André Gide - The White Notebook

( Midnight, Antibes, Nov. 5 )

“It is night. I can not sleep. What are you doing, Emmanuèle? I know that you lie awake. On the balcony the light from your room silhouettes the flowers embroidered on your curtains. What are you doing? It is late. The others are asleep.

“And what was wrong with you this evening? You seemed pensive — pensive over what, my sister? Oh, if only I dared read your soul!.. Emmanuèle, could it be true?… But I am afraid to find out — I wait for you still.”

Oh! I beseech you, daughters of Jerusalem,

Do not awaken, do not awaken my love —

Until she wills it.

* * *

I sat down at the piano. I had not dared to play for you again since the other evening … fearing the worst, doubting. I played at random Schumann’s Novelettes. You were on the balcony. It was still warm in spite of advancing night. I played at random — and then — you came to listen to me. I had not seen you approach but suddenly the delicate rustling of your dress made me aware of your presence. I trembled so from surprise and confusion that I could no longer play.

“Look!” I said, “You upset me so much when you come up like this … I am trembling.”

“Why, André? Why?” you asked with a smile.

You did not go away. You remained nearby — and you watched me. I felt your look without seeing it.

Turn your eyes away from me, for they disturb me.

You remained so pensive. Pensive over what, Emmanuèle?

What are you doing now that it is so late? The hour for sleep has come.

Then — a little later on — we were all sitting around the lamp. You had risen to look for a book and then, before you sat down again, you came near me and I felt your delicate hand gently caress my forehead.

I looked at you; bending over me, tenderly, you were smiling, but sadly, pensively.… Pensive over what, Emmanuèle?

What are you doing now, so late at night?

Perhaps your soul is also waiting and you are praying.

( November 6)

“For the first time I saw your look in a dream.

“You were smiling, but mockingly. I put my hand over my eyes to avoid seeing your look, but I could still see it through my hand.”

“You told me at the kiss of dawn: ‘I prayed for both of us last night, André.’

“‘Do you think that I did not know, little sister?’ I replied.

“Then you looked disturbed; you wanted to speak but fell silent. What did you wish to say?”

( November 26)

They are watching us, I know. Especially my mother. She dares not believe; she does not know — and is afraid to find out. She is especially disconcerted by the fact that for the past several days, for reasons incomprehensible to her, I have avoided you. But yesterday when you came up to the piano, I could not help noticing her uneasiness.

Then I had a dream last night, a strange, sweet dream. We were sitting by the lamp in the evening — talking, reading as on other evenings — but I sensed on all sides their mute spying on our movements, as one senses things intuitively in dreams.

Fearfully I observed my actions. Frightened by the notion that you might approach me, I had sat down far away from you.

You, absent-minded, apparently unaware of their looks, came up to me: I was unable to run away, and your hand sought mine as it tried in vain to escape and slowly, tenderly, caressed it.

Around us their faces became animated, their heads nodded, their smiles appeared.

“Aha!” they said, “we knew it all along, all along!”

Their derisive laughter seemed forced. You kept your eyes lowered and continued obstinately to caress my hand, which I tried in vain to withhold.

And that was so strangely sweet that I awoke, as from a nightmare. 51

Here end the written pages.

My mother was sick. We stood by her bedside and comforted her. I cooled her brow and you gave her water. Both of us were engrossed in a common prayer; all else was forgotten. Our souls, void of everything except pity, void of desire other than that of serving, united in the face of approaching death, not in profane joy, not even startled by the ecstatic embrace long anticipated and finally realized — and almost without seeing each other because of the dazzling light of virtue which we contemplated and toward which our souls aspired.

All else was forgotten, so lofty were our thoughts.

In the evening you put your hand in mine to pray; then you forgot and removed it as you watched my dear moribund mother fall into peaceful sleep. We remained beside her for a long time.

Both of us kept watch that night in the room where the dying woman slept. Though near, we did not see each other. That was the supreme moment; our souls evolved. Without speaking, as if in a trance, we thought — what thoughts!

Virtue, which first I had sought for you, now dazzled me and exerted on me its pull.…

The boundaries of reality were blotted out; I was living a dream.

The next day my mother spoke to me. I have already repeated her words … but the sacrifice had already been made in my heart.…

Then my mother set their engagement. I know that I saw both of them, Emmanuèle and T***, at the foot of the bed, their hands clasped, and that my mother was giving them her benediction. But all the rest is forgotten — my overwhelming grief seemed unreal and I thought that I was dreaming — there was no longer even a trace of bitterness in my grief.

And what remains now is joy.…

( June 28)

Some evening I shall recall the past and repeat my words of mourning.… Today, however, the sky is too bright, too many birds are singing. I am inebriated by spring and my mind is filled with new lyrics in which our name delicately rimes and alliterates with the names of flowers. It is a sweet melody: an air played on a flute — almost like the warbling of birds — and the sound of wings beneath leaves in visible shadows — O flutes, soaring oboes!..

Love transcends mourning and death.

And the alleluias of victory will drown out the song of the willows.

Bless you, beloved mother! Above your bed of suffering our souls found each other again.

You could separate only our bodies, enabling all three of us to find comfort in the serenity of studied virtue; but through a higher, inscrutable will stern virtue, which seemed at first to separate us, became glorious and consummated the chaste desire in our souls.

It is through obedience that I have found her again — in spite of ourselves and because it had to be that way.

Then I departed.

As soon as the period of mourning had ended, they celebrated their marriage … their marriage …?

And I departed.

I departed, and took refuge in this solitude, for I no longer knew anyone … after the flesh, as the apostle says.

And I am going to write my book.

How changed, my soul! how changed!

You once wept but now you smile.

Do not study yourself — explain nothing — let sentiment rule; and then — forge ahead.… All things have been renewed.…

I said to my soul:

“Why are you smiling? You are hopeless in your solitude. It is as if your erstwhile friend no longer existed. You will have to cease your adulterous dreams.

“Weep. They are gone, all your loved ones, and have left you alone. Weep. Your loves have ended. The time for love is over.…”

“Do you believe this?” my soul replied, still smiling and repeating to itself:

Love transcends mourning and death. Acute sorrows have been blotted out and the willows are silent.

Sing, my soul, to new dawns.

All hopes have blossomed anew.