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, and sensitive. As soon as I came downstairs, I went with Father to get some water. While we were on the stairs, I said, "Father, Im sure youve gathered that when Peter and I are together, we dont exactly 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 morning he called me to him and said, "Anne, Ive been thinking about what you said." (Oh, oh, I knew what was coming!) "Here in the Annex its 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 understand both of you. But you must be the one to show restraint;
dont go upstairs so often, dont encourage him more than you can 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 can go outdoors, take part in sports and all kinds of activities. But here, if youre together too much and want to get away, you cant. 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 decent boy, a nice boy.”
"Yes, but he doesnt have much strength of character. He can easily be influenced to 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 conflicts.”
"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 think we still can 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 continued. "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 another thought.”
He got all fired up. "Thats not true, Anne. Oh no, I wont let 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 control.”
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 meantime, the Dussel drama has been resolved. Saturday evening at dinner he
apologized in beautiful Dutch. Mr. van Daan was immediately reconciled. Dussel must have spent all day practicing his speech.
Sunday, his birthday, passed without incident. We gave him a bottle of good wine from 1919, the van Daans (who can now 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 everyone to 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 come. After all, they cant let the Russians do all the dirty work;
actually, the Russians arent doing anything at the moment either.
Mr. Kleiman comes to the office every morning 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 also brought 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 can afford it will be wearing a cap made of Boches fur. Peter is heartbroken.
For the last two weeks weve been eating lunch at eleven-thirty on Saturdays; in the mornings 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 come by. This afternoon we had rotten boiled lettuce. Ordinary lettuce, spinach and 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 hasnt deserted me.
As you can no doubt imagine, we often say in despair, "Whats the point of the war?
Why, oh, why cant people live together peacefully? Why all this destruction?"
The question is understandable, but up to now no one has come up with a satisfactory answer. Why is England manufacturing bigger and better airplanes and bombs and at the same time churning out new houses for reconstruction? Why are millions spent on the war each day, while not a penny is available for medical science, artists or the poor? Why do people have to starve when mountains of food are rotting away in other parts of the world? Oh, why are people so crazy?
I dont believe the war is simply the work of politicians and capitalists. Oh no, the common man is every bit as guilty; otherwise, people and nations would have re- belled long ago! Theres a destructive urge in people, the urge to rage, murder and kill. And until all of humanity, without exception, undergoes a metamorphosis, wars will continue to be waged, and everything that has been carefully built up, cultivated and grown will be cut down and destroyed, only to start allover again!
Ive often been down in the dumps, but never desperate. I look upon our life in hiding as an interesting 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 other girls, and not to become an ordinary housewife later on. What Im experiencing here is a good beginning to an interesting 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 cant spend all day complaining 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 fascinating and amusing adventure this 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"* [* Necking] going on. I cant 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 expect an explanation from me, Father, so Ill give you one. Youre disap- pointed in me, you expected more restraint from me, you no doubt want me to 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 despondent I was, how lonely I felt, youd understand my wanting to go upstairs! Ive now reached the point where I dont need the support of Mother or anyone else. It didnt happen overnight. Ive struggled long and hard and shed many tears to become as independent as I am now. You can laugh and refuse to believe me, but I dont care. I know Im an independent person, and I dont feel I need to account to you for my actions. Im only telling you this because I dont want you to think Im doing things behind your back. But theres only one person Im accountable 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 contrary, 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 overconfident to keep from having to listen to the voice inside me. Ive been putting on an act for the last year and a half, day in, day out. Ive never complained or dropped my mask, nothing of the kind, and now. . . now the battle is over. Ive won! Im independent, 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 wont regret my actions, 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 thick and 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. According to Margot, he read it and was upset for the rest of the evening. (I was upstairs doing the dishes!) Poor Pim, I might have known what the effect of such an 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 can hardly believe what Jan, Mr.
Kugler and Mr. Kleiman tell us about the prices and the people on the outside; 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! Everyones trading on the black market; every errand boy has something to offer. The delivery boy from the bakery has supplied us with darning thread-90 cents for one measly skein-the milkman can get hold of ration books, an undertaker delivers cheese. Break-ins, murders and thefts are daily occurrences. Even the police and night watchmen are getting in on the act. 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, sixteen, seventeen and older who are reported missing every day.
I want to try to finish my story about Ellen, the fairy. Just for fun, I can give it to Father on his birthday, together with all the copyrights.
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 MORNING, 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 many letters 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 account to us for your actions! You feel youve been wronged and left to 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 done nothing 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 someone they say they love is despicable, the lowest of the low!
What Im most ashamed of is the way Father has forgiven me; he said hes going to throw the letter in the stove, and hes being so nice to 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 an end to it all. Ive never gone that far.
I should be deeply ashamed of myself, and I am. Whats done cant be undone, but at least you can keep it from happening again. Id like to start all over, and that shouldnt be difficult, now that I have Peter. With him supporting me, I know I can 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 prominent and well-to-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, banquets, beautiful girls, waltzing, dinners, a huge house, etc. After Grandpa died, most of the money was lost, and after the Great War and inflation there was nothing left 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 engagement parties with 250 guests.
Were far from rich now, but Ive pinned all my hopes on after the war. I can assure you, Im not so set on a bourgeois life as Mother and Margot. Id like to spend a year in Paris and London learning the languages and studying art history. Compare that with Margot, who wants to nurse newborns in Palestine. I still have visions of gorgeous dresses and fascinating people. As Ive told you many times before, I want to see the world and do all kinds of exciting things, and a little money wont hurt!
This morning Miep told us about her cousins engagement 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 schnapps and smoked three cigarettes -- could this be our temperance advocate? If Miep drank all those, I wonder how many her spouse managed to toss down? Everyone at 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 can see were never far from Mieps thoughts, since she promptly noted their names and addresses in case anything should happen and we needed contacts 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, spinach and 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 other guests. 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 millionaire. The 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 nice notepaper, decorated it with red ink and sewn the 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 news that starting Monday, Mrs.
Broks would like to spend two hours in the office every afternoon. Just imagine! The office staff wont be able to come upstairs, the potatoes cant be delivered, Bep wont get her dinner, we cant go to the bathroom, we wont be able to move and all sorts of other inconveniences! 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 can.
A roar of laughter. "The can?" Mrs. van D. asked. "What does that mean?" An explanation was given. "Is it all right to use that word?" she asked in perfect innocence. "Just imagine," Bep giggled, "there you are shopping at The Bijenkorf and you ask the way to the can. They wouldnt even know what you were talking about!”
Dussel now sits on the "can," to borrow the expression, every day at twelve-thirty on the dot. This afternoon I boldly took a piece of pink paper and wrote:
Mr. Dussels Toilet Timetable Mornings 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 confinement!" Because our bathroom can 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 ocean, 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 conclude that there has been no sexual intercourse in our family for the last three generations!”
I still have work to do; its already three oclock.
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
PS. Since I think Ive mentioned the new cleaning lady, I just want to note that shes married, sixty years old and hard of hearing! Very convenient, in view of all the noise that 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 in the attic yesterday afternoon working 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 scene 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 crack in the floor. The puddle immediately trickled down to the attic and, as luck would have it, landed in and next to the potato barrel. The cethng was dripping, and since the 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 stockings 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 bleach and a cloth, and Mr.
van Daan trying to calm everyone down. The room was soon set to rights, 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?
Anne THURSDAY, MAY 11, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
A new sketch to make you laugh:
Peters hair had to be cut, and as usual his mother was to be the hairdresser. At seven twenty-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 coming?" he asked his mother.
"Yes, Ill be up in a minute, but I cant find the scissors!”
Peter helped her look, rummaging around in her cosmetics drawer. "Dont make such a mess, Peter," she grumbled.
I didnt catch Peters reply, but it must have been insolent, because she cuffed him on the arm. He cuffed her back, she punched him with all her might, and Peter pulled his arm away with a look of mock horror on his face. "Come 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.
"Die Enifu"hruna der Mutter,". I joked. [* The Abduction of Mother, a possible reference to Mozarts opera The Abduction 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 and went toward 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 down the stairs [!]. Hes never been so insolent. 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, pacing back and 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 down the stairs, 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 down the stairs like a tornado, probably straight into the arms of her Putti.
She didnt come 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, Anne this, Margot that, I couldnt hear the rest.
Everything seems to have calmed down again today!
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
P.S. Tuesday and Wednesday evening our beloved Queen addressed the country. Shes taking a vacation so shell be in good health for her return to the Netherlands.
She used words like "soon, when Im back in 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, concluded by asking God to take care of the Jews, all those in concentration camps and prisons and everyone working 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, since it has to be returned to the library. I started reading it yesterday and have gotten up to page 220 out of 320 pages, so Ill manage it. Next week I have to read Palestine at the Cross- roads and the second volume of Galilei. Besides that, I finished the 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.
Next I have three pages of foreign 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 since itll 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 longer. Then therere Theseus, Oedipus, Peleus, Orpheus, Jason and Hercules all waiting to be untangled, since their various deeds are running crisscross through my mind like mul- ticolored threads in a dress. Myron and Phidias are also urgently in need of attention, or else Ill forget 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 can you do with a memory like mine! Just imagine how forgetful Ill be when Im eighty!
Oh, one more thing. The Bible. How long is it going to take before I come 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 can see, cant 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 come 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 seen whether Ill succeed, but my diary can serve as the basis.
I also need to finish "Cadys Life." Ive thought up the rest of the plot. After being cured in the sanatorium, Cady goes back home and continues writing to Hans. Its 1941, and it doesnt take her long to discover Hanss Nazi sympathies, and since Cady is deeply concerned with the plight of the Jews and of her friend Marianne, they begin drifting apart. They meet and get back together, but break up when Hans takes up with another girl. 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 Como, 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.
When shes twenty-seven, Cady marries a well-to-do man from the country, 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 sentimental nonsense: its based on the story of Fathers life.
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
SATURDAY, MAY 13, 1944
My dearest Kitty,
Yesterday was Fathers birthday, Father and Mothers nineteenth wedding anniversary, a day without the cleaning 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 Canals of Amsterdam from Dussel, a huge box from the van Daans (wrapped so beautifully it might have been done by a professional), containing three eggs, a bottle of beer, a jar of yogurt and a green tie. It made our jar of molasses seem rather paltry. My roses smelled wonderful compared to Miep and Beps red carnations. He was thoroughly 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 change (since we havent had one of these in so long) Ill recount a little discussion between 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 so strong theyre bound to win the war in the end, is that what you mean?”
Mrs. van D.: "They might. Im not convinced that they wont.”
Mr. van D.: "I wont even answer that.”
Mrs. van D.: "You always wind up answering. You let yourself get carried away, every single time."
Mr. van D.: "No, I dont. I always keep my answers to the bare minimum.”
Mrs. van D.: "But you always do have an answer and you always have to be right!
Your predictions hardly ever come 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 dont set much store by your predictions.”
Mr. van D. (leaping to his feet): "Why dont you shut your trap for a change? Ill show you whos right; someday youll get tired of needling me. I cant stand your bellyaching a minute longer. just wait, one day Ill make you eat your words!" (End of Act One.)
Actually, I couldnt help giggling. Mother couldnt either, and even Peter was biting his lips to keep from laughing. Oh, those stupid grown-ups. They need to learn a few things first before they start making so many remarks about the younger generation!
Since Friday weve been keeping the windows open again at night.
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
What Our Annex Family Is Interested In (A Systematic Survey of Courses and Readina Matter)
Mr. van Daan. No courses; looks up many things in Knaurs Encyclopedia and Lexicon;
likes to read detective stories, medical books and love stories, exciting or trivial.
Mrs. van Daan. A correspondence course in English; likes to read biographical novels and occasionally other kinds of novels.
Mr. Frank. Is learning English (Dickens!) 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, commercial correspondence in English, woodworking, economics and sometimes math; seldom reads, sometimes geography.
Margot Frank. Correspondence courses in English, French and Latin, shorthand in English, German and Dutch, trigonometry, solid geometry, mechanics, phys- ics, chemistry, algebra, geometry, English literature, French literature, German literature, Dutch literature, bookkeeping, geography, modern history, biology, economics; reads everything, preferably on religion and medicine.
Anne Frank. Shorthand in French, English, German and Dutch, geometry, algebra, history, geography, art history, mythology, biology, Bible history, Dutch literature; likes to read biographies, dull or exciting, and history books (sometimes novels and light reading).
FRIDAY, MAY 19, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
I felt rotten yesterday. Vomiting (and that from Anne!), headache, stomachache and anything else you can imagine. Im feeling better today. Im famished, but I think Ill skip the brown beans were having for dinner.
Everythings going fine between Peter and me. The poor boy has an even greater need for tenderness than I do. He still blushes every evening when he gets 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 conquest, 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 entered the room, that the lovely vase of carnations 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 cant remember a word, but according to Margot I babbled something about "unlioersehbarer Schaden, schrecklich, entsetzlich, nie zu ersetzen"* [* Incalculable loss, terrible, awful, irreplaceable.] and much more. Fadier burst out laughing and Modier and Margot joined in, but I felt like crying 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 in die attic I carefully peeled apart die sheets of paper diat were stuck togedier and dien hung diem on die clodiesline to dry. It was such a funny sight, even I had to laugh. Maria de Medici alongside Charles V, William of Orange and Marie Antoinette.
"Its Rassenschande,"* 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 wasnt entirely ruined. I wish it had fallen right in the vase. Ive never loathed any book as much as that one. Inside the 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 next time Im in a wicked mood, Im going to tear the darned thing 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 can 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, making bets and . . . hoping.
The suspense is rising to fever pitch; by no means has everyone we think of as "good" Dutch people kept their faith in the English, not everyone thinks the English bluff is a masterful strategical move. Oh no, people want deeds-great, heroic deeds.
No one can see farther than the end of their nose, no one gives a thought to the fact that the British are fighting for their own country and their own people; everyone thinks its Englands duty to save Holland, as quickly as possible. What obligations do the English have toward us? What have the Dutch done to 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 countries, 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 countries, especially those bordering 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 country sacrifices its men without reason, and certainly not in the interests of another, and England is no exception. The invasion, liberation and freedom will come someday; yet England, not the occupied territories, will choose the moment.
To our great sorrow and dismay, weve heard that many people have changed their attitude toward us Jews. Weve been told that anti-Semitism has cropped up in circles where once it would have been unthinkable. This fact has affected us all very, very deeply. The reason for the hatred is understandable, maybe even human, but that doesnt make it right. According to the Christians, the Jews are blabbing their secrets to the Germans, denouncing their helpers and causing them to suffer the dreadful fate and punishments that have already been meted out to so many. All of this is true. But as with everything, they should look at the matter from both sides: would Christians act any 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 been sent to Poland shouldnt be allowed to return here.
They were granted the right to asylum in Holland, but once Hitler is gone, they 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 confirmed for the umpteenth time: "What one Christian does is his own responsibthty, what one Jew does reflects on all Jews.”
To be honest, I cant understand how the Dutch, a nation of good, honest, upright people, can 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 country, which once so kindly took us in and now turns its back on us.
I love Holland. Once I hoped it would become 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 engaged! The news isnt much of a surprise, though none of us are particularly pleased. Bertus may be a nice, steady, 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, and Bertus is pulling her back; hes a laborer, without any interests or any desire to make something of himself, and I dont think thatll make Bep happy. I can understand Beps wanting to put an end to 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 engagement. First, Beps sick father, who likes Bertus very much. Second, shes the oldest of the Voskuijl girls and her mother teases her about being an old maid. Third, shes just turned twenty-four, and that matters a great deal to Bep.
Mother said it would have been better if Bep had simply had an affair with Bertus. I dont know, I feel sorry for Bep and can understand her loneliness. In any case, they can 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 morning 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 balancing on the edge of an abyss, but also because its terrible for Mr. van Hoeven.
The worlds been turned upside down. The most decent people are being sent to concentration camps, prisons and lonely cells, while the lowest of the low rule over young and old, rich and poor. One gets 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 next.
Mr. van Hoeven is a great loss to us too. Bep cant 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 more agreeable. Mother says well skip breakfast, eat hot cereal and bread for lunch and fried potatoes for dinner and, if possible, vegetables or lettuce once 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 can sit quietly at my table before the crack in 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 in detail by everyone in the house), the invasion (which is so long in coming), the awful food, the tension, the misera- ble atmosphere, my disappointment in Peter. On the other hand, theres Beps engagement, the Pentecost reception, the flowers, Mr. Kuglers birthday, cakes and stories about cabarets, movies and concerts. That gap, that enormous gap, is always there. One day were laugh- ing at the comical side of life in hiding, and the next day (and there are many such days), were frightened, and the fear, tension and despair can be read on our faces.
Miep and Mr. Kugler bear the greatest burden for us, and for all those in hiding-Miep in everything she does and Mr. Kugler through his enormous responsibthty for the eight of us, which is sometimes so overwhelming that he can 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 engagement, 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 once in 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 cant run the wa- ter, or if we do, only a trickle;
we cant flush the toilet, so we have to use a toilet brush; and weve been putting our dirty water into a big earthenware jar. We can man- age for today, but what will happen if the plumber cant fix it on his own? The Sanitation Department cant come until Tuesday.
Miep sent us a raisin bread with "Happy Pentecost" written on top. Its almost as if she were mocking us, since our moods and cares are far from "happy.”
Weve all become more frightened since the 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 wont let itself be pushed to the back of my mind today; on the contrary, all the fear Ive ever felt is looming before me in all its horror.
I had to go downstairs alone at eight this evening to use the bathroom. There was no one down there, since they were all listening to the radio. I wanted to be brave, but it
was hard. I always feel safer upstairs than in that huge, silent house; when Im alone with those mysterious muffied sounds from upstairs and the honking of horns in the street, I have to hurry and remind myself where I am to keep from getting the shivers.
Miep has been acting much nicer toward us since her talk with Father. But I havent told you about that yet. Miep came up one afternoon all flushed and asked Father straight out if we thought they too were infected with the current anti-Semitism.
Father was stunned and quickly talked her out of the idea, but some of Mieps suspicion has lingered on. Theyre doing more errands for us now and showing more of an interest in our troubles, though we certainly shouldnt bother them with our woes. Oh, theyre such good, noble people!
Ive asked myself again and again whether it wouldnt have been better if we hadnt gone into hiding, if we were dead now and didnt have to go through this misery, especially so that the others could be spared the burden. But we all shrink from this thought. We still love life, we havent yet forgotten the voice of nature, and we keep hoping, hoping for. . . everything.
Let something happen soon, even an air raid. Nothing can be more crushing than this anxiety. Let the end come, 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 in the afternoon 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 Pentecost), Mr. Gies served as the Annex watchman, and Tuesday we were finally allowed to open the windows. Weve seldom had a Pentecost weekend that was so beautiful and warm. Or maybe "hot" is a better word. Hot weather is horrible in the Annex. To give you an idea of the numerous complaints, Ill briefly describe these sweltering days.
Saturday: "Wonderful, what fantastic weather," we all said in the morning. "If only it
werent quite so hot," we said in the afternoon, 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 cant be opened. We poor outcasts are suffocating while everyone else is enjoying their Pentecost." (According to Mrs. van D.)
Monday: "My feet hurt, I have nothing cool to wear, I cant do the dishes in this heat!" Grumbling from early in the morning to late at night. It was awful.
I cant stand the heat. Im glad the winds come up today, but that the suns still shining.
Yours, Anne
M. Frank