Write to me often and at length. Think that I am here alone from morning
until evening, and from evening until morning. Not one sympathetic soul
comes to lighten my dark sorrow. I long to be there with you, where I
can wait in peace and tranquillity, until they rehabilitate me--until
they give me back my honor.
* * * * *
_7 o’clock, evening, 5 January, 1895._
I have just had a moment of terrible weakness; of tears mingled with
sobs; all my body shaken by the fever. It was the reaction from the
awful tortures of the day. It had to be--I knew it. But alas! instead of
being allowed to sob in your arms, to lean my head upon your breast, my
sobs have resounded in the emptiness of my prison. It is finished. Be
lifted up, my heart; I concentrate all my energy. Strong in my
conscience, pure and unstained, I owe myself to my family, I owe myself
to my name. I have not the right to desert. While there remains in me a
breath of life I will struggle, hoping that light soon may be let in
upon the truth. And do you continue your searches. As for me, the only
thing that I ask is to leave here as soon as possible; to find you
there; to settle down to our life there, while our friends, our
families, are busy here searching for the guilty one, so that we may
come back to our dear country, martyrs who have borne the most terrible,
the most harrowing, of trials.
_Saturday, 7:30 P. M._
It is the hour when we are obliged to go to bed. What will become of me?
What am I going to do when I am in my bed, a straw mattress supported on
iron rods. Physical sufferings are nothing--you know that I do not fear
them--but my moral tortures are far from being ended. Oh, my darling,
what did I do the day I promised you to live! I thought then that my
soul was stronger. It is easy to talk of being resigned because the
heart is innocent, but it is hard to be so.
Write to me soon, my darling; try to see me. I need to draw new strength
from your dear eyes.
A thousand kisses.