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Dvr H.Adler
PAL/30775
650, G.T.Coy R.A.S.C
“B”Platoon  

June 1943

My very sweet darling,

I know that at the moment of departure for my last journey which would last several days, I promised in a hasty letter to write you a longer letter en route. But circumstances did not allow it.  It is easy to make plans; it is not always possible to carry them out. The situation demanded that the journey be shorter but speedy and filled with pretty tiring jobs. […] Imagine Yvette, that in the tiresome Near East, filled with sand and sun that slowly but surely wreck man’s nervous system, that kill his eyes  and his sense of beauty, that in this horrible Near East, I discovered a charming corner which  reminded me strangely of the beautiful South of France. Even approaching this corner, finding myself still on the dusty roads in the middle of the tubercular coughs of knocked up engines and suddenly seeing in front of me a riot of joyous trees with green leaves, truly green like those of Europe, I felt myself invaded by admiration.

But it was above all several hour later, stopping to refresh myself with a lemonade in a little bistrot on the side of the road, that I was bowled over – in front of me stretched the sea and to the right rose a chain of mountains. The sea was blue, bluer than ever. It was shining sweetly under the rays of a gentle sun. It was as peaceful as my soul is since you inhabited it. It sent towards me without cease, waves of fresh air that gently stroked my dusty and sweaty face.  And the mountain was all green.  Dark green. Full. And that green mass began and rose just there, where the beautiful blue of the sea finished. God how beautiful it is!

And then, on the flanks of that mountain, here and there I saw welcoming little cottages. All white with beautiful red angular roofs, you know, like in Europe. That moved me queerly, Yvette. Those red roofs!

I had never noticed, until that day, that here in the East the top of a house is flat, rather you don’t see the roof. A house here is like a rectangular box. When you see it from bottom up you would say that it is unfinished, that house. Or rather, that it is a temporary dwelling constructed hastily as a shelter against some plague or another. Well, I prefer the lovely rectangular roof, all red of old Europe. I didn’t know that. Now I do. Oh, I am gauche, powerless to express what effect the beauty and poetry of nature now has on me. I was never like that, Yvette darling. There is something strange happening to me. […]

Then I rested again for some minutes, like that spellbound, then quickly and angrily, I fled from this dream world. Angrily. Because of the war and of that other thing, the things for which I have struggled so long already, a better tomorrow for all men of good will. Angry also because, for that reason, I will never, ever be able to offer you that life. And above all, don’t be annoyed because I say this to you.

I was perhaps always from time to time a dreamer. No, not “perhaps” – it is sure. Every revolutionary must have inside himself something of a dreamer. It is also clear that since I love you, I lose myself in childish dreams, perhaps more often than before.

But deep down- perhaps because of the routine of a life consecrated to looking at men and the harshness of their lives caused by social disorder, because of my habit of always contemplating the broken shoe that tramples the grass and not the beautiful green grass itself – deep down, then, I believe that I have a cold head. And I will remain what I was and what I am.  I say all that in great peace. For I know that you love me so well, and that from this love I will succeed in drawing a lot of energy for our ideal and for

 the two of us, a lot of energy that I never before possessed. […]

Oh yes, darling, you have wrought miracles in me. You have transformed me into a man worthy of being loved by you.   What I have just said to you is serious and even profound. And it means so very much. It means the discovery of the fresh beauty of nature. It means internal peace, with myself: with my soul and my body. I feel so strongly that your love for me turns me into a much more human (humain) man than nature made me. Since you love me, you with your remarkable intelligence, I have more confidence in my mind than I have had up to now.  Since you love me, you with your beautiful and good, understandable body, I have gained confidence in my body- something I never had before. That’s a great deal. It’s enormous. It’s the birth of a new man.

I have told you up to now a little about my previous life. Some episodes.  I told you about those with the firm wish to strip myself completely naked. I have added nothing; hidden nothing; embellished nothing. They were nothing but then truth. Did you see that clearly? Did you see all the formidable torment into which my body was plunged during all those long years of struggle with hunger and society, those years?

 of cruel deceptions where all dignity risked being sunk, the years of unhealthy isolation when the whole of my being  retired within itself, those years without tenderness, without love, the misery of the body.

I wonder very often, how with all that, I did not sink finally into the Cellinien mud. For the fact is that I really didn’t sink. The fact is that all along I kept my heart naked, a heart which is no more or less squalid than the heart of your average man. It is actually even more pure. For you love me darling. I have withstood the shock because of my ideal.  The ideal that I always have. And even more, I have you. So I am now – and I dare to say it- a complete being. Thanks to you. At peace with myself. It is true, darling; you have given me peace in giving me your love.

I now have faith in life, in mankind, in my youth and in our future together in a better world. […]

You will withstand the shock, as I withstand it. Our star tells me that each night, each night. I kiss you on the end of your nose, darling.

Yours truly, Henri

I have the impression that at least one of my letters is lost. Because I received today a beautiful long letter from you from which I gather that you have been a very long time without news of me. […]

I embrace you tenderly,

Your

Henri.