It was his secret that I was about to learn.
PART II
AND EACH MAN KILLS THE THING HE LOVES
I KILLED the one I loved ... Raymond Cernay had said to me on that mournful night.
It is almost the phrase of the “Ballad of Reading Gaol” which I have used at the head of this transcription:—the explanation will come later: “Yet each man kills the thing he loves.”
The first note-book was dated November of the year following the death of Mme. Cernay. The second, also dated November, the month he consecrated to thoughts of the past, was written one year later, and one year therefore before my visit to the Sleeping Woods.
In the course of that same Autumn night in which I believed I had seen death, I read the two without a pause.
FIRST NOTE BOOK
November 19—
Six months, day by day, have already passed since the moment when I lost her. And already when I wish to recall them, many recollections evade and escape me, or seem inconsistent.
I shall try to fix here all that I can grasp of joy and sorrow, from our first meeting to her last breath. Thus, perhaps, I may be able to keep her nearer me. Each effort to find suitable words will help me to commune with her, as the faithful commune with God in prayer....