; also feed cat. For the rest, everythi acc to plan. Mr. Kleiman hohe poles were removed from the doors, the typewriter ut ba the chest. Then we all sat around the table again and waited for either jan or the police. Peter had dropped off to sleep and Mr. van Daan ANNE FRANK and I were lying on the floor when we heard loud footsteps below. I got up quietly. "Its Jan!” "No, no, its the police!" they all said. There was a knog at our bookcase. Miep whis- tled. This was too murs. van Daan, who sank limply in her chair, white as a sheet. If the tension had lasted another minute, she would have fainted. Jan and Miep came in and were met with a delightful se. The table alone would have been worth a photograph: a copy of ema &.. Theater, opeo a page of dang girls and smeared with jam ain, which wed been taking to bat the diarrhea, two jam jars, half a bread roll, a quarter of a bread roll, pe, a mirror, a b, matches, ashes, cigarettes, tobacco, an ashtray, books, a pair of underpants, a flashlight, Mrs. van Daans b, toilet paper, etc. Jan and Miep were of creeted with shouts and tears. Jan nailed a pinewood board over the gap in the door a off again with Miep to inform the police of the break-in. Miep had also found a note uhe ware- house door from Sleegers, the night wat, who had noticed the hole and alerted the police. Jan was also planning to see Sleegers. So we had half an hour in which to put the house and ourselves thts. Ive never seen such a transformation as in those thirty minutes. Margot and I got the beds ready downstairs, went to the bathroom, brushed our teeth, washed our hands and bed our hair. Then I straightened up the room a bit a back upstairs. The table had already been cleared, so we got some water, made coffee and tea, boiled the milk ahe table. Father aer emptied our improvised potties and rihem with warm water and powdered bleach. The largest one was filled to the brim and was so heavy they had a hard time lifting it. To make things worse, it was leaking, so they had to put it in a bucket. At eleven oclock Jan was bad joined us at the table, and gradually everyone began to relax. Jan had the following story to tell: Mr. Sleegers was asleep, but his wife told Jan that her husband had discovered the hole in the door while making his rounds. He called in a poli, and the two of them searched the building. Mr. Sleegers, in his capacity as night wat, patrols the area every night on his bike, apanied by his two dogs. His wife said he would e on Tuesday and tell Mr. Kugler the rest. No o the police station seemed to know anything about the break-in, but they made a o e first thing Tuesday m to have a look. On the way back Jan happeo run into Mr. van Hoeven, the man who supplies us with potatoes, and told him of the break-in. "I know," Mr. van Hoeven calmly replied. "Last night when my wife and I were walking past your building, I sa in the door. My wife wao walk on, but I peeked ih a flashlight, and thats when the burglars must have run off. To be on the safe side, I didnt call the police. I thought it wouldnt be wise in your case. I dont know anything, but I have my suspis." Jan thanked him a on. Mr. van Hoeven obviously suspects were here, because he always delivers the potatoes at lunchtime. A det man! It was one oclock by the time Ja and wed dohe dishes. All eight of us went to bed. I woke up at quarter to three and saw that Mr. Dussel was already up. My face rumpled with sleep, I happeo run into Peter ihroom, just after hed e downstairs. We agreed to meet in the office. I freshened up a bit a down. "After all this, do you still dare go to the front attic?" he asked. I nodded, grabbed my pillow, with a cloth ed around it, and we went up together. The weather was geous, and even though the air-raid sirens soon began to wail, we stayed where we were. Peter put his arm around my shoulder, I put mine around his, a quietly like this until four oclock, when Margot came to get us for coffee. We ate our bread, drank our lemonade and joked (we were finally able to again), and for the rest everything was back to normal. That evening I thanked Peter because hed been the bravest of us all. None of us have ever been in such danger as we were that night. God was truly watg over us. Just think-the police were right at the bookcase, the light was on, and still no one had discovered our hiding place! "Now were done for!" Id whispered at that moment, but once again we were spared. When the invasion es and the bombs start falling, itll be every man for himself, but this time we feared for those good, i Christians who are helping us. "Weve been saved, keep on saving us!" Thats all we say. This i has brought about a whole lot of ges. As of now, Dussel will be doing his work ihroom, aer will be patrolling the house betwee-thirty and hirty. Peter isnt allowed to open his window anymore, sine of the Keg people noticed it en. We o longer flush the toilet after hirty at night. Mr. Sleegers has been hired as night wat, and tonight a carpenter from the underground is ing to make a barricade out of our white Frankfurt bedsteads. Debates are going o and right in the Annex. Mr. Kugler has reproached us for our carelessness. Jan also said we should never go downstairs. What we have to do now is find out whether Sleegers be trusted, whether the dogs will bark if they hear someone behind the door, how to make the barricade, all sorts of things. Weve been strongly reminded of the fact that were Jews in s, ed to one spot, without any rights, but with a thousand obligations. We must put our feelings aside; we must be brave and strong, bear disfort with- out plaint, do whatever is in our power and trust in God. One day this terrible war will be over. The time will e when well be people again and not just Jews! Who has inflicted this on us? Who has set us apart from all the rest? Who has put us through such suffering? Its God who has made us the way we are, but its also God who will lift us up again. In the eyes of the world, were doomed, but if, after all this suffering, there are still Jews left, the Jewish people will be held up as an example. Who knows, maybe ion will teach the world and all the people in it about goodness, and thats the reason, the only reason, we have to suffer. We ever be just Dutch, or just English, or whatever, we will always be Jews as well. And well have to keep on being Jews, but then, well want to be. Be brave! Lets remember our duty and perform it without plaint. There will be a way out. God has never deserted our people. Through the ages Jews have had to suffer, but through the ages theyve gone on living, and the turies of suffering have only made them strohe weak shall fall and the strong shall survive and not be defeated! That night I really thought I was going to die. I waited for the polid I was ready for death, like a soldier on a battlefield. Id gladly have given my life for my try. But now, now that Ive been spared, my first wish after the war is to bee a Dutch citizen. I love the Dutch, I love this try, I love the language, and I want to work here. And even if I have to write to the Queen herself, I wont give up until Ive reached my goal! Im being more and more indepe of my parents. Young as I am, I face life with more ce and have a better and truer sense of justice than Mother. I know what I want, I have a goal, I have opinions, a religion and love. If only I be myself, Ill be satisfied. I know that Im a woman, a woman with irength and a great deal of ce! If God lets me live, Ill achieve more than Mother ever did, Ill make my voice heard, Ill go out into the world and work for mankind! I now know that ce and happiness are needed first! Yours, Anne M. Frank FRIDAY, APRIL 14, 1944 Dear Kitty, Everyone here is still very tense. Pim has nearly reached the bothng point; Mrs. van D. is lying in bed with a cold, grumbling; Mr. van D. is growing pale without his cigarettes; Dussel, whos having to give up many of his forts, is carping at everyoc., etc. We seem to have run out of luck lately. The toilets leaking, and the faucets stuck. Thanks to our many es, well soon be able to get these repaired. Im occasionally seal, as you know, but from time to time I have reason to be: wheer and I are sitting close together on a hard wooden crate among the junk and dust, our arms around each others shoulders, Peter toying with a loy hair; when the birds outside are trilling their songs, wherees are in bud, when the sun bes and the sky is so blue--oh, thats when I wish for so much! All I see around me are dissatisfied and grumpy faces, all I hear are sighs and stifled plaints. Youd think our lives had taken a sudden turn for the worse. Holy, things are only as bad as you make them. Here in the Annex no one even bothers to set a good example. We each have to figure out how to get the better of our own moods! Every day you hear, "If only it were all over!” Work, love, ce and hope, Make me good and help me cope! I really believe, Kit, that Im a little nutty today, and I dont know why. My writings all mixed up, Im jump- ing from ohing to another, and sometimes I seriously doubt whether anyone will ever be ied in this drivel. Theyll probably call it "The Musings of an Ugly Dug." My diaries certainly wont be of much use to Mr. Bolkestein erbrandy.* [* Gerrit Bolkestein was the Minister of Education and Pieter Gerbrandy was the Prime Minister of the Dutch gover in exile in London. See Annes letter of March 29, 1944.] Yours, Anne M. Frank SATURDAY, APRIL 15, 1944 Dearest Kitty, "Theres just one bad thing after another. When will it all end?" You sure say that again. Guess whats happened now? Peter fot to unbolt the front door. As a result, Mr. Kugler and the warehouse employees could in. He went to Kegs, smashed in our office kit window and got in that way. The windows in the Annex were open, and the Keg people saw that too. What must they be thinking? And van Maaren? Mr. Kuglers furious. We accuse him of not doing anything to reinforce the doors, and then we do a stupid thing like this! Peters extremely upset. At the table, Mother said she felt more sorry for Peter than for anyone else, and he nearly began to cry. Were equally to blame, since we usually ask him every day if hes unbolted the door, and so does Mr. van Daan. Maybe I go fort him later on. I want to help him so much! Here are the latest news bulletins about life in the Secret Annex over the last few weeks: A week ago Saturday, Boche suddenly got sick. He sat quite still and started drooling. Miep immediately picked him up, rolled him in a towel, tucked him in her shopping bag and brought him to the dog-and-cat ic. Boche had some kind of iinal problem, so the vet gave him medie. Peter gave it to him a few times, but Boche soon made himself scarce. Ill bet he was out c his sweetheart. But now his nose is swollen and he meows whenever you pick him up-he robably trying to steal food and somebody smacked him. Mouschi lost her voice for a few days. Just when we decided she had to be taken to the vet too, she started gettier. We now leave the attidow open a crack every night. Peter and I often sit up there in the evening. Thanks to rubber t and oil paint, our toilet ; could quickly be repaired. The broken faucet has been replaced. Luckily, Mr. Kleiman is feelier. Hes going to see a specialist soon. We only hope he wont need aion. This month we received eight Tation books. Unfortunately, for the wo weeks beans have been substituted for oatmeal roats. Our latest delicacy is piccalilli. If youre out of luck, all you get is a jar full of cucumber and mustard sauce. Vegetables are hard to e by. Theres only lettuce, lettud more lettueals sist entirely of potatoes and imitation gravy. The Russians are in possession of more than half the Crimea. The British arent advang beyond Cassino. Well have to t on the Western Wall. There have been a lot of unbelievably heavy air raids. The Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages in The Hague was bombed. All Dutch people will be issued new ratiistration cards. Enough for today. Yours, Anne M. Frank SUNDAY, APRIL 16, 1944 My dearest Kitty, Remember yesterdays date, si was a red-letter day for me. Isnt it an important day for every girl whes her first kiss? Well then, its no less important to me. The time Bram kissed me on my right cheek or Mr. Woudstra on my right hand doesnt t. How did I suddenly e by this kiss? Ill tell you. Last night at eight I was sitting with Peter on his divan and it wasnt long before he put an arm around me. (Si was Saturday, he wasnt wearing his overalls.)"Why don t we move over a little," I said, "so won t keep bumping my head against the cupboard.” He moved so far over he ractically in the er. I slipped my arm under his and across his back, a his arm around my shoulder, so that I was nearly engulfed by him. Weve sat like this on other occasions, but never so close as we were last night. He held me firmly against him, my left side against his chest; my heart had already begun to beat faster, but there was more to e. He wasnt satisfied until my head lay on his shoulder, with his on top of mine. I sat up again after about five minutes, but before loook my head in his hands and put it baext to his. Oh, it was so wonderful. I could hardly talk, my pleasure was too intense; he caressed my cheek and arm, a bit clumsily, and played with my hair. Most of the time our heads were toug. I t tell you, Kitty, the feeling that ran through me. I was too happy for words, and I think he was too. At hirty we stood up. Peter put on his tennis shoes so he wouldnt make muoise on his nightly round of the building, and I was st.andio him. How I suddenly made the right movement, I dont know, but before we went downstairs, he gave me a. kiss, through my hair, half on my left cheek and half on my ear. I tore downstairs without looking back, and I long so much for today. Sunday m, just before eleven. Yours, Anne M. Frank MONDAY, APRIL 17, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Do you think Father and Mother would approve of a girl my age sitting on a divan and kissing a seventeen-and- a-half-year-old boy? I doubt they would, but I have to trust my own judgment in this matter. Its so peaceful and safe, lying in his arms and dreaming, its so thrilling to feel his cheek against mis so wonderful to know theres someone waiting for me. But, and there is a but, will Peter want to leave it at that? I havent fotten his promise, but. . . he is a boy! I know Im starting at a very young age. Not even fifteen and already so indepe -- thats a little hard for other people to uand. Im pretty sure Margot would never kiss a boy uhere was some talk of an e or marriage. her Peter nor I has any such plans. Im also sure that Mother ouched a man before she met Father. What would my girlfriends or Jacque say if they knew Id lain iers arms with my heart against his chest, my head on his shoulder and his head and face against mine! Oh, Anne, how terribly shog! But seriously, I dont think its at all shog; were cooped up here, cut off from the world, anxious and fearful, especially lately. Why should we stay apart when we love each other? Why shouldnt we kiss each other in times like these? Why should we wait until weve reached a suitable age? Why should we ask anybodys permission? Ive decided to look out for my own is. Hed never want to h. me or make me unhappy. Why shouldnt I do what my heart tells me and makes both of us happy? Yet I have a feeling, Kitty, that you sense my doubt. It must be my hoy rising i against all this sneaking around. Do you think its my duty to tell Father what Im up to? Do you think our secret should be shared with a third person? Much of the beauty would be lost, but would it make me feel better inside? Ill bring it up with him. Oh, yes, I still have so much I want to discuss with him, since I dohe point of just cuddling. Sharing our thoughts with each other requires a great deal of trust, but well both be stronger because of it! Yours, Anne M. Frank P.S. We were up at six yesterday m, because the whole family heard the sounds of a break-in again. It must have been one of our neighbors who was the victim this time. When we checked at seven oclock, our doors were still shut tight, thank goodness! TUESDAY, APRIL 18,1944 Dearest Kitty, Everythings fine here. Last night the carpenter came again to put some sheets of irohe door panels. Father just got through saying he definitely expects large-scale operations in Russia and Italy, as well as in the West, before May 20; the lohe war lasts, the harder it is to imagine being liberated from this place. Yesterday Peter and I finally got around to having the talk weve been postponing for the last ten days. I told him all about girls, without hesitating to discuss the most intimate matters. I found it rather amusing that he thought the opening in a womans body was simply left out of illustrations. He couldnt imagihat it was actually located between a womans legs. The evening ended with a mutual kiss, he mouth. Its really a lovely feeling! I might take my "favorite quotes notebook" up with me sometime so Peter and I go more deeply into matters. I dont think lying in each others arms day in and day out is very satisfying, and I hope he feels the same. After our mild winter weve been having a beautiful spring. April is glorious, not too hot and not too cold, with occasional light showers. Our chestnut tree is in leaf, and here and there you already see a few small blossoms. Bep presented us Saturday with four bouquets of flowers: three bouquets of daffodils, and one bouquet of grape hyaths for me. Mr. Kugler is supplying us with more and more neers. Its time to do my algebra, Kitty. Bye. Yours, Anne M. Frank WEDNESDAY, APRIL 19, 1944 Dearest Darling, (Thats the title of a movie with Dorit Kreysler, Ida Wust and Harald Paulsen!) What could be han sitting before an open window, enjoying nature, listening to the birds sing, feeling the sun on your cheeks and holding a darling boy in your arms? I feel so peaceful and safe with his arm around me, knowing hes near a not having to speak; how this be bad when it does me so much good? Oh, if only we were never disturbed again, not even by Mouschi. Yours, Anne M. Frank FRIDAY, APRIL 21,1944 My dearest Kitty, I stayed in bed yesterday with a sore throat, but since I was already bored the very first afternoon and didnt have a fever, I got up today. My sore throat has nearly "versden"* [* disappeared]. Yesterday, as youve probably already discovered, was our Fiihrers fifty-fifth birthday. Today is the eighteenth birthday of Her Royal Highness Princess Elizabeth of York. The BBC reported that she has been declared of age, though royal children usually are. Weve been w which priheyll marry this beauty off to, but t think of a suitable didate; perhaps her sister, Princess Margaret Rose, have Prince Baudouin of Belgium! Here weve been going from one disaster to the . No sooner have the outside doors been reinforced than van Maaren rears his head again. In all likelihood hes the one who stole the potato flour, and now hes trying to pin the blame on Bep. Not surprisingly, the Annex is once again in an uproar. Bep is beside herself with rage. Perhaps Mr. Kugler will finally have this shady character tailed. The appraiser from Beethovenstraat was here this m. He offered us 400 guilders for our chest; in our opinion, the other estimates are also too low. I want to ask the magazihe Prince if theyll take one of my fairy tales, under a pseudonym, of course. But up to now all my fairy tales have been too long, so I dont think I have much of a ce. Until the ime, darling. Yours, Anne M. Frank TUESDAY, APRIL 25, 1944 Dearest Kitty, For the last ten days Dussel hasnt been on speaking terms with Mr. van Daan, and all because of the new security measures sihe break-in. One of these was that hes no longer allowed to go downstairs in the evenings. Peter and Mr. van Daan make the last round every night at hirty, and after that no one may go downstairs. We t flush the toilet anymore after eight at night or after eight in the m. The windows may be opened only in the m when the lights go on in Mr. Kuglers office, and they o longer be propped open with a stick at night. This last measure is the reason for Dussels sulking. He claims that Mr. van Daan bawled him out, but he has only himself to blame. He says hed rather live without food than without air, and that they simply must figure out a way to keep the windows open. "Ill have to speak to Mr. Kugler about this," he said to me. I replied that we never discussed matters of this sort with Mr. Kugler, only within the group. "Everythings always happening behind my back. Ill have to talk to your father about that.” Hes also not allowed to sit in Mr. Kuglers offiymore on Saturday afternoons or Sundays, because the manager of Kegs might hear him if he happens to be door. Dussel promptly went and sat there anyway. Mr. van Daan was furious, and Father went downstairs to talk to Dussel, who came up with some flimsy excuse, but even Father didnt fall for it this time. Now Fathers keep- ing his dealings with Dussel to a minimum because Dussel insulted him. Not one of us knows what he said, but it must have beey awful. And to think that that miserable man has his birthday week. How you celebrate your birthday when youve got the sulks, how you accept gifts from people you wont even talk to? Mr. Voskuijl is going downhill rapidly. For more than ten days hes had a temperature of almost a hundred and four. The doctor said his dition is hopeless; they think the cer has spread to his lungs. The poor man, wed so like to help him, but only God help him now! Ive written an amusing story called "Blurry the Explorer," which was a big hit with my three listeners. I still have a bad cold and have passed it on tot, as well as Mother and Father. If only Peter does. He insisted on a kiss, and called me his El Dorado. You t call a person that, silly boy! But hes sweet anyway! Yours, Anne M. Frank THURSDAY, APRIL 27, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Mrs. van D. was in a bad mood this m. All she did was plain, first about her cold, not being able to get cough drops and the agony of having to blow her nose all the time. she grumbled that the sun wasnt shining, the invasion hadnt started, we werent allowed to look out the windows, etc., etc. We couldnt help but laugh at her, and it couldnt have been that bad, since she soon joined in. Our recipe for potato kugel, modified due to lack of onions: Put peeled potatoes through a food mill and add a little dry gover-issue flour and salt. Grease a mold or ovenproof dish with paraffin or stearin and bake for 21/2 hours. Serve with rotten strawberry pote. (Onions not available. Nor oil for mold or dough!) At the moment Im reading Emperor Charles V, written by a professor at the Uy of Gottingen; hes spent forty years w on this book. It took me five days to read fifty pages. I t do any more than that. Sihe book has 598 pages, you figure out just how long its going to take me. And thats not even ting the sed volume. But. . . very iing! The things a schoolgirl has to do in the course of a single day! Take me, for example. First, I translated a passage on Nelsons last battle from Dutto English. Then, I read more about the Northern War (1700-21) involvier the Great, Charles XII, Augustus the Strong, Stanislaus Lesky, Mazeppa, von Gorz, Bran- denburg, Western Pomerania, Eastern Pomerania and Denmark, plus the usual dates. , I wound up in Brazil, where I read about Bahia tobacco, the abundance of coffee, the one and a half million inhabitants of Rio de Janeiro, Pernambud Sao Paulo and, last but not least, the Amazon River. Then about Negroes, mulattoes, mestizos, whites, the illiteracy rate -- over 50 pert -- and malaria. Since I had some time left, I glahrough a genealogical chart: John the Old, William Louis, Er Casimir I, Henry Casimir I, right up to little Margriet Franciska (born in 1943 in Ottawa). Twelve oclock: I resumed my studies iic, reading about deans, priests, ministers, popes and . . . whew, it was one oclock! At two the poor child (ho hum) was back at work. Old World and New World monkeys were . Kitty, tell me quickly, how many toes does a hippopotamus have? Then came the Bible, Noahs Ark, Shem, Ham and Japheth. After that, Charles V. Then, with Peter, Thack- erays book about the el, in English. A French test, and then a parisoween the Mississippi and the Missouri! Enough for today. Adieu! Yours, Anne M. Frank FRIDAY, APRIL 28, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Ive never fotten my dream of Peter Schiff (see the beginning of January). Even now I still feel his cheek against mine, and that wonderful glow that made up for all the rest. On a while Id had the same feeling with this Peter, but never so intensely. . . until last night. We were sitting on the divan, as usual, in each others arms. Suddenly the everyday Anne slipped away and the sed Aook her place. The sed Anne, whos never overfident or amusing, but wants only to love and be gentle. I sat pressed against him a a wave of emotion e over me. Tears rushed to my eyes; those from the left fell on his overalls, while those from the right trickled down my nose and into the air and landed beside the first. Did he notice? He made no movement to show that he had. Did he feel the same way I did? He hardly said a word. Did he realize he had two A his side? My questio unanswered. At eight-thirty I stood up ao the window, where we always say good-bye. I was still trembling, I was still Anne wo. He came over to me, and I threw my arms around his ned kissed him on his left cheek. I was about to kiss the other cheek when my mouth met his, and we pressed our lips together. In a daze, we embraced, over and ain, o stop, oh! Peter enderness. For the first time in his life hes discovered a girl; for the first time hes seen that even the biggest pests also have an inner self and a heart, and are transformed as soon as theyre aloh you. For the first time in his life hes given himself and his friendship to another person. Hes never had a friend before, birl. Now weve found each other. I, for that matter, didnt know him either, had never had someone I could fide in, and its led to this . . . The same question keeps nagging me: "Is it right?" Is it right for me to yield so soon, for me to be so passioo be filled with as much passion and desire as Peter? I, a girl, allow myself to go that far? Theres only one possible answer: "Im longing so much. . . and have for such a long time. Im so lonely and now Ive found fort!” In the ms we aally, iernoons too, except now and then. But in the evenings the suppressed longing of the entire day, the happiness and the bliss of all the times before e rushing to the surface, and all we think about is each other. Every night, after our last kiss, I feel like running away and never looking him in the eyes again. Away, far away into the darkness and alone! And what awaits me at the bottom of those fourteen stairs? Bright lights, questions and laughter. I have to aally and hope they dont notiything. My heart is still too teo be able to recover so quickly from a shock like the one I had last night. The gentle Anne makes infrequent appearances, and shes not about to let herself be shoved out the door so soon after shes arrived. Peters reached a part of me that no one has ever reached before, except in my dream! Hes taken hold of me and turned me i. Doesnt everyone need a little quiet time to put themselves thts again? Oh, Peter, what have you doo me? What do you want from me? Where will this lead? Oh, now I uand Bep. Now, now that Im going through it myself, I uand her doubts; if I were older and he wao marry me, what would my answer be? Anne, be ho! You wouldnt be able to marry him. But its so hard to let go. Peter still has too little character, too little willpower, too little ce and strength. Hes still a child, emotionally no older than I am; all he wants is happiness and peaind. Am I really only fourteen? Am I really just a silly schoolgirl? Am I really so inexperienced ihing? I have more experiehan most; Ive experienced something almost no one my age ever has. Im afraid of myself, afraid my longing is making me yield too soon. H?ow it ever ght with other boys later on? Oh, its so hard, the eternal struggle betwee and mind. Theres a time and a place for both, but how I be sure that Ive chosen the right time? Yours, Anne M. Frank MAY, 1944 TUESDAY, MAY 2, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Saturday night I asked Peter whether he thinks I should tell Father about us. After wed discussed it, he said he thought I should. I was glad; it shows hes sensible, aive. As soon as I came downstairs, I went with Father to get some water. While we were oairs, I said, "Father, Im sure youve gathered that wheer and I are together, we doly sit at opposite ends of the room. Do you think thats wrong?” Father paused before answering: "No, I dont think its wrong. But Anne, when youre living so close together, as we do, you have to be careful." He said some other words to that effect, and then we went upstairs. Sunday m he called me to him and said, "Anne, Ive been thinking about what you said." (Oh, oh, I knew what was ing!) "Here in the As not such a good idea. I thought you were just friends. Is Peter in love with you?” "Of course not," I answered. "Well, you know I uand both of you. But you must be the oo show restraint; dont go upstairs so often, dont ence him more than you help. In matters like these, its always the man who takes the active role, and its up to the woman to set the limits. Outside, where youre free, things are quite different. You see other boys and girls, you go outdoors, take part in sports and all kinds of activities. But here, if youre together too mud want to get away, you t. You see each other every hour of the day-all the time, in fact. Be careful, Anne, and dont take it too seriously! "I dont, Father, but Peters a det boy, a nice boy.” "Yes, but he doesnt have much strength of character. He easily be influeo do good, but also to do bad. I hope for his sake that he stays good, because hes basically a good person." We talked some more and agreed that Father would speak to him too. Sunday afternoon when we were in the front attic, Peter asked, "Have you talked to your Father yet, Anne?” "Yes," I replied, "Ill tell you all about it. He doesnt think its wrong, but he says that here, where were in such close quarters, it could lead to flicts.” "Weve already agreed not to quarrel, and I plan to keep my promise.” "Me too, Peter. But Father didnt think we were serious, he thought we were just friends. Do you thiill be?” "Yes, I do. How about you?” "Me too. I also told Father that I trust you. I do trust you, Peter, just as much as I do Father. And I think youre worthy of my trust. You are, arent you?” "I hope so." (He was very shy, and blushing.) "I believe in you, Peter," I tinued. "I believe you have a good character and that youll get ahead in this world.” After that we talked about other things. Later I said, "If we ever get out of here, I know you wont give me ahought.” He got all fired up. "Thats not true, Anne. Oh no, I wo you even think that about me!” Just then somebody called us. Father did talk to him, he told me Monday. "Your Father thought our friendship might turn into love," he said. "But I told him wed keep ourselves under trol.” Father wants me to stop going upstairs so often, but I dont want to. Not just because I like being with Peter, but because Ive said I trust him. I do trust him, and I want to prove it to him, but Ill never be able to if I stay downstairs out of distrust. No, Im going! In the meahe Dussel drama has been resolved. Saturday evening at dinner he apologized iiful Dutch. Mr. van Daan was immediately reciled. Dussel must have spent all day practig his speech. Sunday, his birthday, passed without i. We gave him a bottle of good wine from 1919, the van Daans (who ow give their gift after all) presented him with a jar of piccalilli and a package of razor blades, and Mr. Kugler gave him a jar of lemon syrup (to make lemonade), Miep a book, Little Martin, and Bep a plant. He treated everyoo an egg. Yours, Anne M. Frank WEDNESDAY, MAY 3, 1944 Dearest Kitty, First the weekly news! Were having a vacation from politics. Theres nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, to report. Im also gradually starting to believe that the invasion will e. After all, they t let the Russians do all the dirty work; actually, the Russians arent doing anything at the momeher. Mr. Kleiman es to the office every m now. He got a new set of springs for Peters divan, so Peter will have to get to work reupholstering it; Not surprisingly, he isnt at all in the mood. Mr. Kleiman alsht some flea powder for the cats. Have I told you that our Boche has disappeared? We havent seen hide nor hair of her since last Thursday. Shes probably already in cat heaven, while some animal lover has turned her into a tasty dish. Perhaps some girl who afford it will be wearing a cap made of Boches fur. Peter is heartbroken. For the last two weeks weve beeing lunch at eleven-thirty on Saturdays; in the ms we have to make do with a cup of hot cereal. Starting tomorrow itll be like this every day; that saves us a meal. Vegetables are still very hard to e by. This afternoon we had rotten boiled lettuce. Ordinary lettuce, spinad boiled let- tuce, thats all there is. Add to that rotten potatoes, and you have a meal fit for a king! I hadnt had my period for more than two months, but it finally started last Sunday. Despite the mess and bother, Im glad it hased me. As you o doubt imagine, we often say in despair, "Whats the point of the war? Why, oh, why t people live together peacefully? Why all this destru?" The question is uandable, but up to now no one has e up with a satisfactory answer. Why is England manufacturing bigger aer airplanes and bombs and at the same time ing out new houses for restru? Why are millions spent on the war each day, while not a penny is available for medical sce, artists or the poor? Why do people have to starve when mountains of food are rotting away in other parts of the world? Oh, eople so crazy? I dont believe the war is simply the work of politis and capitalists. Oh no, the an is every bit as guilty; otherwise, people and nations would have re- belled long ago! Theres a destructive urge in people, the urge te, murder and kill. And until all of humanity, without exception, undergoes a metamorphosis, wars will tio be waged, and everything that has been carefully built up, cultivated and grown will be cut down aroyed, only to start allain! Ive often been down in the dumps, but never desperate. I look upon our life in hiding as an iing adventure, full of danger and romance, and every privation as an amusing addition to my diary. Ive made up my mind to lead a different life from irls, and not to bee an ordinary housewife later on. What Im experieng here is a good beginning to an iing life, and thats the reason -- the only reason -- why I have to laugh at the humorous side of the most dangerous moments. Im young and have many hidden qualities; Im young and strong and living through a big adventure; Im right in the middle of it and t spend all day plaining because its impossible to have any fun! Im blessed with many things: happiness, a cheerful disposition and strength. Every day I feel myself maturing, I feel liberation drawing near, I feel the beauty of nature and the goodness of the people around me. Every day I think what a fasating and amusing advehis is! With all that, why should I despair? Yours, Anne M. Frank FRIDAY, MAY 5, 1944 Dear Kitty, Fathers unhappy with me. After our talk on Sunday he thought Id stop going upstairs every evening. He wont have any of that "Knutscherej"* [* Neg] going on. I t stand that word. Talking about it was bad enough -- why does he have to make me feel bad too! Ill have a word with him today. Margot gave me some good advice. Heres more or less what Id like to say: I think you expe explanation from me, Father, so Ill give you one. Youre disap- pointed in me, you expected more restraint from me, you no doubt wao act the way a fourteen-year-old is supposed to. But thats where youre wrong! Since weve been here, from July 1942 until a few weeks ago, I havent had an easy time. If only you knew how much I used to cry at night, how unhappy and despo I was, how lonely I felt, youd uand my wanting to go upstairs! Ive now reached the point where I dohe support of Mother or anyone else. It didnt happen ht. Ive struggled long and hard and shed many tears to bee as indepe as I am now. You laugh and refuse to believe me, but I dont care. I know Im an indepe person, and I dont feel I o at to you for my as. Im only telling you this because I dont want you to think Im doing things behind your back. But theres only one person Im atable to, and thats me. When I was having problems, everyone -- and that includes you -- closed their eyes and ears and didnt help me. On the trary, all I ever got were admonitions not to be so noisy. I was noisy only to keep myself from being miserable all the time. I was overfident to keep from having to listen to the voiside me. Ive been putting on an act for the last year and a half, day in, day out. Ive never plained or dropped my mask, nothing of the kind, and now. . . now the battle is over. Ive won! Im indepe, in both body and mind. I dont need a mother anymore, and Ive emerged from the struggle a stronger person. Now that its over, now that I know the battle has been won, I want to go my own way, to follow the path that seems right to me. Dont think of me as a fourteen-year-old, since all these troubles have made me older; I wret my as, Ill behave the way I think I should! Gentle persuasion wont keep me from going upstairs. Youll either have to forbid it, or trust me through thid thin. Whatever you do, just leave me alone! Yours, Anne M. Frank SATURDAY, MAY 6, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Last night before dinner I tucked the letter Id written into Fathers pocket. Acc tot, he read it and set for the rest of the evening. (I stairs doing the dishes!) Poor Pim, I might have known what the effect of su epistle would be. Hes so sensitive! I immediately told Peter not to ask any questions or say anything more. Pims said nothing else to me about the matter. Is he going to? Everything here is more or less back to normal. We hardly believe what Jan, Mr. Kugler and Mr. Kleiman tell us about the prices and the people oside; half a pound of tea costs 350.00 guilders, half a pound of coffee 80.00 guilders, a pound of butter 35.00 guilders, one egg 1.45 guilders. People are paying 14.00 guilders an ounce for Bulgarian tobacco! Everyorading on the black market; every errand boy has something to offer. The delivery boy from the bakery has supplied us with darning thread-90 ts for one measly skein-the milkman get hold of ration books, an uaker delivers cheese. Break-ins, murders and thefts are daily occurrences. Even the polid night wat are getting in o. Everyone wants to put food in their stomachs, and since salaries have been frozen, people have had to resort to swindling. The police have their hands full trying to track down the many girls of fifteen, sixteeeen and older who are reported missing every day. I want to try to finish my story about Ellen, the fairy. Just for fun, I give it to Father on his birthday, together with all the chts. See you later! (Actually, thats not the right phrase. In the German program broadcast from England they always close with "Aufwiederhoren." So I guess I should say, "Until we write again.") Yours, Anne M. Frank SUNDAY M, MAY 7,1944 Dearest Kitty, Father and I had a long talk yesterday afternoon. I cried my eyes out, and he cried too. Do you know what he said to me, Kitty? "Ive received maers in my lifetime, but none as hurtful as this. You, who have had so much love from your parents. You, whose parents have always been ready to help you, who have always defended you, no matter what. You talk of not having to at to us for your as! You feel youve been wronged ao your own devices. No, Anne, youve done us a great injustice! "Perhaps you didnt mean it that way, but thats what you wrote. No, Anne, we have dohing to deserve such a reproach!" Oh, Ive failed miserably. This is the worst thing Ive ever done in my entire life. I used my tears to show off, to make myself seem important so hed respect me. Ive certainly had my share of unhappiness, and everything I said about Mother is true. But to accuse Pim, whos so good and whos done everything for me-no, that was too cruel for words. Its good that somebody has finally cut me down to size, has broken my pride, because Ive been far too smug. Not everything Mistress Anne does is good! Any- one who deliberately causes such pain to someohey say they love is despicable, the lowest of the low! What Im most ashamed of is the way Father has fiven me; he said hes going to throw the letter iove, and hes being so o me now, as if he were the one whod done something wrong. Well, Anne, you still have a lot to learn. Its time you made a beginning, in- stead of looking down at others and always giving them the blame! Ive known a lot of sorrow, but who hasnt at my age? Ive been putting on an act, but was hardly even aware of it. Ive felt lonely, but never desperate! Not like Father, who once ran out into the street with a knife so he could put ao it all. Ive never gohat far. I should be deeply ashamed of myself, and I am. Whats done t be undone, but at least you keep it from happening again. Id like to start all over, and that shouldnt be difficult, now that I have Peter. With him supp me, I know I do it! Im not alone anymore. He loves me, I love him, I have my books, my writing and my diary. Im not all that ugly, or that stupid, I have a sunny disposition, and I want to develop a good character! Yes, Anne, you knew full well that your letter was unkind and untrue, but you were actually proud of it! Ill take Father as my example once again, and I will improve myself. Yours, Anne M. Frank MONDAY, MAY 8, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Have I ever told you anything about our family? I dont think I have, so let me begin. Father was born in Frankfurt am Main to very wealthy parents: Michael Frank owned a bank and became a millionaire, and Alice Sterns parents were promi ao-do. Michael Frank didnt start out rich; he was a self-made man. In his youth Father led the life of a rich mans son. Parties every week, balls, bas, beautiful girls, waltzi.9９liｂ.ng, dinners, a huge house, etc. After Grandpa died, most of the money was lost, and after the Great War and inflation there was nothi at all. Up until the war there were still quite a few rich relatives. So Father was extremely well-bred, and he had to laugh yesterday because for the first time in his fifty-five years, he scraped out the frying pan at the table. Mothers family wasnt as wealthy, but still fairly well-off, and weve listened openmouthed to stories of private balls, dinners and e parties with 250 guests. Were far from riow, but Ive pinned all my hopes on after the war. I assure you, Im not so set on a beois life as Mother and Margot. Id like to spend a year in Paris and London learning the languages and studying art history. pare that with Margot, who wants to nurse newborns in Palestine. I still have visions of geous dresses and fasating people. As Ive told you many times before, I want to see the world and do all kinds of exg things, and a little money wont hurt! This m Miep told us about her cousins e party, which she went to on Saturday. The cousins parents are rich, and the grooms are even richer. Miep made our mouths water telling us about the food that was served: vegetable soup with meatballs, cheese, rolls with sliced meat, hors doeuvres made with eggs and roast beef, rolls with cheese, genoise, wine and cigarettes, and you could eat as much as you wanted. Miep drank ten sapps and smoked three cigarettes -- could this be our temperance advocate? If Miep drank all those, I wonder how many her spouse mao toss down? Everyo the party was a little tipsy, of course. There were also two officers from the Homicide Squad, who took photographs of the wedding couple. You see were ?never far from Mieps thoughts, since she promptly heir names and addresses in case anything should happen and we needed tacts with good Dutch people. Our mouths were watering so much. We, whod had nothing but two spoonfuls of hot cereal for breakfast and were absolutely famished; we, who get nothing but half-cooked spinach (for the vitamins!) and rotten pota- toes day after day; we, who fill our empty stomachs with nothing but boiled lettuce, raw lettuce, spinach, spinad more spinach. Maybe well end up being as strong as Popeye, though up to now Ive seen no sign of it! If Miep had taken us along to the party, there wouldnt have been any rolls left over for the uests. If wed been there, wed have snatched up everything in sight, including the furniture. I tell you, we were practically pulling the words right out of her mouth. We were gathered around her as if wed never in all our lives heard of” delicious food or elegant people! And these are the granddaughters of the distinguished milliohe world is a crazy place! Yours, Anne M. Frank TUESDAY, MAY 9, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Ive finished my story about Ellen, the fairy. Ive copied it out on epaper, decorated it with red ink ahe pages together. The whole thing looks quite pretty, but I dont know if its enough of a birthday present. Margot and Mother have both written poems. Mr. Kugler came upstairs this afternoon with the hat starting Monday, Mrs. Broks would like to spend two hours in the office every afternoon. Just imagihe office staff wont be able to e upstairs, the potatoes t be delivered, Bep wo her dinner, we t go to the bathroom, we wont be able to move and all sorts of other inveniences! We proposed a variety of ways to get rid of her. Mr. van Daan thought a good laxative in her coffee might do the trick. "No," Mr. Kleiman answered, "please dont, or well never get her off the . A roar of laughter. "The ?" Mrs. van D. asked. "What does that mean?" An explanation was given. "Is it all right to use that word?" she asked in perfenoce. "Just imagine," Bep giggled, "there you are shopping at The Bijenkorf and you ask the way to the . They wouldnt even know what you were talking about!” Dussel now sits on the "," to borrow the expression, every day at twelve-thirty o. This afternoon I boldly took a piece of pink paper and wrote: Mr. Dussels Toilet Timetable Ms from 7: 15 to 7:30 A.M. Afternoons after 1 P.M. Otherwise, only as needed! I tacked this to the green bathroom door while he was still inside. I might well have added Transgressors will be subject to fi!" Because our bathroom be locked from both the inside and the outside. Mr. van Daans latest joke: After a Bible lesson about Adam and Eve, a thirteen-year-old boy asked his father, "Tell me, Father, how did I get born?” "Well," the father replied, "the stork plucked you out of the o, set you down in Mothers bed and bit her in the leg, hard. It bled so much she had to stay in bed for a week.” Not fully satisfied, the boy went to his mother. "Tell me, Mother," he asked, "how did you get born and how did I get born?” His mother told him the very same story. Finally, hoping to hear the fine points, he went to his grandfather. "Tell me, Grandfather," he said, "how did you get born and how did your daughter get born?" And for the third time he was told exactly the same story. That night he wrote in his diary: "After careful inquiry, I must clude that there has been no sexual intercourse in our family for the last three geions!” I still have work to do; its already three oclock. Yours, Anne M. Frank PS. Sihink Ive mentiohe new ing lady, I just want to hat shes married, sixty years old and hard of hearing! Very ve, in view of all the hat eight people in hiding are capable of mak- ing. Oh, Kit, its such lovely weather. If only I could go outside! WEDNESDAY, MAY 10, 1944 Dearest Kitty, We were sitting iic yesterday afternoon w on our French when suddenly I heard the splatter of water behind me. I asked Peter what it might be. Without pausing to reply, he dashed up to the loft-the se of the disaster -- and shoved Mouschi, who was squatting beside her soggy litter box, back to the right place. This was followed by shouts and squeals, and then Mouschi, who by that time had finished peeing, took off downstairs. In search of something similar to her box, Mouschi had found herself a pile of wood shavings, right over a cra the floor. The puddle immediately trickled down to the attid, as luck would have it, landed in ao the potato barrel. The g was dripping, and sihe attic floor has also got its share of cracks, little yellow drops were leaking through the ceiling and onto the dining table, between a pile of stogs and books. I was doubled up with laughter, it was such a funny sight. There was Mouschi crouched under a chair, Peter armed with water, powdered blead a cloth, and Mr. van Daan trying to calm everyone down. The room was soohts, but its a well-known fact that cat puddles stink to high heaven. The potatoes proved that all too well, as did the wood shavings, which Father collected in a bucket and brought downstairs to burn. Poor Mouschi! How were you to know its impossible to get peat for your box? AHURSDAY, MAY 11, 1944 Dearest Kitty, A new sketake you laugh: Peters hair had to be cut, and as usual his mother was to be the hairdresser. At sevey-five Peter vanished into his room, and reappeared at the stroke of seven-thirty, stripped down to his blue swimming trunks and a pair of tennis shoes. "Are you ing?" he asked his mother. "Yes, Ill be up in a minute, but I t find the scissors!” Peter helped her look, rummaging around in her etics drawer. "Dont make such a mess, Peter," she grumbled. I didnt catch Peters reply, but it must have been i, because she cuffed him on the arm. He cuffed her back, she punched him with all her might, aer pulled his arm away with a look of mock horror on his face. "e on, old girl!" Mrs. van D. stayed put. Peter grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her all around the room. She laughed, cried, scolded and kicked, but nothing helped. Peter led his prisoner as far as the attic stairs, where he was obliged to let go of her. Mrs. van D. came back to the room and collapsed into a chair with a loud sigh. &qu藏书网ot;Die Enifu"hruna der Mutter,". I joked. [* The Abdu of Mother, a possible refereo Mozarts opera The Abdu from the Seraglio.] "Yes, but he hurt me.” I went to have a look and cooled her hot, red wrists with water. Peter, still by the stairs and growing impa- tient again, strode into the room with his belt in his hand, like a lion tamer. Mrs. van D. didnt move, but stayed by her writing desk, looking for a handkerchief. "Youve got to apologize first.” "All right, I hereby offer my apologies, but only because if I dont, well be here till midnight.” Mrs. van D. had to laugh in spite of herself. She got up aoward the door, where she felt obliged to give us an explanation. (By us I mean Father, Mother and me; we were busy doing the dishes.) "He wasnt like this at home," she said. "Id have belted him so hard hed have gone flying dowairs [!]. Hes never been so i. This isnt the first time hes deserved a good hiding. Thats what you get with a modern upbringing, modern children. Id never have grabbed my mother like that. Did you treat your mother that way, Mr. Frank?" She was very upset, pag bad forth, saying whatever came into her head, and she still hadnt gone upstairs. Finally, at long last, she made her exit. Less than five minutes later she stormed back dowairs, with her cheeks all puffed out, and flung her apron on a chair. When I asked if she was through, she replied that she was going downstairs. She tore dowairs like a tornado, probably straight into the arms of her Putti. She didnt e up again until eight, this time with her husband. Peter was dragged from the attic, given a merciless scolding and showered with abuse: ill-mannered brat, no-good bum, bad example, Ahis, Margot that, I couldhe rest. Everything seems to have calmed down again today! Yours, Anne M. Frank P.S. Tuesday and Wednesday evening our beloved Queen addressed the try. Shes taking a vacation so shell be in good health for her return to the herlands. She used words like "soon, when Im ba Holland," "a swift liberation," "heroism” and "heavy burdens.” This was followed by a speech by Prime Minister Gerbrandy. He has such a squeaky little childs voice that Mother instinctively said, "Oooh." A clergyman, who must have borrowed his voice from Mr. Edel, cluded by asking God to take care of the Jews, all those in tration camps and prisons and everyone w in Germany. THURSDAY, MAY 11, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Since Ive left my entire "junk box" -- including my fountain pen -- upstairs and Im not allowed to disturb the grown-ups during their nap time (until two-thirty), youll have to make do with a letter in pencil. Im terribly busy at the moment, and strange as it may sound, I dont have enough time to get through my pile of work. Shall I tell you briefly what Ive got to do? Well then, before tomorrow I have to finish reading the first volume of a biography of Galileo Galilei, si has to be returo the library. I started reading it yesterday and have gotten up to page 220 out of 320 pages, so Ill ma. week I have to read Palesti the Cross- roads and the sed volume of Galilei. Besides that, I fihe first volume of a biography of Emperor Charles V yesterday, and I still have to work out the many genealogical charts Ive collected and the notes Ive taken. I have three pages of fn words from my various books, all of which have to be written down, memorized and read aloud. Number four: my movie stars are in a terrible disarray and are dying to be straightened out, but sill take several days to do that and Professor Anne is, as shes already said, up to her ears in work, theyll have to put up with the chaos a while lohen therere Theseus, Oedipus, Peleus, Orpheus, Jason and Hercules all waiting to be untangled, siheir various deeds are running crisscross through my mind like mul- ticolored threads in a dress. Myron and Phidias are alsently in need of attention, or else Ill fet entirely how they fit into the picture. The same applies, for example, to the Seven Years War and the Nine Years War. Now Im getting everything all mixed up. Well, what you do with a memory like mine! Just imagine how fetful Ill be when Im eighty! Oh, one more thing. The Bible. How long is it going to take before I e to the story of the bathing Susanna? And what do they mean by Sodom and Gomorrah? Oh, theres still so much to find out and learn. And in the meantime, Ive left Charlotte of the Palatine in the lurch. You see, t you, Kitty, that Im full to bursting? And now something else. Youve known for a long time that my greatest wish is to be a journalist, and later on, a famous writer. Well have to wait and see if these grand illusions (or delusions!) will ever e true, but up to now Ive had no lack of topics. In any case, after the war Id like to publish a book called The Secret Annex. It remains to be seeher Ill succeed, but my diary serve as the basis. I also o finish "Cadys Life." Ive thought up the rest of the plot. After being cured in the sanatorium, Cady goes bae and tinues writing to Hans. Its 1941, and it doesnt take her long to discover Hanss Nazi sympathies, and since Cady is deeply ed with the plight of the Jews and of her friend Mariahey begin drifting apart. They meet a back together, but break up when Hans takes up with anirl. Cady is shattered, and because she wants to have a good job, she studies nursing. After graduation she accepts a position, at the urging of her fathers friends, as a nurse in a TB sanatorium in Switzerland. During her first vacation she goes to Lake o, where she runs into Hans. He tells her that two years earlier hed married Cadys successor, but that his wife took her life in a fit of depression. Now that hes seen his little Cady again, he realizes how much he loves her, and once more asks for her hand in marriage. Cady refuses, even though, in spite of herself, she loves him as much as ever. But her pride holds her back. Hans goes away, and years later Cady learns that hes wound up in England, where hes struggling with ill health. Whewenty-seven, Cady marries a well-to-do man from the try, named Simon. She grows to love him, but not as much as Hans. She has two daughters and a son, Lthan, Judith and Nico. She and Simon are happy together, but Hans is always in the back of her mind until one night she dreams of him and says farewell. . . . Its not seal nonses based oory of Fathers life. Yours, Anne M. Frank SATURDAY, MAY 13, 1944 My dearest Kitty, Yesterday was Fathers birthday, Father and Mothers eenth wedding anniversary, a day without the ing lady. . . and the sun was shining as its never shone before in 1944. Our chestnut tree is in full bloom. Its covered with leaves and is even more beautiful than last year. Father received a biography of Linnaeus from Mr. Kleiman, a book on nature from Mr. Kugler, The als of Amsterdam from Dussel, a huge box from the van Daans (ed so beautifully it might have been done by a professional), taining three eggs, a bottle of beer, a jar of yogurt and a gree made our jar of molasses seem rather paltry. My roses smelled wonderful pared to Miep and Beps red ations. He was thhly spoiled. Fifty petits fours arrived from Siemons Bakery, delicious! Father also treated us to spice cake, the men to beer and the ladies to yogurt. Everything was scrumptious! Yours, Anne M. Frank TUESDAY, MAY 16, 1944 My dearest Kitty, just for a ge (since we havent had one of these in so long) Ill ret a little discussioween Mr. and Mrs. van D. last night: Mrs. van D.: "The Germans have had plenty of time to fortify the Atlantic Wall, and theyll certainly do everything within their power to hold back the British. Its amazing how strong the Germans are!” Mr. van D.: "Oh, yes, amazing. Mrs. van D.: "It is!” Mr. van D.: "They are s theyre bound to win the war in the end, is that what you mean?” Mrs. van D.: "They might. Im not vihat they wont.” Mr. van D.: "I wont even ahat.” Mrs. van D.: "You always wind up answering. You let yourself get carried away, every siime." Mr. van D.: "No, I dont. I always keep my ao the bare minimum.” Mrs. van D.: "But you always do have an answer and you always have to be right! Your predis hardly ever e true, you know!” Mr. van D.: "So far they have.” Mrs. van D.: "No they havent. You said the invasion was going to start last year, the Finns were supposed to have been out of the war by now, the Italian campaign ought to have been over by last winter, and the Russians should already have captured Lemberg. Oh no, I do much store by your predis.” Mr. van D. (leaping to his feet): "Why dont you shut your trap for a ge? Ill show you whht; someday youll get tired of needling me. I t stand your bellyag a minute longer. just wait, one day Ill make you eat your words!" (End of Ae.) Actually, I couldnt help giggling. Mother couldher, and eveer was biting his lips to keep from laughing. Oh, those stupid grown-ups. They o learn a few things first before they start making so many remarks about the younger geion! Since Friday weve been keeping the windows open again at night. Yours, Anne M. Frank What Our Annex Family Is Ied In (A Systematic Survey of Courses and Readina Matter) Mr. van Daan. No courses; looks up many things in Knaurs Encyclopedia and Lexi; likes to read detective stories, medical books and love stories, exg or trivial. Mrs. van Daan. A correspondence course in English; likes to read biographiovels and occasionally other kinds of novels. Mr. Frank. Is learning English (Dis!) and a bit of Latin; never reads novels, but likes serious, rather dry descriptions of people and places. Mrs. Frank. A correspondence course in English; reads everything except detective stories. Mr. Dussel. Is learning English, Spanish and Dutch with no noticeable results; reads everything; goes along with the opinion of the majority. Peter van Daan. Is learning English, French (correspondence course), shorthand in Dutch, English and German, ercial corresponden English, wo, eid sometimes math; seldom reads, sometimes geography. Margot Frank. Correspondence courses in English, Frend Latin, shorthand in English, German and Dutch, trigory, solid geometry, meics, phys- ics, chemistry, algebra, geometry, English literature, French literature, German literature, Dutch literature, bookkeeping, geography, modern history, biology, eics; reads everything, preferably ion and medie. Anne Frank. Shorthand in French, English, German and Dutch, geometry, algebra, histeography, art history, mythology, biology, Bible history, Dutch literature; likes to read biographies, dull or exg, and history books (sometimes novels and light reading). FRIDAY, MAY 19, 1944 Dearest Kitty, I felt rotteerday. Vomiting (and that from Anne!), headache, stomachache and anything else you imagine. Im feelier today. Im famished, but I think Ill skip the brown beans were having for dinner. Everythings going fiweeer ahe poor boy has an eveer need for tenderhan I do. He still blushes every evening whes his good-night kiss, and then begs for another one. Am I merely a better substitute for Boche? I dont mind. Hes so happy just knowing somebody loves him. After my laborious quest, Ive distanced myself a little from the situation, but you mustnt think my love has cooled. Peters a sweetheart, but Ive slammed the door to my inner self; if he ever wants to force the lock again, hell have to use a harder crowbar! Yours, Anne M. Frank SATURDAY, MAY 20, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Last night when I came down from the attic, I noticed, the moment I ehe room, that the lovely vase of ations had fallen over. Mother was down on her hands and knees mopping up the water and Margot was fishing my papers off the floor. "What happened?" I asked with anxious foreboding, and before they could reply, I assessed the damage from across the room. My entire genealogy file, my notebooks, my books, everything was afloat. I nearly cried, and I was so upset I started speaking German. I t remember a word, but acc tot I babbled something about "unlioersehbarer Schaden, schrecklich, ezliie zu ersetzen"* [* Incalculable loss, terrible, awful, irreplaceable.] and much more. Fadier burst out laughing and Modier and Margot joined in, but I felt like g because all my work and elaborate notes were lost. I took a closer look and, luckily, die "incalculable loss" wasnt as bad as Id expected. Up iic I carefully peeled apart die sheets of paper diat were stuck togedier and dien hung diem on die clodieslio dry. It was such a funny sight, even I had to laugh. Maria de Medici alongside Charles V, William e and Marie Antoie. "Its Rassensde,"* Mr. van Daan joked. [An affront to racial purity.] After entrusting my papers to Peters care, I went back downstairs. "Which books are ruined?" I asked Margot, who was going dirough them. "Algebra," Margot said. But as luck would have it, my algebra book wasirely ruined. I wish it had fallen right in the vase. Ive never loathed any book as much as that one. Ihe front cover are the names of at least twenty girls who had it before I did. Its old, yellowed, full of scribbles, crossed-out words and revisions. The ime Im in a wicked mood, Im going to tear the darhing to pieces! Yours, Anne M. Frank MONDAY, MAY 22,1944 Dearest Kitty, On May 20, Father lost his bet and had to give five jars of yogurt to Mrs. van Daan: the invasion still hasnt begun. I safely say that all of Amsterdam, all of Holland, in fact the entire western coast of Europe, all the way down to Spain, are talking about the invasion day and night, debating, makis and . . . hoping. The suspense is rising to fever pitch; by no means has everyohink of as "good" Dutch people kept their faith in the English, not everyohinks the English bluff is a masterful strategical move. Oh no, people want deeds-great, heroic deeds. No one see farther than the end of their nose, no one gives a thought to the fact that the British are fighting for their own try and their own people; everyohinks its Englands duty to save Holland, as quickly as possible. What obligations do the English have toward us? What have the Dutch doo deserve the generous help they so clearly expect? Oh no, the Dutch are very much mistaken. The English, despite their bluff, are certainly no more to blame for the war than all the other tries, large and small, that are now occupied by the Germans. The British are not about to offer their excuses; true, they were sleeping during the years Germany was rearming itself, but all the other tries, especially those b on Germany, were asleep too. England and the rest of the world have discovered that burying your head in the sand doesnt work, and now each of them, especially England, is having to pay a heavy price for its ostrich policy. No try sacrifices its men without reason, aainly not ierests of another, and England is no exception. The invasion, liberation and freedom will e someday; yet England, not the occupied territories, will choose the moment. Treat sorrow and dismay, weve heard that many people have ged their attitude toward us Jews. Weve been told that anti-Semitism has cropped up in circles where o would have been unthinkable. This fact has affected us all very, very deeply. The reason for the hatred is uandable, maybe even human, but that doesnt make it right. Acc to the Christians, the Jews are blabbing their secrets to the Germans, denoung their helpers and causing them to suffer the dreadful fate and punishments that have already beeed out to so many. All of this is true. But as with everything, they should look at the matter from both sides: would Christians ay differently if they were in our place? Could anyone, regardless of whether theyre Jews or Christians, remain silent in the face of German pressure? Everyone knows its practically impossible, so why do they ask the impossible of the Jews? Its being said in underground circles that the German Jews who immigrated to Holland before the war and have now beeo Poland shouldnt be allowed to return here. They were grahe right to asylum in Holland, but oler is gohey should go back to Germany. When you hear that, you begin to wonder why were fighting this long and difficult war. Were always being told that were fighting for freedom, truth and justice! The war isnt even over, and already theres dissension and Jews are regarded as lesser beings. Oh, its sad, very sad that the old adage has been firmed for the umpteenth time: "What one Christian does is his own responsibthty, what one Jew does reflects on all Jews.” To be ho, I t uand how the Dutch, a nation of good, ho, upright people, sit in judgment on us the way they do. On us-the most oppressed, unfortunate and pitiable people in all the world. I have only one hope: that this anti-Semitism is just a passing thing, that the Dutch will show their true colors, that theyll never waver from what they know in their hearts to be just, for this is unjust! And if they ever carry out this terrible threat, the meager handful of Jews still left in Holland will have to go. We too will have to shoulder our bundles and move on, away from this beautiful try, whice so kindly took us in and now turns its ba us. I love Holland. Once I hoped it would bee a fatherland to me, since I had lost my own. And I hope so still! Yours, Anne M. Frank THURSDAY, MAY 25, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Beps ehe news isnt much of a surprise, though none of us are particularly pleased. Bertus may be a eady, athletic young man, but Bep doesnt love him, and to me thats enough reason to advise her against marrying him. Beps trying to get ahead in the world, aus is pulling her back; hes a laborer, without any is or any desire to make something of himself, and I dont think thatll make Bep happy. I uand Beps wanting to put ao her indecision; four weeks ago she decided to write him off, but then she felt even worse. So she wrote him a letter, and now shes engaged. There are several factors involved in this e. First, Beps sick father, who likes Bertus very much. Sed, shes the oldest of the Voskuijl girls and her mother teases her about being an old maid. Third, shes just turwenty-four, and that matters a great deal to Bep. Mother said it would have beeer if Bep had simply had an affair with Bertus. I dont know, I feel sorry for Bep and uand her loneliness. In any case, they get married only after the war, since Bertus is in hiding, or at any rate has gone underground. Besides, they dont have a penny to their name and nothing in the way of a hope chest. What a sorry prospect for Bep, for whom we all wish the best. I only hope Bertus improves under her influence, or that Bep finds another man, one who knows how to appreciate her! Yours, Anne M. Frank THE SAME DAY Theres something happening every day. This m Mr. van Hoeven was arrested. He was hiding two Jews in his house. Its a heavy blow for us, not only because those poor Jews are once again balang on the edge of an abyss, but also because its terrible for Mr. van Hoeven. The worlds been turned upside down. The most det people are beio tration camps, prisons and lonely cells, while the lowest of the low rule over young and old, rid poor. Os caught for black marketeering, another for hiding Jews or other un- fortunate souls. Unless youre a Nazi, you dont know whats going to happen to you from one day to the . Mr. van Hoeven is a great loss to us too. Bep t possibly lug such huge amounts of potatoes all the way here, nor should she have to, so our only choice is to eat fewer of them. Ill tell you what we have in mind, but its certainly not going to make life here any mreeable. Mother says well skip breakfast, eat hot cereal and bread for lund fried potatoes for dinner and, if possible, vegetables or lettuce or twice a week. Thats all there is. Were going to be hungry, but nothings worse than being caught. Yours, Anne M. Frank FRIDAY, MAY 26, 1944 My dearest Kitty, At long, long last, I sit quietly at my table before the cra the window frame and write you everything, everything I want to say. I feel more miserable than I have in months. Even after the break-in I didnt feel so utterly broken, inside and out. On the one hand, theres the news about Mr. van Hoeven, the Jewish question (which is discussed iail by everyone in the house), the invasion (which is so long in ing), the awful food, the tension, the misera- ble atmosphere, my disappoi ier. Oher hand, theres Beps e, the Pe reception, the flowers, Mr. Kuglers birthday, cakes and stories about cabarets, movies and certs. That gap, that enormous gap, is always there. One day were laugh- ing at the ical side of life in hiding, and the day (and there are many such days), were frightened, and the fear, tension and despair be read on our faces. Miep and Mr. Kugler bear the greatest burden for us, and for all those in hiding-Miep ihing she does and Mr. Kugler through his enormous responsibthty for the eight of us, which is sometimes so overwhelming that he hardly speak from the pent-up tension and strain. Mr. Kleiman and Bep also take very good care of us, but theyre able to put the Annex out of their minds, even if its only for a few hours or a few days. They have their own worries, Mr. Kleiman with his health and Bep with her e, which isnt looking very promising lat the moment. But they also have their outings, their visits with friends, their everyday lives as ordinary people, so that the tension is sometimes relieved, if only for a short while, while ours never is, never has been, not on the two years weve been here. How much longer will this increasingly oppressive, unbearable weight press I down on us? The drains are clogged again. We t run the wa- ter, or if we do, only a trickle; we t flush the toilet, so we have to use a toilet brush; and weve been putting our dirty water into a big earthenware jar. We man- age for today, but what will happen if the plumber t fix it on his own? The Sanitatioment t e until Tuesday. Miep sent us a raisin bread with "Happy Pe" written on top. Its almost as if she were mog us, sinoods and cares are far from "happy.” Weve all beore frightened sihe van Hoeven business. Once again you hear "shh" from all I sides, and were doing everything more quietly. The police forced the door there; they could just as easily do that here too! What will we do if were ever. . . no, I mustnt write that down. But the question woself be pushed to the bay mind today; on the trary, all the fear Ive ever felt is looming before me in all its horror. I had to go downstairs alo eight this evening to use the bathroom. There was no one down there, sihey were all listening to the radio. I wao be brave, but it was hard. I always feel safer upstairs than in that huge, silent house; when Im aloh those mysterious muffied sounds from upstairs and the honking of horns ireet, I have to hurry and remind myself where I am to keep from getting the shivers. Miep has been ag muicer toward us since her talk with Father. But I havent told you about that yet. Miep came up oernoon all flushed and asked Father straight out if we thought they too were ied with the current anti-Semitism. Father was stunned and quickly talked her out of the idea, but some of Mieps suspi has lingered on. Theyre doing more errands for us now and showing more of an i in our troubles, though we certainly shouldnt bother them with our woes. Oh, theyre such good, noble people! Ive asked myself again and agaiher it wouldnt have beeer if we hadnt goo hiding, if we were dead now and didnt have to gh this misery, especially so that the others could be spared the burden. But we all shrink from this thought. We still love life, we have fotten the voice of nature, and we keep hoping, hoping for. . . everything. Let something happen soon, even an air raid. Nothing be more crushing than this ay. Let the end e, however cruel; at least then well know whether we are to be the victors or the vanquished. Yours, Anne M. Frank WEDNESDAY, MAY 31, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday it was too hot to hold my fountain pen, which is why I couldnt write to you. Friday the drains were clogged, Saturday they were fixed. Mrs. Kleiman came for a visit iernoon and told us a lot about Jopiej she and Jacque van Maarsen are in the same hockey club. Sunday Bep dropped by to make sure there hadnt been a break-in and stayed for breakfast. Monday (a holiday because of Pe), Mr. Gies served as the Annex wat, and Tuesday we were finally allowed to open the windows. Weve seldom had a Pe weekend that was so beautiful and warm. Or maybe "hot" is a better word. Hot weather is horrible in the Ao give you an idea of the numerous plaints, Ill briefly describe these sweltering days. Saturday: "Wonderful, what fantastic weather," we all said in the m. "If only it werent quite so hot," we said iernoon, when the windows had to be shut. Sunday: "The heats unbearable, the butters melt- ing, theres not a cool spot anywhere in the house, the breads drying out, the milks going sour, the windows t be opened. We poor outcasts are suffog while everyone else is enjoying their Pe." (Acc to Mrs. van D.) Monday: "My feet hurt, I have nothing cool to wear, I t do the dishes in this heat!" Grumbling from early in the m to late at night. It was awful. I t stand the heat. Im glad the winds e up today, but that the suns still shining. Yours, Anne M. Frank JUNE, 1944 FRIDAY, JUNE 2, 1944 J Dear Kitty, "If yoing to the attic, take an umbrella with you, preferably a large one!" This is to protect you from "household showers." Theres a Dutch proverb: "High and dry, safe and sound," but it obviously doesnt apply to wartime (guns!) and to people in hiding (cat box!). Mouschis gotten into the habit of relieving herself on some neers or between the cracks in the floor boards, so we have good reason to fear the splatters and, even worse, the stench. The new Moortje in the warehouse has the same problem. Anyone whos ever had a cat thats not housebroken imagihe smells, other than pepper and thyme, that permeate this house. I also have a brand-new prescription futers: When the shootis loud, proceed to the wooden staircase. Run up and down a few times, making sure to stumble at least once. What with the scratches and the noise of running and falling, you wont even be able to hear the shooting, much less worry about it. Yours truly has put this magiula to use, with great success! Yours, Anne M. Frank MONDAY, JUNE 5, 1944 Dearest Kitty, New problems in the Annex. A quarrel between Dussel and the Franks over the division of butter. Capitulation on the part of Dussel. Close friendship betweeter and Mrs. van Daan, flirtations, kisses and friendly little smiles. Dussel is beginning to long for female panionship. The van Daans dont see why we should bake a spice cake for Mr. Kuglers birthday when we t have one ourselves. All very petty. Mood upstairs: bad. Mrs. van D. has a cold. Dussel caught with brewers yeast tablets, while weve got none. The Fifth Army has taken Rome. The city her destroyed nor bombed. Great propaganda for Hitler. Very few potatoes aables. One loaf of bread was moldy. Scharmije (name of new warehouse cat) t stand pepper. She sleeps i box and does her business in the wood shavings. Impossible to keep her. Bad weather. tinuous bombing of Pas de Calais and the west coast of France. No one buying dold even less iing. The bottom of our black moneybox is in sight. What are we going to live o month? Yours, Anne M. Frank TUESDAY, JUNE 6, 1944 My dearest Kitty, "This is D Day," the BBou twelve. "This is the day." The invasion has begun! This m at eight the British reported heavy bombing of Calais, Boulogne, Le Havre and Cherb, as well as Pas de Calais (as usual). Further, as a precautionary measure for those in the occupied territories, everyone living within a zone of twenty miles from the coast was waro prepare for bombardments. Where possible, the British will drop pamphlets an hour ahead of time. Acc to the German news, British paratroopers have landed on the coast of France. "British landing craft are engaged in bat with German naval units," acc to the BBC. clusion reached by the Annex while breakfasting at his is a trial landing, like the owo years ago in Dieppe. BBC broadcast in German, Dutch, Frend other languages at ten: The invasion has begun! So this is the "real" invasion. BBC broadcast in German at eleven: speech by Supreme ander General Dwight Eisenhower. BBC broadcast in English: "This is 0 Day." General Eisenhower said to the French people: "Stiff fighting will e now, but after this the victory. The year 1944 is the year of plete victood luck!” BBC broadcast in English at one: 11,000 planes are shuttling bad forth or standing by to land troops and bomb behind enemy lines; 4,000 landing craft and small boats are tinually arriving in the area between Cher- b and Le Havre. English and Ameri troops are already engaged in heavy bat. Speeches by Gerbrandy, the Prime Minister of Belgium, King Haakon of Norway, de Gaulle of Frahe King of England and, last but not least, Churchill. A huge otion in the Annex! Is this really the beginning of the long-awaited liberation? The liberation weve all talked so much about, which still seems too good, too much of a fairy tale ever to e true? Will this year, 1944, bring us victory? We dont know yet. But where theres hope, theres life. It fills us with fresh ce and makes us strong again. Well o be brave to ehe many fears and hardships and the sufferio e. Its now a matter of remaining calm and steadfast, of gritting our teeth and keeping a stiff upper lip! France, Russia, Italy, and even Germany, cry out in agony, but we do have that right! Oh, Kitty, the best part about the invasion is that I have the feeling that friends are on the way. Those terrible Germans have oppressed and threatened us for so long that the thought of friends and salvation means everything to us! Now its not just the Jews, but Holland and all of occupied Europe. Maybe, Margot says, I even go back to school in October or September. Yours, Anne M. Frank P.S. Ill keep you informed of the latest news! This m and last night, dummies made of straw and rubber were dropped from the air behind German lines, and they exploded the mihey hit the ground. Many paratroopers, their faces blaed so they couldnt be seen in the dark, landed as well. The French coast was bombarded with 5,500 tons of bombs during the night, and then, at six in the m, the first landing craft came ashore. Today there were 20,000 airplanes in a. The German coastal batteries were destroyed even before the landing; a small bridgehead has already been formed. Everythings going well, despite the bad weather. The army and the people are "one will and one hope.” FRIDAY, JUNE 9, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Great news of the invasion! The Allies have taken Bayeux, a village on the coast of France, and are now fighting for . Theyre clearly intending to cut off the peninsula where Cherb is located. Every evening the war correspos report on the difficulties, the ce and the fighting spirit of the army. To get their stories, they pull off the most amazis. A few of the wounded who are already ba England also spoke on the radio. Despite the miserable weather, the planes are flying dthgently bad forth. We heard over the BBC that Churchill wao land along with the troops on D Day, but Eisenhower and the enerals mao talk him out of it. Just im..agine, so much ce for su old man he must be at least seventy! The excitement here has died down somewhat; still, were all hoping that the war will finally be over by the end of the year. Its about time! Mrs. van Daans stant griping is unbearable; now that she o longer drive us crazy with the invasion, she moans and groans all day about the bad weather. If only we could plunk her down in the loft in a bucket of cold water! Everyone in the Annex except Mr. van Daan aer has read the Hunaarian Rhapsody trilogy, a biography of the poser, piano virtuoso and child prodigy Franz Liszt. Its very iing, though in my opinion theres a bit too much emphasis on women; Liszt was not only the greatest and most famous pianist of his time, he was also the biggest womanizer, even at the age of seventy. He had an affair with tess Marie d Agoult, Princess Carolyne Sayn- Wittgenstein, the dancer Lola Mohe pianist Agnes Kingworth, the pianist Sophie Mehe Circassian princess Olga Janina, Baroness Olga Meyen- dorff, actress Lilla whats-her-c., etc., and theres o it. Those parts of the book dealing with musid the other arts are much more iing. Some of the people mentioned are Schumann, Clara Wieck, Hector Berlioz, Johannes Brahms, Beethoven, Joachim, Richard Wagner, Hans von Bulow, Anton Rubinstein, Frederic Chopin, Victo, Honore de Balzac, Hiller, Hummel, y, Rossini, Cherubini, Paganini, Mendels- sohc., etc. Liszt appears to have been a det man, very generous and modest, though exceptionally vain. He helped others, put art above all else, was extremely fond of ad women, couldhe sight of tears, was a gentleman, couldnt refuse anyone a favor, wasnt ied in money and cared abious freedom and the world. Yours, Anne M. Frank 314 ANNE FRANK TUESDAY, JUNE 13, 1944 Dearest Kit, Another birthday has gone by, so Im now fifteen. I received quite a few gifts: Springers five-volume art history book, a set of underwear, two belts, a handkerchief, two jars of yogurt, a jar of jam, two honey cookies (small), a botany book from Father and Mother, a gold bracelet from Margot, a sticker album from the van Daans, Biomalt and sweet peas from Dussel, dy from Miep, dy and notebooks from Bep, and the high point: the book Maria Theresa and three slices of full-cream cheese from Mr. Kugler. Peter gave me a lovely bouquet of peohe poor boy had put a lot of effort into finding a present, but nothing quite worked out. The invasion is still going splendidly, in spite of the miserable weather -- p rains, gale winds and high seas. Yesterday Churchill, Smuts, Eisenhower and Arnold visited the French villages that the British have captured and liberated. Churchill was on a torpedo boat that shelled the coast. Uke many men, he doeso know what fear is -- an enviable trait! From our position here in Fort Annex, its difficult to gauge the mood of the Dutch. No doubt many people are glad the idle (!) British have finally rolled up their sleeves and gotten down to work. Those who keep claim- ing they dont want to be occupied by the British dont realize how unfair theyre being. Their line of reasoning boils down to this: England must fight, struggle and sacri- fice its sons to liberate Holland and the other occupied tries. After that the British shouldnt remain in Hol- land: they should offer their most abject apologies to all the occupied tries, restore the Dutch East Io its rightful owner and theurn, weakened and impoverished, to England. What a bunch of idiots. A, as Ive already said, many Dutch people be ted among their ranks. What would have bee of Holland and its neighbors if England had signed a peace treaty with Germany, as its had ample opportunity to do? Holland would have bee German, and that would have been the end of that! All those Dutch people who still look down on the British, scoff at England and its gover of old fogies, call the English cowards, yet hate the Germans, should be given a good shaking, the way youd plump up a pillow. Maybe that would straighten out their jumbled brains! Wishes, thoughts, accusations and reproaches are swirling around in my head. Im not really as ceited as many people think; I know my various faults and shortings better than anyone else, but theres one difference: I also know that I want to ge, will ge and already have ged greatly! Why is it, I often ask myself, that everyoill thinks Im so pushy and such a know-it-all? Am I really sant? Am I the one whos sant, or are they? It sounds crazy, I know, but Im not going to cross out that last sentence, because its not as crazy as it seems. Mrs. van Daan and Dussel, my two chief accusers, are known to be totally unintelligent and, not to put too fine a point on it, just plain "stupid"! Stupid people usually t bear it when others do somethier than they do; the best examples of this are those two dummies, Mrs. van Daan and Dussel. Mrs. van D. thinks Im stupid because I dont suffer so much from this ailment as she does, she thinks Im pushy because shes even pushier, she thinks my dresses are too short because hers are even shorter, and she thinks Im such a know-it-all because she talks twice as much as I do about topics she knows nothing about. The same goes for Dussel. But one of my favorite sayings is "Where theres smoke theres fire," and I readily admit Im a know-it-all. Whats so difficult about my personality is that I scold and curse myself much more than anyone else does; if Mother adds her advice, the pile of sermons bees so thick that I despair of ev.theyve been granted equal rights; many people, mainly women, but also men, now realize h it was to tolerate this state of affairs for so long. Modern women want the right to be pletely indepe! But thats not all. Women should be respected as well! Generally speaking, men are held i esteem in all parts ofthe world, so why shouldnt women have their share? Soldiers and war heroes are honored and orated, explorers are granted immortal fame, martyrs are revered, but hoeople look upon women too as soldiers? In the book Soldiers on the Home Front I was greatly struck by the fact that in childbirth alone, women only suffer more pain, illness and misery than any war hero ever does. And whats her reward for enduring all that pain? She gets pushed aside when shes disfigured by birth, her children soon leave, her beauty is gone. Women, whle and suffer pain to ehe - tinuation of the human race, make much tougher and more ceous soldiers than all those big-mouthed freedom-fighting heroes put together! I doo imply that women should stop having children; on the trary, nature intehem to, and thats the way it should be. What I n are our system of values and the men who dont aowledge how great, difficult, but ultimately beautiful womens share in society is. I agree pletely with Paul de Kruif, the author of this book, when he says that men must learn that birth is no lohought of as iable and unavoidable in those parts of the world we sider civthzed. Its easy for men to talk -- they dont and never will have to bear the woes that women do! I believe that in the course of the tury the notion that its a womans duty to have children will ge and make way for the resped admiration of all women, who bear their burdens without plaint or a lot of pompous words! Yours, Anne M. Frank FRIDAY, JUNE 16, 1944 Dearest Kitty, New problems: Mrs. van D. is at her wits end. Shes talking about getting shot, being thrown in prison, being hanged and suicide. Shes jealous that Peter fides in me and not in her, offehat Dussel doesnt re- spond suffitly to her flirtations and afraid her husbands going to squander all the fur-oney on to- bacco. She quarrels, curses, cries, feels sorry for herself, laughs and starts allain. What oh you do with such a silly, sniveling spe of humanity? Nobody takes her seriously, she has nth of character, she plains to one and all, and you should see how she walks around: von hinten Lyzeum, yon vorne Museum.* [Acts like a schoolgirl, looks like a frump.] Even worse, Peters being i, Mr. van Daan irritable and Mother ical. Yes, everyones in quite a state! Theres only one rule you o remember: laugh at everything and fet everybody else! It souistical, but its actually the only cure for those suffering from self-pity. Mr. Kuglers supposed to spend four weeks in Alkmaar on a work detail. Hes trying to get out of it with a doctors certificate and a letter from Opekta. Mr. Kleimans hoping his stomach will be operated on soon. Starting at eleven last night, all private phones were cut off. Yours, Anne M. Frank FRIDAY, JUNE 23, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Nothing special going on here. The British have begun their all-out atta Cherb. Acc to Pim and Mr. van Oaan, were sure to be liberated before October 10. The Russians are taking part in the cam- paigerday they started their offensive near Vitebsk, exactly three years to the day that the Germans invaded Russia. Beps spirits have sunk lower than ever. Were nearly out of potatoes; from now on, were going to t them out for each person, then everyone do what they want with them. Starting Monday, Mieps taking a week of var. Kleimans doctors havent found anything on the X rays. Hes torween having aion aing matters take their course. Yours, Anne M. Frank TUESDAY, JUNE 27, 1944 My dearest Kitty, The mood has ged, everythings going enormously well. Cherb, Vitebsk and Zhlobioday. Theyre sure to have captured lots of men and equipment. Five German generals were killed near Cherb and two taken captive. Now that theyve got a harbor, the British bring whatever they want on shore. The whole tin Peninsula has been captured just three weeks after the invasion! What a feat! Ihree weeks since D Day there hasnt been a day without rain and storms, her here nor in France, but this bad luck hashe British and the Ameris from displaying their might. And how! Of course, the Germans have lauheir wonder on, but a little firecracker like that wont hardly make a dent, except maybe minor damage in England and screaming headlines in the Kraut neers. Anyway, when they realize in "Krautland" that the Bolsheviks really are getting closer, theyll be shaking in their boots. All German women who arent w for the military are being evacuated, together with their children, from the coastal regions to the provinces of Groningen, Friesland and Gelderland. Mussert* [* The leader of the Dutational Socialist (Nazi) Party] has annouhat if the invasion reaches Holland, hell enlist. Is that fat pig planning to fight? He could have dohat in Russia long before now. Finland turned doeace offer some time ago, and now the iations have been broken off again. Those numbskulls, theyll be sorry! How far do you think well be on July 27? Yours, Anne M. Frank FRIDAY, JUNE 30, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Bad weather from o a stretch to the thirty June* [Annes English.] Dont I say that well? Oh yes, I already know a little English; just to prove it Im reading An Ideal Husband with the help of a diary! Wars going wonderfully: Bobruysk, Mogilev and Orsha have fallen, lots of prisoners. Everythings all right here. Spirits are improving, our superoptimists are triumphant, the van Daans are doing disappearing acts with the sugar, Bep s ged her hair, and Miep has a week off. Thats the latest news! Ive been having really ghastly root-al work done on one of my froh. Its been terribly painful. It was so bad Dussel thought I was going to faint, and I nearly did. Mrs. van D. promptly got a toothache as well! Yours, Anne M. Frank P.S. Weve heard from Basel that Bernd* [Cousin Bernhard (Buddy) Elias]. played the part of the innkeeper in Minna von Barnhelm. He has "artistic leanings," says Mother. JULY, 1944 THURSDAY, JULY 6, 1944 Dearest Kitty, My blood runs cold wheer talks about being a criminal or a speculator; of course, hes joking, but I still have the feeling hes afraid of his own weakness. Margot aer are always saying to me, "If I had your spunk and your strength, if I had your drive and unflagging energy, could. . . Is it really su admirable trait not to let myself be influenced by others? Am I right in following my own sce? To be ho, I t imagine how anyone could say "Im weak" and then stay that way. If you know that about yourself, why not fight it, why not develop your character? Their answer has always been: "Because its much easier not to!" This reply leaves me feeling rather disced. Easy? Does that mean a life of deceit and laziness is easy too? Oh no, that t be true. It t be true that people are so readily tempted by ease. . . and money. Ive given a lot of thought to what my answer should be, to how I should get Peter to believe in himself and, most of all, to ge himself for the better. I dont know whether Im on the right track. Ive often imagined how would be if someoo fide everything to me. But now that its reached that point, I realize how difficult it is to put yourself in someope elses shoes and find the right answer. Especially since "easy" and "money” are new and - pletely alien cepts to me. Peters beginning to lean on me and I dont want that, not under any circumstances. Its hard enough standing on your own two feet, but when you also have to remain true to your character and soul, its harder still. Ive been drifting around at sea, have spent days searg for an effective antidote to that terrible word "easy." How I make it clear to him that, while it may seem easy and wonderful, it will drag him down to the depths, to a place where hell no longer find friends, support or beauty, so far down that he may never rise to the surface again? Were all alive, but we dont know why or what for; were all searg for happiness; were all leading lives that are different ahe same. We three have been raised in good famthes, we have the opportunity to get an education and make something of ourselves. We have many reasons to hope freat happiness, but. . . we have to earn it. And thats something you t achieve by taking the easy way out. Earning happiness means doing good and w, not speculating and being lazy. Laziness may look inviting, but only wives you true satisfa. I t uand people who dont like to work, but that isers problem either. He just doesnt have a goal, plus he thinks hes too stupid and inferior to ever achieve anything. Poor boy, hes never known how it feels to make someone else happy, and Im afraid I t teach him. He isnt religious, scoffs at Jesus Christ and takes the Lords name in vain, and though Im not Orthodox either, it hurts me every time to see him so lonely, so sful, so wretched. People who are religious should be glad, si everyone is blessed with the ability to believe in a higher order. You dont even have to live in fear of eternal punishment; the cepts of purgatory, heaven and hell are difficult for many people to accept, yet religion itself, any religion, keeps a person on the right path. Not the fear of God, but upholding your own sense of honor and obeying your own sce. How noble and good everyone could be if, at the end of each day, they were to review their own behavior and weigh up the rights and wrongs. They would automatically try to do better at the start of eaew day and, after a while, would certainly aplish a great deal. Everyone is wele to this prescription; it costs nothing and is definitely useful. Those who dont know will have to find out by experiehat "a quiet sce gives you strength!" Yours, Anne M. Frank SATURDAY, JULY 8, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Mr. Broks was in Beverwijk and mao get hold of strawberries at the produce au. They arrived here dusty and full of sand, but in large quantities. hay-four crates for the offid us. That very same evening we ed the first six jars and made eight jars of jam. The m Miep started making jam for the office. At twelve-thirty the outside door was locked, crates were lugged into the kit, with Peter, Father and Mr. van Daan stumbling up the stairs. A hot water from the water heater, Margot"",went for a bucket, all hands on deck! With a funny feeling in my stomach, I ehe overcrowded office kit. Miep, Bep, Mr. Kleiman, Jan, Father, Peter: the Annex ti and the Supply Corps all mixed up together, and that in the middle of the day! Curtains and windows open, loud voices, banging doors -- I was trembling with excitement. I kept thinking, "Are we really in hiding?" This must be how it feels when you finally go out into the world again. The pan was full, so I dashed upstairs, where the rest of the family was hulling strawberries around the kit table. At least thats what they were supposed to be doing, but more was going into their mouths than into the buckets. They were bound to need another bucket sooer went back downstairs, but then the doorbell rang twice. Leaving the bucket where it eter raced upstairs and shut the bookcase behind him. We sat kig our heels impatiently; the strawberries were waiting to be rinsed, but we stuck to the house rule: "No running water when strangers are downstairs -- they might hear the drains.” Jan came up at oo tell us it had been the mail- maer hurried downstairs again. Ding-dong. . . the doorbell, about-face. I listeo hear if anyone was ing, standing first at the bookcase, then at the top of the stairs. Finally Peter and I leaned over the banister, straining our ears like a couple of burglars to hear the sounds from downstairs. No unfamthar voices. Peter tip- toed half.9９ｌib?y dowairs and called out, "Bep!” Once more: "Bep!" His voice was drowned out by the racket i. So he ran down to the kit while I nervously kept watch from above. "Go upstairs at once, Peter, the atants here, youve got to leave!" It was Mr. Kuglers voice. Sighing, Peter came upstairs and closed the bookcase. Mr. Kugler finally came up at ohirty. "My gosh, the whole worlds turo strawberries. I had strawber- ries for breakfast, Jans having diem for lunch, Kleimaing them as a snack, Mieps bothng them, Beps hulling them, and I smell them everywhere I go. I e upstairs to get away from all that red and what do I see? People washing strawberries!” The rest of the strawberries were ed. That evening: two jars came unsealed. Father quickly turhem into jam. The m: two more lids popped up; and that afternoon: four lids. Mr. van Daan hadnt gotten the jars hot enough when he was sterthzing them, so Father ended up making jam every evening. We ate hot cereal with strawberries, buttermilk with strawberries, bread with strawberries, strawberries for dessert, straw- berries with sugar, strawberries with sand. For two days there was nothing but strawberries, strawberries, strawberries, and then our supply was either exhausted or in jars, safely under lod key. "Hey, Anne," Margot called out one d..ay, "Mrs. van Hoeven has let us have some peas, twenty pounds!” "Thats nice of her," I replied. And it certainly was, but its so much work. . . ugh! "On Saturday, youve aJI got to shell peas," Mother annou the table. And sure enough, this m after breakfast gest enamel pan appeared oable, filled to the brim with peas. If you think shelling peas is b work, you ought to try removing the inner linings. I dont think many people realize that once youve pulled out the linings, the pods are soft, delicious and ri vitamins. But an eveer advantage is that you get nearly three times as much as when you eat just the peas. Stripping pods is a precise aiculous job that might be suited to pedantitists or finicky spice experts, but its a horror for an impatient teenager like me. We started work at ni藏书网hirty; I sat down at ten-thirty, got Up again at eleven, sat down again at eleven-thirty. My ears were humming with the following refrain: snap the end, strip the pod, pull the string, pod in the pan, snap the end, strip the pod, pull the string, pod in the pac., etc. My eyes were swimming: green, green, worm, string, rotten pod, green, green. To fight the boredom and have something to do, I chattered all morn- ing, saying whatever came into my head and making everyone laugh. The monotony was killing me. Every string I pulled made me more certain that I never, ever, want to be just a housewife! At twelve we finally ate breakfast, but from twelve-thirty to one-fifteen we had to strip pods again. When I stopped, I felt a bit seasick, and so did the others. I napped until four, still in a daze because of those wretched peas. Yours, Anne M. Frank SATURDAY, JULY 15,1944 Dearest Kitty, Weve received a book from the library with the challenging title What Do You Think of the Modern Young Girl? Id like to discuss this subject today. The writer criticizes "todays youth" from head to toe, though without dismissing them all as "hopeless cases." On the trary, she believes they have it within their power to build a bigger, better and more beautiful world, but that they occupy themselves with superficial things, without giving a thought to true beauty. In some passages I had the strong feeling that the writer was direg her disapproval at me, which is why I finally want to bare my soul to you and defend myself against this attack. I have ostanding character trait that must be obvious to anyone whos known me for ah of time: I have a great deal of self-knowledge. Ihing I do, I watch myself as if I were a stranger. I stand c across from the everyday Anne and, without being biased or making excuses, watch what shes doing, both the good and the bad. This self-awareness never leaves me, and every time I open my mouth, I think, "You should have said that differently" or "Thats fihe way it is." I n myself in so many ways that Im beginning to realize the truth of Fathers adage: "Every child has to raise itself." Parents only advise their children or point them in the right dire. Ultimately, people shape their own characters. In addition, I face life with araordinary amount of ce. I feel s and capable of bearing burdens, so young and free! When I first realized this, I was glad, because it means I more easily withstand the blows life has in store. But Ive talked about these things so often. Now Id like to turn to the chapter "Father and Mother Dont Uand Me." My parents have always spoiled me rotten, treated me kindly, defended me against the van Daans and done all that parents . A for the loime Ive felt extremely lonely, left out, ed and misuood. Father did everything he could to curb my rebellious spirit, but it was no use. Ive cured myself by holding my behavior up to the light and looking at what I was doing wrong. Why didnt Father support me in my struggle? Why did he fall short wheried to offer me a helping hand? The answer is: he used the wrohods. He always talked to me as if I were a child going through a difficult phase. It sounds crazy, sihers the only one whos given me a sense of fidend made me feel as if Im a sensible person. But he overlooked ohing: he failed to see that this struggle to triumph over my difficulties was more important to me than anything else. I didnt want to hear about "typical adolest problems," or "irls," or "youll grow out of it." I didnt want to be treated the same as all-the-irls, but as Anne-in-her-ht, and rim didnt uand that. Besides, I t fide in anyone uhey tell me a lot about themselves, and because I know very little about him, I t get on a more intimate footing. rim always acts like the elderly father who once had the same fleeting im- pulses, but who o longer relate to me as a friend, no matter how hard he tries. As a result, Ive never shared my outlook on life or my long-poheories with a my diary and, on a while, Margot. Ive hid any- thing having to do with me from Father, never shared my ideals with him, deliberately alienated myself from him. I couldnt have do any other way. Ive let myself be guided entirely by my feelings. It was egotistical, but Ive done what was best for my own peaind. I would lose that, plus the self-fidence Ive worked so hard to achieve, if I were to be subjected to criticism halfway through the job. It may sound hard-hearted, but I t take criticism from rim either, because not only do I never share my innermost thoughts with him, but Ive pushed him even further away by being irritable. This is a point I think about quite often: why is it that rim annoys me so muetimes? I hardly bear to have him tutor me, and his affe seems forced. I want to be left alone, and Id rather he ignored me for a while until Im more sure of myself when Im talking to him! Im still torn with guilt about the meaer I wrote him when I was so upset. Oh, its hard to be strong and brave in every way! . . . Still, this hasnt been my greatest disappoi. No, I think about Peter much more than I do Father. I know very well that he was my quest, and not the other way around. I created an image of him in my mind, pictured him as a quiet, sweet, sensitive boy badly in need of friendship and love! I o pour out my heart to a living person. I wanted a friend who would help me find my way again. I aplished what I set out to do and drew him, slowly but surely, toward me. When I finally got him to be my friend, it automatically developed into an intimacy that, when I think about it now, seems eous. We talked about the most private things, but we haveouched upohings closest to my heart. I still t make head or tail of Peter. Is he superficial, or is it shyhat holds him back, even with me? But putting all that aside, I made one mistake: I used intimacy to get closer to him, and in doing so, I ruled out other forms of friendship. He longs to be loved, and I see hes beginning to like me more with each passing day. Our time together leaves him feeling satisfied, but just makes me want to start all ain. I never broach the subjects I long t out into the open. I forced Peter, more than he realizes, to get close to me, and now hes holding on for dear life. I holy dont see any effective way of shaking him off aing him ba his own two feet. I soon realized he could never be a kindred spirit, but still tried to help him break out of his narrow world and expand his youthful horizons. "Deep down, the young are lohan the old." I read this in a book somewhere and its stu my mind. As far as I tell, its true. So if youre w whether its harder for the adults here than for the children, the answer is no, its certainly not. Older people have an opinion about everything and are sure of themselves and their as. Its twice as hard for us young people to hold on to our opinions at a time when ideals are being shattered aroyed, when the worst side of human nature predominates, when everyone has e to doubt truth, justid God. Anyone who claims that the older folks have a more difficult time in the Annex doesnt realize that the problems have a far greater impa us. Were much too young to deal with these problems, but they keep thrusting themselves on us until, finally, were forced to think up a solution, though most of the time our solutions crumble when faced with the facts. Its difficult in times like these: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise within us, only to be crushed by grim reality. Its a wonder I havent abandoned all my ideals, they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet I g to them because I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart. Its utterly impossible for me to build my life on a foundation of chaos, suffering ah. I see the world being slowly transformed into a wilderness, I hear the approag thuhat, one day, will destroy us too, I feel the suffering of millions. A, when I look up at the sky, I somehow feel that everything will ge for the better, that this cruelty too shall end, that pead tranquthty will return once more. In the meantime, I must hold on to my ideals. Perhaps the day will e when Ill be able to realize them! Yours, Anne M. Frank FRIDAY, JULY 21, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Im finally getting optimistiow, at last, things are going well! They really are! Great news! An assassination attempt has been made on Hitlers life, and for o by Jewish unists lish capitalists, but by a German general whos not only a t, but young as well. The Fuhrer owes his life to "Divine Providence": he escaped, unfortunately, with only a few minor burns and scratches. A number of the officers and generals who were nearby were killed or wouhe head of the spiracy has been shot. This is the best proof weve had so far that many office?９９lｉb.rs and generals are fed up with the war and would like to see Hitler sink into a bottomless pit, so they establish a mthtary dictatorship, make peace with the Allies, rearm themselves and, after a few decades, start a neerhaps Providence is deliberately biding its time getting rid of Hider, sis much easier, and cheaper, for the Allies to let the impeccable Germans kill each other off. Its less work for the Russians and the British, and it allows them to start rebuilding their own cities all that much sooner. But we havent reached that poi, and Id hate to anticipate the glorious event. Still, youve probably noticed that Im telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. For once, Im not rattling on about high ideals. Furthermore, Hitler has been so kind as to annouo his loyal, devoted people that as of today all mthtary personnel are under orders of the Gestapo, and that any soldier who knows that one of his superiors was involved in this cowardly attempt on the Fuhrers life may shoot him on sight! A file of fish that will be. Little Johnnys feet are sore after a long mard his anding officer bawls him out. Johnny grabs his rifle, shouts, "You, you tried to kill the Fuhrer. Take that!" One shot, and the snooty officer who dared to reprimand him passes iernal life (or is it eternal death?). Eventually, every time an officer sees a soldier ives an order, hell be practically wetting his pants, because the soldiers have more say-so than he does. Were you able to follow that, or have I been skipping from one subject to anain? I t help it, the prospect of going back to school in October is makioo happy to be logical! Oh dear, didnt I just get through telling you I didnt want to anticipate events? Five me, Kitty, they dont call me a bundle of tradis for nothing! Yours, Anne M. Frank AUGUST, 1944 TUESDAY, AUGUST 1, 1944 Dearest Kitty, "A bundle of tradis" was the end of my previous letter and is the beginning of this one. you please tell me exactly what "a bundle of tradis" is? What does "tradi" mean? Like so many words, it be interpreted in two ways: a tradiposed from without and one imposed from within. The former means not accepting other peoples opinions, always knowi, having the last word; in short, all those unpleasant traits for which Im known. The latter, for which Im not known, is my ow. As Ive told you many times, Im split in two. One side tains my exuberant cheerfulness, my flippancy, my joy in life and, above all, my abthty to appreciate the lighter side of things. By that I mean not finding anything wrong with flirtations, a kiss, an embrace, an off-color joke. This side of me is usually lying in wait to ambush the other one, which is much purer, deeper and finer. No one knows Annes better side, and thats why most people t stand me. Oh, I be an amusing for an afternoon, but after that everyones had enough of me to last a month. Actually, Im what a romantic movie is to a profound thinker -- a mere diversion, a iterlude, something that is soon fotten: not bad, but not particularly good either. I hate haVing to tell you this, but why shouldnt I admit it when I know its true? My lighter, more superficial side will always steal a mar the deeper side and therefore always win. You t imagine how ofteried to p:ush away this Anne, which is only half of what is known as Ao beat her down, hide her. But it doesnt work, and I know why. Im afraid that people who know me as I usually am will discover I have another side, a better and finer side. Im afraid theyll mock me, think Im ridiculous aimental and not take me seriously. Im used to not being taken seriously, but only the "lighthearted" Anne is used to it and put up with it; the "deeper" Anne is too weak. If I force the good Ao the spotlight for even fifteen minutes, she shuts up like a clam the moment shes called upon to speak, as Anne number one do the talking. Before I realize it, shes disappeared. So the nine is never seen in pany. Shes never made a single appearahough she almost always takes the stage when Im alone. I kly how Id like to be, how I am . . . on the inside. But unfortunately Im only like that with myself..９９lｉｂ. And perhaps thats why-no, Im sure thats the reason why -- I think of myself as happy on the inside and other people think Im happy oside. Im guided by the pure Ahin, but oside Im nothing but a frolie little goat tugging at its tether. As Ive told you, what I say is not what I feel, which is why I have a reputation for being boy-crazy as well as a flirt, a smart aled a reader of romahe happy-go-lucky Anne laughs, gives a flippant reply, shrugs her shoulders and pretends she doesnt give a darn. The quiet Ans in just the opposite way. If Im being pletely ho, Ill have to admit that it does matter to me, that Im trying very hard to ge myself, but that I Im always up against a more powerful enemy. A voice within me is sobbing, "You see, thats whats bee of you. Youre surrounded by ive opinions, dismayed looks and mog faces, people, who dislike you, and all because you dont listen to the ; advice of your ower half.” Believe me, Id like ; to listen, but it doesnt work, because if Im quiet and serious, everyohinks Im putting on a new ad I have to save myself with a joke, and then Im not even talking about my own family, who assume I must be sick, stuff me with aspirins aives, feel my ned forehead to see if I have a temperature, ask about my bowel movements ae me for being in a bad mood, until I just t keep it up anymore, because jj when everybody starts h over me, I get cross, then sad, and finally end up turning my heart inside g out, the bad part oside and the good part on the inside, arying to find a way to bee what Id like to be and what I could be if . . . if only there were no other people in the world. Yours, Anne M. Frank ----------------------- ANNES DIARY ENDS HERE. ----------------------- AFTERWORD On the m of August 4, 1944, sometime between ten ahirty, a car pulled up at 263 Prinsengracht. Several figures emerged: an SS sergeant, Karl Josef Silberbauer, in full uniform, and at least three Dutch members of the Security Police, armed but in civilian clothes. Someone must have tipped them off. They arrested the eight people hiding in the Annex, as well as two of their helpers, Victler and Johannes Kleiman -- though not Miep Gies and Elisabeth (Bep) Voskuijl-and took all the valuables and cash they could find in the Annex. After the arrest, Kugler and Kleimaaken to a prison in Amsterdam. Oember 11, 1944, they were transferred, without be of a trial, to a camp in Amersfoort (Holland). Kleiman, because of his poor health, was released oember 18, 1944. He remained in Amsterdam until his death in 1959. Kugler mao escape his impriso on March 28, 1945, when he and his fellow prisoners were beio Germany as forced laborers. He immigrated to ada in 1955 and died in Toronto in 1989. Elisabeth (Bep) Voskuijl Wijk died in Amsterdam in 1983. Miep Santrouschitz Gies is still living in Amsterdam; her husband Jan died in 1993. Upon their arrest, the eight residents of the Annex were first brought to a prison in Amsterdam and then transferred to Westerbork, the transit camp for Jews in the north of Holland. They were deported oember 3, 1944, in the last transport to leave Westerbork, and arrived three days later in Auschwitz (Poland). Hermann van Pels (van Daan) was, acc to the testimony of Otto Frank, gassed to death in Auschwitz in October or November 1944, shortly before the gas chambers were dismantled. Auguste van Pels (Petronella van Daan) was transported from Auschwitz ten-Belsen, from there to Buwald, then to Theresienstadt on April 9, 1945, and apparently to another tration camp after that. It is certain that she did not survive, though the date of her death is unknown. Peter van Pels (van Daan) was forced to take part in the January 16, 1945 "death march" from Auschwitz to Mauthausen (Austria), where he died on May 5, 1945, three days before the camp was liberated. Fritz Pfeffer (Albert Dussel) died on December 20, 1944, in the Neuengamme tration camp, where he had been transferred from either Buwald or Sahausen. Edith Frank died in Auschwitz-Birkenau on January 6, 1945, from hunger and exhaustion. Margot and Anne Fraransported from Auschwitz at the end of October and brought ten Belsen, a tration camp near Hannermany). The typhus epidemic that broke out in the winter of 1944-1945, as a result of the horrendous hygeniditions, killed thousands of prisoners, including Margot and, a few days later, Anne. She must have died in late February or early March. The bodies of both girls were probably dumped in Bergen-Belsens mass graves. The camp was liberated by British troops on April 12, 1945. Otto Frank was the only one of the eight to survive the tration camps. After Auschwitz was liberated by Russian troops, he was repatriated to Amsterdam by way of Odessa and Marseille. He arrived in Amsterdam on June 3, 1945, and stayed there until 1953, when he moved to Basel (Switzerland), where his sister and her family, and later his brother, lived. He married Elfriede Markovits Geiringer, inally from Vienna, who had survived Auschwitz and lost a husband and son in Mauthausen. Until his death on August 19, 1980, Otto Frank tio live in Birsfelden, outside Basel, where he devoted himself to sharing the message of his daughters diary with people all over the world.天涯在线书库《www.tianyabook.com》