If I take a small helping of some vegetable I detest and make up with potatoes, the van Daans, and Mrs. van Daan in particular, can’t get over it, that any child should be so spoiled.
“Come along, Anne, have a few more vegetables,” she says straight away.
“No, thank you, Mrs. van Daan,” I answer, “I have plenty of potatoes.”
“Vegetables are good for you, your mother says so too. Have a few more,” she says, pressing them on me until Daddy comes to my rescue.
Then we hear from Mrs. van Daan— “You ought to have been in our home, we were properly brought up. It’s absurd that Anne’s so frightfully spoiled. I wouldn’t put up with it if Anne were my daughter.”
These are always her first and last words, “If Anne were my daughter.”
Thank heavens I’m not!
But to come back to this ‘upbringing’ business. There was a deadly silence after Mrs. van Daan had finished speaking yesterday. Then Daddy said, “I think Anne is extremely well brought up she has learned one thing anyway, and that is to make no reply to your long sermons. As to the vegetables, look at your own plate.” Mrs. van Daan was beaten, well and truly beaten. She had taken a minute helping of vegetables herself. But she is not spoiled! Oh, no, too many vegetables in the evening make her constipated. Why on earth doesn’t she keep her mouth shut about me, then she wouldn’t need to make such feeble excuses. It’s gorgeous the way Mrs. van Daan blushes. I don’t, and that is just what she hates.
Yours, Anne
Monday, 28 September, 1942
Dear Kitty,
I had to stop yesterday, long before I’d finished. I just must tell you about another quarrel, but before I start on that, something else.
Why do grown-ups quarrel so easily, so much, and over the most idiotic things? Up till now I thought that only children squabbled and that that wore off as you grew up. Of course, there is sometimes a real reason for a quarrel, but this is just plain bickering. I suppose I should get used to it. But I can’t nor do I think I shall, as long as I am the subject of nearly every discussion (they use the word ‘discussion’ instead of quarrel). Nothing, I repeat, nothing about me is right; my general appearance, my character, my manners are discussed from A to Z. I’m expected (by order) to simply swallow all the harsh words and shouts in silence and I am not used to this.
In fact, I can’t! I’m not going to take all these insults lying down. I’ll show them that Anne Frank wasn’t born yesterday. Then they’ll be surprised and perhaps they’ll keep their mouths shut when I let them see that I am going to start educating them. Shall I take up that attitude? Plain barbarism! I’m simply amazed again and again at their awful manners and especially … stupidity (Mrs. van Daan’s), but as soon as I get used to this—and it won’t be long—I’ll give them some of their own back, and no half measures.
Then they’ll change their tune!
Am I really so bad-mannered, conceited, headstrong, pushing, stupid, lazy, etc., as they all say? Oh, of course not. I have my faults, just like everyone else, I know that, but they thoroughly exaggerate everything.
Kitty, if only you knew how I sometimes boil under so many gibes and jeers. And I don’t know how long I shall be able to stifle my rage. I shall just blow up one day.
Still, no more of this, I’ve bored you long enough with all these quarrels. But I simply must tell you of one highly interesting discussion at table. Somehow or the other, we got on to the subject of Pim’s (Daddy’s nickname) extreme modesty. Even the most stupid people have to admit this about Daddy. Suddenly Mrs. van Daan says, “I too, have an unassuming nature, more so than my husband.”
Did you ever! This sentence in itself shows quite clearly how thoroughly pushing she is! Mr. van Daan thought he ought to give an
explanation regarding the reference to himself. “I don’t wish to be modest —in my experience it does not pay.” Then to me, “Take my advice, Anne, don’t be too unassuming, it doesn’t get you anywhere.”
Mummy agreed with this too. But Mrs. van Daan had to add, as always, her ideas on the subject. Her next remark was addressed to Mummy and Daddy. “You have a strange outlook on life. Fancy saying such a thing to Anne; it was very different when I was young. And I feel sure that it still is, except in your modern home.” This was a direct hit at the way Mummy brought up her daughters.
Mrs. van Daan was scarlet by this time. Mummy calm and cool as a cucumber. People who blush get so hot and excited, it is quite a handicap in such a situation. Mummy, still entirely unruffled but anxious to close the conversation as soon as possible, thought for a second and then said, “I find, too, Mrs. van Daan, that one gets on better in life if one is not overly modest. My husband, now, and Margot, and Peter are exceptionally modest, whereas your husband, Anne, you, and I, though not exactly the opposite, don’t allow ourselves to be completely pushed to one side.” Mrs. van Daan replied “But, Mrs. Frank, I don’t understand you; I’m so very modest and retiring, how can you think of calling me anything else?” Mummy: “I did not say you were exactly forward, but no one could say you had a retiring disposition.” Mrs. van Daan: “Let us get this matter cleared up, once and for all. I’d like to know in what way I am pushing? I know one thing, if I didn’t look after myself, I’d soon be starving.”
This absurd remark in self-defence just made Mummy rock with laughter. That irritated Mrs. van Daan, who added a string of German- Dutch, Dutch-German expressions, until she became completely tongue- tied; then she rose from her chair and was about to leave the room.
Suddenly her eye fell on me. You should have seen her. Unfortunately, at the very moment that she turned around, I was shaking my head sorrowfully—not on purpose, but quite involuntarily, for I had been following the whole conversation very closely.
Mrs. van Daan began to reel off a lot of harsh German, common and ill- mannered, just like a coarse, red-faced fishwife—it was a marvellous sight.
