* * * * *
_26 October, 1895, evening._
Before I send this letter I want to add a few words, for thus it seems
to me that I come near you and talk with you as in those happy times
when we chatted together in our chimney corner. And, then, these are
the only moments when I say a word, and if I were to listen only to my
desire, I should talk so with you every day, and every hour in the
day--but I should always say the same words.
If at times I groan, it is that being such as you know me to be--and you
know that I am neither patient nor resigned--the anguish is too great,
the hours weigh too heavy on my soul. I do not pretend to be stronger
than I am. If I do succeed in holding out I have told you why. I do not
want to return to it. But if I am reduced to mere groaning, if I must
stand with folded arms before the most appalling sorrow that the honest
and ardent heart of a soldier can feel when he is struck not only in
himself, but in his wife, his children, in those he loves, I say to you
yourself, as I say to you all, “Courage, individual energy!” When a man
is subjected to a misfortune so undeserved he conquers it; and he does
not conquer it by tears, or by recriminations, but by going straight
forward. Our goal is our honor, and we should press forward with active,
indefatigable energy, an energy that should be as great as the
circumstances that exact our effort.
After all, there is a justice in this world, and it is not possible that
the innocent should remain subjected to such martyrdom. Yes, I am
repeating myself, and I can do nothing but repeat myself. My opinions
have not changed. All this is rather that I may chat a little with you
than for any other reason; to pass with you an hour of our long nights,
for, as I have told you, I am now awaiting the result of your efforts
and of the steps you have taken, which I think will not now be long
delayed; and I am hoping that I shall soon see the day when I can
breathe freer, when I can relax myself a little; it is full time, of
that I assure you.