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Dvr H.Adler
PAL/30765
650, G.T.Coy R.A.S.C
“B”Platoon
C.M.F <— Attention: new address

Yvette, my sweet, I don’t always know the exact date. But I know that it’s three days after your last letter and we are still in the month of September. Autumn is officially here, however it is still very hot.

And the fight continues to be very brisk.

For my part, I am extremely tired, but pleased to be here in this good old green Europe, pleased to contribute with all my strength to its liberation, to the liberation of our France, darling, to your return to be with the marvellous Helene-

I write to you, darling, from the same trench. A box in front of me, these papers on it, the sky filled with an infernal noise- but look, now everything is calm. That’s better. That’s much better.

Darling, my beloved, my so sincerely, so profoundly beloved! Yvette, I see your red hair, I see your sensual lips, I feel the sweet moisture of your mouth, I see you intelligent glance, your deep and loving glance, I see your face, I see your body, I feel your heart – and I love you. I love you without beginning and without end, in space and in time, in the calm of peace and in the noises of war.  The War—-

I have seen and I see so many things. I have seen them before and I see them again now.  But with me that can never become a matter of habit. As in Spain, the world of destruction extends in front of my eyes. Again, the horizon is full of misery and destruction.

I would have liked to make you understand the difference between a shell hole in the sand of the desert and a shell hole in the green woods of Europe. And what a difference that makes in my heart.

The decapitated apple trees, the massacred flowers, the torn up trees strewn pell mel in a tragic disorder on the ravaged ground, the little houses covered with sinister holes and the people, the people with wild looking eyes, the horrors of the retreating nazis reflected in all their being, the men without hearths, mothers without children, children without mothers, the mourning of three years of massacre and of twenty years of tyranny that the fascism of Il Duce brought them.

He has left his name and his mug on all the roads, he has had built ramshackle houses, splendid palaces on which each brick was enriched with a majestic “M”. “Dux” here and “Dux” there and a bloody regime of terror and hunger in this beautiful mountainous country. And tears for Abyssinia, for Spain, for Libya, Russia – “Il Impero”.

I can still hear him shouting from the height of his balcony: “Sons of Italy, I gave you 5 million bayonets! … Or perhaps: “War, is the greatest good fortune for a nation”. And it massacred the youth of Spain —— Fascism.  Now, they are shattered..

Especially on the roads, I see little groups of soldiers, in rags and bare feet, who return to their houses – if they still exist! – with bitter reflections on the regime which demanded heroism and which gave them a hollow belly. They could not have a fascist Stalingrad and there will not be a nazi Stalingrad. But these little groups of Italian soldiers walking along the roads – how that recalls to me the death of Lucien in “the Fall of Paris” by Ehrenburg. And I feel not a bit of vengeful pleasure in my heart.  I feel their pain, like that of the French, the Jews and the Russians. They must go that way, as the Germans must go that way. That will purify them. And together, one will build a free and just world in which every one can live and die in peace.

The macabre music begins again. But I am well and happy in Europe.  Hitler called it: Europafestung”. Now we have captured that fortress. And nazism will be smashed as fascism is. And worse. For the horrors of the nazis are truly indescribable.. I must stop now. Today I learnt that Poltava has been liberated by the Russians. We will also do our best. The end approaches. Life begins again. Joy is in my heart.  And it is not the agony of Nazism, which can diminish my joy. Oh no! It is just that agony which brings me joy. And the day when nazism dies, my joy will triumph: you will again be in my arms.

I love you darling. You are always near to me. In my most difficult moments, it is you who comes towards me and caresses me, consoles me and gives me courage.  There is no day, there is no night when my heart is without you for a single minute. That’s why it is so strong.  And the novices surround me and respect me. The other day, under enemy artillery fire, a pal asked me “How is it that you can joke!” He thinks it is because of Spain. As if one could become accustomed to that!

It is the hatred of fascism and our love darling, your love for me and mine for you, which keeps me marching straight.

When I am lying flat down on the ground, when the inferno beats down on us, when fear spread among us, you are beside me and the sweet melodies of our love overpowers the barbarous music of the instruments of death.

Darling, darling, darling Yvette, my adored wife, do you no love me ever with the same good love as before?

But yes. I feel it so well. It is good. It is the only thing that matters. Believe me.

I have not yet received your letters. But soon I will have them What a holiday that will be!

Write to me little one, as often as you can. I need your tenderness. And since it is impossible in any other way, give me a little in your letters.  Say hello to Polia. And if you go to Tel-Aviv don’t forget to write me everything about our Ouri.

I embrace you very, very tenderly.

Your

Henri

A photo! S.v.p