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_2 August, 1895._
My dear Lucie:
The mail from Cayenne arrived yesterday. I hoped to receive your letters
as I did last month. This hope has been deferred. What shall I tell you,
my dear and good Lucie, that I have not already said and repeated many
times? If I have undergone the most shocking tortures, if I have borne
up to this day a moral situation in which every instant is for me a
wound, it has been because, innocent of that horrible treachery, I long
for my honor--the honor of the name borne by our dear children.
Had I been alone in the world, probably, unable to have regained my
honor for myself, I should have acted in another way.
Oh, in that case, I swear to you that I should have had the secret of
this infernal machination. I should have left to the future the care of
rehabilitating my memory. However incomprehensible to me this drama, in
the end all would have been discovered--discovered naturally.
But there you were, there were our children, who bear my name, there was
my family. I had to live to reclaim my honor, to sustain you by my
presence, by all the ardor of my soul, for--and this thought is before
all else--our children must enter life with heads erect. This patience
of soul which is not mine, which I never can possess, I impose it upon
myself, for it is my duty.
It is true, indeed, that I have had moments of horrible despair. All
this mask of infamy that I wear for the wretch who is guilty burns my
face, it crushes my heart; everything, in truth, all my being, revolts
against a moral situation so absolutely opposed to what I am.
I do not know, my dear Lucie, what is the situation at the present hour,
since your last letters were written more than two months ago; but no
matter how the case now stands, say to yourself that a woman has all
rights--sacred rights, if any are sacred, when she has to fulfill the
highest mission which misfortune can force upon a wife and a mother.
As I have also often told you, you have to ask only for a thorough
search for the truth. You ought certainly to find among those who direct
the affairs of our country men of heart who will be moved by this bitter
anguish of a wife and a mother, who will understand this awful martyrdom
of a soldier for whom honor is everything. I cannot believe that
everything will not be put in motion to help you in bringing the truth
to light, to help you in unmasking the wretch, or the wretches,
creatures unworthy of pity, who have committed this horrible treachery.
I can only give you the counsel which my heart suggests. You can
appreciate better than I the means by which we may arrive at a prompt
and complete rehabilitation.
But I may still say this, that the only thought which should now occupy
your mind is this: the care of guarding the honor of the name you
bear--this is to assure the life, the future of our children. This is
the end necessary, and you must attain it, whatever may be the means.
There must not remain one single Frenchman who doubts my honor.
Yours is a grand mission, and you are worthy to accomplish it. When
honor shall be given back to us--and I hope for all our sakes it may be
soon--I shall consecrate the remainder of my life to making you
forget--yes, even you shall forget, my poor darling--these terrible
months of pain and anguish; for, more than all others, you deserve to be
happy and beloved for your great heart, for your wonderful strength of
character.
Then, be always strong and valiant. May my spirit, my profound love,
sustain and guide you.
My thoughts are constantly with you, with our dear little ones, with you
all.
Kisses to the children--to all.