安妮日记1

THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL : THE DEFINITIVE EDITION
一个年轻女孩的日记:最终版

Anne Frank 安妮·弗兰克

Edited by Otto H. Frank and Mirjam Pressler Translated by Susan Massotty
编辑奥托·h·弗兰克和米丽姆·普莱斯勒，翻译苏珊·马索蒂

BOOK FLAP 书皮瓣

Anne Frank’s The Diary of a Young Girl is among the most enduring documents of the twentieth century. Since its publication in 1947, it has been read by tens of millions of people all over the world. It remains a beloved and deeply admired testament to the indestructable nature of the human spirit.
安妮·弗兰克的《一个年轻女孩的日记》是二十世纪流传最久的文献之一。自1947年出版以来，它已被全世界数千万人阅读。它仍然是人类精神坚不可摧的本性的挚爱和深深钦佩的证明。

Restore in this Definitive Edition are diary entries that had been omitted from the original edition. These passages, which constitute 30 percent 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.
在这个最终版本中恢复的是原始版本中被省略的日记条目。这些段落占了30%以上的材料，强化了一个事实，即安妮首先是一个十几岁的女孩，而不是一个遥远而完美的象征。她为自己逐渐显露出来的性欲而烦恼，并试图模仿。像许多年轻女孩一样，她经常发现自己与母亲意见不合。就像任何一个青少年一样，她在孩子无忧无虑的天性和成年人成熟的悲伤之间摇摆不定。安妮变得更有人性，更脆弱，也比以往任何时候都更有活力。

Anne Frank and her family, fleeing the horrors of Nazi occupation, hid in the back of an Amsterdam warehouse for two years. She was thirteen when the 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 relations between eight people living under extraordinary conditions, facing hunger, the ever-present threat of discovery and death, complete estrangement from the outside world, and above all, the boredom, the petty misunderstandings, and the frustrations of living under such unbearable strain, in such confined quarters.
安妮·弗兰克(Anne Frank)和她的家人为了逃离纳粹占领的恐怖，在阿姆斯特丹一个仓库的后面躲了两年。当她十三岁的时候，全家进入了秘密附楼，在这些书页中，她成长为一个年轻的女人，也是一个对人性有智慧的观察者。她以非凡的洞察力揭示了生活在特殊条件下的八个人之间的关系，他们面临着饥饿，永远存在的被发现和死亡的威胁，与外界完全隔绝，最重要的是，在如此难以忍受的压力下，在如此狭小的空间里生活的无聊、琐碎的误解和挫折。

A timely story rediscovered by each new generation, The Diary of a Young Girl stands without peer. For both young readers and adults it continues to bring to life this young woman, who for a time survived the worst horror of the modern world had seen – and who remained triumphantly and heartbreakingly human throughout her ordeal. For those who know and love Anne Frank, The Definitive Edition is a chance to discover her anew. For readers who have not yet encountered her, this is the edition to cherish.
一个及时的故事被每一代人重新发现，一个年轻女孩的日记是无与伦比的。对于年轻读者和成年人来说，这本书继续把这个年轻的女人栩栩如生地呈现出来，她曾一度从现代世界最可怕的恐怖事件中幸存下来，在她的磨难中，她始终保持着胜利和令人心碎的人性。对于那些了解和热爱安妮·弗兰克的人来说，《最终版》是一个重新发现她的机会。对于还没有遇到她的读者来说，这是值得珍惜的版本。

ANNE FRANK was born on June 12, 1929. She died while imprisoned at 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.
安妮·弗兰克出生于1929年6月12日。她死于贝尔根-贝尔森监狱，离她16岁生日还有三个月。奥托·h·弗兰克(OTTO H. FRANK)是他的直系亲属中唯一在大屠杀中幸存下来的人。他于1980年去世。MIRJAM PRESSLER是一位受欢迎的年轻人作家。她住在德国。

FOREWORD 前言

Anne Frank kept 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 government in exile, announced in a radio broadcast from London that after the war he hoped to collect eyewitness accounts of the suffering of the Dutch people under the German occupation, which could be made available to the public. As an example, he specifically mentioned letters and diaries.
安妮·弗兰克从1942年6月12日到1944年8月1日一直写日记。最初，她只是为自己写的。然后，1944年的一天，荷兰流亡政府成员Gerrit Bolkestein在伦敦的电台广播中宣布，战后他希望收集有关荷兰人民在德国占领下遭受苦难的目击者描述，以便向公众提供。作为一个例子，他特别提到了信件和日记。

Impressed by this speech, Anne Frank decided that when the war was over she would publish a book based on her diary. She began rewriting and editing her diary, improving on the text, omitting passages she didn’t think were interesting enough and adding others from memory. At the same time, she kept up her original diary. In the scholarly work The Diary of Anne Frank: The Critical Edition (1989), Anne’s first, unedited diary is referred to as version a, to distinguish it from her second, edited diary, which is known as version b.
安妮·弗兰克对这篇演讲印象深刻，她决定在战争结束后，根据她的日记出版一本书。她开始重写和编辑她的日记，改进文本，省略她认为不够有趣的段落，并根据记忆添加其他段落。与此同时，她坚持写她原来的日记。在学术著作《安妮日记:批判版》(1989)中，安妮的第一本未经编辑的日记被称为a版，以区别于她的第二本经过编辑的日记，被称为b版。

The last entry in Anne’s 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 working in the building, found Anne’s 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 Anne’s father, Otto Frank.
安妮日记中最后的记录日期是1944年8月1日。1944年8月4日，躲藏在秘密附件中的8人被逮捕。在这栋楼里工作的两位秘书梅普·吉斯(Miep Gies)和贝普·沃斯库伊尔(Bep voskujl)发现安妮的日记散落在地板上。米普·吉斯把它们藏在书桌抽屉里妥善保管。战争结束后，当得知安妮已经去世时，她把这些未读的日记交给了安妮的父亲奥托·弗兰克。

After long deliberation, Otto Frank decided to fulfill his daughter’s 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.
经过长时间的考虑，奥托·弗兰克决定实现女儿的愿望，出版她的日记。他从版本a和版本b中挑选材料，将它们编辑成一个较短的版本，后来被称为版本c。全世界的读者都知道这是《一个动物女孩的日记》。

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 Anne’s sexuality were omitted; at the time of the diary’s initial publication, in 1947, it was not customary to write openly about sex, and certainly 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.
在做出选择时，奥托·弗兰克必须牢记几点。首先，这本书必须保持简短，以便与荷兰出版商出版的一个系列相符。此外，关于安妮性取向的几段被省略了;1947年日记首次出版的时候，公开写关于性的东西是不习惯的，当然也不是写给年轻人看的书。出于对死者的尊重，奥托·弗兰克还省略了一些关于他妻子和秘密附件其他居民的不光彩段落。安妮·弗兰克13岁时开始写日记，15岁时被迫停止写日记，她毫不保留地写下了自己的好恶。

When Otto Frank died in 1980, he willed his daughter’s manuscripts to the Netherlands State Institute for War Documentation in Amsterdam. Because the authenticity of the diary had been challenged ever since its publication, the Institute for War Documentation ordered a thorough investigation. Once the diary was proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, to be genuine, it was published in its entirety, along with the results of an exhaustive study. The Critical Edition contains not only versions a, band c, but also articles on the background of the Frank family, the circumstances surrounding their arrest and deportation, and the examination into Anne’s handwriting, the document and the materials used.
1980年奥托·弗兰克去世后，他将女儿的手稿遗赠给了阿姆斯特丹的荷兰国家战争文献研究所。由于日记的真实性自出版以来一直受到质疑，战争文献研究所下令进行彻底调查。一旦日记被毫无疑问地证明是真实的，它就被完整地出版了，同时还有一项详尽的研究结果。《批判版》不仅包括a、c两个版本，还包括弗兰克一家的背景、他们被捕和被驱逐的情况，以及对安妮笔迹、文件和所用材料的检查。

The Anne Frank-Fonds (Anne Frank Foundation) in Basel (Switzerland),. Which as Otto Frank’s sole heir had also inherited his daughter’s copyrights, then decided to have a new, expanded edition of the diary published for general readers. This new edition in no way affects the integrity of the old one originally edited by Otto Frank, which brought the diary and its message to millions of people. The task of compthng the expanded edition was given to the writer and translator Mirjam Pressler. Otto Frank’s original selection has now been supplemented with passages from Anne’s a and b versions. Mirjam Pressler’s definitive edition, approved by the Anne Frank-Fonds, contains approximately 30 percent more material and is intended to give the reader more insight into the world of Anne Frank.
位于瑞士巴塞尔的安妮·弗兰克基金会。作为奥托·弗兰克的唯一继承人也继承了他女儿的版权，于是决定为普通读者出版一本新的，扩充版的日记。这个新版本绝不会影响奥托·弗兰克最初编辑的旧版本的完整性，它把日记和它的信息带给了数百万人。编写扩充版的任务交给了作家兼翻译米里亚姆·普莱斯勒(Mirjam Pressler)。奥托·弗兰克最初的选集现在补充了安妮的a和b版本的段落。米尔贾姆·普雷斯勒的最终版本，由安妮·弗兰克基金会批准，包含了大约30%的材料，旨在让读者更深入地了解安妮·弗兰克的世界。

In writing her second version (b), Anne invented pseudonyms for the people who would appear in her book. She initially wanted to call herself Anne Aulis, and later Anne Robin. Otto Frank opted to call his family by their own names and to follow Anne’s wishes with regard to the others. Over the years, the identity of the people who helped the family in the Secret Annex has become common 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 accordance with the pseudonyms in The Critical Edition. The Institute for War Documentation has arbitrarily assigned initials to those persons wishing to remain anonymous.
在写她的第二个版本(b)时，安妮为书中出现的人发明了假名。她最初想叫自己安妮·奥利斯，后来又叫安妮·罗宾。奥托·弗兰克选择用他们自己的名字来称呼他的家人，并按照安妮的意愿来称呼其他人。多年来，在秘密附件中帮助这个家庭的人的身份已经成为众所周知的事情。在这一版中，帮助者现在被称为他们的真实姓名，因为他们理应如此。所有其他人的名字都是根据《批判版》中的笔名命名的。战争文件研究所随意为那些希望保持匿名的人分配了首字母缩写。

The real names of the other people hiding in the Secret Annex are:
隐藏在秘密附件中的其他人的真实姓名是:

THE VAN PELS FAMILY 范佩尔斯家族

(from Osnabriick, Germany):
(来自德国奥斯纳布里克):

Auguste van Pels (born September 9, 1890) Hermann van Pels (born March 31, 1889) Peter van Pels (born November 8, 1926)
奥古斯特·范·佩尔斯（生于1890年9月9日） 赫尔曼·范·佩尔斯（生于1889年3月31日） 彼得·范·佩尔斯（生于1926年11月8日）

Called by Anne, in her manuscript: Petronella, Hans and Alfred van Daan; and in the book: Petronella, Hermann and Peter van Daan.
安妮在她的手稿中写道:佩特罗尼拉，汉斯和阿尔弗雷德·范·丹;书中的人物是佩特罗尼拉、赫尔曼和彼得·范·达恩。

FRITZ PFEFFER (born April 30, 1889, in Giessen, Germany):
FRITZ PFEFFER(1889年4月30日出生于德国吉森):

Called by Anne, in her manuscript and in the book: Alfred Dussel.
在她的手稿和书中，安妮叫他阿尔弗雷德·杜塞尔。

The reader may wish to bear in mind that much of this edition is based on the b version of Anne’s diary, which she wrote when she was around fifteen years old. Occasionally, Anne went back and commented on a passage she had written earlier. These comments are clearly marked in this edition. Naturally, Anne’s spelling and linguistic errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the text has basically been left as she wrote it, since any attempts at editing and clarification would be inappropriate in a historical document.
读者可能希望记住，这个版本的大部分内容是基于安妮日记的b版，这是她在15岁左右写的。偶尔，安妮会回过头来评论她之前写的一篇文章。这些评注在这一版中有清楚的标记。当然，安妮的拼写和语言错误已经被纠正了。除此之外，文本基本上保留了她所写的内容，因为在一份历史文件中，任何编辑和澄清的尝试都是不合适的。

FRIDAY, JUNE 12, 1942 星期五，1942年6月12日

FRIDAY, JUNE 12, 1942 星期五，1942年6月12日

I hope I will be able to confide everything to you, as I have never been able to confide in anyone, and I hope you will be a great source of comfort and support.
我希望我能向你倾诉一切，因为我从来没有向任何人倾诉过，我希望你能给我很大的安慰和支持。

COMMENT ADDED BY ANNE ON SEPTEMBER 28, 1942: So far you truly have been a areat source of comfort to me, and so has Kitty, whom I now write to regularly. This way of keeping a diary is much nicer, and now I can hardly wait for those moments when I’m able to write in you. Oh, I’m so alad I brought you along!
安妮1942年9月28日添加的评论:到目前为止，你确实是我最大的安慰，基蒂也是，我现在定期给她写信。这种写日记的方式要好得多，现在我几乎等不及能给你写信的那一刻了。真庆幸我把你带来了!

SUNDAY, JUNE 14, 1942 1942年6月14日星期日

I’ll begin from the moment I got you, the moment I saw you lying on the table among my other birthday presents. (I went along when you were bought, but that doesn’t count.)
从我得到你的那一刻开始，从我看到你躺在桌子上和其他生日礼物放在一起的那一刻开始。(你被收购的时候我也去了，但那不算。)

On Friday, June 12, I was awake at six o’clock, which isn’t surprising, since it was my birthday. But I’m not allowed to get up at that hour, so I had to control my curiosity until quarter to seven. When I couldn’t wait any longer, I went to the dining room, where Moortje (the cat) welcomed me by rubbing against my legs.
6月12日星期五，我六点就醒了，这并不奇怪，因为那天是我的生日。但是我不允许在那个时间起床，所以我必须控制我的好奇心直到七点差一刻。当我不能再等下去的时候，我去了餐厅，Moortje(那只猫)用摩擦我的腿来欢迎我。

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 nicest 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, which to my 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 exchanged mine for something else), a platter of homemade cookies (which I made myself, of course, since I’ve become quite an expert at baking cookies), lots of candy and a strawberry tart from Mother. And a letter from Grammy, right on time, but of course that was just a coincidence.
七点多一点，我去找爸爸妈妈，然后去客厅打开我的礼物，你是我看到的第一个东西，也许是我最好的礼物之一。然后是一束玫瑰，一些牡丹和一盆植物。我从爸爸妈妈那里得到了一件蓝衬衫、一个游戏、一瓶葡萄汁(我觉得它尝起来有点像葡萄酒(毕竟葡萄酒是用葡萄酿制的)、一个拼图、一罐冷霜、2.50荷兰盾和两本书的礼券。我还买了另一本书，《暗箱照相机》(不过玛戈特已经有了，所以我换了一本别的)，一盘自制的饼干(当然是我自己做的，因为我已经成为烘焙饼干的专家了)，许多糖果和妈妈送的草莓挞。还有一封来自格莱美的信，很准时，当然那只是个巧合。

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 didn’t arrive home until five, since I went to gym with the rest of the class. (I’m 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, and 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 we’re 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 she’s my best friend. Ilse is Hanneli’s best friend, and Sanne goes to another school and has friends there.
然后汉内利来接我，我们一起去上学。课间休息时，我把饼干分发给老师和同学们，然后就该回去工作了。我五点才到家，因为我和其他同学一起去健身房了。(我不能参加，因为我的肩膀和臀部容易脱臼。)因为是我的生日，我要决定我的同学玩什么游戏，我选择了排球。后来他们都围着我跳舞，唱“生日快乐”。我到家时，桑娜·莱德曼已经在那里了。伊尔丝·瓦格纳，汉内利·戈斯拉和杰奎琳·范·马森在健身房后和我一起回家，因为我们在同一个班。汉内利和珊恩曾经是我最好的两个朋友。看到我们在一起的人常说:“安妮，汉娜和桑娜来了。”我在犹太学院刚开始工作时才认识杰奎琳·范·马森，现在她是我最好的朋友。Ilse是Hanneli最好的朋友，而Sanne去了另一所学校，在那里有朋友。

They gave me a beautiful book, Dutch Sasas and Lesends, but they gave me Volume II by mistake, so I exchanged two other books for Volume I. Aunt Helene brought me a puzzle, Aunt Stephanie a darling brooch and Aunt Leny a terrific book: Daisy Goes to the Mountains.
他们给了我一本漂亮的书，《荷兰萨萨和传说》，但他们错给了我第二卷，所以我用另外两本书换了第一卷。海伦姨妈给了我一个拼图，斯蒂芬妮姨妈给了我一个可爱的胸针，莱尼姨妈给了我一本很棒的书:《黛西去山里》。

This morning I lay in the bathtub thinking how wonderful it would be if I had a dog like Rin Tin Tin. I’d call him Rin Tin Tin too, and I’d take him to school with me, where he could stay in the janitor’s room or by the bicycle racks when the weather was good.
今天早上我躺在浴缸里想，如果我有一只像林丁丁那样的狗该有多好啊。我也叫他凛丁丁，我带他去学校，天气好的时候，他可以呆在看门人的房间里，或者在自行车架旁边。

MONDAY, JUNE 15, 1942 1942年6月15日，星期一

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. I’ll start by saying a few things about my school and my class, beginning with the students.
我在星期天下午举行了我的生日聚会。《凛丁丁》这部电影很受同学们的欢迎。我有两个胸针，一个书签和两本书。首先，我要说一些关于我的学校和我的班级的事情，从学生开始。

Betty Bloemendaal looks kind of poor, and I think she probably is. She lives on some obscure street in West Amsterdam, and none of us know where it is. She does very well at school, but that’s because she works so hard, not because she’s so smart. She’s pretty quiet.
贝蒂·布卢门达尔看起来有点穷，我想她可能确实很穷。她住在西阿姆斯特丹的一条不起眼的街道上，我们都不知道它在哪里。她在学校表现很好，但那是因为她学习很努力，而不是因为她很聪明。她很安静。

Jacqueline van Maarsen is supposedly my best friend, but I’ve never had a real friend. At first I thought Jacque would be one, but I was badly mistaken.
杰奎琳·范·马森应该是我最好的朋友，但我从来没有真正的朋友。起初我以为雅克会是其中之一，但我大错特错了。

D.Q.* [* Initials have been assigned at random to those persons who prefer to remain anonymous.] is a very nervous girl who’s always forgetting things, so the teachers keep assigning her extra homework as punishment. She’s very kind, especially to G.Z.
D.Q.[*]那些不愿透露姓名的人的姓名首字母是随机分配的。她是一个非常紧张的女孩，经常忘事，所以老师总是给她额外的作业作为惩罚。她人很好，尤其是对gz

E.S. talks so much it isn’t funny. She’s always touching your hair or fiddling with your buttons when she asks you something. They say she can’t stand me, but I don’t care, since I don’t like her much either.
e。s。说得太多了，一点都不好笑。她问你问题的时候总是摸你的头发或拨弄你的纽扣。他们说她受不了我，但我不在乎，因为我也不怎么喜欢她。

Henny Mets is a nice girl with a cheerful disposition, except that she talks in a loud voice and is really childish when we’re playing outdoors. Unfortunately, Henny has a girlfriend named Beppy who’s a bad influence on her because she’s dirty and vulgar.
Henny Mets是一个性格开朗的好女孩，只是她说话声音很大，当我们在户外玩的时候，她真的很幼稚。不幸的是，亨利有一个叫比比的女朋友，她对她有不好的影响，因为她又脏又俗。

J.R. - I could write a whole book about her. J. is a detestable, sneaky, stuck-up, two-faced gossip who thinks she’s so grown-up. She’s really got Jacque under her spell, and that’s 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. She’s very rich, and has a closet full of the most adorable dresses that are way too old for her. She thinks she’s gorgeous, but she’s not. J. and I can’t stand each other.
j。r。-我可以写一本关于她的书。j是一个讨厌的，鬼鬼祟祟的，傲慢的，双面八卦的人，她认为自己很成熟。她真的把雅克迷住了，真可惜。J.很容易被冒犯，为一点小事就大哭，最重要的是，他是一个可怕的炫耀者。j小姐总是对的。她很有钱，衣柜里装满了对她来说太旧的最可爱的裙子。她觉得自己很漂亮，其实不然。j和我不能忍受彼此。

Ilse Wagner is a nice girl with a cheerful disposition, but she’s extremely fInicky and can spend hours moaning and groaning about something. Ilse likes me a lot. She’s very smart, but lazy.
伊尔丝·瓦格纳是一个性格开朗的好女孩，但她非常挑剔，可以花几个小时抱怨和呻吟。伊尔丝很喜欢我。她很聪明，但是很懒。

Hanneli Goslar, or Lies as she’s called at school, is a bit on the strange side. She’s 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 I’ve corne to appreciate her a great deal.
Hanneli Goslar，或者像她在学校被称为Lies一样，有点奇怪。她通常很害羞——在场合直言不讳，但在别人面前沉默寡言。你跟她说什么她都会告诉她妈妈。但她想什么就说什么，最近我开始非常欣赏她了。

Nannie van Praag-Sigaar is small, funny and sensible. I think she’s nice. She’s pretty smart. There isn’t much else you can say about Nannie. Eefje de Jong is, in my opinion, terrific. Though she’s only twelve, she’s quite the lady. She acts as if I were a baby. She’s also very helpful, and I like her.
南妮·范·普拉格-西格尔身材矮小、风趣、懂事。我觉得她人很好。她很聪明。关于奶奶，你没什么可说的了。在我看来，Eefje de Jong非常棒。虽然她只有十二岁，但她很有教养。她表现得好像我是个婴儿。她也很乐于助人，我喜欢她。

G.Z. is the prettiest girl in our class. She has a nice face, but is kind of dumb. I think they’re going to hold her back a year, but of course I haven’t told her that.
G.Z.是我们班最漂亮的女孩。她长得很漂亮，但是有点笨。我想他们会让她留校一年，当然我还没告诉她。

COMMENT ADDED BY ANNE AT A LATER DATE: To my areat surprise, G.Z. wasn’t held back a year after all.
安妮在晚些时候补充的评论:令我惊讶的是，《G.Z.》并没有被推迟一年。

And sitting next to G.Z. is the last of us twelve girls, me.
坐在gz旁边的是我们12个女孩中的最后一个，我。

There’s a lot to be said about the boys, or maybe not so much after all.
关于男孩们有很多可说的，或者可能根本就没有那么多。

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 he’s gone all the way. Still, I think he’s terrific, because he’s very funny.
莫里斯·科斯特是我众多仰慕者之一，但也很讨厌。莎莉·斯普林格的思想很肮脏，有传言说他已经彻底完蛋了。不过，我还是觉得他很棒，因为他很有趣。

Emiel Bonewit is G.Z.'s admirer, but she doesn’t care. He’s pretty boring. Rob Cohen used to be in love with me too, but I can’t stand him anymore. He’s an obnoxious, two-faced, lying, sniveling little goof who has an awfully high opinion of himself.
Emiel Bonewit报道他是我的仰慕者，但她不在乎。他很无聊。罗伯·科恩曾经也爱过我，但我再也受不了他了。他是个讨厌的，两面派的，撒谎的，哭哭啼啼的小傻瓜，自视甚高。

Max van de Velde is a farm boy from Medemblik, but eminently suitable, as Margot would say.
马克斯·范·德·维尔德是梅登布利克的一个农场男孩，但正如玛戈特所说，他非常合适。

Herman Koopman also has a filthy mind, just like Jopie de Beer, who’s a terrible flirt and absolutely girl-crazy.
赫尔曼·库普曼也有一个肮脏的思想，就像乔皮·德·比尔一样，她是一个糟糕的调情者，绝对是女孩的疯狂者。

Leo Blom is Jopie de Beer’s best friend, but has been ruined by his dirty mind.
里奥·布洛姆是乔皮·德·比尔最好的朋友，但却被他肮脏的思想毁了。

Albert de Mesquita came from the Montessori School and skipped a grade. He’s really smart.
阿尔伯特·德·梅斯基塔来自蒙特梭利学校，他跳过了一个年级。他真的很聪明。

Leo Slager came from the same school, but isn’t as smart.
里奥·斯莱格是同一所学校的，但没他聪明。

Ru Stoppelmon is a short, goofy boy from Almelo who transferred to this school in the middle of the year.
Ru Stoppelmon是一个来自Almelo的矮笨男孩，他在年中转到了这所学校。

C.N. does whatever he’s not supposed to.
cnn做了他不该做的事。

Jacques Kocernoot sits behind us, next to C., and we (G. and I) laugh ourselves silly.
雅克·科瑟努坐在我们后面，C.旁边，我们(G.和我)笑傻了。

Harry Schaap is the most decent boy in our class. He’s nice.
哈里·沙普是我们班最正派的男孩。他很好。

Werner Joseph is nice too, but all the changes taking place lately have made him too quiet, so he seems boring. Sam Salomon is one of those tough guys from across the tracks. A real brat. (Admirer!)
维尔纳·约瑟夫也很好，但是最近发生的所有变化让他太安静了，所以他看起来很无聊。山姆·所罗门是铁轨对面的硬汉之一。真是个顽童。(崇拜者!)

Appie Riem is pretty Orthodox, but a brat too.
阿皮·里姆很正统，但也是个顽童。

SATURDAY, JUNE 20, 1942 1942年6月20日星期六

SATURDAY, JUNE 20, 1942 1942年6月20日星期六

Writing in a diary is a really strange experience for someone like me. Not only because I’ve never written anything before, but also because it seems to me that later on neither I nor anyone else will be interested in the musings of a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. I feel like writing, and I have an even greater need to get all kinds of things off my chest.
对我这样的人来说，写日记是一种很奇怪的经历。不仅因为我以前从未写过东西，还因为在我看来，以后无论是我还是其他人都不会对一个13岁女学生的沉思感兴趣。哦，好吧，没关系。我喜欢写作，我更需要把各种各样的事情都说出来。

“Paper has more patience than 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 chin in my hands, bored and listless, wondering whether to stay in or go out. I finally stayed where I was, brooding. Yes, paper does have more patience, and since I’m 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 won’t make a bit of difference.
“纸比人更有耐心。”这句话是我有一天想到的，当时我感到有点沮丧，坐在家里，双手托着下巴，无聊而无精打采，不知道是待在家里还是出去。最后我呆在原地，沉思着。是的，纸确实有更多的耐心，因为我不打算让任何人读这本被称为“日记”的硬皮笔记本，除非我能找到一个真正的朋友，否则它可能不会有一点不同。

Now I’m back to the point that prompted me to keep a diary in the first place: I don’t have a friend.
现在我又回到了最初促使我写日记的那一点:我没有朋友。

Let me put it more clearly, since no one will believe that a thirteen year-old girl is completely alone in the world. And I’m not. I have loving parents and a sixteen-year-old sister, and there are about thirty people I can call friends. I have a throng of admirers who can’t keep their adoring 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 one true friend. All I think about when I’m with friends is having a good time. I can’t bring myself to talk about anything but ordinary everyday things. We don’t seem to be able to get any closer, and that’s the problem. Maybe it’s my fault that we don’t confide in each other. In any case, that’s just how things are, and unfortunately they’re not liable to change. This is why I’ve started the diary.
让我说得更清楚一点，因为没有人会相信一个十三岁的女孩在这个世界上是完全孤独的。我不是。我有慈爱的父母和一个16岁的妹妹，还有大约30个我可以称之为朋友的人。我有一大群仰慕者，他们崇拜的目光无法从我身上移开，有时他们不得不用一面破口袋镜子，试图在教室里瞥见我。我有一个家庭，可爱的阿姨和一个美好的家。不，表面上我似乎拥有一切，除了我唯一真正的朋友。当我和朋友在一起的时候，我满脑子想的都是玩得开心。除了日常琐事，我什么也不想谈。我们似乎无法更亲近，这就是问题所在。也许是我的错，我们不能互相信任。无论如何，事情就是这样，不幸的是，它们不容易改变。这就是我开始写日记的原因。

To enhance the image of this long-awaited friend in my imagination, I don’t 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 I’m going to call this friend Kitty.
为了增强这个期待已久的朋友在我想象中的形象，我不想像大多数人那样在这本日记里记下事实，但我想让这本日记成为我的朋友，我打算把这个朋友叫做基蒂。

Since no one would understand a word of my stories to Kitty if I were to plunge right in, I’d better provide a brief sketch of my life, much as I dislike doing so.
既然如果我要把我的故事一五一十地讲给凯蒂听，没有人会明白，我最好还是简单地介绍一下我的生活，尽管我很不喜欢这样做。

My father, the most adorable father I’ve ever seen, didn’t 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 we’re Jewish, my father immigrated to Holland in 1933, when he became the Managing Director of the Dutch Opekta Company, which manufactures products used in making jam. My mother, Edith Hollander Frank, went with him to Holland in September, while Margot and I were sent to Aachen to stay with our grandmother. Margot went to Holland in December, and I followed in February, when I was plunked down on the table as a birthday present for Margot.
我的父亲是我见过的最可爱的父亲，直到他36岁才娶了我的母亲，那时她25岁。我妹妹玛戈特1926年出生在德国美因河畔的法兰克福。我出生于1929年6月12日。我在法兰克福一直住到四岁。因为我们是犹太人，我父亲于1933年移民到荷兰，当时他成为荷兰Opekta公司的总经理，该公司生产用于制作果酱的产品。9月，我的母亲伊迪丝·霍兰德·弗兰克(Edith Hollander Frank)和他一起去了荷兰，而我和玛戈特则被送到亚琛与祖母住在一起。玛戈特12月去了荷兰，我2月也去了，我被当作生日礼物放在桌子上。

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 I’d been accepted at the Jewish Lyceum, where Margot also went to school.
我从蒙特梭利幼儿园开始学习。我在那里一直待到六岁，那时我开始上一年级。六年级时，我的老师是Kuperus夫人，她是校长。那一年结束的时候，我们都流着泪，做了一个令人心碎的告别，因为我被犹太学园录取了，玛戈特也在那里上学。

Our lives were not without anxiety, since our relatives in Germany were suffering under Hitler’s anti-Jewish laws. After the pogroms in 1938 my two uncles (my mother’s 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.
我们的生活并非没有焦虑，因为我们在德国的亲戚在希特勒的反犹法律下受苦受难。1938年大屠杀之后，我的两个叔叔(我母亲的兄弟)逃离了德国，在北美找到了安全的避难所。我年迈的祖母来和我们住在一起。当时她73岁。

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 when the trouble 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 shopping between 3 and 5 P.M.; Jews were required to frequent only Jewish-owned barbershops and beauty parlors; Jews were forbidden to be out on the streets between 8 P.M. and 6 A.M.; Jews were forbidden to attend theaters, movies or any other forms of entertainment; 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 couldn’t do this and you couldn’t do that, but life went on. Jacque always said to me, “I don’t dare do anything anymore, 'cause I’m afraid it’s not allowed.”
1940年5月之后，美好的时光寥寥无几:首先是战争，然后是投降，然后是德国人的到来，这就是犹太人开始遇到麻烦的时候。我们的自由受到一系列反犹法令的严重限制:犹太人必须佩戴黄星;犹太人被要求上交他们的自行车;犹太人被禁止使用电车;犹太人被禁止乘坐汽车，即使是他们自己的;犹太人被要求在下午3点到5点之间购物;犹太人只被要求光顾犹太人开的理发店和美容院;犹太人被禁止在晚上8点到早上6点之间上街;犹太人被禁止参加剧院、电影或任何其他形式的娱乐活动;犹太人被禁止使用游泳池、网球场、曲棍球场或任何其他运动场;犹太人被禁止划船;犹太人被禁止在公共场合参加任何体育活动;犹太人被禁止在晚上8点以后坐在自己或朋友的花园里;犹太人被禁止拜访基督徒的家;犹太人被要求上犹太学校，等等。你不能这样做，也不能那样做，但生活还在继续。雅克总是对我说:“我再也不敢做任何事了，因为我害怕这是不被允许的。”

In the summer of 1941 Grandma got sick and had to have an operation, so my birthday passed with little celebration. In the summer of 1940 we didn’t do much for my birthday either, since the 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 intended to make up for the others, and Grandma’s candle was lit along with the rest.
1941年夏天，奶奶生病了，不得不做手术，所以我的生日几乎没有庆祝。1940年夏天，我们也没有为我的生日做什么，因为荷兰的战争刚刚结束。奶奶于1942年1月去世。没有人知道我有多想念她，也不知道我有多爱她。1942年的这个生日庆祝活动是为了弥补其他的生日，奶奶的蜡烛和其他的蜡烛一起点燃。

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.
我们四个人都过得很好，这就把我带到了今天，1942年6月20日，我庄严地奉献了我的日记。

SATURDAY, JUNE 20, 1942

Dearest Kitty! Let me get started right away; it’s nice and quiet now. Father and Mother are out and Margot has gone to play Ping-Pong with some other young people at her friend Trees’s. I’ve been playing a lot of Ping-Pong myself lately. So much that five of us girls have formed a club. It’s called “The Little Dipper Minus Two.” A really silly name, but it’s based on a mistake. We wanted to 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 consisted 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-Pong set, 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, our games usually end with a visit to the nearest ice-cream parlor that allows Jews: either Oasis or Delphi. We’ve long since stopped hunting around for our purses or money – most of the time it’s so busy in Oasis that we manage to 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.
最亲爱的凯蒂!让我马上开始吧;现在又好又安静。爸爸和妈妈都出去了，玛戈特和其他一些年轻人去她的朋友树家打乒乓球了。我最近也经常打乒乓球。我们五个女孩组成了一个俱乐部。这首歌叫《北斗七星减二》一个很傻的名字，但它是基于一个错误。我们想给我们的俱乐部起一个特别的名字;因为我们有五个人，所以我们想出了小北斗七星的主意。我们以为它由五颗星组成，但事实证明我们错了。它有七个，就像北斗七星一样，这解释了“负二”。伊尔丝·瓦格纳有一套乒乓球，只要我们愿意，瓦格纳一家随时都让我们在他们的大餐厅里玩。因为我们五个乒乓球运动员都喜欢吃冰淇淋，尤其是在夏天，而且打乒乓球会很热，所以我们的比赛通常以去最近的一家允许犹太人去的冰淇淋店结束:绿洲或德尔福。我们早就不再到处找钱包或钱了——大多数时候，绿洲里太忙了，我们会设法找到几个我们认识的慷慨的年轻人，或者一个仰慕者，给我们提供一周吃不完的冰淇淋。

You’re 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 can bicycle home with me and we get to talking, nine times out of ten I can be sure he’ll become enamored on the spot and won’t let me out of his sight for a second. 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 Father’s permission,” I swerve slightly on my bike, my schoolbag falls, and the young man feels obliged to get off his bike and hand me the bag, by which time I’ve switched the conversation to another topic. These are the most innocent types. Of course, there are those who blow you kisses or try to take hold of your arm, but they’re definitely knocking on the wrong door. I get off my bike and either refuse to make further use of their company or act as if I’m insulted and tell them in no uncertain terms to go on home without me. There you are. We’ve now laid the basis for our friendship. Until tomorrow.
你可能有点惊讶我在这么小的年纪就谈论仰慕者。不幸的是，或不不幸的是，视情况而定，这种恶习在我们学校似乎很猖獗。一旦一个男孩问他是否可以骑自行车和我一起回家，我们开始聊天，我可以肯定，十有八九他会当场被迷住，不会让我离开他的视线一秒钟。他的热情最终冷却了下来，尤其是在我无视他热情的目光，愉快地骑着车上路之后。如果情况变得很糟糕，他们开始喋喋不休地说什么“征求父亲的许可”，我就会在自行车上稍微转弯，我的书包掉了下来，那个年轻人觉得有必要下车把书包递给我，这时我已经把话题转移到另一个话题上了。这些是最无辜的类型。当然，有些人会给你飞吻或试图抓住你的手臂，但他们绝对是找错门了。我下了自行车，要么拒绝继续利用他们的陪伴，要么表现得好像我受到了侮辱，毫不含糊地告诉他们不要等我回家。给你。我们现在已经奠定了友谊的基础。到明天。

Yours, Anne 你的安妮

SUNDAY, JUNE 21, 1942

Dearest Kitty,

Our entire class is quaking in its boots. The reason, of course, is the upcoming meeting in which the teachers decide who’ll be promoted to the next grade and who’ll be kept back. Half the class is making bets. G.Z. and I laugh ourselves sick at the two boys behind us, C.N. and Jacques Kocernoot, who have staked their entire vacation savings on their bet. From morning to night, it’s “You’re going to pass, No, I’m not,” “Yes, you are,” “No, I’m not.” Even G.'s pleading glances and my angry outbursts can’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 unpredictable creatures on earth. Maybe this time they’ll be unpredictable in the right direction for a change. I’m not so worried about my girlfriends and myself.

We’ll make it. The only subject I’m not sure about is math. Anyway, all we can 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 longest time because I talked so much. After several warnings, he assigned me extra homework. An essay on the subject “A Chatterbox.” A chatterbox, what can you write about that? I’d wbrry about that later, I decided. I jotted down the assignment in my notebook, tucked it in my bag and tried to keep quiet.

That evening, after I’d finished the 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 come up with convincing arguments to prove the necessity 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 control, 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 there’s not much you can do about inherited traits.

Mr. Keesing had a good laugh at my arguments, but when I proceeded to talk my way through the next class, he assigned me a second essay. This time it was supposed to be on “An Incorrigible Chatterbox.” I handed it in, and Mr. Keesing had nothing to complain about for two whole classes. However, during the third class he’d 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 I’d ) nearly exhausted my ingenuity on the topic of chatterboxes. It was time to come up with something else, j something original. My friend Sanne, who’s 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 on me with this ridiculous subject, but I’d make sure the joke was on him. I finished my poem, and it was beautiful! It was about a mother duck and a father swan with three baby ducklings 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 comments, and to several other classes as well. Since then I’ve been allowed to talk and haven’t been assigned any extra homework. On the contrary, Keesing’s always i making jokes these days.

Yours, Anne

SUNDAY, JUNE 21, 1942

Dearest Kitty,

Our entire class is quaking in its boots. The reason, of course, is the upcoming meeting in which the teachers decide who’ll be promoted to the next grade and who’ll be kept back. Half the class is making bets. G.Z. and I laugh ourselves sick at the two boys behind us, C.N. and Jacques Kocernoot, who have staked their entire vacation savings on their bet. From morning to night, it’s “You’re going to pass, No, I’m not,” “Yes, you are,” “No, I’m not.” Even G.'s pleading glances and my angry outbursts can’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 unpredictable creatures on earth. Maybe this time they’ll be unpredictable in the right direction for a change. I’m not so worried about my girlfriends and myself.

We’ll make it. The only subject I’m not sure about is math. Anyway, all we can 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 longest time because I talked so much. After several warnings, he assigned me extra homework. An essay on the subject “A Chatterbox.” A chatterbox, what can you write about that? I’d wbrry about that later, I decided. I jotted down the assignment in my notebook, tucked it in my bag and tried to keep quiet.

That evening, after I’d finished the 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 come up with convincing arguments to prove the necessity 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 control, 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 there’s not much you can do about inherited traits.

Mr. Keesing had a good laugh at my arguments, but when I proceeded to talk my way through the next class, he assigned me a second essay. This time it was supposed to be on “An Incorrigible Chatterbox.” I handed it in, and Mr. Keesing had nothing to complain about for two whole classes. However, during the third class he’d 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 I’d ) nearly exhausted my ingenuity on the topic of chatterboxes. It was time to come up with something else, j something original. My friend Sanne, who’s 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 on me with this ridiculous subject, but I’d make sure the joke was on him. I finished my poem, and it was beautiful! It was about a mother duck and a father swan with three baby ducklings 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 comments, and to several other classes as well. Since then I’ve been allowed to talk and haven’t been assigned any extra homework. On the contrary, Keesing’s always i making jokes these days.

Yours, Anne

SUNDAY, JUNE 21, 1942

Dearest Kitty,

Our entire class is quaking in its boots. The reason, of course, is the upcoming meeting in which the teachers decide who’ll be promoted to the next grade and who’ll be kept back. Half the class is making bets. G.Z. and I laugh ourselves sick at the two boys behind us, C.N. and Jacques Kocernoot, who have staked their entire vacation savings on their bet. From morning to night, it’s “You’re going to pass, No, I’m not,” “Yes, you are,” “No, I’m not.” Even G.'s pleading glances and my angry outbursts can’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 unpredictable creatures on earth. Maybe this time they’ll be unpredictable in the right direction for a change. I’m not so worried about my girlfriends and myself.

We’ll make it. The only subject I’m not sure about is math. Anyway, all we can 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 longest time because I talked so much. After several warnings, he assigned me extra homework. An essay on the subject “A Chatterbox.” A chatterbox, what can you write about that? I’d wbrry about that later, I decided. I jotted down the assignment in my notebook, tucked it in my bag and tried to keep quiet.

That evening, after I’d finished the 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 come up with convincing arguments to prove the necessity 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 control, 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 there’s not much you can do about inherited traits.

Mr. Keesing had a good laugh at my arguments, but when I proceeded to talk my way through the next class, he assigned me a second essay. This time it was supposed to be on “An Incorrigible Chatterbox.” I handed it in, and Mr. Keesing had nothing to complain about for two whole classes. However, during the third class he’d 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 I’d ) nearly exhausted my ingenuity on the topic of chatterboxes. It was time to come up with something else, j something original. My friend Sanne, who’s 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 on me with this ridiculous subject, but I’d make sure the joke was on him. I finished my poem, and it was beautiful! It was about a mother duck and a father swan with three baby ducklings 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 comments, and to several other classes as well. Since then I’ve been allowed to talk and haven’t been assigned any extra homework. On the contrary, Keesing’s always i making jokes these days.

Yours, Anne

SUNDAY, JUNE 21, 1942

Dearest Kitty,

Our entire class is quaking in its boots. The reason, of course, is the upcoming meeting in which the teachers decide who’ll be promoted to the next grade and who’ll be kept back. Half the class is making bets. G.Z. and I laugh ourselves sick at the two boys behind us, C.N. and Jacques Kocernoot, who have staked their entire vacation savings on their bet. From morning to night, it’s “You’re going to pass, No, I’m not,” “Yes, you are,” “No, I’m not.” Even G.'s pleading glances and my angry outbursts can’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 unpredictable creatures on earth. Maybe this time they’ll be unpredictable in the right direction for a change. I’m not so worried about my girlfriends and myself.

We’ll make it. The only subject I’m not sure about is math. Anyway, all we can 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 longest time because I talked so much. After several warnings, he assigned me extra homework. An essay on the subject “A Chatterbox.” A chatterbox, what can you write about that? I’d wbrry about that later, I decided. I jotted down the assignment in my notebook, tucked it in my bag and tried to keep quiet.

That evening, after I’d finished the 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 come up with convincing arguments to prove the necessity 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 control, 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 there’s not much you can do about inherited traits.

Mr. Keesing had a good laugh at my arguments, but when I proceeded to talk my way through the next class, he assigned me a second essay. This time it was supposed to be on “An Incorrigible Chatterbox.” I handed it in, and Mr. Keesing had nothing to complain about for two whole classes. However, during the third class he’d 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 I’d ) nearly exhausted my ingenuity on the topic of chatterboxes. It was time to come up with something else, j something original. My friend Sanne, who’s 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 on me with this ridiculous subject, but I’d make sure the joke was on him. I finished my poem, and it was beautiful! It was about a mother duck and a father swan with three baby ducklings 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 comments, and to several other classes as well. Since then I’ve been allowed to talk and haven’t been assigned any extra homework. On the contrary, Keesing’s always i making jokes these days.

Yours, Anne

SUNDAY, JUNE 21, 1942

Dearest Kitty,

Our entire class is quaking in its boots. The reason, of course, is the upcoming meeting in which the teachers decide who’ll be promoted to the next grade and who’ll be kept back. Half the class is making bets. G.Z. and I laugh ourselves sick at the two boys behind us, C.N. and Jacques Kocernoot, who have staked their entire vacation savings on their bet. From morning to night, it’s “You’re going to pass, No, I’m not,” “Yes, you are,” “No, I’m not.” Even G.'s pleading glances and my angry outbursts can’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 unpredictable creatures on earth. Maybe this time they’ll be unpredictable in the right direction for a change. I’m not so worried about my girlfriends and myself.

We’ll make it. The only subject I’m not sure about is math. Anyway, all we can 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 longest time because I talked so much. After several warnings, he assigned me extra homework. An essay on the subject “A Chatterbox.” A chatterbox, what can you write about that? I’d wbrry about that later, I decided. I jotted down the assignment in my notebook, tucked it in my bag and tried to keep quiet.

That evening, after I’d finished the 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 come up with convincing arguments to prove the necessity 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 control, 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 there’s not much you can do about inherited traits.

Mr. Keesing had a good laugh at my arguments, but when I proceeded to talk my way through the next class, he assigned me a second essay. This time it was supposed to be on “An Incorrigible Chatterbox.” I handed it in, and Mr. Keesing had nothing to complain about for two whole classes. However, during the third class he’d 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 I’d ) nearly exhausted my ingenuity on the topic of chatterboxes. It was time to come up with something else, j something original. My friend Sanne, who’s 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 on me with this ridiculous subject, but I’d make sure the joke was on him. I finished my poem, and it was beautiful! It was about a mother duck and a father swan with three baby ducklings 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 comments, and to several other classes as well. Since then I’ve been allowed to talk and haven’t been assigned any extra homework. On the contrary, Keesing’s always i making jokes these days.

Yours, Anne

SUNDAY, JUNE 21, 1942

Dearest Kitty,

Our entire class is quaking in its boots. The reason, of course, is the upcoming meeting in which the teachers decide who’ll be promoted to the next grade and who’ll be kept back. Half the class is making bets. G.Z. and I laugh ourselves sick at the two boys behind us, C.N. and Jacques Kocernoot, who have staked their entire vacation savings on their bet. From morning to night, it’s “You’re going to pass, No, I’m not,” “Yes, you are,” “No, I’m not.” Even G.'s pleading glances and my angry outbursts can’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 unpredictable creatures on earth. Maybe this time they’ll be unpredictable in the right direction for a change. I’m not so worried about my girlfriends and myself.

We’ll make it. The only subject I’m not sure about is math. Anyway, all we can 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 longest time because I talked so much. After several warnings, he assigned me extra homework. An essay on the subject “A Chatterbox.” A chatterbox, what can you write about that? I’d wbrry about that later, I decided. I jotted down the assignment in my notebook, tucked it in my bag and tried to keep quiet.

That evening, after I’d finished the 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 come up with convincing arguments to prove the necessity 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 control, 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 there’s not much you can do about inherited traits.

Mr. Keesing had a good laugh at my arguments, but when I proceeded to talk my way through the next class, he assigned me a second essay. This time it was supposed to be on “An Incorrigible Chatterbox.” I handed it in, and Mr. Keesing had nothing to complain about for two whole classes. However, during the third class he’d 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 I’d ) nearly exhausted my ingenuity on the topic of chatterboxes. It was time to come up with something else, j something original. My friend Sanne, who’s 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 on me with this ridiculous subject, but I’d make sure the joke was on him. I finished my poem, and it was beautiful! It was about a mother duck and a father swan with three baby ducklings 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 comments, and to several other classes as well. Since then I’ve been allowed to talk and haven’t been assigned any extra homework. On the contrary, Keesing’s always i making jokes these days.

Yours, Anne

SUNDAY, JUNE 21, 1942

Dearest Kitty,

Our entire class is quaking in its boots. The reason, of course, is the upcoming meeting in which the teachers decide who’ll be promoted to the next grade and who’ll be kept back. Half the class is making bets. G.Z. and I laugh ourselves sick at the two boys behind us, C.N. and Jacques Kocernoot, who have staked their entire vacation savings on their bet. From morning to night, it’s “You’re going to pass, No, I’m not,” “Yes, you are,” “No, I’m not.” Even G.'s pleading glances and my angry outbursts can’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 unpredictable creatures on earth. Maybe this time they’ll be unpredictable in the right direction for a change. I’m not so worried about my girlfriends and myself.

We’ll make it. The only subject I’m not sure about is math. Anyway, all we can 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 longest time because I talked so much. After several warnings, he assigned me extra homework. An essay on the subject “A Chatterbox.” A chatterbox, what can you write about that? I’d wbrry about that later, I decided. I jotted down the assignment in my notebook, tucked it in my bag and tried to keep quiet.

That evening, after I’d finished the 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 come up with convincing arguments to prove the necessity 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 control, 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 there’s not much you can do about inherited traits.

Mr. Keesing had a good laugh at my arguments, but when I proceeded to talk my way through the next class, he assigned me a second essay. This time it was supposed to be on “An Incorrigible Chatterbox.” I handed it in, and Mr. Keesing had nothing to complain about for two whole classes. However, during the third class he’d 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 I’d ) nearly exhausted my ingenuity on the topic of chatterboxes. It was time to come up with something else, j something original. My friend Sanne, who’s 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 on me with this ridiculous subject, but I’d make sure the joke was on him. I finished my poem, and it was beautiful! It was about a mother duck and a father swan with three baby ducklings 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 comments, and to several other classes as well. Since then I’ve been allowed to talk and haven’t been assigned any extra homework. On the contrary, Keesing’s always i making jokes these days.

Yours, Anne