that one of his superiors was involved in this low, cowardly attempt upon his life may shoot the same on the spot, without court martial.
What a perfect mess it’s going to be. Little Johnny's feet begin hurting him during a long march, he’s snapped at by his boss, the officer, Johnny grabs his rifle and cries out: “You wanted to murder the Führer, so there’s your reward.” One bang and the proud chief who dared to tick off little Johnny has passed into eternal life (or is it eternal death?). In the end, whenever an officer finds himself up against a soldier, or having to take the lead, he’ll be wetting his pants in anxiety, because the soldiers will dare to say more than he does. Do you gather a bit of what I mean, or have I been skipping too much from one subject to another? I can’t help it; the prospect that I may be sitting on school benches next October makes me feel far too cheerful to be logical! Oh, dearie me, hadn’t I just told you that I didn’t want to be too hopeful? Forgive me, they haven’t given me the name ‘little bundle of contradictions’ all for nothing!
Yours, Anne
Tuesday, 1 August, 1944
Dear Kitty, ‘Little bundle of contradictions.’ That’s how I ended my last letter and that’s how I’m going to begin this one. ‘A little bundle of contradictions’, can you tell me exactly what it is? What does ‘contradiction’ mean? Like so many words, it can mean two things, contradiction from without and contradiction from within.
The first means, ‘not giving in to others easily, always knowing best, getting in the last word,’ in short, all the unpleasant qualities for which I’m renowned. The second nobody knows about, that’s my own secret.
I’ve already told you before that I have, as it were, a dual personality.
One half embodies my exuberant cheerfulness, making fun of everything, my high spiritedness and, above all, the way I take everything lightly. This includes not taking offence at a flirtation, a kiss, an embrace, a dirty joke.
This side is usually lying in wait and pushes away the other, which is much better, deeper and purer. You must realise that no one knows Anne’s better side and that’s why most people find me so insufferable.
Certainly I’m a giddy clown for one afternoon, but then everyone’s had enough of me for another month. Really, it’s just the same as a love film is for deep thinking people, simply a diversion, amusing just for once, something which is soon forgotten, not bad, but certainly not good. I loathe having to tell you this, but why shouldn’t I if I know it’s true anyway? My lighter superficial side will always be too quick for the deeper side of me and that’s why it will always win. You can’t imagine how often I’ve already tried to push this Anne away, to cripple her, to hide her, because after all, she’s only half of what’s called Anne: but it doesn’t work and I know, too, why it doesn’t work.
I’m awfully scared that everyone who knows me as I always am will discover that I have another side, a finer and better side. I’m afraid they’ll laugh at me, think I’m ridiculous and sentimental, not take me seriously.
I’m used to not being taken seriously but it’s only the ‘lighthearted’ Anne that’s used to it and can bear it; the ‘deeper’ Anne is too frail for it.
Sometimes, if I really compel the good Anne to take the stage for a quarter of an hour, she simply shrivels up as soon as she has to speak, and lets Anne number one take over, and before I realise it, she has disappeared.
Therefore, the nice Anne is never present in company, has not appeared one single time so far, but almost always predominates when I’m alone. I know exactly how I’d like to be, how I am too... inside. But, alas, I’m only like that for myself. And perhaps that’s why, no, I’m sure it’s the reason why I say I’ve got a happy nature within and why other people think I’ve got a happy nature without. I am guided by the pure Anne within, but outside I’m nothing but a frolicsome little goat who’s broken loose.
As I’ve already said, I never utter my real feelings about anything and that’s how I’ve acquired the name of chaser-after-boys, flirt, know-all, reader of love stories. The cheerful Anne laughs about it, gives cheeky answers, shrugs her shoulders indifferently, behaves as if she doesn’t care, but, oh dearie me, the quiet Anne’s reactions are just the opposite. If I’m to be quite honest, I must admit that it does hurt me, that I try terribly hard to change myself, but that I’m always fighting against a more powerful enemy.
A voice sobs within me: ‘There you are, that’s what’s become of you: you’re uncharitable, you look supercilious and peevish, people dislike you and all because you won’s listen to the advice given to you by your own better half.’ Oh, I would like to listen, but it doesn’t work; if I’m quiet and serious, everyone thinks it’s a new comedy and then I have to get out of it by turning it into a joke, not to mention my own family, who think I’m ill, make me swallow pills for headaches and nerves, feel my neck and my head to see whether I’m running a temperature, ask if I’m constipated and criticise me for being in a bad mood. I can’t keep that up with that; if I’m watched to that extent, I start by getting snappy, then unhappy, and finally I twist my heart round again, so that the bad is on the outside and the good is on the inside and keep on trying to find a way of becoming what I would so like to be and what I could be, if... if there weren’t any other people living in the world.
Yours, Anne
