Since the package of June last I have received neither books nor
reviews. I thought that you would continue to send me books and reviews
each month regularly. Think of my perpetual tête-à-tête with myself. I
am more silent than a Trappist Monk, in my profound isolation, a prey to
sad thoughts, upon a lonely rock, sustaining myself only by the force of
duty.
* * * * *
_4 October, 1895._
My dear Lucie:
I have just received your dear letters of August, so impatiently waited
for each month, and with them the letters of all the family. Always
write long letters to me. I feel a childish pleasure in reading what
you have written, for then it seems to me that I hear you speak, that I
feel the beating of your heart close to mine.
When you suffer too much take your pen and come and talk with me.
I thank you for your good tidings of the children. Kiss them tenderly
for me.
My body, dear Lucie, is indifferent to everything; it is fortified by a
strength almost superhuman, by a higher power--the anxiety, desire for
our honor.
It is the sacred duty which I must fulfill--my duty to you, to our
children, to our families--which fills my soul and rules it, which
silences my broken heart. Were it not for that the burden would be too
heavy for human shoulders.
Enough of moaning, Lucie; it will not make things any better. This
appalling suffering must end for us all.
Strong in my innocence, march straight onward to your goal; silently,
quietly, but openly and energetically, even if you are forced to carry
your cause before the highest heads. No human heart can remain
insensible to the supplications of a wife who comes with her little
children to ask that the guilty be unmasked, that justice be done to the
miserable, wretched victims. Do not look back over the past, but speak
from your heart, from your whole heart; this tragedy of which we are the
victims is poignant enough even in its simplicity.
Act, then, as I advised you in my letters of the 7th and 27th of
September, frankly, resolutely, with the spirit of a woman who has to
defend the honor--that is to say, the life--of her husband, of her
children.
Do not give way to grief, my dear and good Lucie; that will not help
us. Pass from words to acts, and become great and worthy by those acts.
Embrace your dear parents and all our family for me. Thank them for
their good, affectionate letters; thank also your dear aunt for the
touching lines she has written to me. I do not write to them directly,
though my heart night and day is with them all; for I could only go on
repeating myself.
Courage, then, dear Lucie; we must see the end of this tragedy.
I embrace you with all my strength, with all my soul, and also our dear
children.