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_23 December, 1894._
My Darling:
I suffer much, but I pity you still more than myself. I know how much
you love me. Your heart must bleed. On my side, my adored one, my
thought has always been of you night and day.
To be innocent, to have lived a life without a stain, and to be
condemned for the most monstrous crime that a soldier can commit! What
could be more terrible? It seems to me at times that I am the victim of
an awful nightmare.
It is for you alone that I have resisted until to-day; it is for you
alone, my adored one, that I have borne my long agony. Will my strength
hold out to the end? I cannot tell. No one but you can give me courage.
It is only from your love that I can draw it.
At times I hope that God, who has not abandoned me thus far, will end
this martyrdom of an innocent man; that He will bring to light the
Guilty One.
But shall I be strong enough to hold out until that time?
I have signed my appeal for a revision. I dare not speak to you of the
children; their memory rends my heart. Speak to them of me. May they be
your consolation.
My bitterness is such, my heart is so bruised, that I should, already
have got rid of this sad life if memory of you had not hindered me; if
the fear of augmenting your grief had not stayed my arm.
To have had to hear all they said to me, when I knew in my soul and
conscience that I had never failed, never committed even the most
trivial imprudence, that was the most horrible of mental torture.