_19 January, 1895._
My Darling:
Thursday evening, toward ten o’clock, they came to wake me to bring me
here, where I arrived only last night. I do not want to speak of my
journey, it would break your heart. Know only that I have heard the
legitimate cries of a brave and generous people against him whom they
believe to be a traitor, the lowest of wretches. I am no longer sure if
I have a heart.
Oh, what a sacrifice I made the day of my condemnation, when I promised
you that I should not kill myself! What a sacrifice I made to the name
of my poor, dear, little children, in bearing what I am undergoing! If
there is a divine justice, we must hope that I shall be recompensed for
this long and fearful torture, for this suffering of every minute and
every instant. The other day your father told me that he would have
preferred death. And I--I would rather, a hundred thousand times rather,
be dead. But this right to die belongs to none of us; the more I suffer
the more must it impel your courage and your resolution to find the
truth. Look on for the truth, do not waver, do not rest. Let your
efforts be in proportion to the sufferings which I have imposed upon
myself.
Will you please ask, or have some one ask, at the Ministry for the
following authorizations; the Minister alone can accord them:
1. The right to write to all the members of my family--father, mother,
brothers, and sisters.
2. The right to write and to work in my cell. At present I have neither
_paper_, nor _pen_, nor _ink_. I am given only the sheet of paper on
which I write to you; then they take away my pen and ink.