Now, it is not in your power to abridge my martyrdom, our martyrdom. The
Government alone possesses means of investigation powerful enough,
decisive enough, to do it if it does not wish to see a Frenchman--who
asks from his country nothing but justice, the full light, the whole
truth of the sad tragedy, who has but one thing more to ask of
life--that he may yet see for his dear little ones the day when their
honor is restored to them--succumb under the weight of so crushing a
fate for an abominable crime that he did not commit.
I am hoping, then, that the Government will lend you its co-operation.
Whatever may become of me, I can only repeat to you with all the
strength of my soul to have confidence, to be always brave and strong,
and embrace you with all my strength, as I love you, as I embrace also
our dear, our adored children.
Your devoted
ALFRED.
* * * * *
_6 January, 1897._
My dear Lucie:
Again I feel the need of coming to talk with you, of letting my pen run
on a little. The unstable equilibrium that with great difficulty I
maintain through a whole month of unheard-of sufferings is broken when I
receive your dear letters, always so impatiently awaited; they awake in
me a world of sensations, of feelings, that I had kept under during
thirty long days, and I ask myself vainly what is the meaning of life
when so many human beings are called to suffer thus. And then I have
suffered so much in the last months that have just passed, that it is
only when I am near you that I can warm my freezing heart. I know, too,
my darling, as well as you, that I repeat myself always since the very
first day of this sad tragedy; for my thought is like your own, like the
thought of you all, like the will that must sustain and inspire us.
And when I come in this way to chat with you for a few moments--oh, such
fleeting instants!--in regard to that thought which never leaves me
night or day, it seems to me that I live for one short moment with you,
that I feel that your heart is groaning with mine, and then I long to
press you in my arms, to take your two hands in mine, and to say to you
again, “Yes, all this is atrocious; but never should a moment of
discouragement enter into your soul any more than it ever enters into
mine. Just as I am a Frenchman and a father, so must you be a
Frenchwoman and a mother. The name that our dear children bear must be
washed free of this horrible stain; there must not remain one single
Frenchman who has one doubt of our honor.” That is our object, always
the same. But, alas! if one can be a stoic in the presence of death, it
is difficult to be one before this anguish of every day, confronted by
this harrowing thought, the question, when is this horrible nightmare to
end, in which we have lived so long--if it can be called living to
suffer without respite.
I have lived so long in the deluding expectation of a better day to
come, wrestling, not against the weaknesses of the flesh--they leave me
indifferent; it may be because I am haunted by other preoccupations--but
against the weaknesses of the brain, against the weaknesses of the
heart. And then in these moments of horrible distress, of almost
insupportable pain, so much greater because it is compressed,
contained--I can give absolutely no vent to it--I long to cry to you
across the space, “Ah, dear Lucie, hurry to those who direct the
affairs of our country, to those whose mission is to defend us, that
they may bring to you their active, ardent help, with all the means at
their disposal, so that at last light may be thrown upon this sad
tragedy, that we may know the truth, the whole truth, the only thing
that we ask for.”
This, then, in a few words, is what I wish, what I have wished always,
and I cannot believe that they will not give it to you. It is the
co-operation of all the forces of which the government can dispose, to
bring about the discovery of the truth; to cause justice to be rendered
to a soldier who suffers a martyrdom that is shared by his dear ones; to
put an end as soon as possible to a situation as atrocious as it is
intolerable--a situation that no creature with a human heart, a human
brain, could support indefinitely.
Therefore, I can only hope, for us all, that this union of efforts, of
good will, may bring about its result, and repeat to you always
unchangingly, Courage and Faith!
And now I have already stopped talking with you, and it is a tearing of
my heart to end my letter. But of what can I speak to you? Of our lives,
of our children? Does not the future of a whole family depend upon this
one thought that reigns in our hearts? Could there, as you have said so
truly, be any remedy for our ills other than full and entire
rehabilitation?
But if this object is to be pursued without one minute of weakness, of
weariness, until it shall have been attained, oh, dear Lucie! I wish,
too, with all my soul, that they may realize all the suffering, all the
sorrow, accumulated upon so many human beings, who ask only one
thing--the discovery of the truth--and now I must end my letter, but be
sure that in every minute of the day or the night my thought, my very
heart, is with you, with our dear children, to cry to you, Courage! to
cry to you again and always, Courage!
I embrace you as I love you, with all the power of my love, as I embrace
also our dear children.
Your devoted
ALFRED.
Kisses to all.
* * * * *
_20 January, 1897._
My dear and good Lucie:
I wrote to you at length on the arrival of your letters. When a man has
borne such suffering and for so long there are times when all that boils
within him must escape, as the steam lifts the safety-valve in an
over-heated boiler.
I have told you that I had an equal confidence in the efforts of one and
all. I will not go back to that.
But I have told you, too, that even if my heart never felt one moment of
discouragement any more than should yours, or the hearts of any of our
family, yet the energies of the heart, of the brain, have their limits
in a situation as atrocious as it is incredible; the hours become
heavier and heavier, and the very minutes no longer pass by.
I know what you are suffering, too, what you are all suffering, and the
thought is horrible.
Truly, you know all this, but if I tell it to you again it is because we
must now arise to face the situation; because we must face it bravely,
frankly. For on the one hand there can be but one end to our atrocious
tortures--the discovery of the truth, all the truth, full and entire
rehabilitation. And, then, it is precisely because the task is a
laudable one, because we all are suffering from the most cruel pangs
that have ever tortured human beings, because, also, in this horrible
affair there is a double interest at stake--our personal interest and
the interest of our country--it is just because of this, dear Lucie,
that it is your duty to appeal to all the forces that the Government has
at its command to put an end as soon as possible to this appalling
martyrdom. It is a martyrdom that no creature having a human heart, a
human brain, could resist indefinitely.
I should like to sum up my thoughts in a few words, ... but, alas! all
that I have borne so long in the vain hope, ever renewed, of a better
to-morrow, is at last passing the bounds of human strength.
And then what you have to ask--what they ought certainly to
understand--is this, that because human strength has limits, and because
the only thing that I ask of my country is the discovery of the truth,
the full light, to see, for the sake of my little ones, the day when
honor is given back to them, they must set everything in motion, to
hasten the moment when the end shall be attained. I am absolutely
convinced that they will listen to you, that their hearts will be moved
by our immense grief, by this prayer of a Frenchman, a father.
Whatever may become of me, let me repeat to you with all the forces of
my soul, Courage and Faith! Let me say again that my thoughts do not
leave you for a single moment; that it is the thought of you, of our
children, that gives me strength to live through these long and
atrocious days; that I embrace you with all my heart, with all my
strength, as I love you, as I embrace also our dear and adored
children, while I wait for your dear letters, the only ray of happiness
that comes to warm my crushed and broken heart.
Your devoted
ALFRED.
* * * * *
_21 January, 1897._
Dear Lucie:
I wrote to you at length last night. I come again to talk to you. I
repeat myself always, alas! I say always the same things; but when one
suffers thus, without respite, he must needs open his heart, in spite of
himself, to one in whose affection he trusts. And, then, this tension of
the brain becomes too excessive, and I ask myself each day how I resist
it. When I read over my letters I can see how powerless I am to express
our common sorrow and all the sentiments that are in my heart. And,
then, because excessive suffering, far from breaking down the soul that
is energetic, urges it onward to energetic resolution, because when one
has done nothing to deserve it one cannot permit himself to yield, to
break down, or to die under even so frightful a fate--because of all
this, dear Lucie, I have told you in all my letters, as I told you last
night, “Gather around you, around you all, every assistance of every
kind heart, so that you may at last see the truth of this sad tragedy,
in which we have suffered so appallingly, and for so long a time.” It is
this that I would repeat to you at every instant in every hour of the
day and night.
In a situation so pitiful, so tragic, which human beings cannot support
indefinitely, we must rise above all pettiness of mind, above all
bitterness of heart, and run straight onward to the end.
I can, then, only repeat to you always, you must appeal to all devoted
and generous spirits; and I have an intimate conviction that you will
find such and that they will listen to this cry for help of a Frenchman,
of a father, who asks of his country nothing but justice, the discovery
of the truth, the honor of his name, the life of his children.
It is this that I tell you in all my letters; it is this that I repeated
to you last evening; it is this that I now repeat to you more vehemently
then ever. The more the physical forces decrease, the more ought the
energies to increase, the will to press on. I can, then, dear Lucie, but
wish for you and for me, for all of us, that this united effort may
bring about its result.
I embrace you with all the power of my love, and our dear and good
children.
Your devoted
ALFRED.
* * * * *
_5 February, 1897._
Dear and good Lucie:
It is always with the same poignant, profound emotion that I receive
your dear letters. Your letters of December have just been given to me.
To tell you of my sufferings--what good would it do?
You must fully realize what they are, accumulated thus without one
moment of truce or rest in which I might renew my strength and brace up
my heart and my worn-out, disordered brain.
I have told you that I have equal confidence in the efforts of one and
all; that, on one hand, I have an absolute conviction that the appeal I
again made has been heard, and that, knowing you all as I do, you will
not fail in your duty.
What I wish to add is this: We must not bring into this horrible affair
either bitterness or acrimony against individuals. To-day I shall repeat
it to you as on the first day, above all human passions is our country.
Under the worst sufferings, under the most atrocious abuse and insult,
when the human beast awakes ferocious, making reason vacillate under the
torrents of blood that burn the eyes, the temples, the whole being, I
have thought of death, I have longed for it, often I called to it with
all my spirit; but my lips are ever hermetically sealed, because I want
to die not only an innocent man, but a good and loyal Frenchman, who
never for one single instant has forgotten his duty to his country.
Then, as I told you, I think, in my last letters, precisely because the
task is laudable; because your means, all your means, are limited by
interests other than our own; finally because I may not be long able to
resist a situation so atrocious, and when the only thing I ask of my
country is the discovery of the truth, that I may see for my dear little
ones the day when honor shall be given back to us--it is for all this,
dear Lucie, that you must appeal to all the forces that a country, a
government, has power over, to seek to put an end as soon as possible to
this fearful martyrdom; for be assured my nervous and cerebral
exhaustion is great, and it is more than time that I should hear at last
a human word that is a kind word. Well, I hope for us all that all these
efforts are soon to throw light upon this dark drama and that I am soon
to learn something certain, positive; so that at last I may sleep, may
rest a little.
But whatever may become of me, I wish to repeat to you with all my soul,
Courage and Faith!
I embrace you as I love you, with all the strength of my soul, and our
dear little ones.
Your devoted
ALFRED.
Kisses to your dear parents, to all our family.
* * * * *
_20 February, 1897._
My dear Lucie:
I have written you numerous letters during these last months, and I
repeat myself always. But what I would say is that, if sufferings
increase, if the revolt against it all becomes almost unendurable, the
sentiments that reign in my soul, that should reign in yours, all your
souls, are unvarying.
But I shall not write long. Ah, it is not that my thought is not with
you, with our children, night and day, since that thought alone makes me
live! There is not an instant when, mentally, I do not speak to you; but
in the presence of the tragic horror of a situation so appalling, and so
long borne, in the presence of the atrocious sufferings of us all, words
lose their meaning; there is nothing more to say. There is left only one
duty for you to fulfill--a duty that is unvarying, immutable.
Moreover, I have given you all the advice that my heart can suggest.
I can wish only to hear soon a human word, a word that will put a
soothing balm upon so deep a wound, that will give new strength to the
heart and rest the worn-out brain.
But whatever may come of it, again I repeat to you always, with all the
strength of my soul, Courage! Courage! Our children, your duty, are for
you supports that no human suffering should weaken.
I wish, then, simply to send you, while I wait for your dear letters,
the echo of my profound love, to embrace you with all my heart, as I
love you, and also our dear, adored children.