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_24 January, 1895._
My dear Lucie:
I see by your letter dated Tuesday, that as yet you have not heard from
me. How you must suffer, my poor darling! What horrible martyrdom for us
both! Are we unfortunate enough? Oh, what have we done that we must bear
such misfortune! It is this that makes it so appalling that we must ask
ourselves of what crime we have been culpable, what sin we are
expiating.
Ah, the monster who has cast shame and dishonor into the midst of an
honorable family! Such a one deserves absolutely no mercy. His crime is
so terrible that reason refuses to comprehend such infamy joined to
such cowardice. To me it seems impossible that such machinations shall
not soon or late be discovered, that such a crime can rest unpunished.
Last night there was a moment when the reality of my position seemed to
me a dream, horrible, strange, supernatural, from which I tried to
arouse myself, to awake. But, alas! it was not a dream. I tried to
escape from this awful nightmare, to find myself again in my own real
life, such as it ought to be, among you all, in your arms, my darling,
with my dear children by our side.
Ah, when shall this blessed day arrive? To that end spare neither time
nor effort nor money. Even if I am ruined as far as my fortune goes, I
do not care for that; but I want my honor; it is for that that I bear
these cruel tortures. Alas! I bear them as best I can. There are times
when I have moments of crushing despondency; when it seems to me that
death would be a thousand times preferable to the torture of soul that I
endure; but by a violent effort of the will I regain possession of
myself. What would you? I must at times give my grief free course; I can
bear it with more firmness afterward.
After all, let us hope that this horrible agony may end--that is my only
reason for living, that is my only hope.
The days and the nights are long. My brain is always searching for the
answer to this appalling riddle that it cannot solve.
Oh, if only I might, with the sharp blade of my sword, tear aside the
impenetrable veil that surrounds my tragic fate! It is impossible that
in the end this shall not be done.
Tell me everything that concerns you all, because yours are the only
letters I receive. Tell me of our dear children, of your own health.