Dvr H.Adler
PAL/30775
650, G.T.Coy R.A.S.C
“B” Platoon
MEF
15 February 1943
Here we are, darling: I have just finished my work, earlier than usual, so I am going to try to write you. […]
I often tell myself – each day – I would rather spend the whole day with you (j’ai beau etre toute la journee avrc toi), and the whole night, and wish you good morning and bid you good night each day, that I would rather murmur ceaselessly the sweetest words of love and cover your whole body with the most tender caresses, that I would rather discuss the great victory of the Red army with you and share the intense joy which that brings […]
If only you could comprehend all the depth with which I write: Yvette I love you – you would know that this is the most beautiful love letter that anyone has ever written. You see, my words are pretty limited but my love for you has no limit. It is, truly, infinite.
In this village there is a Soldiers’ Club. I went there one evening and I struck up as conversation with the manager. At the end of it he organised for us a concert of records. I arranged the program. Here it is Egmont, then Tchaikowsky’s Pathetique, then – oh darling! – the Fifth. Consciement. The fifth: wanted to relive that night, Yvette, I wanted to see you there, seated on the edge of the bed, our two souls joined, our two hearts so completely identified one with the other in the shade of that Great Love, reposing in the humane beauty of Beethoven.[…]
And there we are, when I asked for the Fifth, I knew very well what I wanted – it was you. You, when you were there in our little house, dominated by the giant shuddering with each chord of that Great heart. It is true. Suddenly, with the first bars, you know, those four knocks on the door of the heart, you came and you did not leave me all the evening. I was content and I also had a little unhappiness, for in the lucid moments a word dug into my brain – masochism. I have heard the fifth symphony many times. Never, never had it penetrated so profoundly. Because now, it is so powerfully tied to a memory, a picture that I keep jealously far inside myself: you, seated at the end of the bed clinging gently to my arms… My eyes saw the most beautiful thing in the world and I am sure that no one other than me has seen it. (Is it not that beauty depends much on the person who sees it? No one has looked at you as I have done it.) To see, across the soul of Beethoven your face, your hair, your gaze and your mouth, darling, your expressive lips- oh little one, little one, is there anyone who hears the fifth now as I do? What a pity, Yvette, that you cannot feel this!
And there we are, when I asked for the Fifth, I knew very well what I wanted – it was you. You, when you were there in our little house, dominated by the giant shuddering with each chord of that Great heart. It is true. Suddenly, with the first bars, you know, those four knocks on the door of the heart, you came and you did not leave me all the evening. I was content and I also had a little unhappiness, for in the lucid moments a word dug into my brain – masochism. I have heard the fifth symphony many times. Never, never had it penetrated so profoundly. Because now, it is so powerfully tied to a memory, a picture that I keep jealously far inside myself: you, seated at the end of the bed clinging gently to my arms…Darling, wherever my eyes land, wherever my vagabond brain ties up, I always find you. You are the principal outline of my present inner life. Do you understand me? Everything refers to you. Or rather to our love. “Our love”- isn’t that beautiful, isn’t it strengthening! I listen to Beethoven and it is you that I feel. I read, and it is always you. I talk, I make the most insignificant and it is still with you that they are impregnated.[…]
Oh darling, don’t ever leave me. For what would I do without you?
Before finishing, I remember something which is weighing on me and I want you to know about it, although it doesn’t sit well in this letter. Here it is: An English journalist interviewed(?) the waitress (serveuse) of General Rodintsev – defender of heroic Stalingrad. Right at the end, she, the waitress, gave him a glass of water and said, “Drink it. It’s Volga water. Better than the best wine. For the best Russian blood flows there….” Heroism. Heroism which is saving the world. Which is saving, us, darling.. The papers made great headlines of it-. But I, darling, these words of the comrade waitress, these words, you see darling, do you see as I do the “back-ground” of these heroic words. This blood….
Sentimental? Good. I have never denied it. And besides, believe me, that doesn’t prevent one from being a good revolutionary who hates and loves. Quite the contrary. It is that I almost forgot to tell you.
And now, good bye darling, I embrace you with all the tenderness of my heart.
I love you darling.
Henri
tom rigby - melbourne 