* * * * *
_Half-past 7 in the evening._
I have to-day received no letter from you--no letter from any one. Have
they been stopped on the way? However that may be, I have to-day been
deprived of the only ray of sunlight which can lighten the darkness of
my prison.
P. S. Just now, as I was about to go to bed, they brought me a package
of letters, which I am going to devour with delight.
* * * * *
_Thursday, 5 o’clock in the evening, 11 January,
1895._
My Darling:
I thank you for your two last letters (one written Tuesday and the other
written, I think, Wednesday morning). They have just given them to me.
Write to me morning and evening. Although I receive the two letters at
the same time, nevertheless I can follow you in my thoughts. I see you
in all you do. It seems to me that I am living near to you.
I occupy my time in reading and in writing; in that way I try to calm
the fever of my brain; to think no more of my situation, so sad, so
undeserved.
Forgive me, my darling, if sometimes I complain. What would you, at
times memory is so bitter! I need to throw myself upon your breast,
there to pour out my overburdened heart. We have always understood each
other’s thoughts so well, my darling, that I am sure that your strong
and generous heart beats with the indignation of my own.
We were so happy--everything in life smiled upon us. Do you remember
when I told you that we had nothing for which to envy any one; that all
was ours? Position, fortune, the love we bore each other, our adorable
little children--we had everything.
There was not a cloud on the horizon; then came the awful thunderbolt,
so unexpected, so unbelievable! Even now it seems sometimes that I must
be the victim of a horrible nightmare.
I do not complain of physical sufferings, you know that I despise them;
but to know that an accusation of infamy stains my name, when I am
innocent--oh, no! no! This is why I have borne all my torment, all the
anguish, all the insults. I am convinced that soon or late the truth
will come to light, and then they will do me justice.
I can easily excuse this anger, this rage of all the people--the noble
people, who have been taught to believe that there is a traitor; but I
want to live so that they may know that the traitor is not I.
Upheld by your love, by the boundless love of all of ours, I shall
overcome fatality. I do not say that I shall not still have moments of
despondency, even of despair. Truly not to complain of an error so
monstrous would require a grandeur of soul to which I cannot pretend.
But my heart will remain strong and valiant.
Then courage and energy, my darling. We must all be brave and strong.
Let us lift up our heads all of us, carry them high and proudly. We are
martyrs. I will live, my adored one, because I will that you shall bear
my name, as you have borne it until now, with honor, with joy, and with
love; and because I will to transmit it to our children without a stain.
Therefore do not allow yourselves to be beaten down by
adversity--neither you nor the others. Search for the truth without
parleying, without a truce.
As to me, I shall wait with the strength born of a pure and tranquil
conscience until this mysterious and tragical affair is dragged into the
light.
You know, moreover, my darling, that the only mercy I have ever asked
for is the truth; I hope that my countrymen will not fail in the duty
which they owe to a fellow-man, who asks one right only--that the search
for the truth may be kept up.
And when the light shines in on my vindication; when they give me back
my _galons_ that I won, and that I am as worthy to wear now as when I
won them by my own might; when I am once more in my own place, at the
head of my troopers, oh, then, my darling, I shall forget
everything--the sufferings, the torture, the insults, the bleeding
wounds.
May God and human justice grant that the day break soon!
Until to-morrow, my adored Lucie! Then shall I have the pleasure of
embracing you again. Now I am counting the hours; to-morrow I shall
count the minutes.