Dvr H.Adler
179 Gen Trspt Coy
RASC
MEF

September 1942

Exactly five days ago, my dearest, I received the photos. Since then I have not been able to concentrate on anything, I am incapable of thinking, of writing to you. Quite simply, I am besotted. My God, Yvette my little one, what must I write to you? Since you have, so well, (illegible) everything.  Or almost. The best thing is to say nothing. For all I could say to you would only be a feeble, pale reflection of what I really feel on looking at these photos.

It is true that in the first moment, everything about me except my eyes was dead. They hastily, nervously ran from one to the other, gazed, gazed and gazed without feeling without comprehending. It’s true that afterwards I stretched out and all alone with the telegraph poles and the setting sun I was sad with you, I smiled with you, I laughed with you and I lingered long over each of these five Yvettes who, for me are only one Yvette, the only, the beautiful, the intelligent and the good, she in whose eyes I see a marvellous human heart, she who possesses wholly my spirit, my soul, my body – the whole of my being.  Yes, all that is true. But what is no longer true is that I  aurais du “ stretch out calmly and peacefully to sleep” with this beautiful hope in me.  Oh little one, I was not for a long times an automaton. Very quickly my blood rose in anger and fears (transes) terrible fears which have not ceased, surged through my body.  I didn’t cry, but my whole body sobbed. I don’t see it, I feel it.  Rising from the greatest depths, it rises and rises and I would say that I choke.

The truth is, cherie, that I no longer cease looking at your photos. And yet I see you always there, living, in front of me. Always. When I wanted it and when I didn’t. You know that, I have said so often. And yet, Yvette, tell me Cherie why my hands carry always anew before my eyes these photos which trouble me?  Why can I not sleep peacefully?  Although my love for you – I swear it – is not at all violent. At least that was wrong; the truth is that it is a mixture of gentleness and violence.  It must be like that. That is the nature of true love. Let’s leave it there!

I feel that I am saying foolish things to you. You must forgive me.  And I know that since you love me you will forgive me. Decidedly it would be better if I were silent.  You know, Wagner said of the music of Beethoven: ‘There is no more divine music than Beethoven’s silences.” It is that silence that I have brought to you for the last five days. It is my thanks for your photos, little one. They have made me so happy that I could not speak. And I still cannot.  One word only, thanks.

During the past week I’ve been sick for some days. Nothing serious. Fatigue. I was lying in the M.I. Room. It was there I wrote you a letter about Stalingrad. Always I am always sous l’impression of the soviet heroes, as the other day. But that’s not what I want to write to you about now.

I want to tell you that these days have been filled with you also, cherie. You know that I imagine to myself our next meeting. Every night, when I go to bed, my thought fly to you and I love you like a kid, dreaming knowingly of the day when I will see you, there in front of me and we will look at each other again. It is droll, what happens then. I see myself day to you “Hello Yvette” and then become silent, without moving, without saying a word. That’s all.  My brain works endeavours to raise itself into a beautiful fantasy. In vain. I can never discover the end of the story. All I know is that I am then very happy, take you by the arm and go off with you into a beautiful unknown country. My lips are murmuring something sweet and it’s always the same thing: “I love you Yvette”.

An incalculable number of times a day I say your name, cherie. Yvette: it’s so lovely and good and sweet.  One day, I amused myself by trying something stupid. Here goes: Usually when I pronounce the name Yvette- your name- I say it gently, as a prayer to Saint of the Church. I put into it all the passion of which I am capable. I say it as if I were begging something of you, humbly, on my knees.  I feel myself the one who must receive.  So, one day, I tried to say “Yvette”, while losing my temper. I imagined terrible things that might happen during years of a shared life. You know, that happens in the “best families”. I scowled, clenched my teeth, made all sorts of grimaces, lifted my voice and tried to cry out, annoyed, “Yvette!”.  My God, what a fiasco! How ridiculous. I was joking then and I am joking now. I certainly said Yvette, but, as always. As a prayer….

Oh, dear little one,  I love you like … like what, cherie?  There are no likes.

Yvette, Yvette, my little one, don’t talk, don’t write, hold you here, against me and feel what I feel.  The day will come. And that will be the day of my real birthday. With much love, Yvette

Henri.