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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6cc6b8c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64720 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64720) diff --git a/old/64720-0.txt b/old/64720-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3a81bbe..0000000 --- a/old/64720-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8810 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lettres d'un Innocent, by Alfred Dreyfus - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Lettres d'un Innocent - The Letters of Captain Dreyfus to His Wife - -Author: Alfred Dreyfus - -Translator: L. G. Moreau - -Release Date: March 06, 2021 [eBook #64720] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - available at The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTRES D'UN INNOCENT *** - - - [Illustration: CAPTAIN ALFRED DREYFUS] - - - - - _Lettres d’un Innocent_ - - THE LETTERS - - OF - - CAPTAIN DREYFUS - - TO HIS WIFE - - - TRANSLATED - - BY L. G. MOREAU - - - WITH PORTRAITS - - [Illustration] - - - NEW YORK AND LONDON - HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS - 1899 - - - - - Copyright, 1899, by HARPER & BROTHERS. - - _All rights reserved._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - -INTRODUCTION, BY WALTER LITTLEFIELD vii - -LETTERS OF CAPTAIN ALFRED DREYFUS: - - I. FROM THE PRISON DU CHERCHE-MIDI 1 - - II. FROM THE PRISON OF LA SANTÉ 30 - - III. FROM SAINT-MARTIN DE RÉ 56 - - IV. FROM ÎLES DU SALUT 79 - -APPENDIX: - - I. LATER LETTERS FROM CAPTAIN ALFRED DREYFUS TO HIS FAMILY 227 - - II. A LETTER TO HIS COUNSEL 232 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - -CAPTAIN ALFRED DREYFUS _Frontispiece_ - -CAPTAIN ALFRED DREYFUS _Facing p._ 48 - From a photograph taken on the occasion of his degradation - -MADAME ALFRED DREYFUS AND HER CHILDREN ” 176 - - - - -DREYFUS, THE MAN - -BY WALTER LITTLEFIELD - -Author of “The Truth About Dreyfus” - - -In cases of high treason no less than in violations of the criminal code -the personal character of the accused has always had great weight with -French judges. In attempting to prove that Captain Alfred Dreyfus -carried on treasonable negotiations with a foreign power, M. -d’Ormescheville, in his Acte d’Accusation or indictment, laid great -stress on the information collected from the municipal police tending to -show that the prisoner was an habitual wrong-doer. The supposition that -as an Alsatian he might have entered the French army and remained there -with the patriotic and unselfish desire to serve Germany is treated with -secondary importance. It was the intention of the officer who served as -Juge d’Instruction to show that Dreyfus was criminally corrupt, and -hence was quite capable of being a traitor. Not only did the -semi-official press of Paris, in the winter of 1894-95, dwell upon those -acts that seemed intimately connected with the alleged treason, but they -delved into his domestic life. With diabolical frankness and in a -network of specious details they branded him profligate as well as -traitor. The Acte d’Accusation charges him with being a gambler and -libertine, unmindful of the well-being of his family, faithless to his -wife. - -For many weeks this most infamous campaign was kept up in the columns of -_L’Echo de Paris_, _Le Petit Journal_, _Le Gaulois_, _La Libre Parole_, -and _L’Intransigeant_. So varied in character and so ingenious in -conception were these libellous tales, that it became impossible for the -friends of the condemned man to make an adequate defense. Dreyfus’s -counsel, Maître Demange, heard the stories, and could do nothing. The -verdict of the court-martial closed the door to legal redress. The -devoted wife of Dreyfus at first attempted to reply to them in _Le -Figaro_. Parisians laughed at her _naïveté_. She was not the only -deceived wife in the world, they said. At length, wearied of the unequal -combat--one woman against a horde of anti-Semitic vilifiers--she gave to -the world a volume of letters written by her husband to herself. It was -her desire simply to show him as he was, to rehabilitate the prisoner as -a husband and a father in the eyes of Frenchmen. But “Les Lettres d’un -Innocent” have done more than this. To the women of France, at least, -they have established the innocence of the man. No one can read these -letters without being struck by the absolute sincerity of the writer; by -his love for his wife and his family, and for his country; by his -devotion to duty and to the traditions of the army whose heads had so -remorselessly sacrificed him; by the utter hopelessness of his position. -When, in the papers of January 6, 1895, the story of his dramatic -degradation was published to the world, the French people pretended to -see in his proud, fearless demeanor, as his uniform was stripped of -insignia and his sword broken before him, a criminal stoicism that would -have been impossible in an innocent man. Many English and American -readers recognized simply the final desperate appeal of an entirely -innocent man. The sentiment that was then aroused outside of France will -be emphasized by “Les Lettres d’un Innocent.” Although not destined to -have the judicial and logical weight of the testimony before the Cour de -Cassation, they have a sympathetic and persuasive significance that is -eminently human. The evidence before the Court proves that Dreyfus did -not write the _bordereau_. The letters convince one that he was -incapable of treason. - -The reader who expects to find in the epistles before us arguments -tending to prove the innocence of the writer will be disappointed. Even -if the prisoner actually attempted defense it was not allowed to pass -the censor. Only a persistent declaration of innocence will be found -here--a declaration that is repeated with awful and tragic monotony -until it smites the ear like the wail of an innocent soul in Dante’s -“Inferno.” - -As has been said, the conditions under which these letters were written -forbade the author to indulge in details concerning the circumstances of -his awful fate. Hence, for a fuller appreciation and a better -understanding of the emotions that moved the writer at given periods, -the following data must constantly be borne in mind: Dreyfus was -arrested October 15, 1894; his trial by court-martial began December 19 -of the same year and ended December 23. The condemned man was publicly -degraded January 5, 1895, and on the 9th day of the following February -the Chamber passed a law decreeing his place of confinement to be French -Guiana, in South America; in March he was transported thither. - -The prisoner wrote regularly to his wife until the spring of 1898, when -he became a victim of the conditions of his solitary position. In -September, 1898, he bade a final adieu to his wife and children and -declared that he would write no more.[A] He was beset with unconquerable -sadness. He complained to his physician, Dr. Veugnon, of Cayenne, of -mental exhaustion and insomnia. He was haunted by the “fixed idea” to -exculpate himself from the charge of treason. Yet he could only deny and -deny. - -He knew nothing of what was passing in Paris and in the world at large. - -On November 15, 1898, M. Darius, the Procureur Général of Cayenne, -entered the room occupied by the prisoner on the Ile du Diable and said -to him, “Dreyfus, the Cour de Cassation has decided to revise your case. -What have you to say?” Dreyfus seemed like one dazed. The day for which -he had so fervently prayed had come at last. Yet, according to his -inquisitor, this is what he replied: “I shall say nothing until I am -confronted by my accusers in Paris.” No further facts were revealed to -him, but, under the direction of the authorities in Paris, he was -interrogated at given periods. In the mean time he was left a prey to -strange conjectures concerning his ultimate fate. On July 3, 1899, he -was told that he was to be taken immediately to France to stand trial -before a new court-martial at Rennes. He had been a prisoner on the Ile -du Diable for more than fifty months. - -Alfred Dreyfus, captain in the 14th Artillery, was appointed to the -General Staff of the French Army in 1893. He was the first Jew to be so -honored. His record at the Chaptal College, at Sainte-Barbe, at the -Ecole Polytechnique, at the Ecole d’Application, at the Ecole de Guerre, -no less than his service in the 31st Regiment of Artillery, in the 4th -Mounted Battery, and in the 21st Regiment of Artillery, shows that he -deserved the distinction. The words of praise that his chiefs then wrote -of him are in strange contrast with their later reflections. - -For years the Dreyfus family had been identified with large -manufacturing interests in Mulhouse, in Alsace. Alfred was one of four -brothers. When Germany took possession of the province as one of the -results of the Franco-Prussian War, the three younger brothers declared -for France, and were obliged to quit German territory; the eldest, who -had passed the age of military service, remained behind to look after -the business from which the brothers derived their income. It was -natural that they should have wished to remain Frenchmen. Had not France -emancipated the Jews forty years before they had the privileges of -Gentiles under the English law? Since disgrace has fallen upon their -family their enduring and emphasized patriotism is somewhat remarkable. - -It must not be supposed, on the one hand, that a long period of -suspicion was attached to Dreyfus before his melodramatic arrest in the -office of du Paty de Clam, or, on the other, that the unfortunate man -was the victim of an anti-Semitic plot created for the purpose of -ruining him. He was the victim of mistake before he became the martyr of -crime. The facts are simply these: - -In August, 1894, Commandant Comte Walsin-Esterhazy, who was carrying on -treasonable negotiations with the German Embassy in Paris, sent to -Lieutenant-Colonel von Schwarzkoppen some notes of information together -with a memorandum. This memorandum, or _bordereau_, fell into the hands -of a French spy. It was taken to the Secret Intelligence Department. -Its importance as revealing the presence of a traitor who had access to -the secrets of the War Office was at once recognized. General Mercier, -then Minister of War, placed the investigation in the hands of -Commandant du Paty de Clam. Owing to the similarity between the -handwriting in the _bordereau_ and that of Dreyfus, this officer was -suspected of being its author. He was arrested and taken to the military -prison of Cherche Midi. In the mean time, du Paty de Clam exhausted -every resource to find confirmatory evidence. In this he signally -failed. Nevertheless the indictment was drawn up. - -Commandant Forzinetti was in charge of Cherche Midi. His first -impression of the prisoner as deposed before the Cour de Cassation was -as follows: - -“I went to Captain Dreyfus. He was terribly excited. I had before me a -man bereft of reason, with bloodshot eyes. He had upset everything in -his room. I succeeded, after some trouble, in quieting him. I had an -intuition that this officer was innocent. He begged me to allow him -writing materials, so that he might ask the Minister of War to be heard -by him or by one of the general officers of the Ministry. He described -to me the details of his arrest, which were neither dignified nor -soldierly.” - -On October 24 Mercier asked Forzinetti what he thought of the prisoner’s -guilt. This was the reply: “They are evidently on a false scent. This -officer is not guilty.” - -Nearly every day du Paty de Clam visited Dreyfus and tried in every way -to force a confession from him.[B] - -This was the position of Minister of War Mercier: For months a campaign -had been carried on against him in the radical press. One fortunate act -would vindicate him--the conviction of a traitor. It is impossible that -he could have long entertained a belief in the guilt of the prisoner. -Yet, having in the first flush of seeming success publicly accused him, -he dare not draw back. Already his enemies of the radical and clerical -press were accusing him of selling himself to the Jews. “To-morrow,” -wrote Drumont in _La Libre Parole_, “no doubt they will applaud the -Minister of War, when he comes and boasts of the measures which he has -taken to save Dreyfus.” - -Thus the reputation of Mercier, and very possibly the existence of the -Cabinet, became staked on the conviction of Dreyfus. Dreyfus was -convicted. Space will not permit me to state the exact circumstances by -which this most stupendous miscarriage of justice was brought about. -Suffice to say, that during a secret deliberation of the court-martial -forged evidence was introduced unknown to the prisoner or to his -counsel. The criminal code as well as article 101 of the Code de Justice -Militaire was grossly violated. It was to cover this illegality and to -perpetuate its result that the conspiracy in the General Staff gradually -grew into being. - -The victim was publicly degraded in the courtyard of the Ecole -Militaire, in Paris. The morning was clear and cold. The sunlight -shimmered from the gaudy trappings of the Garde Républicaine. “On the -stroke of nine from the clock of the Ecole Militaire,” wrote a reporter -of _L’Autorité_, “General Darras draws his sword and commands, ‘Shoulder -arms!’ The order is repeated before each company. The troops execute the -order. Silence follows. - -“Hearts cease to beat; all eyes are fixed upon the right-hand corner of -the square, where Dreyfus is imprisoned in a low building on the -terrace. - -“In a moment a small group is seen; it is Alfred Dreyfus in the midst of -four artillerymen, accompanied by a lieutenant of the Garde Républicaine -and by the commander of the escort.... - -“Dreyfus walks with a quiet, firm step.” - -The reporter continues to describe the march across the square to the -point in front of the troops where the degradation is to take place. -Dreyfus listens in silence while a clerk reads the sentence. General -Darras then says, “Dreyfus, you are unworthy to bear arms. In the name -of the French people we degrade you.” - -“Then,” continues _L’Autorité_, “Dreyfus is seen to raise both arms, -and, head erect, he cries out in a strong voice, in which no tremor is -noticed: - -“‘I am innocent, I swear that I am innocent. Vive la France!’ - -“And the vast crowd outside answers with a cry of, ‘Death to him!’” - -The adjutant then begins his work. First cutting from the condemned -man’s uniform his galloons, cuffs, buttons, all insignia of rank, ending -by breaking the sword. During the ceremony Dreyfus several times raises -his voice: - -“On the heads of my wife and children I swear that I am innocent. I -swear it. Vive la France!” - -The reporter of _L’Autorité_ seems deeply moved, for he adds: - -“It is over at last, but the seconds have been as centuries. We had -never before felt pangs of anguish so keen. And afresh, clear, and -without any touch of emotion, is heard the voice of the condemned man -in a loud tone, crying: - -“‘You degrade an innocent man!’” - -The prisoner is then obliged to pass before the line of soldiers. As he -approaches the railing the civilian crowd gets a better view of him and -yells, “Death to him!” - -When he arrives before a group of reporters he pauses and says, “Tell -the people of France that I am innocent.” - -They mock him, however, crying, “Dastard! Traitor! Judas! Vile Jew!” - -He passes on and comes to a group of officers of the General Staff, his -late colleagues. Here again he pauses, and says, “Gentlemen, you know I -am innocent.” - -But they yell at him as did the reporters. He surveys them closely -through his pincenez and says calmly, “You’re a set of cowards.” There -is utter contempt in his voice. At length the direful march is ended. -Dreyfus enters a van and is driven to the Prison de la Santé. - - * * * * * - -For nearly four years the world was a blank to him. Of the efforts made -to rehabilitate him he knew nothing. He knew not that the real traitor -had been discovered. He knew nothing of the heroic Picquart’s unselfish -martyrdom in the cause of truth and justice. He knew nothing of Zola’s -melodramatic entrance upon the scene. He knew nothing of the crimes that -were committed in the name of _l’honneur de l’armée_. Was it to be -wondered at that he should have been overwhelmed when these things were -told him at Rennes? - -The story of the indignities that he endured, the tortures that he -suffered at the Ile du Diable, has been given to the world by his -counsels, Maîtres Labori and Demange. It is like a chapter from the dark -ages. Once, when it was reported that an attempt would be made to rescue -him, this man, consumed with fever and almost bereft of reason, was, by -the order of M. Lebon, Minister of the Colonies, chained to his couch, -while the lamp that was kept burning over his head attracted hordes of -tropical insects. He was told that his wife sought to forget him and -desired to marry again. In his despair his jailers thought he might say -something that would incriminate him. They were mistaken. He made no -confession. There was none to make. He could only yell in their ears, “I -am innocent! I am innocent!” When, in early autumn of 1898, he was -believed to be dying this message was cabled from Paris to Cayenne: -“Embalm him if he dies, and send us his corpse.” - -But he lived. And he may still live to see in his appalling experience -the cause of social revolution in France--a revolution that shall make -the rights of the individual paramount to the traditions of the army, to -the subtle cravings of the clericals, to the fantastic schemers of the -Faubourg St. Germain. - - - - -THE LETTERS - - - - -LETTERS - -OF - -AN INNOCENT MAN - - * * * * * - - -PRISON OF CHERCHE-MIDI - -_Tuesday, 5 December, 1894._ - -My dear Lucie: - -At last I can write a word to you; they have just told me that my trial -is set for the 19th of this month. I am refused the right to see you. - -I will not tell you all that I have suffered; there are not in the world -words strong enough to express it. Do you remember when I used to tell -you how happy we were? Everything in life smiled on us. Then all at once -a fearful thunderbolt; my brain still is reeling with the shock. For me -to be accused of the most monstrous crime that a soldier can commit! -Even to-day I feel that I must be the victim of an awful nightmare. - -But I hope in God and in justice. In the end the truth must come to -light. My conscience is calm and tranquil. It reproaches me with -nothing. I have done my duty, never have I turned from it. I have been -crushed to the earth, buried in my dark prison; alone with my reeling -brain. There have been moments when I have been nearly crazed, -ferocious, beside myself, but even in those moments my conscience was on -guard--“Hold up thy head!” it said to me. “Look the world in the face! -Strong in thy conscience go straight onward! Rise! The trial is bitter, -but it must be undergone!” - -I cannot write any longer, for I want this letter to leave to-night. - -I embrace you a thousand times, as I love you, as I adore you, my -darling Lucie. - -A thousand kisses to the children. I dare not say more to you; the tears -come to my eyes when I think of them. Write to me soon. - -ALFRED. - -Give my love to all the family. Tell them that I am to-day what I was -yesterday, having but one care, to do my duty. - -The Commissary of the Government has informed me that Me. Demange will -defend me. I think that I shall see him to-morrow. Write to me to the -prison. Your letters, like mine, will pass through the hands of the -government commissioner. - - * * * * * - - -_Thursday morning, 7 December, 1894._ - -I am waiting with impatience for a letter from you. You are my hope; you -are my consolation; were it not for you life would be a burden. At the -bare thought that they could accuse me of a crime so frightful, so -monstrous, my whole being trembles; my body revolts against it. To have -worked all my life for one thing alone, to avenge my country, to -struggle for her against the infamous ravisher who has snatched from us -our dear Alsace, and then to be accused of treason against that -country--no, my loved one, my mind refuses to comprehend it! Do you -remember my telling you how, when I was in Mulhouse, ten years ago, in -September, I heard a German band under our windows celebrating the -anniversary of Sedan? My grief was such that I wept; I bit the sheets of -my bed with rage, and I swore an oath to consecrate all my strength, all -my intelligence, to the service of my country against those who thus -offered insult to the grief of Alsace. - -No, no. I will not speak of it, for I shall go mad, and I must preserve -all my reason. Moreover my life has henceforth but one aim: to find the -wretch who has betrayed his country; to find the traitor for whom no -punishment could be too severe. Oh, dear France, thou that I love with -all my soul, with all my heart! thou to whom I have consecrated all my -strength, all my intelligence, how couldst thou accuse me of a crime so -horrible! I will not write upon this subject, my darling; for spasms -take me by the throat. No man has ever borne the martyrdom that I -endure. No physical suffering can be compared to the mental agony that I -feel when my thoughts turn to this accusation. If I had not my honor to -defend, I assure you that I should prefer death; at least, death would -be forgetfulness. Write to me soon. My love to all. - - * * * * * - - -_December, 1894._ - -My good Darling: - -Thanks for your long letter of yesterday. I have never doubted your -adorable devotion, your great heart. It is most of all of you that I -think in these dark days; I think of your sadness, the grief that you -must feel; and in this thought lies my only weakness. - -As for me, fear nothing. If I have suffered deeply I have never wavered -nor bowed my head. The moments of my deepest anguish have been those in -which I have thought of you, my good darling, of all our family. I -realised your sorrow when you were without news of me. I had time to -think of you all, in the long days, in the sleepless nights, alone with -my own thoughts. In those hours I had nothing to read; no way to write! -I turned like a lion in its cage, trying to work out an enigma that -escaped me. But everything in this world is conquered by perseverance -and by energy. I swear to you that I shall discover the wretch who -committed the act of infamy. Keep up your courage, my good darling, and -look the world in the face. You have the right to do so. - -Thank every one for the admirable devotion shown in my cause. Embrace -our dear children and all the family for me. - -A thousand kisses for your own self, from your devoted - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_December, 1894._ - -My good Darling: - -Your letter, which I had impatiently awaited, gave me great consolation -and at the same time it made me weep, for it brought me the vivid memory -of you, my darling. - -I am not perfect; what man can boast of perfection? But I can assure you -truthfully that I have always gone straight forward in the way marked -out by duty and by honor. - -There has been no compromise between me and my conscience. If I have -suffered deeply, if I have undergone the most horrible agony that can be -imagined, I have at all times been sustained in this awful struggle by -my conscience, which stands on guard, rigid, upright, inflexible. My -natural reserve, perhaps a haughty reserve, the freedom of my speech and -judgment to-day militate against me. I am not supple, nor a trimmer, nor -a flatterer. We never visited the people of the world who might be -useful to us now; we shut ourselves up in our own home, we were -contented to be happy in ourselves. - -And to-day I am accused of the most monstrous crime a soldier can -commit! - -Oh, if I could but hold the wretch who not only has betrayed his -country, but who, besides, has tried to make me bear the burden of his -infamy, I do not know what suffering I could not invent to make him -expiate the agony which he has forced me to undergo! But we must not -despair--they must at last find the guilty one. Without that hope we -should have to believe that there is no justice in the world. - -Bend all your efforts to reveal the truth; and bring to bear upon them -all your intellect, if need be all my fortune. - -Money is nothing. Our Honor is All! Tell M[_athieu Dreyfus_] that I -count upon him for this work. It is not beyond his power. He must find -the wretch who has dishonored us, even though he should move Heaven and -Earth. I embrace you a thousand times, as I love you. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -A thousand kisses for the children. - -All my love to all the members of our families; thank them for their -devotion to the cause of an innocent man. - - * * * * * - - -_Monday, 11 December._ - -My good Darling: - -I have received your letter of yesterday; also the letters from your -sister and from Henri. Let us hope that soon justice will be done me and -that I shall once more be with you all. With you and with our dear -children I shall find the calm that now I need so much. - -My heart is deeply wounded; you know that it must be so. To have -consecrated all my strength, all my intelligence, to the service of my -country, and then to be accused of the most monstrous crime that a -soldier can commit--it is fearful! - -At the very thought of it my whole being revolts; I tremble with -indignation. I ask myself by what miracle I have been kept from going -mad. How has my brain resisted such a shock! - -I supplicate you, my darling, do not go to my trial. It can do no good -for you to impose new sufferings upon yourself; those that you have -already borne, with a grandeur of soul and with a heroism of which I am -proud, are more than sufficient. Save your strength for our children. We -shall need all our united strength to care for each other, to help each -other to forget this terrible trial--the most terrible that human -strength can bear. Kiss all our good, dear ones for me, until the time -comes when I can embrace them for myself. Remember me fondly to all. - -I embrace you as I love you. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Tuesday, 12 December, 1894._ - -My dear Lucie: - -Will you be my interpreter to all the members of our two families, to -all who have been thoughtful of me at this time? Will you tell them how -much I have been touched by their good letters and by the sympathy they -have shown me? - -I cannot answer them; for what could I tell them? My sufferings? They -understand them, and I do not like to complain. Besides that, my brain -reels, and my thoughts are at times confused. My soul alone remains -unshaken, as steadfast as on that awful day before the monstrous -accusation was thrown in my face. My whole being still revolts at the -thought of it. - -But in the end the truth must be known in spite of everything. We are -not living in a century when the light can be hidden. It must be that -the whole truth will be known, that my voice will be heard throughout -the length and breadth of our dear France--just as my accusation has -been heard. It is not only my own honor which I have to defend; it is -the honor of all the corps of officers of which I am a part, and a -worthy part. - -I have received the clothes that you sent me. If you should have a -chance, please send me my tippet. I do not need the pelisse. My tippet -is in the wardrobe in the antechamber. - -Embrace our darlings tenderly for me. I wept over the good letter -written by our dear Pierrot. How long the time seems to me until I can -embrace him and you all once more! - -A thousand kisses for yourself. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Thursday, 14 December, 1894._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I have received your good letter; also new letters from the family. -Thank them all for me. All these proofs of affection and esteem touch me -more than I know how to tell you. As for me, I am always the same. When -a man’s conscience is pure and calm he can bear everything. I am -convinced that eventually the truth will be known; that the assurance of -my innocence will finally be borne in upon all minds. - -At my trial I shall be judged by soldiers as loyal and as honest as -myself. They will recognize--I am sure of it--the error that has been -committed. - -Error, unhappily, is a human thing. Who can say that he never has been -deceived? - -I am happy over the good news you give me regarding the children. You -were right to begin to give P[ierrot] cod-liver oil; the time is -propitious. Kiss the little fellow for me. How I long to hold the dear -children in my arms! - -I hope, with you, that they will end by letting me once more embrace -you. It will be one of the happiest days of my life; it will be a -consolation for all the pain I have endured. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Friday, 15 December, 1894._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I have received your good letter, also mamma’s. I am grateful for the -sentiment she expresses--sentiments I never have doubted, and which, I -can say it proudly, I have merited always. - -At last the day of my appearance before justice draws near. I am to come -to the end of all this moral torture. My confidence is absolute; when -the conscience is pure and tranquil then can we present ourselves -everywhere, our heads high. I shall be tried by soldiers who will listen -to me and understand me. The certainty that I am innocent will enter -their hearts as it has always entered the hearts of my friends, of those -who have known me intimately. - -My whole life has been the best guarantee of my innocence. I will not -speak of the infamous and anonymous calumnies that have been circulated -against me. They have not touched me; I scorn them. Kiss all our -darlings for me and receive for yourself the tender kisses of your -devoted husband, - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Sunday, 17 December, 1894._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I do not know that this letter will reach you to-day, for the -post-offices are closed, but I will not let the day pass without -writing you one word. I am happy to know that you are surrounded by all -the family; your grief must be less great, for nothing is more -sustaining than such love as is being shown to you. - -As to me, my darling, do not give way to any feeling of anxiety. - -I am ready to appear before my judges; my mind is tranquil. I am ready -to face them as I shall one day stand before God, my head high, my -conscience pure. - -I am happy to know that you are all well; the children also. - -Continue to take good care of yourself, my darling; and keep all your -courage. It is true that the trial is great, but my courage is not less -great. - -If I have had moments of horrible depression, if I have borne the weight -of the frightful mental torture, of the suspicion which they have cast -upon me, my head has never bent beneath it. To-day, as yesterday, I can -look the world in the face; I am worthy to command my soldiers. Embrace -the dear ones for me; affectionate kisses from your devoted - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Monday, 18 December, 1894._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I received to-day only your good letter of Saturday. I could not send my -letter yesterday; the offices were closed and my letter could not have -passed out. - -How you must suffer, my poor darling! I can imagine it by comparing your -suffering to my own, because I cannot see you. But we must know how to -bear up, to hold our own against suffering; we must be resigned; we -must preserve all dignity of conduct. - -Let us show that we are worthy of one another; that trials, even the -most cruel, even the most undeserved, cannot beat us down. - -When the conscience is clear we can, as you say so truly, bear -everything; suffer everything. It is my conscience alone that has -enabled me to resist; had it not been for that I should have died of -sorrow, or I should be shut up in a mad-house. - -Even now I cannot look back to those first days without a shiver of -horror. My brain was like a boiling cauldron; at each instant I feared -that my reason would leave me. - -Do not be worried by the irregularity of my letters; you know that I -cannot write as I would like to; but be strong and brave; be careful of -your health. - -Thanks for all the news you give me of our friends. Tell them that I -have often thought of them; of the grief they must feel. It must bind us -in a union that nothing can ever break. Our pure, honorable life, all -the past of all our kindred, our devotion to France, are the best -guarantees of what we are. - -I have received two good letters from J. and R.; they have given me -great pleasure. - -I thank you also for the news you give me of the children. Ah, the poor -darlings! What joy it will be to me to be able to embrace them and you, -my good darling! But I will not allow myself to think of it; for then -everything seems to melt within me. - -The bitterness of my heart rises to my lips--and I must preserve all my -strength. - -Thank M. and my brothers and my sisters and all the family for what -they have done for me. Embrace them for me. - -I will stop, for every memory of the happiness I have known among you -all revives my grief. - -To have sacrificed everything for my Country, to have served her with -entire devotion, with all my strength, with all my intelligence, and -then to be accused of such a frightful crime--no, no! - -Write to me often; write long letters. My best moments are those when I -receive news of you all. - -A thousand kisses for you and for the children. - -Your devoted - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Tuesday, 18 December, 1894._ - -My good, dear one: - -At last I am coming to the end of my sufferings, to the end of my agony. -To-morrow I shall appear before my judges, my head high, my soul -tranquil. The trial I have undergone, terrible as it has been, has -purified my soul. I shall return to you better than I was before. I want -to consecrate to you, to my children, to our dear families, all the time -I have yet to live. - -As I have told you, I have passed through awful crises. I have had -moments of furious, actual madness at the thought of being accused of a -crime so monstrous. - -I am ready to appear before the soldiers as a soldier who has nothing -for which to reproach himself. They will see it in my face; they will -read my soul; they will know that I am innocent; as all will who know -me. - -Devoted to my country, to whom I have consecrated all my strength, all -my intellect, I have nothing to fear. - -Sleep tranquilly then, my darling, and do not give way to any care; -think only of our joy when we are once more in each other’s arms--to -forget so quickly these sad, dark days! - -Until we meet--soon, my darling! soon shall I have the joy of embracing -you and our good, dear ones. - -A thousand kisses while I wait for that happy moment. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_23 December, 1894._ - -My Darling: - -I suffer much, but I pity you still more than myself. I know how much -you love me. Your heart must bleed. On my side, my adored one, my -thought has always been of you night and day. - -To be innocent, to have lived a life without a stain, and to be -condemned for the most monstrous crime that a soldier can commit! What -could be more terrible? It seems to me at times that I am the victim of -an awful nightmare. - -It is for you alone that I have resisted until to-day; it is for you -alone, my adored one, that I have borne my long agony. Will my strength -hold out to the end? I cannot tell. No one but you can give me courage. -It is only from your love that I can draw it. - -At times I hope that God, who has not abandoned me thus far, will end -this martyrdom of an innocent man; that He will bring to light the -Guilty One. - -But shall I be strong enough to hold out until that time? - -I have signed my appeal for a revision. I dare not speak to you of the -children; their memory rends my heart. Speak to them of me. May they be -your consolation. - -My bitterness is such, my heart is so bruised, that I should, already -have got rid of this sad life if memory of you had not hindered me; if -the fear of augmenting your grief had not stayed my arm. - -To have had to hear all they said to me, when I knew in my soul and -conscience that I had never failed, never committed even the most -trivial imprudence, that was the most horrible of mental torture. - -I shall try to live for your sake, but I have need of your aid. - -Above all else, no matter what may become of me, search for the truth; -move Earth and Heaven to discover it; sink in the effort, if need be, -all our fortune, to rehabilitate my name, which now is dragged through -the mud. No matter what may be the cost, we must wash out the unmerited -stain. - -I have not the courage to write more. Embrace our dear relations, our -children, everyone, for me. - -A thousand, thousand kisses. - -ALFRED. - -Try to obtain permission to see me. It seems to me that they cannot -refuse it now. - - * * * * * - - -_Monday evening, 24 December, 1894._ - -My Darling: - -It is still to you that I write, for you are the only cord that binds me -to life. I know well that all my family, all your family, love me and -esteem me; but, after all, if I were to disappear, their grief, however -great, would fade with the years. - -It is for you alone, my poor darling, that I gather strength to -struggle. It is the thought of you that stays my arm. How I feel in this -hour my love for you! Never has it been so great--so all absorbing. And -then a feeble hope sustains me yet a little; it is that we shall be able -some day to have my good name restored to me. But, above all, believe -me, if I should have strength to struggle to the end of this calvary, it -will be for your sake alone, my poor darling; it will be to avoid adding -a new chagrin to all those you have already borne. Do all that is -humanly possible to get to see me. - -I embrace you a thousand times, as I love you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_In the night between Monday and Tuesday, 24 December, -1894._ - -My dear Adored one: - -I have just received your letter; I hope that you have received mine. -Poor darling, how you must suffer, how I pity you! I have wept many -tears over your letter. I cannot accept your sacrifice. You must stay -there; you must live for the children. Think of them first, before you -think of me; it is the poor, little ones who absolutely need you. - -My thoughts always lead me back to you. - -Me. Demange, who has just been here, has told me how wonderful you are. -He has spoken words in your praise to which my heart gave back the echo. - -Yes, my darling, you are sublime in your courage and devotion. You are -worth more than I. I loved you before with all my heart and soul; -to-day I do more--I marvel at you. You are truly one of the noblest -women upon the earth. My admiration for you is so great that if I live -to drink my cup to the dregs it will be because I have aspired to be -worthy of your heroism. - -But it will be terrible to submit to that shameful humiliation! I should -rather stand before an execution squad. I do not fear death, but the -thought of contempt is terrible. - -However it may be, I pray you tell them all to life their heads as I -lift mine; to look the world in the face without flinching. Never bow -your heads--proclaim my innocence aloud. - -Now, my darling, I am going anew to lay my head upon my pillow to think -of you. - -I kiss you; I press you to my heart. - -ALFRED. - -Embrace the little ones tenderly for me. - -Will you please deposit two hundred francs with the clerk of the prison? - - * * * * * - - -_25 December, 1894._ - -My Darling: - -I cannot date this letter, for I do not even know what day it is. Is it -Tuesday? Is it Wednesday? I do not know. It is always night. As sleep -flies my eyelids I arise to write to you. - -Sometimes it seems to me that all this has not happened; that I have -never left you. - -In my hallucinations all that has happened to us seems to me a bad -nightmare; but the awakening is terrible. - -I cannot believe in anything but your love and the affection of all of -ours. - -We must continually search for the guilty one. All means are good. -Chance alone will not suffice. - -Perhaps I shall succeed in surmounting the horrible terror with which -the infamous sentence I am going to bear inspires me. To be an honorable -man, to be innocent, and to see my honor torn from me and trampled under -foot--oh, it is fearful! it is the worst of sufferings! worse than -death! - -Oh, if I go to the end it will be for your sake, my dear, adored one, -for you are the only thread that binds me to life! - -How we loved each other! - -To-day more than ever before I know what place you hold in my heart. -But, above all, be careful of your own self; think of your health. _You -must, at all costs_, for the sake of my children, who have need of you. - -Then search in Paris as you did down there for the guilty one. We must -try everything; we must leave nothing undone. There are people surely, -there must be people, who know the name of the guilty man. - -I embrace you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Wednesday, 2 P. M., 26 December, 1894._ - -My Darling: - -I have just received your two letters and Marie’s. - -You are sublime, my adored one, and I am amazed at your courage and -your heroism. I loved you before. To-day I kneel before you, for you are -a sublime woman. But do not allow yourself to be beaten down, I -supplicate you. Think of our children, who have need of you. - -It may be that in my desire to be worthy of you, to reach the heights on -which you stand, I shall be able to hold out to the end. It is not -physical suffering that I fear--that has never been strong enough to -break me down; its blows glance off--but the torture of soul, the -knowledge that my name is dragged in the mire, the name of a man who is -innocent, the name of a man of honor. Cry it aloud, my darling; cry to -every one that I am innocent--the victim of terrible fatality. - -Shall we ever succeed in discovering the real guilty one? Let us hope -it; to lose that hope would be to despair of everything. - -I hope to see you soon, and that is my consolation. All the day, all the -night, my thoughts fly to you--to you all. I think of the happiness we -enjoyed, and I ask myself, even now, by what inexplicable fatality that -happiness was broken. - -It is the most awful tragedy that it has ever been given me to read, and -instead of reading it, I must live it out, alas! Finally, be careful of -your own self, my darling. You need all your health, all your physical -vigor, if you are to bring to a successful end the task you have so -nobly undertaken. - -I embrace you and our poor darlings, of whom I dare not think. - -A thousand kisses. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Wednesday, 4 o’clock, 26 December, 1894._ - -My Darling: - -You ask me what I do all day long. - -I think of you; I think of you all. If this consoling thought did not -sustain me, if I could not feel through the thick walls of my prison the -strengthening breath of your sympathy, I believe that I should lose my -hold on reason and that despair would enter my soul. It is your love, it -is the affection of you all, that gives me the courage to live on. - -Me. Demange has just been here. He stayed some minutes with me. His -faith in me is absolute; that also gives me courage. - -It is not physical suffering that affrights me--I am able to bear -that--but this continual torture of soul, this contempt that is to -pursue me everywhere. I, so proud, so sure of my honor, it is that that -I find so terrible; that that I shrink from. - -Well, my darling, I will not torture your heart any longer; your grief -is already great enough. - -I embrace you fondly. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Wednesday, 10 P. M._ - -I do not sleep, and it is to you that I return. Am I then marked by a -fatal seal, that I must drink this cup of bitterness! At this moment I -am calm. My soul is strong, and it rises in the silence of the night. -How happy we were, my darling! Life smiled on us; fortune, love, -adorable children, a united family--Everything! Then came this -thunderbolt, fearful, terrible. Buy, I pray of you, playthings for the -children, for their New Year’s day; tell them that their father sends -them. It must not be that these poor souls, just entering upon life, -should suffer through our pain. - -Oh, my darling, had not I you how gladly would I die! Your love holds me -back; it is your love only that makes me strong enough to bear the -hatred of a nation. - -And the people are right to hate me: they have been told that I am a -traitor. Ah, traitor, the horrible word! It breaks my heart. - -I ... traitor! Is it possible that they could accuse me and condemn me -for a crime so monstrous! - -Cry aloud my innocence; cry it with all the strength of your lungs; cry -it upon the house-tops, till the very walls fall. - -And hunt out the guilty one. It is he whom we must find. - -I embrace you as I love you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Thursday, 10 o’clock in the evening, 27 December, 1894._ - -My dear Lucie: - -Your heroism has conquered me. Strong in your love, strong in my -conscience and in the immovable support I find in our two families, I -feel my courage born again. - -I shall struggle therefore to my last breath. I shall struggle to my -last drop of blood. - -It is not possible that light shall not be some day let in upon this -crime. With the feeling that your heart is beating close to mine I -shall bear all the martyrdoms, all the humiliations, without bowing my -head. The thought of you, my darling, will give me the strength needful. -My dear, adored one, women certainly are superior to us; and among women -you are of the most beautiful and the most noble! - -I always loved you deeply; you know it. To-day I do more--I marvel at -and venerate you. You are a holy, a noble, woman. I am proud of you, and -I will try to be worthy of you. - -Yes, it would be cowardice to desert life. It would be to taint my -name--the name of my dear children--to sully that name forever. I -realize that to-day; but how could it be otherwise? The blow was cruel; -it broke down my courage; it is you who have lifted me up. - -Your soul makes mine tremble. - -So, leaning one on the other, proud of one another, we shall succeed, by -force of will, in clearing our name from dishonor. We shall remove the -stain from that honor that has never failed us. - -I embrace you as I love you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Thursday, 11 o’clock in the evening._ - -I almost hoped to receive one more word from you this evening. If you -could only know with what happiness I receive your letters, with what -intoxication I read and re-read them all day long! - -Good-night; sleep well, my darling. We will live still for each other. - -_Friday, 10 o’clock in the morning, 28 December, 1894._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I have received your good letter dated yesterday at noon. You are right. -I must live. I must live for you--for our dear children, whose name I -must restore to honor. Whatever may be the terrible tortures of soul I -endure, I must resist. I have no right to desert my post. - -If I were alone, I should not hesitate; but your name, the name of my -family--everything, all we have, is attacked. We must arm with all our -courage for the struggle. By the force of our energy, our will, we shall -triumph. In the end they shall speak out. Supported, sustained by your -unfailing courage, we shall conquer. - -Write to me often. You must relieve each other in writing; write to me -in turn. Each one of your letters soothes me. It seems to me that I hear -you speak--that I hear your dear parents speak. - -I embrace you and all your dear family. - -A thousand tender kisses to the children. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Friday, noon._ - -I received your letter dated Thursday evening, also the good words from -Pierrot. Embrace the darling tenderly for me. Give Jeanne a kiss for me. -Yes, I must live. I must summon all my energy to wash out the stain -which sullies the name of my children. I should be cowardly should I -desert my post. I will live; I will! - -I embrace you. - -ALFRED. - - -_Monday, 31 December, 1894._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I thought a long time last night of my father, of all my family. I do -not hide from you that I wept long. But the tears comforted me. Our -consolation is the deep affection that unites us all; it is the -affection which I find in your family as in my own. - -It is impossible, when we are so bound together, when we are upheld by -the wonderful devotion shown us by Me. Demange, that we shall not sooner -or later discover the truth. I was wrong to wish to desert life. I had -not the right to. I will struggle as long as I have a breath of life. In -these long days, in these sad nights, my soul is purified and -strengthened. My duty is clearly traced. I must leave my children a name -pure and stainless. - -Let us strive for that, my darling, without a truce, without rest. Let -us not be rebuffed by the difficulty of any step, of any attempt. We -must try everything. - -The books of M. Bayles, which you sent me, are enough for the moment; -later I shall need a work with exercises, with corrections on the -opposite page; so that I can work by myself. - -For the moment I must gather all my strength to meet the horrible -humiliation that awaits me. But do not relax a single instant. You may, -perhaps, enter upon a course of which I have spoken to Me. Demange this -evening. Nothing must be neglected; everything must be tried. - -I embrace you as I love you. - -ALFRED. - -Good kisses to the darlings. I dare not wish you “A Happy New Year;” -this feast does not accord with our present sorrow. - -I have even forgotten to wish your mother a happy birthday. I pray you -to repair this forgetfulness; it is excusable under the sad -circumstances. - -I suppose you have given the children the toys from their father. We -must not let these young souls suffer through our sorrows. - -I have received the inkstand. I thank you for it. - - * * * * * - - -_5 o’clock in the evening._ - -The appeal is rejected, as I might have expected it would be. They have -just told me. Ask immediately for permission to see me. - -Send me what I asked you for; that is to say, my sabre, my belt, and the -valise with my belongings. The cruel and horrible anguish is -approaching; I am going to meet it with the dignity of a pure and -tranquil conscience. To tell you that I do not suffer would be to lie; -but I shall not weaken. I shall be strong. Keep on, for your part, -without truce, without rest. - - * * * * * - - -_1 January, 1895._ - -My Darling: - -It is no longer Sunday. It is the beginning of Monday. The stroke of -midnight has just sounded at this moment, as I lighted my candle. I -cannot sleep. I would rather rise than toss upon my bed, and what more -delicious occupation than to talk with you! When I write it seems that -you are near me, as it used to be in those good evenings of my happy -memories, when, as I sat at my desk, you would work by my side. - -Let us hope--let us hope that happiness shall shine again for us. It is -impossible that some day the light of truth shall not make all clear. I -know the energetic character of Mathieu; I have learned to appreciate -your energy, your profound devotion, I will say your heroism; and I do -not doubt the success of your investigations. - -You are right to act with calmness, with method. Your progress will be -surer. - -But I hope that soon I can speak of all this face to face with you. - -From this hour the agony is to become still more bitter. First, the -humiliating ceremony, then the sufferings which will follow it. I shall -bear them calmly, with dignity--be sure of it. - -To say that I have not at times moments of violent revolt would be to -lie. The injustice is by far too cruel; but I have faith in the future; -and I hope to have my recompense. - -So I try to think that the time will come when my only care will be to -ensure my happiness--the happiness of our dear children. - -I have received a charming letter from Marie, which I shall answer one -of these days. - -Be of good courage always, my darling. Take good care of your health, -for you will have need of all your strength; your courage must not -betray you in the crucial moment. Good-night and good rest. - -I embrace you as I love you. - -ALFRED. - - -_Tuesday, 1 January, 1895._ - -I have not received a letter from you this morning. I miss it. I have -received several others, it is true; but dare I tell you that it is not -the same thing? Yesterday, when he left me, Me. Demange hoped to come -back and pass some hours with me to-day; but alas! not long after his -departure they told me that my appeal had been rejected; this closes my -prison door to him; he will not be permitted to visit me any more. He -must have been warned this morning. So I shall pass my day alone. What a -sad New Year, my darling! But do not let us dwell upon this subject. It -will do us no good to weep and groan; that will not open the doors of my -prison. On the contrary, we must guard all our physical strength and all -our mental energy; we must not relax our struggle for one instant. Let -nothing beat you down; do not lose hope. Throw your nets out on all -sides; the guilty one will be caught in them at last. - -Have you received an answer to your application? I am waiting now with -impatience for the moment when I shall hold you in my arms. - -Have you bought the toys for the children? Were they pleased? I am -thinking always of you and of them. I live only in the thought that some -day this frightful nightmare will vanish. It seems impossible that it -can be otherwise. We will help overcome it, I promise it to you. I -embrace you as I love you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Monday, 2 January, 1895, 11 o’clock in the evening._ - -My Darling: - -A new year is beginning. What has it in store for us? Let us hope that -it will be better than the year that is just ended. Should it be -otherwise, death would be preferable. In this calm, deep night which -surrounds me, I think of you all, of you, of our dear children. What a -fearful stroke of fate, undeserved and cruel! - -Let me give way a little, weep without restraint in your arms. Do not -believe because I weep that my courage weakens. I have promised you to -live; I shall keep my word. But I must always feel your heart beating -close to mine. I must be sustained by your love. - -We must have courage. We must have an almost superhuman energy. As for -me, I can only summon my whole strength to bear all the tortures which -await me. - -Good-night and kisses. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Thursday, noon._ - -My Darling: - -They have informed me that the supreme humiliation is set for the day -after to-morrow. I expected it; I was prepared for it; but in spite of -that the blow was terrible. I shall stand fast, as I promised you I -would. I shall draw the force I still need for that awful day from the -deep well of your love, from the affection of you all; from the memory -of our dear children; from the supreme hope that some day the truth will -come to light; but on every side I must feel the warmth of the affection -that you all bear me. I must feel that you are struggling with me. -Search always; let there be no truce, no rest. - -I hope to see you soon, to gather strength from your loving eyes. Let us -sustain each other through everything and against everything. - -Your love is necessary to my life; without it the mainspring of my being -would be broken. - -When I am gone persuade them all that they must not stop their efforts. - -Take measures at once, so that you may be able to come to see me on -Saturday and the following days at the prison of la Santé. It is there, -above all, that I must feel that I am sustained. - -Find out also what I asked you yesterday--when I am to leave, how I am -to go, etc. - -We must be prepared for everything; we must not let ourselves be -surprised. - -Until the blessed moment, soon to come, when I shall see you, I embrace -you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - -_4:15 P. M._ - -Since four o’clock my heart has been beating to bursting. You are not -yet here, my darling. The seconds seem hours to me. My ear is -listening--perhaps they come to call me. I cannot hear; I am waiting. - - * * * * * - -_5 o’clock._ - -I am more calm; the sight of you has helped me. The rapture of having -held you in my arms has done me immense good. I could not wait for the -moment. I thank you for the joy that you have given me. How I love you, -my good darling! Let us hope that some time all this sorrow is to end. - -I must husband all my energy. - -A thousand kisses more, my darling. - -ALFRED. - - -_Thursday, 11 o’clock in the evening._ - -My Darling: - -The nights are long; it is to you that I turn again and again; it is in -your eyes that I look for all my strength. It is in your profound love -that I find the courage to live. Not that the struggle makes me afraid, -but truly fate is too cruel to me. Could one imagine a situation more -awful, more tragic, for an innocent man? Could there be a martyrdom more -fraught with sorrow? - -Happy is it for me that I have the deep affection with which both our -families surround me--that above everything I have your love, which pays -me for all my sufferings. - -Forgive me if sometimes I complain; do not think that my soul is less -valiant because a groan escapes my lips; these cries relieve my heart; -and to whom could I cry if not to you, my dear wife? - -A thousand kisses for you and for the little ones. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Wednesday, 5 o’clock._ - -My Darling: - -I wish to write these few words more, so that you may find them -to-morrow morning when you awake. Our conversation, even through the -bars of the prison, has done me good. My limbs trembled under me when I -went down to met you, but I gathered all my strength, so that I should -not fall from my emotion. Even now my hand is still trembling; our -interview has violently shaken me. If I did not insist that you should -stay still longer it was because I was at the end of my strength. I had -to hide myself, so that I might weep a little; do not believe because I -weep that my soul is less brave or less strong; but my body is somewhat -weakened by three months of the prison, without a breath of the outer -air. I must have had a robust constitution to have been able to resist -all these tortures. - -What has done me the most good is that I felt that you were so brave, so -valiant, so full of love for me. Let us, my dear wife, continue to -command the respect of the world by our attitude and by our courage. As -for me, you must have felt that I am decided to face everything. I want -my honor, and I shall have it. No obstacle shall stop me. - -Kiss the babies for me. A thousand kisses. - -ALFRED. - -The parlor is to be occupied to-morrow, Thursday, from 1 until 4 -o’clock. So you must come either in the morning between 10 and 11 -o’clock, or in the afternoon at 4 o’clock. This takes place only -Thursdays and Sundays. - - * * * * * - - -IN THE PRISON OF LA SANTE. - -_5 January, 1895._ - -I will not tell you what I have suffered to-day. Your grief is great -enough already. I will not augment it. - -In promising you to live, in promising you to resist until my name is -rehabilitated, I have made the greatest sacrifice that a man of deep -feeling of heart, an upright man, from whom his honor has been taken, -can make. My God, let not my physical strength abandon me! My spirit is -unshaken; a conscience that has nothing with which to reproach me -upholds me, but I am coming to the end of patience and of my physical -strength. After having consecrated all my life to honor, never having -deserved reproach, to be here, to have borne the most wounding affront -that can be inflicted upon a soldier! - -Oh, my darling, do everything in the world to find the guilty one; do -not relax your efforts for one instant. That is my only hope in the -terrible misfortune which pursues me. - -If only I may soon be with you there, and if we may soon be united, you -will give me back my strength and my courage. I have need of both. This -day’s emotions have broken my heart; my cell offers me no consolation. - -Picture a little room all bare--four yards and a half long, -perhaps--closed by a grated garret window; a pallet standing against the -wall--no, I will not tear your heart, my poor darling. - -I will tell you later, when we are happy again, what I have suffered -to-day, in all my wanderings, surrounded by men who are truly guilty, -how my heart has bled. I have asked myself why I was there; what I was -doing there. I seemed the victim of an hallucination; but alas! my -garments, torn, sullied, brought me back roughly to the truth. The looks -of scorn they cast on me told me too well why I was there. Oh, why could -not my heart have been opened by a surgeon’s knife, so that they might -have read the truth! All the brave, good people along my way could have -read it: “_This is a man of honor!_” But how easy it is to understand -them! In their place I could not have contained my contempt for an -officer who I had been told was a traitor. But alas! there is the -tragedy. There is a traitor, but it is not I! - -Write to me soon; do everything in your power so that I may see you, for -my strength is giving way. I need to be upheld; come, so that we may be -together once again, that I may find in your heart all the strength I -need in this awful hour. - -I embrace you as I love you. - -_Saturday afternoon._ - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Saturday, 6 o’clock, January, 1895._ - -In my dark cell, in the tortures of my soul, which refuses to understand -why I suffer so, why God so punishes me, it is always to you that I -turn, my dear wife, who, in these sad and terrible moments, have shown -for me a devotion without boundaries, a love illimitable. - -You have been and you are sublime; in my moments of weakness I have been -ashamed not to be at the height of your heroism. But this grief must -gnaw the best disciplined soul; the grief of seeing so many efforts, so -many years of honor, of devotion to one’s country, lost because of a -machination that seems to belong to the realms of the grotesque, rather -than to real life. Sometimes I cannot believe it; but these moments, -alas! are rare here, for subjected to the strictest discipline of the -prison cell, everything reminds me of the dark reality. Continue to -sustain me with your profound love, my darling; aid me in this awful -struggle for my honor; let me feel your beautiful soul throbbing close -to mine. - -When can I see you? - -I need affection and consolation in my sorrow. - -Alas! I may have the courage of a soldier, but I ask myself have I the -heroic soul of the martyr! - -A thousand good kisses for you, for our darlings. May these children be -your consolation. - -A. DREYFUS. - -Write to me often and at length. Think that I am here alone from morning -until evening, and from evening until morning. Not one sympathetic soul -comes to lighten my dark sorrow. I long to be there with you, where I -can wait in peace and tranquillity, until they rehabilitate me--until -they give me back my honor. - - * * * * * - - -_7 o’clock, evening, 5 January, 1895._ - -I have just had a moment of terrible weakness; of tears mingled with -sobs; all my body shaken by the fever. It was the reaction from the -awful tortures of the day. It had to be--I knew it. But alas! instead of -being allowed to sob in your arms, to lean my head upon your breast, my -sobs have resounded in the emptiness of my prison. It is finished. Be -lifted up, my heart; I concentrate all my energy. Strong in my -conscience, pure and unstained, I owe myself to my family, I owe myself -to my name. I have not the right to desert. While there remains in me a -breath of life I will struggle, hoping that light soon may be let in -upon the truth. And do you continue your searches. As for me, the only -thing that I ask is to leave here as soon as possible; to find you -there; to settle down to our life there, while our friends, our -families, are busy here searching for the guilty one, so that we may -come back to our dear country, martyrs who have borne the most terrible, -the most harrowing, of trials. - - -_Saturday, 7:30 P. M._ - -It is the hour when we are obliged to go to bed. What will become of me? -What am I going to do when I am in my bed, a straw mattress supported on -iron rods. Physical sufferings are nothing--you know that I do not fear -them--but my moral tortures are far from being ended. Oh, my darling, -what did I do the day I promised you to live! I thought then that my -soul was stronger. It is easy to talk of being resigned because the -heart is innocent, but it is hard to be so. - -Write to me soon, my darling; try to see me. I need to draw new strength -from your dear eyes. - -A thousand kisses. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Sunday, 5 o’clock, 6 January, 1895._ - -Forgive me, my adored one, if in my letters yesterday I poured out my -grief and made a parade of my torture. I must confide them to some one. -What heart is better prepared than yours to receive the overflowing -grief of mine? It is your love that gives me courage to live; I must -feel the thrill of your love close to my heart. Let us show that we are -worthy of each other; that you are a noble, a sublime wife. - -Courage, then, my darling. Do not think too much of me; you have other -duties to fulfil. You owe yourself to our dear children, to our name, -which must be restored to honor. Think, then, of all the noble duties -incumbent upon you. They are heavy, but I know that you will be capable -of undertaking, of accomplishing them all, if you do not let yourself be -beaten down--if you preserve your strength. - -You must struggle, therefore, against yourself. Summon all your energy; -think only of your duties. - -As to me, my darling, your know that I suffered yesterday even more than -you can imagine. I shall tell you how much some day, when we are once -more happy and united. For the present I hope but one thing. Since I am -useless to you here, and since, on the other hand, the search for the -guilty man will, I fear, be a long one, I hope to be sent down there -soon, and under the best conditions possible to wait there with you -until the combined efforts of all our relations shall have been -successful. The life of the prison cell is wearing me out, and I ask but -one thing, to be sent down there as soon as possible. I was heart-broken -this morning because I did not get any letters. Happily, at 2 o’clock, -the director of the prison brought me a package of good letters, which -gave me much pleasure. They have been the one ray of joy in my wretched -cell. Will you please send me my travelling rug, for it is very cold in -our cells. - -Try to obtain permission to see me as soon as possible. - -I embrace you a thousand times. - -ALFRED. - -Good kisses to the poor darlings. - - * * * * * - - -_7 o’clock in the evening._ - -My God, how sorrowful is my soul! What in all my life have I done that I -should be thus punished? The wretch who has committed the crime of -betraying me, the wretch through whom I am lost, deserves, if there is a -God, a terrible chastisement. He deserves to be punished through all he -loves. In the name of my poor children I curse him. - - -_Monday, 5 P. M., 7 January, 1895._ - -My Darling: - -I have borne for your sake, my adored one, for the name which my dear -children bear, the most agonizing, the most appalling, of calvaries for -a heart that is pure and honorable. I ask myself how I am yet alive. -That which sustained me is, above all else, the hope that I shall soon -be united to you down there. Then, though innocent as I am, but -sustained as I shall be by your profound love, I shall have the patience -to await in exile the vindication of my name. There, too, I shall work, -I shall be busy. I shall impose silence upon my heart and my brain by -force of physical fatigue. But in my prison it would be difficult to -live, for my thought always brings me fatally back to my condition. - -They have not given me any letter from you to-day; do not be anxious, my -darling, if my letters do not reach you regularly. I will write to you -every day as long as I am permitted to. - -I have been told that I can see you Monday and Friday. Alas! Monday has -passed, and I am obliged to wait until Friday. I wait with extreme joy -for the moment when I can kiss you; when I can throw myself into your -arms. It is in your eyes, in your noble heart, that I find the strength -needful to enable me to bear my fearful tortures of soul. I should -almost like it better had I some sin upon my conscience; then I should, -at least, have something to expiate. But alas! you know, my darling, how -honest, how upright, my life has always been. - -I will do all I can to live. I will do all I can to resist until the -supreme moment when they give back to me the honor of my name. - -But I shall bear the waiting better when you are there, in exile, with -me. So, together, proud and worthy of one another, we will, in exile, -give proof of the calm of two pure, honest hearts; of two hearts whose -thoughts have always all been given to our dear country--France. - -Good kisses to our poor darlings. Kisses to all our friends. - -I embrace you as I love you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_8 January, 1895._ - -My Darling: - -They have given to me to-day your letters of Sunday, also those sent to -me by R., H. and A. - -Thank them all. Give them news of me. Pray them to write to me, but tell -them that it is impossible for me to answer them all. Not that the time -is lacking, alas! but I cannot abuse the time and the kindness of the -director of the prison, who is obliged to read all my letters. I am -relatively strong in this sense: that I live by hope. But I feel that -this situation cannot be prolonged. I have, and this is easy to -understand, moments of violent revolt against the injustice of my fate. -It is truly terrible to suffer as I have suffered through these long -months for a crime of which I am innocent. My brain, after all these -shocks, has moments of wandering. - -I hope to see Me. Demange this evening and to beg of him to take steps -with those who have the power to grant my prayer, so that they will, -under conditions which I shall indicate, arrange to have me sent into -exile with you, to wait until light is let in upon this crime. As to -this last, I have great hope. My efforts must eventually have their -reward. But I must have air, hard physical work, your dear society, to -steady my brain, which has been shaken by so many shocks. Great God, how -little I expected them! - -Pray Me. Demange, who has obtained permission to see me, to come as soon -as he can, so that I may explain to him the favor asked by an innocent -man waiting until complete justice shall be done him. - -You ask me also, my darling, what I do from morning until night. I do -not want to tell you all my sad reflections. Your grief is great enough, -and it is useless to add to it. What I have said above will tell you -what at this moment I desire, exile with you in the free air, while I -await my vindication. - -As to the rest I will tell it all to you by and by, when we are together -again and happy. - -I will confide one thing to you, however--in the moments of my deepest -sadness, in my moments of violent crisis, a star shines all at once, -lighting up my brain and beaming upon me. It is your image, my darling, -it is your adored image that I hope soon to behold face to face. And -with that before me I can wait patiently until they give me back that -which I hold dearest in this world--my honor, my honor that has never -failed me. - -Embrace them all for me. Kisses to the darlings. - -I embrace you a thousand times. - -ALFRED. - -How impatiently I wait for Friday! What a pity that you came to-day at -the hour of the director’s luncheon; had you come at some other time -perhaps they might have permitted you to embrace me. - - -_Tuesday, 7 o’clock in the evening._ - -They have just given me a whole package of letters--from Jeanmaire, from -your father, from Louise, and from you. Thank them all for writing to -me. The letters have made me weep, but they have eased my wounded soul. -Answer every one for me. - - * * * * * - - -_9 January, 1895, Wednesday, 5 o’clock._ - -My good Darling: - -I, also, receive my letters only after a long delay. They have only now -given me your letter of Tuesday morning. With it were numerous letters -from all the family. What can we do, my darling? We must bow our heads, -we must suffer without complaining. Truly, even now, when I think it -over, I wonder how I could have had the courage to promise you to live -on after my condemnation. That day, that Saturday, is burned into my -mind in letters of fire. I have the courage of the soldier who goes -forward gladly to meet death face to face: but alas! shall I have the -soul of the martyr? - -But be tranquil, my darling. I shall force myself to live and to resist -until the day of my vindication. I have borne without flinching the -anguish of the most wounding affront that can be imposed upon a man of -heart who is innocent, whose conscience is pure. My heart has bled; it -bleeds still. I live only by the hope that they will give me back my -place in the army, the place I won by gallant and meritorious -conduct--the _galons_ that no act of mine had ever sullied! - -And moreover, whatever sufferings may still await me, my heart commands -me to live. I must resist; I must resist for the name that is borne by -my dear children, for the name of all the family. - -But duty is sometimes hard to follow. You speak of my life in this -prison--what good can it do to increase your sadness, my darling? Your -grief is great enough without my augmenting it by my complaining. - -I live by hope, my good darling. I live, because I believe that it is -impossible that the truth shall not some day be made clear, because it -cannot be that my innocence shall not be some day recognised and -proclaimed by this dear France--my country, to whom I have always -brought my intelligence and my strength--to whom I would have -consecrated all the blood that is in my veins. - -I must have patience; I must draw it from the deep well of your love, -from the affection of all those who love us, and from the conviction -that I shall ultimately be rehabilitated. - -A thousand kisses to the darlings. - -I embrace you as I love you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - -Your letter tells me that they have refused to permit Me. Demange to see -me; I hope, notwithstanding this, that they will soon accord him the -permission. - -I count the hours until Friday, when I shall see you. Thanks for the -good letters I receive from all. Thank them all for me and tell them -that one of the best hours in my day is that which I pass in reading my -letters. But I am incapable of answering all of them. I can say nothing -except that I am resigned and that I expect that the truth will be -discovered. - - -_10 January, 1895, 9 A. M._ - -Since two o’clock this morning I could not sleep for thinking that -to-day I should see you. It seems that even now I hear your sweet voice -speaking to me of my dear children, of our dear families, and if I weep -I am not ashamed of it, for the martyrdom that I endure is truly cruel -for a man who is innocent. - -Who is the monster who has thrown the brand of evil, of dishonor, into a -brave and honorable family? - -If there is such a thing as justice on this earth, there is no -punishment too great to be reserved for him, no torture that should not -some day be inflicted on him. - -But my courage is not weakening. I have painful moments, when my eyes -are veiled by the mournful darkness of the present; but I comfort myself -by looking forward to the future. - -Your devotion is so heroic--you are all making such powerful efforts, it -is impossible that the truth shall be forever hidden. Besides that, the -truth must be made plain, _it must be_; the will is a powerful lever. - -Now, at once, my darling, I am to have the joy of embracing you, of -clasping you in my arms. I count the seconds which separate me from that -happy moment. - -_Half-past 3 o’clock, P. M., 10 January, 1895._ - -The moment is passed, my darling; so quick, so short, that it seems to -me I have not told you the twentieth part of what I had to say. How -heroic you are, my adored one! How sublime is your self-forgetfulness, -your devotion! I can do nothing but wonder at you. - -Under the combined influence of your loving sympathy and of your heroic -efforts I have not the right to hesitate. - -I will suffer, then, I will not murmur, but let me when my heart -overflows weep out my anguish on your breast. - -The cruelest of all is this--I cannot repeat it too often--it is not the -physical suffering that I endure; it is this atmosphere of contempt -which surrounds my name--your name, my adored Lucie. You know that I -have always been proud, dignified. You know that I have held duty above -all else. You can therefore appreciate all that I suffer now. And that -is why I wish to live; that is why I cry my innocence to all the world. -I will cry it each day until my last breath, while in my body there is -one drop of blood. - -I shall find in your dear eyes the courage needful for my martyrdom. I -shall draw from the memory of my children the strength to resist to the -end of my agony. - -Bring me your portrait, too. I will place it between the pictures of our -darlings, and contemplating those faces, I shall each day, each instant, -read my duty. - -Embrace all for me. - -ALFRED DREYFUS. - -Thank your sister Alice for her excellent letter, which has given me a -great deal of pleasure. Also give me news of all the members of the -family, to whom I cannot write. Tell them that their letters are always -welcome. - -I embrace you tenderly. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Half-past 7 in the evening._ - -I have to-day received no letter from you--no letter from any one. Have -they been stopped on the way? However that may be, I have to-day been -deprived of the only ray of sunlight which can lighten the darkness of -my prison. - -P. S. Just now, as I was about to go to bed, they brought me a package -of letters, which I am going to devour with delight. - - * * * * * - - -_Thursday, 5 o’clock in the evening, 11 January, -1895._ - -My Darling: - -I thank you for your two last letters (one written Tuesday and the other -written, I think, Wednesday morning). They have just given them to me. -Write to me morning and evening. Although I receive the two letters at -the same time, nevertheless I can follow you in my thoughts. I see you -in all you do. It seems to me that I am living near to you. - -I occupy my time in reading and in writing; in that way I try to calm -the fever of my brain; to think no more of my situation, so sad, so -undeserved. - -Forgive me, my darling, if sometimes I complain. What would you, at -times memory is so bitter! I need to throw myself upon your breast, -there to pour out my overburdened heart. We have always understood each -other’s thoughts so well, my darling, that I am sure that your strong -and generous heart beats with the indignation of my own. - -We were so happy--everything in life smiled upon us. Do you remember -when I told you that we had nothing for which to envy any one; that all -was ours? Position, fortune, the love we bore each other, our adorable -little children--we had everything. - -There was not a cloud on the horizon; then came the awful thunderbolt, -so unexpected, so unbelievable! Even now it seems sometimes that I must -be the victim of a horrible nightmare. - -I do not complain of physical sufferings, you know that I despise them; -but to know that an accusation of infamy stains my name, when I am -innocent--oh, no! no! This is why I have borne all my torment, all the -anguish, all the insults. I am convinced that soon or late the truth -will come to light, and then they will do me justice. - -I can easily excuse this anger, this rage of all the people--the noble -people, who have been taught to believe that there is a traitor; but I -want to live so that they may know that the traitor is not I. - -Upheld by your love, by the boundless love of all of ours, I shall -overcome fatality. I do not say that I shall not still have moments of -despondency, even of despair. Truly not to complain of an error so -monstrous would require a grandeur of soul to which I cannot pretend. -But my heart will remain strong and valiant. - -Then courage and energy, my darling. We must all be brave and strong. -Let us lift up our heads all of us, carry them high and proudly. We are -martyrs. I will live, my adored one, because I will that you shall bear -my name, as you have borne it until now, with honor, with joy, and with -love; and because I will to transmit it to our children without a stain. - -Therefore do not allow yourselves to be beaten down by -adversity--neither you nor the others. Search for the truth without -parleying, without a truce. - -As to me, I shall wait with the strength born of a pure and tranquil -conscience until this mysterious and tragical affair is dragged into the -light. - -You know, moreover, my darling, that the only mercy I have ever asked -for is the truth; I hope that my countrymen will not fail in the duty -which they owe to a fellow-man, who asks one right only--that the search -for the truth may be kept up. - -And when the light shines in on my vindication; when they give me back -my _galons_ that I won, and that I am as worthy to wear now as when I -won them by my own might; when I am once more in my own place, at the -head of my troopers, oh, then, my darling, I shall forget -everything--the sufferings, the torture, the insults, the bleeding -wounds. - -May God and human justice grant that the day break soon! - -Until to-morrow, my adored Lucie! Then shall I have the pleasure of -embracing you again. Now I am counting the hours; to-morrow I shall -count the minutes. - -I embrace you fondly. - -ALFRED. - -Good, long kisses to our two darlings. I dare not think of them. Talk to -them about me. Let not these young souls suffer from our sadness. -Embrace every one at home for me. - - * * * * * - - - -_12 January, 1895, Saturday, 4 o’clock._ - -How short was that half hour yesterday! I arrange in my mind in advance -just how I shall employ every minute, so that I may not forget what I -want to say. Then the time goes by as in a dream; and all at once the -interview is over, and again I have said almost nothing. - -How can two beings like you and me be so cruelly tried? - -Do you remember the charming plans that we had sketched out for this -very winter? We ought to profit a little by our liberty when we are -together to go back to those days when, two young lovers, we wandered -together in the land of the sun. Ah, it cannot be possible! All this -anguish, all that is passing now, is inhuman. If there is a God, if -there is any justice in this world, we must believe that the truth must -declare itself soon; that we shall be recompensed for all that we have -suffered. - -I have put the children’s photographs before me on the little table of -my cell. When I look at them the tears rush to my eyes, my heart -bursts--but at the same time it does me good, it strengthens my courage. -Bring me your photograph, too. Your three faces before my eyes will be -the companions of my mournful solitude. - -Ah, my darling wife, you have a noble mission to fulfil, and for it you -need all your energy. That is why I am always begging of you to care for -your health. Your physical strength is more necessary than ever before. -You owe yourself to your children first, then to the name they bear. It -must be proven to the whole world that that name is pure and stainless. - -Oh, for light upon my tragic situation! How I long for it! How I wait -for it! How I would buy it if I could, not only with all my -fortune--that would be nothing--but with my very blood! - -If only I could put my brain to sleep! If I could prevent it from -thinking always of this unexplainable mystery! I long to pierce the -shadows; I long to tear up the earth that the daylight may burst -through. - -You will answer, and with justice, that I must be patient; that time is -necessary to discover the truth. Alas! I know it. But what would you? -The minutes to me seem hours. It always seems to me that some one will -come to me in another minute and say: - -“Forgive us, we were deceived; the mistake has been discovered.” - -Now I am waiting for Monday. Henceforth the weeks for me are composed -but of the two days when you come to visit me. You cannot know how I -marvel at your self-sacrifice, your heroism, how I draw courage from -your love, so profound, so devoted. - -Thank your sister Alice for her excellent letter, which has given me -great pleasure. Give news of me to all the members of the family to whom -I cannot write. Tell them that their letters are always most welcome. - -I embrace you tenderly, fondly. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_14 January, 1895, Monday, 9 o’clock in the morning._ - -At last the happy day has come again when I can have the happiness of -seeing you, of kissing you, of receiving news by word of mouth of you -all. I have so many things to tell you; but when I see you shall not I -again, in the emotion which will seize me, forget everything? Last night -again I could not sleep until two o’clock. I was thinking of you, of you -all, of this fearful enigma which I long to decipher. I have turned over -in my mind a thousand ways, each more violent, more extravagant than the -other, by which to rend the veil which shields the monster. - -How can I help it, my darling? Night and day I think only of that. My -mind is always straining to reach that end, and I cannot help you in any -way. It is the feeling of my utter helplessness which hurts me most. - -I try hard to read, but while my eyes follow the lines my thoughts -wander. - -And now, immediately, my darling, I am to have the joy of seeing you! - -Waiting for that moment, I pace my cell like a lion in its cage. - - * * * * * - -_14 January, 1895, 1 o’clock._ - -The time drags slowly; the minutes are hours. How can I use up my -energy! How can I restrain my heart! Sometimes I lose my patience. It is -not the courage, the energy that I lack--you know it well--and my -conscience gives me superhuman force, but it is this terrible idleness, -this longing to be able to help you to pursue the only object of my -life, to discover the wretch who has stolen my honor; this is what burns -in my blood. Ah, I would rather mount alone to the assault of ten -redoubts than be here powerless, inactive, waiting passively for the -truth to be revealed! I envy the man who breaks stones on the highway, -absorbed in his mechanical labor. But, my darling, I shall soon see you -now, and you will give me back my patience. - - * * * * * - -_3 o’clock._ - -Already the time has passed as in a dream, ... and I had so many things -to tell you, ... and then when I am - -[Illustration: CAPTAIN ALFRED DREYFUS - -This portrait is enlarged from a photograph taken on the occasion of his -degradation.] - -in your presence I look at you, I no longer can remember anything. All -that happens to me then appears a dream; it seems to me that never again -shall we be separated--that I am awaking from my horrible nightmare. But -alas! then comes reality--our parting. - -Ah, the wretch who committed the crime--who stole our honor! It is no -ordinary punishment that he deserves. When the day comes and his guilt -is known I hope that public opinion may nail his name to the pillory of -history, that his punishment may be beyond all that we can imagine. - -I ask you to forgive me for my weakness, for my impatience. But think, -my darling, what these long hours are to me--these long days. - -But I am calmer after each interview. I draw new strength, a new store -of patience from your looks, from your love. - -Ah, the truth! We must reveal it, it must shine forth clear and -luminous. I live only for that; I live only by that hope. - -And this truth, as you have so truly said, must be entire, -absolute--there must be left no doubt in the mind of any one. My -innocence must burst forth. Everybody--all must recognize it--they must -know that my honor stands as high as that of any man on the earth. - -And it is to this end that I must be patient.... I realize it as you do, -... but the heart has reasons that reason knows not! If I could only put -my brain to sleep until the day when they find the guilty one I should -bear physical torments valiantly, I should not waver. And then think of -the atmosphere that is to envelop me on the path I have yet to follow! - -But my heart must be silent. I gain each time new strength, new -patience, from your dear eyes. - -Do not think any longer of my sufferings. You can comfort me only in -doing as you have done--in searching for the guilty one, without a -thought of truce--without an hour of rest. - -I have read Pierrot’s few lines in Marie’s letter. Thank them both, -particularly the hand that directed the hand of Pierrot. - -Make of our dear children vigorous and healthy beings. - -I embrace you as I love you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Tuesday, 15 January, 1895, 9 o’clock in the morning._ - -My Darling: - -I was thinking a great deal last night of what you said yesterday when -you urged me to be patient; when you explained to me that nothing is -done in a day. Alas! I know it well; but I suffer precisely because of -my good qualities, which are defects situated as we are now. I am an -active man, and I am impatient to have it deciphered--this enigma that -is torturing my brain. - -But you understand, my darling, since you know me so well. It is useless -for me to tell each day of the fevers of impatience which at times -overcome me; the paroxysms of crazy anger which at times carry me -away.... - -Yesterday I received good news. They told me that I am to see your -mother to-day. I am rejoicing over it in advance. - -_Half-past 5 o’clock._ - -I have seen Me. Demange for a few minutes; afterward I had the pleasure -of seeing your mother. - -I was so enervated to-day that I almost fainted before her. I could not -help it. Sometimes I become again a man, with all man’s weakness, with -all man’s passions. You must admit that there is in my situation enough -to break down the strongest. - -Ah, believe that were it not for you--for our dear children--it would be -far easier for me to die! But I must bear up and face my sorrow. I must -tell myself that I will bear all the agony, all the martyrdom, until the -time when my innocence shall burst forth in the light of day. - -It is impossible that it can be otherwise. - -I shall hold out to the end, be sure of it; but at times I will give way -to cries of wrath--to cries of anguish. - -Embrace them all, our darlings, for me. - -Your devoted - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_7 o’clock._ - -My moment of weakness is past. I see and I live in the future. Courage, -then, all of us. Sooner or later innocence will triumph. - -Go forward without flinching on the path you have marked out, as I shall -go forward without weakening on my dolorous journey. - -_Wednesday, 16 January, 1895, -10 o’clock in the morning._ - -My Darling: - -I have succeeded in conquering my nerves. I have silenced the tumult of -my soul. It does no good to be impatient, since I am resolved to live to -see my innocence proclaimed. - -I know that it will require time--yes, a long time--but I shall wait, as -I promised you that I would, with calmness and with dignity until the -truth is known. My conscience will give me the necessary strength. - -I will prepare my soul to bear without a murmur the suffering which yet -awaits me. I will stifle the sobs of my bleeding heart. - -Yesterday I lost for some minutes the sense of my existence; remember -that it is now three months that I have been shut up in this room, a -prey to the most appalling mental tortures that can be inflicted upon a -man of heart; but by a violent effort of my whole being I regained -possession of myself. - -It is, above all, my nerves that are weak; my spirit is what it was in -the beginning. - -But you all are united in will, in intelligence, and in devotion; -therefore I have the conviction that soon or late the day will dawn. I -shall not belie your efforts. - -Let us speak no more of it. - -What shall I tell you? My daily life? You know it! I have described it -to you in its smallest details. My thoughts? They are all of you, of our -dear children, of our dear families. Still two more days to wait before -I can see you and embrace you. How long the interval is that separates -our interviews, and how short the time of our meetings! I would make the -time run by when you are far from me. I would make it an eternity when -you are with me. - -What courage you give me to live, my darling; what patience I draw from -the deep well of your eyes, from the memories you recall to me, from my -duty to our darlings. - - * * * * * - - -_1 o’clock._ - -I have just received your two dear letters of Tuesday. You are right to -speak to me of our dear ones. Though every thought of them rends my -heart, their chatter, which you repeat to me, awakes in me happy and -touching memories, and faith comes back to me--a faith in better days. - -I agree absolutely with you as to the work in which you are engaged. -Calmness, time, and perseverance are needful if we would go on to the -end. I know it well; I should do just as you are doing were I in your -place, preferring to advance slowly but surely rather than lose all by -thoughtless haste. But I, alas! I am shut up between four walls, idle, -my blood on fire and my point of view is necessarily different from -yours. - -They have just told me that my two sisters will come to see me at two -o’clock. What a happiness it is to see those who belong to one! - - * * * * * - - -_5 o’clock._ - -I have seen Louise and Rachel. I have felt that their hearts beat with -mine, that they share my sufferings. Their faith in the future is -absolute. I hope as they do. - -What devotion I meet in our wonderful families, in our friends! It -consoles me, moreover, for the weakness of humanity. Truly we can judge -of people only when we are in trouble. - -I embrace you a thousand times, as I love you. - -Your devoted - -ALFRED. - -Dear Jeanne must be changing in her appearance. Is she becoming as -handsome as a girl as her brother is handsome as a boy? - - * * * * * - - -_Thursday, 17 January, 1895, 9 o’clock._ - -What a part these accursed nerves play in human life! Why cannot we -entirely disengage our material being from our moral personality, so -that one shall not influence the other? - -My moral personality is always salient, always strong, as ever resolved -to go on to the end; it is determined to face all. I must get back my -honor that they tore from me, although I had never faltered. But my -material personality is subjected to rude shocks. My nerves, which have -been too tensely strung during nearly three months, make me suffer -horribly at times, and I have not even the resource of violent physical -exercise by which to subdue them. I am to be given some medicine to-day -to relax their tension. - -Ah, when I think of those who have accused me and caused my -condemnation! May remorse pursue them and make them bear the anguish -that I am bearing. But let us talk of other things. - -How are you, my darling? How are the children? I hope that you all may -continue to be well. Be careful of yourself; you have not the right to -allow yourself to be broken down. You have need of all your courage and -of all your energy; and therefore you need all your physical strength. - -At last the time has come. To-morrow will be Friday. How long that day -is in coming! Happily the time seemed a little less long this week; for -yesterday and the day before I heard of you from those who came to see -me. - -After all, why should not I, too, have confidence, when I feel around me -all this friendship, all this affection, all this devotion! - -But that which I must have above all things is patience. - - * * * * * - - -_2 o’clock._ - -They have given me your letter of yesterday. I find that I moan enough -of my own accord without encouragement from you to do so still more. Ah, -how terrible this helplessness is, when I long to cry aloud my -innocence, proclaim it, prove it! Well, all this will do no good. It is -necessary, as I cannot reiterate too often, as every one must have told -you for me--it is necessary to search on without truce, without rest. - -The will is a lever which pries up and breaks in pieces all obstacles. - -Yesterday I received a good letter from your sister; to-day one from -your mother. I have, alas! nothing in particular to tell them. My life, -you know it hour by hour. You can describe it to them as completely as I -could. Tell your mother that she must not fear anything. I have nervous -weakness, which is easily explained, but my mind remains strong. My soul -needs the truth, it demands its honor, and it shall have it. I shall -not belie your efforts. - -Sooner or later, my darling, our happiness will return to us. I have the -firm conviction of this. The hardest of all is to have the patience that -is absolutely necessary. Happy is it for you that you have a powerful -diversion--action. - -Until to-morrow, my darling, when I shall have the pleasure of seeing -you, of talking with you, of kissing you! - -A thousand kisses. - -Your devoted husband, - -ALFRED. - -Good kisses to the dear ones. - - * * * * * - - -JANUARY AND FEBRUARY, 1895. - - -THE PRISON OF SAINT-MARTIN DE RE. - -_19 January, 1895._ - -My Darling: - -Thursday evening, toward ten o’clock, they came to wake me to bring me -here, where I arrived only last night. I do not want to speak of my -journey, it would break your heart. Know only that I have heard the -legitimate cries of a brave and generous people against him whom they -believe to be a traitor, the lowest of wretches. I am no longer sure if -I have a heart. - -Oh, what a sacrifice I made the day of my condemnation, when I promised -you that I should not kill myself! What a sacrifice I made to the name -of my poor, dear, little children, in bearing what I am undergoing! If -there is a divine justice, we must hope that I shall be recompensed for -this long and fearful torture, for this suffering of every minute and -every instant. The other day your father told me that he would have -preferred death. And I--I would rather, a hundred thousand times rather, -be dead. But this right to die belongs to none of us; the more I suffer -the more must it impel your courage and your resolution to find the -truth. Look on for the truth, do not waver, do not rest. Let your -efforts be in proportion to the sufferings which I have imposed upon -myself. - -Will you please ask, or have some one ask, at the Ministry for the -following authorizations; the Minister alone can accord them: - -1. The right to write to all the members of my family--father, mother, -brothers, and sisters. - -2. The right to write and to work in my cell. At present I have neither -_paper_, nor _pen_, nor _ink_. I am given only the sheet of paper on -which I write to you; then they take away my pen and ink. - -3. Permission to smoke. - -I beg you not to come before you are completely cured. - -The climate here is very rigorous, and you need all your health, first -for our dear children, then for the end for which you are working. _As -to my régime here, I am forbidden to speak to you of it._ - -And now I must remind you that before you come here you must provide -yourself with _all_ the authorizations necessary _to see me_; do not -forget to ask permission _to kiss me_, etc., etc. - -When shall we be reunited, my darling? I live in the hope of that, and -in the still greater hope of my restoration to honor. But oh, how my -soul suffers! Tell all our family that they must work on without -weakening, without resting; for all that comes to us now is appalling, -tragic. Write to me soon. I embrace you as I love you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Tuesday, 21 January, 1895, 9 o’clock in the morning._ - -How you must suffer!... The tragedy of which we are the -victims is certainly the most terrible of the century. To have -everything--happiness, the future, a charming home--and then, all at -once, to be accused and condemned for a crime so monstrous! - -Ah, the monster who has cast dishonor in our family might better have -killed me; at least there would then have been only me to suffer! This -is what tortures me the most; it is the thought of the infamy that is -coupled with my name. If I had only physical sufferings to bear, it -would be nothing. Sufferings borne for a noble cause are elevating; but -to suffer because I am condemned for an infamous crime--ah, no! Cannot -you see that it is too much, even for energy like mine? - -Oh, why am I not dead? I have not even the right to leave this life of -my own will; it would be an act of cowardice. I have not the right to -die, to look for oblivion, until I shall have regained my honor. The -other day when they insulted me at La Rochelle, I wished that I might -escape from the hands of my guards and present myself with naked breast -to those to whom I was a just object of indignation and say to them: “Do -not insult me; my heart that you cannot know is pure and free from all -defilement; but if you believe me guilty, here, take my body; I give it -up to you without regret.” - -At least then, when under the sharp sting of physical suffering, I -should still have cried, “_Vive la France!_” Perhaps then they would -have believed in my innocence. - -After all, what do I beg for night and day? Justice, justice! Are we in -the nineteenth century, or must we turn back for centuries? Is it -possible that innocence can be unrecognized in a century of light and -truth? They must search for the truth. I do not ask for mercy, but I -demand the justice due to every human creature. They must search. Let -those who possess powerful means of investigation use them to this end; -it is a sacred duty which they owe to humanity and justice. It is -impossible that light shall not be thrown upon my mysterious and tragic -fate. - -O God! who will give me back my honor that has been stolen from me, -basely stolen from me? Oh, what a dark drama, my poor darling! As you -have so truly said, it surpasses anything that can be imagined. - -I have but two happy moments in my days, but so short. The first is when -they bring me this sheet of paper so that I can write to you--I pass a -few moments in talking with you. The second is when they bring me your -daily letter. The rest of the time I am alone with my thoughts; and God -knows that they are sad and dark. - -When is this horrible drama to end? When will the truth at last be -known? Oh, my fortune, all of it, to the one who is adroit, able enough, -to solve this sad enigma! - -Tell me about all our friends. - -Embrace them all for me. - -I dare not speak of our darlings. When I look at their photographs, when -I see their eyes so good, so sweet, the sobs rise from my heart to my -lips. When we suffer for some thing or for some one it is easy to -understand.... But why and, above all, for whom am I suffering this -odious martyrdom? - -I press you to my heart. - -ALFRED. - -Do not come until you are completely recovered and in excellent health. -Our children have need of you. - - * * * * * - - -_23 January, 1895._ - -My Darling: - -I receive your letters every day. As yet they have given me none from -any member of the family, and, on my side, I have not yet received the -authorization to write to them. I have written to you every day since -Saturday. I hope that you have received all my letters. - -You must not be astonished, my darling, at the scene of La Rochelle. I -find it perfectly natural. What astonishes me is that no one has yet -been found to come forward and tell what our families really -are--families whose names are synonymous with loyalty and honor. Ah, -human cowardice, I have measured its length and breadth in these sad, -dark days! - -When I think of what I was but a few months ago, and when I compare it -with my miserable situation to-day, I confess that my heart faints, that -I give way to ferocious outbreaks against the injustice of my lot. Truly -I am the victim of the most hideous error of our century. At times my -reason refuses to believe it; it seems to me that I am the dupe of a -terrible hallucination, that it will all vanish; ... but, alas! the -reality is all around me. - -Why did not we all die before the beginning of this tragedy? Truly it -would have been preferable. And now we have not the right to die, not -one of us has that right. We must live to cleanse our name of the stain -with which it has been sullied. My conviction is absolute; I am sure -that sooner or later the light will shine out. It is impossible in an -age like ours that search shall not result in the discovery of the one -who is really guilty; but what shall I be, mentally and physically, at -that time? I believe that life will have no more attraction for me, and -if I cling to it, it will be for your sake, my dear heart, whose -devotion has been heroic through all these terrible hours--for you and -for my dear children, to whom I wish to restore their honorable name. - -But whatever may come, I am sure that history will place things in their -true position. There will be in our dear country of France, so easily -excited, but so generous to innocent sufferers, some man honest and -courageous enough to try to find the truth. - -And I, my darling, what can I say to you? That my heart is broken; at -least they will have accomplished that. But be tranquil; until my last -breath I shall stand firm. I will not weaken, nor bow my head. - -My honor is equal to that of any man on the earth. I demand justice; you -also must demand it. This is all the mercy that I beg for. I ask for -nothing but the truth--the whole truth. - -And this truth, if we pursue it steadfastly, we shall have at last; it -is impossible that such an error can rest unexposed. - -When I look back, my sufferings are so appalling that I am seized by -terrible nervous shocks. I look forward always with the hope that soon -all will be made clear and that they will give me back my honor--the -thing I hold dearest in this world. - -May God and justice grant that it may be soon! Truly I have suffered -enough. We all have suffered enough. - -I hope that you always take good care of your health. You need, my -darling, all your physical strength to be able to bear the moral -tortures that are inflicted upon you. - -How are all the members of our two families? Give me news of them, since -I cannot hear directly from them. - -Kiss our two darlings for me--my love to all the family. - -I embrace you with all my strength. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_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. - -I embrace you as I love you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Friday, 25 January, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -Your letter of yesterday wrung my heart. The sorrow transpierced every -word. - -Never, surely, have two unfortunate creatures suffered as we suffer. If -I had not faith in the future, if my conscience, clean and pure, did not -tell me that such an error cannot exist eternally, I should, of a truth, -give way to the darkest thoughts. I should despair. Once, as you know, I -determined to kill myself; I yielded to your remonstrances; I have -promised you to live, for you have made me realize that I have not the -right to desert my post; because I am innocent I must live. But alas! if -you could know how, sometimes, it is more difficult to live than to die! - -But be tranquil, my darling; no matter how I am tortured I shall not -belie your generous efforts. I will live ... as long as my physical -strength and, above all, my moral strength hold out. - -All night long I thought of you, my darling; I suffered with you. I have -written to you every day since last Saturday. I hope that by this time -you have received all my letters. - -I do not know either on whom or on what to fix my ideas. When I look -back to the past anger rises to my brain, so impossible it seems to me -that everything has been thus wrested from me. When I look to the -present, my plight is so wretched that my thoughts turn toward death, in -which I might forget all my misery. It is only when I look forward to -the future that I have a moment of consolation, for, as I have just told -you, hope is all that gives me life. - -Just now I gazed for several minutes at the pictures of our dear -children; but I could not bear to look at them longer; my sobs strangled -me. Yes, my darling, I must live. I must bear my martyrdom to the end, -for the name borne by these dear little ones. Some day they must learn -that this name is worthy to be honored, to be respected; they must be -sure that if I hold the honor of many men below my own, there is none -that I hold above it. - -Ah, surely it is full time that this horrible suffering to which we are -all subjected should end! I dare not think of it. Everything within me -swells my heart to bursting. - -I embrace you a thousand, thousand times, and our good darlings. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Friday, 4 o’clock._ - -They have given me your letter of Friday, in which you tell me that you -have received my last letter. You are asked to abstain from making any -reflections upon the measures taken in regard to us. Henceforth I shall -no longer have the right to write to you more than twice a week. You can -write to me every day. Do it, my darling, for that is the only thing -that gives me courage to live. If I could not feel your warm affection, -the love of all of ours, struggling with me for my honor, I should not -have the courage to pursue this almost superhuman task. They still give -me no letters from any of the family, and I am not permitted to write to -them. The Minister is the only one who can modify this state of things. - -You cannot imagine, my poor child, how unhappy I am. Night and day I -think of the horrible word that is coupled with my name; there are times -when my brain refuses to admit such a thing. I ask myself, in my -agitated nights, if I am awake or if I sleep. Added to everything else I -have no occupation by which to distract my sombre thoughts. - -I kiss you a thousand times, and also all the others. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_28 January, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -This is one of the happy days of my sad existence, because I can come to -pass half an hour with you, talking to you and telling you of my life. -You know that I am permitted to write to you but twice a week. I have -received your two letters, of Friday and Saturday. Each time that they -bring me a letter from you a ray of joy pierces to my wounded heart. -What you told me in your letter of Saturday is perfectly true. Like you, -I have the absolute conviction that all will be discovered, but when? -You know that in the end everything is blunted, even the most heroic -courage. And, then, between the courage that makes a man confront -danger--no matter what danger it may be--and the courage that enables -him to bear, without fainting, the worst of outrages, scorn and shame, -there is a great difference. I have never lowered my head, believe it; -my conscience forbade that. I have a right to look all the world in the -face. But, alas! all the world cannot look into my soul, into my -conscience. The fact is there, brutal and terrible. That is why each -time that I receive one of your dear letters I have a ray of hope; I -hope at last to hear some good news. If the Léons have come back to -Paris, their impatience not letting them wait, only think how it is with -me. I know that you all suffer as I do, that you partake of my anguish -and my tortures, but you have your activity to distract you, a little, -from this awful sorrow; while I am here, impatient, shut up alone night -and day with my thoughts. - -I ask myself even now how my brain has been strong enough to resist so -many and so oft-repeated blows; how is it that I have not gone mad. - -It is certain, my darling, that it is only your profound love which can -make me still hold on to life. To have consecrated all my strength, all -my intelligence, to the service of my country, and then suddenly to be -accused of the greatest, the most monstrous, crime a soldier can -commit--condemned for it--that is enough to disgust one with life! When -my honor is given back to me--oh, may that day come soon!--then I will -consecrate myself entirely to you and to our dear children. - -And then think of the terrible way I have still to traverse before I -shall arrive at the end of my journey--crossing the seas for sixty or -eighty days under conditions so appalling. I do not speak--you know -it--of the material conditions of the passage; you know that my body has -never worried me much; but the moral conditions! To be during all that -time before sailors, the officers of the navy--that is, before honest -and loyal soldiers--who will see in me a traitor, the most abject of -criminals! At the bare thought of it my heart shrinks. - -I think that no innocent man in this world has ever endured the mental -torments that I have already borne, that I have still to bear. So you -can think that in each of your letters I search for that word of hope, -so long waited for, so ardently desired. - -Write to me, each day, long letters. Give me news of all the members of -the family, since I do not hear from them and cannot write to them. Your -letters give me, as I have already said, my only moments of happiness. -You only, you alone, bind me to life. - -Look backward I cannot. The tears blind me when I think of our lost -happiness. I can look forward only in the supreme hope that soon the day -will break, illumined with the light of truth. - -Kiss them all for me; kiss our dear children. A thousand kisses for you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Thursday, 31 January, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -At last the happy day is here! I can write to you. I count them, alas! -my happy days. - -I have not, indeed, received any letters from you since the one they -gave me last Sunday. What terrible suffering! Until now I have had each -day a moment of happiness in receiving your letter. It was an echo from -you all--an echo of the sympathy of you all, that warmed my poor frozen -heart. I used to read and re-read your letters. I absorbed each word. -Little by little the written words were transformed and given a -voice--it seemed to me that I could hear you speaking; that you were by -my side. Oh, the delicious music that whispered to my soul! Now, for -four days nothing but my dreary sorrow, the appalling solitude. - -Truly I ask myself how I live. Night and day my sole companion is my -brain. I have nothing to do except to weep over our misfortunes. - -Last night when I thought of all my past life, of all my labor, of all -that I have done in order to acquire an honorable position, ... then -when I compared that with my present lot, sobs seized my throat; it -seemed that my heart was being torn asunder; and, so that my guards -should not hear me--I was so ashamed of my weakness--I stifled my sobs -with the coverings of my bed. - -Oh, it is too cruel! - -How I prove to-day by my own experience that it is sometimes harder to -live than to die! - -To die would be to pass a moment of suffering; but it would be to forget -all my woes, all my tortures. - -On the other hand, to carry each day the weight of suffering, to feel -the heart bleed, and to endure this torment in every nerve, to feel -every fibre of my being tremble, to suffer the undying martyrdom of the -heart, this is terrible. - -But I have not the right to die. We have none of us that right. We shall -have it only after the truth shall have been brought to light; only when -my honor shall have been given back to me. Until then we must live. I -bend every effort to this task, to live. I try to annihilate in me all -my intellectual part, all that is sensible of suffering, so that I may -live, like a beast, preoccupied with the satisfying of its material -needs. - -When shall this martyrdom come to an end? When will men recognize the -truth? - -How are our poor darlings? When I think of them it is a torrent of -tears. And you, I hope that you are well. You must take care of your -health, my darling. The children first of all, and then the mission -which you have to fulfill, impose upon you duties which you cannot -neglect. - -Forgive the disconnected and wandering style of my writing. I no longer -know how to write; the words will not come to me, my brain is shattered. -There is but one fixed idea in my mind--the hope of some day knowing the -truth, of seeing my innocence recognized and proclaimed. That is what I -mutter night and day, in my dreams as in my waking hours. - -When shall I be able to embrace you and recover in your deep love the -strength I need to carry me to the end of my calvary? - -Embrace every one for me. - -Kisses for the darlings. - -I embrace you as I love you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Sunday, 3 February, 1895._ - -My Darling: - -I have passed an atrocious week. I have been without a word from you -since last Sunday--that is to say, for eight days. I thought that you -must be sick, then that one of the children was sick, then, in my -reeling brain, I conjured up all kinds of suppositions--I imagined -everything. - -You can realize, my darling, all that I have suffered, all that I still -suffer. In my horrible solitude, in the tragic situation in which events -as unnatural as they are incomprehensible have placed me, I had at least -one consolation; it was to feel that you were near me, your heart -beating in unison with mine and sharing all my tortures. - -The night between Thursday and Friday, above all, was appalling. I will -not tell you about it; it would rend your heart. All that I can tell you -is that my mind kept going over and over the accusation they had brought -against me. I told myself that the thing was impossible.... Then I -aroused myself, and I realized the sad truth of it all. - -Oh, why cannot they open my heart and read there as one reads in an open -book; there, at least, they would see the sentiments which I have always -professed and which I still hold. No, no, it seems to me impossible that -all this is to endure eternally. Some day the truth must come to light. -By an unheard-of effort of the will I regained my self-control; I told -myself that I could neither go down into my grave nor go mad with a -dishonored name. I must live then, whatever may be the torture of soul -to which I am a prey. - -Oh, this opprobrium, this infamy covering my name! When will they be -taken away? - -May it come, the blessed day when my innocence is recognized! when they -give me back that honor that never failed me! I am tired of suffering. - -Let them take my blood, let them do what they will with my body, ... -you know that I do not care a straw for that; ... but let them give me -back my honor. - -Will no one hear this cry of despair, this cry of an innocent wretch who -begs only for justice--only justice? - -Each day I hope that the hour is at hand, that men are now to recognize -what I have been, what I am--a loyal soldier, worthy to lead the -soldiers of France under fire. Then the night comes, and nothing, still -nothing. - -Add to this that I received no letter from you; that I am absolutely -alone with my torture of soul, and you can judge of my condition. But be -reassured, I am strong again. I have called myself a coward; I have told -myself all that you yourself could have told me were you at my side; an -innocent man has never the right to despair. Then, though I have no news -of you, I feel that all your hearts, all your souls, are throbbing in -unison with my heart and with my soul; that you suffer with me the -infamy that covers my name and that you are endeavoring to wipe it out. -When can you come to pass some hours with me? How happy I should be -could I but draw new strength from your heart! - -Shall I have a letter from you to-day? I dare not hope too much, since -each day my hope is deferred, and at each disappointment the suffering -is too great. - -Well, my darling, what can I tell you? I live by hope. Night and day I -see before me, like a brilliant star, the moment when all shall be -forgotten, when my honor shall be given back to me. - -Kiss my darlings tenderly, most tenderly, for me. - -I send kisses for all the members of our families. - -As for you, I embrace you, as I love you, with all my strength. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Thursday, 7 February, 1895._ - -My good Lucie: - -On Sunday I received a package of fifteen letters all dated before -Sunday, January 27. Thank all the members of the family for their warm -affection, which I have never doubted. I am still without news of you -for more than ten days. To tell you my tortures is impossible. - -To find myself thus confronted by soldiers whom yesterday I was so proud -to command, whom I am as worthy to command to-day, and who see in me the -lowest of wretches--oh, it is appalling! At the very thought my heart -stops its beating. - -My story is too horrible, my brain can bear no more. - -I have been able to resist thus far because my heart, honest and pure, -told me that it was my duty; that my innocence, so complete and so -absolute, must soon be made manifest; but this long-continued outrage is -heart-breaking. - -I would rather have stood before the execution squad; at least then -there could have been no possible discussion, and you could afterward -have rehabilitated my memory. - -But do not fear that I shall ever attempt to take my life. I have -promised you never to do it, and you know that I have but one word. -Therefore do not be anxious in regard to that. But how far will my -strength carry me, how long will my heart continue to beat in this -atmosphere of scorn, I, so proud of my stainless honor, I, so haughty, -that is what I cannot tell! - -Ah, if there were nothing worse than bodily torture to be borne, if it -were only that I must suffer, waiting for the truth, I should be strong -enough to bear this appalling martyrdom. But to bear scorn, ... and for -so long, ... it is horrible! - -I do not believe that there has ever been an innocent man who has -endured tortures to be compared to mine. - -As for you, my poor and well-beloved wife, you must keep all your -courage and all your energy. It is in the name of our profound love that -I beg you to do this, for you must be there to wash away from my name -the stain with which it has been sullied. You must be there to bring up -our children to be brave and honorable. You must be there to tell them, -one day, what their father was--a brave and loyal soldier, crushed by an -appalling fatality. - -Shall I have news of you to-day? When shall I be told that I may have -the pleasure and the joy of embracing you? Each day I hope it, and -nothing comes to lighten the burden of my horrible agony. - -Courage, my darling, you need so much of it--so much! You all need it, -all of our two families. You have not the right to let yourself break -down, for you have a great mission to fulfill, no matter what may become -of me. Give them all my love; embrace our two poor darlings tenderly for -me, and receive for yourself the tenderest kisses of him who loves you -so dearly. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Sunday, 10 February, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I received, Friday evening, your letters up to and including that of the -2d of February. I saw with pleasure that you are all well. I hope that -you have received my letters. I shall not speak to you of myself; you -must understand the slow agony of my heart. But it will serve no purpose -to complain. What you need, what you must all have, is steadfast -courage. You must not allow yourself to be beaten down by adversity, -however terrible it may be. - -You must succeed in proving throughout the length and breadth of France -that I was a worthy and a loyal soldier, who loved his country above -everything, who served it with devotion always. - -That is the principal, the essential object, far above my own being, my -personal fate. There is a name that must be washed free from the stain -with which it has been sullied, a name, until now pure and spotless, -that must shine again as pure as in former days. It is the name that our -dear children bear, and that in itself should give you all the necessary -courage. - -I thank you for all the news you give me of our friends. I, too, regret -that I cannot write to them. You know how dearly I love them all. Kiss -my relations tenderly for me, your dear family and mine. Tell them what -I think, what I would convince you of; it is that I personally am only -the secondary consideration, that there is a name to be cleansed from -dishonor. - -No one must falter until this supreme task has been accomplished. To -speak to you of the condition I am in is useless. As I said above, your -heart tells you far better than my pen could tell. I will go on as long -as my heart still beats, having before me night and day the supreme hope -that the place that I deserve will be restored to me. - -You see, darling, a man of honor cannot live without his honor. It does -no good to tell himself that he is innocent; it is an unceasing gnawing -of the heart. In solitude the hours are long, and my mind cannot -comprehend all that has come upon me. Never could a romancer, however -rich his imagination, have written a story more tragic. - -I am convinced, as you are, that sooner or later the truth will come to -light. The just cause always triumphs; but when that day comes what -shall my condition be? It is that that I cannot tell.... There is always -my aching heart, which from morning till night, and from night till -morning, beats as if to burst. - -I hope that they will let me kiss you at least before I set out upon my -journey. - -I thank you for all you tell me about the children. You must bring them -up seriously and give them a thorough education; be as careful of their -bodies as you are of their minds and hearts. I know what you are; I have -no uneasiness on this score. Indeed, I know that you will bring them up -to be generous and noble souls, eager for all that is good and -beautiful, marching forward always in the way of duty. - -Kiss the good darlings for me a thousand, thousand times. - -I pray you give every one my love. Receive the most ardent kisses of -your husband, who loves you, who lives only in the thought of you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_14 February, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -The few minutes that I passed with you were very sweet to me, although -it was impossible for me to tell you all that I had within my heart. - -My time passed while I looked at you, trying to impress your image upon -my very being, asking myself by what inconceivable fatality I was -separated from you. - -Some day when they will tell my story it will seem unbelievable. But -what we must tell ourselves now is that I must be rehabilitated. My name -must shine anew with all the lustre it should never have lost. I would -rather see my children dead than think that the name which they bear is -a dishonored one. - -This is a vital question for us all. It is not possible to live without -honor. I cannot tell you this often enough. - -I shall soon come to a new station on my dolorous way. - -I do not fear bodily suffering; but oh, my God, that I might be spared -the torture of my soul! I am tired of feeling that my name is -scorned--I, so proud, so uplifted, just because my name was above -reproach; I, who had the right to look the whole world in the face. I -live only in the hope of seeing my name soon cleansed from this horrible -stain. You have again given me back my courage. Your noble abnegation, -your heroic devotion, give me renewed strength to bear my terrible -martyrdom. - -I shall not tell you that I love you yet more; you know how profound my -love is for you. It is that love that enables me to bear my tortures of -mind. It is the love of all of you for me. - -Embrace them all tenderly for me, the members of our two families, your -dear parents, our children, and, for yourself, receive the best, the -tenderest kisses of your devoted husband. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_21 February, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -When I see you the time is so short, I am so distracted at seeing the -hour slipping away with a rapidity that I cannot realize--the hours at -other times seem so horribly long to me--that I forget to tell you half -of all that I had prepared in my imagination. - -I wanted to ask you if the journey had not fatigued you, if the sea had -been kind to you. I wanted to tell you all the admiration I feel for -your noble character, for your incomparable devotion. More than one -woman must have lost her mind amidst the repeated shocks of a lot so -cruel, so undeserved. - -I wanted to speak to you a long time of our children, of their health, -their daily life. I wanted also to beg of you to thank all our families -for their devotion to my cause--the cause of an innocent man--to ask you -about their health. It would take a long day to exhaust all these -subjects, and our minutes are numbered. Well, we must hope that the -happy days are coming back to us, for it is impossible, it is contrary -to human reason, to believe that they will not in the end put their -hands upon the one who is really guilty. - -As I have told you, I will do all in my power to conquer the beating of -my sick heart, to bear this horrible and long martyrdom, so that I may -live to see with you the happy light of the day of rehabilitation. - -I will bear without a groan the natural scorn rightly inspired by the -sight of the creature I represent. I will suppress the convulsions of my -being against a lot so terrible, so appalling. - -Oh, this scorn that shrouds my name, how it tortures me! My pen cannot -express such suffering. - -I ask myself how a man who has really forfeited his honor can continue -to live. But I live only because my conscience is clear, because I hope -that soon all is to be discovered; that the true criminal will be -punished for his odious crime, that they will at last give me back my -honor. - -When I am gone write me long letters. I am thinking of the moment when -you all can write to me and when I shall receive news from all the -members of our families. - -The first time you are sending me anything, will you please send me the -Ollendorf method which I have had a chance to try here, and which I -think preferable to that of your teacher? Send with it the corrected -exercises, which form a separate volume, and which will also be my -teacher. - -Embrace our darlings tenderly for me, your parents, all whom you see, -and receive the affectionate kisses of your devoted - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -1895--1896--1897--1898. - - -ILES DU SALUT. - -_Tuesday, 12 March, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -Thursday, the 21st of February, some hours after your departure, I was -taken to Rochefort and put on shipboard. - -I shall not speak to you of my voyage; I was transported in the manner -in which the vile scoundrel whom I represent deserved to be transported. -It was only just. They could not accord any pity to a traitor, the -lowest of blackguards; and as long as I represent this wretch I can only -approve their conduct. - -My life here must drag itself out under the same conditions. - -But your heart can tell you all that I have suffered--all that I suffer. -I live only through the hope in my soul of soon seeing the triumphant -light of my rehabilitation. That is the only thing that gives me -strength to live. Without honor a man is not worthy of life. - -On the day of my departure you assured me that the truth would surely -come soon to light. I have lived during that awful voyage, I am living -now, only on that word of yours--remember it well. I have been -disembarked but a few minutes, and I have obtained permission to send -you a cablegram. - -I write in haste these few words, which will leave on the 15th by the -English mail. It solaces me to have a talk with you, whom I love so -profoundly. There are two mails a month for France--the 15th the -English, and the 3d the French mail. - -And in the same way there are two mails a month for the Isles--the -English mail and the French mail. Find out the days of their departure -and write to me by both of them. - -All that I can tell you more is that if you want me to live have my -honor given back to me. Convictions, whatever they may be, do nothing -for me; they do not change my lot. What is necessary is a decision which -will reinstate me. - -I made for your sake the greatest sacrifice a man can make in resigning -myself to live after my tragic fate was decided. I did this because you -had inculcated in me the conviction that the truth must always come to -light. In your turn, my darling, do all that is humanly possible to -discover the truth. A wife and a mother yourself, try to move the hearts -of wives and mothers, so that they may give up to you the key of this -dreadful mystery. I must have my honor if you want me to live. I must -have it for our dear children. Do not reason with your heart; that does -no good. I have been convicted. Nothing can be changed in our tragic -situation until the decision shall have been reversed. Reflect, then, -and pursue the solution of this enigma. That will be worth more than -coming here to share my horrible life. It will be the best, the only -means of saving my life. Say to yourself that it is a question of life -or death for me, for our children. - -I am incapable of writing to you all. My brain will bear no more; my -despair is too great. My nervous system is in a deplorable condition, -and it is full time that this horrible tragedy should end. - -Now my spirit alone is above water. - -Oh, for God’s sake, hurry, work with all your might! - -Tell them all to write to me. - -Embrace them all for me; our poor darlings, too. - -And for you a thousand tender kisses from your devoted husband, - -ALFRED. - -When you have some good news to announce to me send me a dispatch. I am -waiting for it day by day as for the Messiah. - - * * * * * - - -_15 March, 1895._ - -My Darling: - -As I cannot send this letter until to-day I hasten to talk to you a -little longer. I shall not speak of my appalling tortures; you know -them and you share them with me. - -My situation here is what it was before; be sure that I shall not be -able to endure it long; it seems impracticable for you to come to join -me. Moreover, as I told you yesterday, if you wish to save my life there -is something better for you to do; have my honor given back to me--the -honor of my name, the honor of the name of our poor children. - -In my horrible distress I pass my time in mentally repeating the words -you spoke the day of my departure--your absolute certainty of arriving -at the truth. Otherwise it would be death for me, and that soon; for -without my honor I could not live. I have surmounted everything only -because of my conscience alone, and because of the hope you have given -me that the truth will be discovered. Were this hope dead I, too, should -die. - -Say to yourself, therefore, my darling, that you must succeed, and that -as soon as possible, in giving me back my honor. I cannot bear much -longer this atmosphere of scorn, legitimate enough, which is all around -me. - -Upon your efforts depends my honor, and that is to say my life--the -honor of our poor children, too. You must then attempt everything, try -everything, to reach the truth, whether I live or die, for your mission -has a higher object than my fate. - -I embrace you as I love you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_20 March, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -My letter will be short, for I do not wish to rend your soul; moreover, -my sufferings are yours. - -I cannot do more than repeat what I said in the letter that I wrote to -you the 13th of this month. The more you hasten my rehabilitation the -more you will abridge my martyrdom. - -I have done for you more than the deepest love can inspire. I have -endured the worst tortures to which a man of spirit can be subjected. -Now it is your turn to do the impossible, to restore to me my honor, if -you wish me to live. - -My condition here is not yet definite; I am still in close confinement. - -I will not speak to you of my material life, that is indifferent to me; -physical miseries are nothing, whatever they may be. I wish for but one -thing, and of that I dream night and day; with that my brain is always -haunted; it is that they shall give me back the honor that never failed -me. - -As yet they have not given me the books that I brought; they are -awaiting orders. - -Always send me the reviews by the first post. Then, my darling, if you -want me to live, have my honor given back to me as soon as possible; my -martyrdom cannot be borne indefinitely. I think that I ought to tell you -the truth rather than to calm you with deceitful illusions. We must look -the situation in the face. I have been persuaded to live only because -you have inculcated in my mind the conviction that innocence always -makes itself known. My innocence must be made manifest not only for my -sake, but for the children’s, for you all. - -Embrace the darlings, embrace every one for me, and a thousand kisses -for yourself. - -ALFRED. - -As letters will be very long in reaching me, send me a dispatch when you -have good news to announce to me. My life hangs upon this expectation. -Think of all that I am suffering. - - * * * * * - - -_28 March, 1895._ - -I was hoping to receive news of you at about this time; as yet I have -heard nothing. I have already written you two letters. - -I know nothing as yet beyond the four walls of my chamber. As for my -health, it could not be very brilliant. Aside from my physical miseries, -of which I speak only to cite them, the cause of this condition of my -health lies chiefly in the disorder of my nervous system, produced by an -uninterrupted succession of moral shocks. - -You know that no matter how severe they might be at times, physical -sufferings never wrung a groan from me, and that I could look death -coolly in the face if only my mental sufferings did not darken my -thoughts. - -My mind cannot extricate itself for an instant from the horrible drama -of which I am the victim, a tragedy which has struck a blow not only at -my life--that is the least of evils, and truly it would have been better -had the wretch who committed the crime killed me instead of wounding me -as he has--but at my honor, the honor of my children, the honor of you -all. - -This piercing thought of my honor torn from me leaves me no rest either -by day or by night. My nights, alas! you can imagine what they are! -Formerly it was only sleeplessness, now the greater part of the night is -passed in such a state of hallucination and of fever that I ask myself -each morning how my brain still resists. This is one of the most cruel -of all my sufferings. Add to this the long hours of the day passed in -solitary communion with my thoughts, in the most absolute isolation. - -Is it possible to rise above such preoccupation of the mind? Is it -possible to force the mind to turn aside to other subjects of thought? I -do not believe it; at least I cannot. When one is in this, the most -agitating, the most tragic, plight that can possibly be conceived for a -man whose honor has never failed him, nothing can turn the mind from the -idea which dominates it. - -Then when I think of you, of our dear children, my grief is unutterable; -for the weight of the crime which some wretch has committed weighs -heavily upon you also. You must, therefore, for our children’s sake, -pursue without truce, without rest, the work you have undertaken, and -you must make my innocence burst forth in such a way that no doubt can -be left in the mind of any human being. Whoever may be the persons who -are convinced of my innocence, tell yourself that they will change -nothing in our position; we often pay ourselves in words and nourish -ourselves on illusions; nothing but my rehabilitation can save us. - -You see, then, what I cannot cease reiterating to you, that it is a -matter of life or of death, not only for me, but for our children. For -myself I never will accept life without my honor. To say that an -innocent man ought to live, that he always can live, is a commonplace -whose triteness drives me to despair. - -I used to say it and I used to believe it. Now that I have suffered all -this myself, I declare that if a man has any spirit he cannot live under -such circumstances. Life is admissible only when he can lift his head -and look the world in the face; otherwise, there is nothing left for him -but to die. To live for the sake of living is simply low and cowardly. - -I am sure that in this you think as I do; any other opinion would be -unworthy of us. - -The situation, already so tragic, becomes each day more tense. You have -not to weep, not to groan, but to face it with all your energy and with -all your soul. To make clear this situation, we must not wait for a -happy chance, but we must display all-absorbing activity. Knock at all -doors. We must employ all means to make the light burst forth. All forms -of investigation must be tried; the object we have in view is my life, -the life of every one of us. - -Here is a very clear bulletin of my state, moral and physical. I will -sum it up: - -A pitiable nervous and cervical condition, but extreme moral energy, -outstretched toward the one object, which, no matter what the price, no -matter by what means, we must attain--vindication. I will leave you to -judge from this what struggles I am each day forced to make to keep -myself from choosing death rather than this slow agony in every fibre of -my being, rather than this torture of every instinct, in which physical -suffering is added to agony of soul. You see that I am holding to my -promise that I made you to struggle to live until the day of my -rehabilitation. It remains for you to do the rest if you would have me -reach that day. - -Then away with weakness. Tell yourself that I am suffering martyrdom, -that each day my brain is growing weaker; tell yourself that it is a -question of my honor--that is to say, of my life, of the honor of your -children. Let these thoughts inspire you, and then act accordingly. - -Embrace every one, the children, for me. - -A thousand kisses from your husband, who loves you. - -ALFRED. - -How are the children? Give me news of them. I cannot think of you and of -them without throbs of pain through my whole being. I would breathe into -your soul all the fire that is in my own, to march forward to the -assault that is to liberate the truth. I would convince you of the -absolute necessity of unmasking the one who is guilty by every means, -whatever it may be, and above all without delay. - -Send me a few books. - - * * * * * - - -_27 April, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -A few more lines so that you may know that I am still living, and to -send you the echo of my immense affection. - -However great may be our grief, your grief and mine, I can only tell you -always to surmount it in order to pursue the rehabilitation with -indomitable perseverance. - -Preserve at all times the calmness and the dignity which befit our -misfortune, so great and so undeserved; but keep on working to restore -to me my honor, the honor of the name which my dear children bear. - -Let no setback rebuff you or discourage you; search out, if you think it -useful, the members of the government, move their hearts, as fathers and -as Frenchmen. Tell them that you ask for me no mercy, no pity, but only -that the investigations may be absolutely thorough. - -In spite of a combination of sufferings, physical as well as mental, -which are at times terrible, I feel that my duty to you, to our dear -children, is to resist to the limit of my strength and to protest my -innocence with my last breath. - -But if there is such a thing as justice in this world, it seems -impossible to me, my reason refuses to believe, that we shall not -recover the happiness which ought never to have been torn from us. - -Truly, under the influence of extreme nervous excitement, or of a great -physical depression, at times I write you feverish, excited letters; but -who would not yield sometimes to such attacks of mental aberration, such -revolts of the heart and soul, in a situation as tragic, as narrowing as -ours? And if I urge you to hasten, it is because I long to be with you -on that day of triumph when my innocence shall be recognized; and then -when I am always alone, in solitude, given over to my sad thoughts, -without news for more than two months of you, of the children, of all -those who are dear to me, to whom should I confide the sufferings of my -heart if not to you, the confidant of all my thoughts? - -I suffer not for myself only, but yet more deeply for you, for our dear -children. It is from them, my darling, that you must draw the moral -strength, the superhuman energy which you need to succeed in making our -honor appear again to every one, no matter at what price, what it has -always been, pure and spotless. - -But I know you. I know the greatness of your soul. I have confidence in -you. - -I am still without letters from you; as for me, this is the fifth letter -that I have written. Kiss every one for me. A thousand fond kisses for -you, for our dear children. - -Tell me all about them. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Wednesday, 8 May, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -Though I cannot send this letter before the 18th, I begin it to-day, so -much do I feel the unconquerable need of talking with you. - -It seems to me when I write to you that the distance is lessened. I see -before me your beloved face and I feel that you are near me. It is a -weakness. I know it; for in spite of myself the echo of my sufferings -shows itself sometimes in my letters, and your sufferings are great -enough without my continuing to tell you of mine. But I should like to -see in my place the philosophers and psychologists who sit tranquilly in -their chimney corners, offering their opinions upon the calmness and the -serenity which should be shown by an innocent man. - -A profound silence reigns around me, interrupted only by the roaring of -the sea; and my thoughts, crossing the distance which separates us, -carry me to your midst, among all those who are dear to me, whose -thoughts must of a truth be often turned toward me. Often I ask at such -an hour, “What is my dear Lucie doing?” and I send you by my thoughts -the echo of my immense affection. Then I close my eyes, and it seems to -me that I see your face and the faces of my dear children. I am still -without letters from you, with the exception of those of the 16th and -17th of February, still addressed to the Ile de Ré. For three months now -I have been without news of you, of the children, of our families. - -I believe that I have already told you that I advised you to ask -permission to leave your letters at the Ministry eight or ten days -before the departure of the mails; perhaps in that way I shall receive -them sooner. But, my good darling, forget all my sufferings, overcome -your own, and think of our children. Say to yourself that you have a -sacred mission to fulfill, that of having my honor given back to me, the -honor of the name borne by our dear little ones. Moreover, I recall to -my mind what you told me before my departure. I know, as you repeated to -me in your letter of the 17th of February, what the words of your mouth -are worth. I have an absolute confidence in you. - -Then do not weep any more, my good darling; I will struggle until the -last minute for you, for our dear children. - -The body may give way under such a burden of grief, but the soul should -remain firm and valiant, to protest against a lot that we have not -deserved. When my honor is given back to me, then only, my good darling, -we shall have the right to withdraw from the field. We will live for -each other, far from the noise of the world; we will take refuge in our -mutual affection, in our love, grown still stronger in these tragical -events. We will sustain each other, that we may bind up the wounds of -our hearts; we will live in our children, to whom we will consecrate the -remainder of our days. We will try to make them good, simple beings, -strong in body and mind. We will elevate their souls so that they may -always find in them a refuge from the realities of life. - -May this day come soon, for we have all paid our tribute of sufferings -upon this earth! Courage, then, my darling; be strong and valiant; carry -on your work without weakness, with dignity, but with the conviction of -your rights. I am going to lie down, to close my eyes and think of you. -Good night and a thousand kisses. - - * * * * * - - -_12 May, 1895._ - -I continue this letter, for I wish to share with you all my thoughts as -fast as they come into my mind. In my solitude I have the time to -reflect deeply. - -Indeed, the mothers who watch at the bedside of their sick children, for -whom with ferocious energy they wrestle with death, have not so much -need of a brave heart as have you; for it is more than the life of your -children which you have to defend, it is their honor. But I know that -you are fitted for this noble task. - -So, my dear Lucie, I ask you to forgive me if at times I have added to -your grief by my complainings, by showing a feverish impatience to see -at last the light shining in upon this mystery, against which my reason -battles in vain. But you know my nervous temperament, my hasty, -passionate disposition. It seemed to me that all must be immediately -discovered, that it was impossible that the truth should not be at once -fully revealed. Each morning I arose with that hope and each night I -went to my bed again a victim of the same deception. I thought only of -my own tortures, and I forgot that you must suffer as much as I. - -And this awful crime of some unknown wretch strikes not only at me, but -it strikes also, and more than all, our two dear children. This is why -we must conquer all our sufferings. It is not enough to give our -children life; we must dower them with honor, without which life is not -possible. I know your sentiments; I know that you think as I do. -Courage, then, dear wife. I will struggle as you are struggling and -sustain you with all my energy, because in the face of such an absolute -necessity all else should be forgotten. We must, for the sake of our -dear little Pierre, for the sake of our dear little Jeanne. - -I know how marvellous you have been in your devotion, your grandeur of -soul, in the tragic events just past. - -Fight on, then, my dear Lucie. My confidence in you is absolute. My deep -affection will recompense you some day for all the pains you are -enduring so nobly. - - * * * * * - - -_18 May, 1895._ - -I am ending to-day this letter which will carry you a part of myself and -the expression of the thoughts over which I have pondered deeply in the -sepulchral silence that surrounds me. - -I have thought too often of myself; not enough of you, of the children. -Your suffering, that of our families, is as great as mine. Our hearts -must be lifted high above it all, so that we shall see only the end -which we must attain--our honor! - -I will stand upright as long as my strength permits, to sustain you with -all my ardor, with all the depth of my love. - -Courage, then, dear Lucie--courage and perseverance. We have our little -ones to defend. - -Embrace our brothers and sisters for me; tell them that I have received -the letters addressed to the Ile de Ré, and that I shall write to them -soon. - -For you my fondest kisses. - -ALFRED. - -I forgot to tell you that I received yesterday the two reviews of March -15, but nothing else. - - * * * * * - - -Dear little Pierre: - -Papa sends good big kisses to you, also to little Jeanne. Papa thinks -often of both of you. You must show little Jeanne how to make beautiful -towers with the wooden blocks, very high, such as I made for you, and -which toppled down so well. Be very good. Give good caresses to your -mamma when she is sorrowful. Be very gentle and kind also to grandmother -and grandfather. Set good, little traps for your aunts. When papa comes -back from his journey you will come to the railway station to meet him, -with little Jeanne, with mamma, with every one. - -More good big kisses for you and for Jeanne. Your - -PAPA. - - * * * * * - - -_27 May, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I profit by each mail to Cayenne to write to you, because I want to give -you news of me as often as possible. During the month I wrote you a long -letter. I sent it on the 18th. - -Although I have not heard from you since my departure--all the letters -having been dated earlier than our last interview--I am hoping that by -the time that you receive this letter the denouement of our tragic story -will be at hand. - -However that may be, I cry to you always with all the strength of my -soul: Courage and perseverance! - -My nerves often get the better of me, but my moral energy remains -unshaken; it is to-day greater than ever. - -Let us, then, arm our hearts against every feeling of anxiety or grief; -let us conquer our sufferings and our miseries, so that we may see -nothing before us but the supreme object--our honor, the honor of our -children! Everything should be effaced by that. - -Then, still, courage, my dear Lucie. I will sustain you with all my -energy, with all the strength that my innocence gives me, with all the -longing that I have, to see the light shine out, full, perfect, -absolute, as it must shine, for our sakes, for that of our children, of -our two families. - -Good kisses for the dear little ones. - -I embrace you as I love you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_3 June, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -Still no letters from you, nor from any one. Since my departure I have -had no tidings of you, of our children, nor of any of the family. - -You may have seen by my letters the successive crises through which I -have passed. But for the moment let us forget the past. We will speak of -our sufferings when we are happy again. - -I do not know anything of what is passing around me, I live as in a -tomb. I am incapable of deciphering in my brain this appalling enigma. -All that I can do, then, and I shall not fail in this duty, is to -sustain you to my last breath--is to continue to fan in your heart the -flame which glows in mine, so that you may march straight forward to the -conquest of the truth, so that you may get me back my honor, the honor -of my children. You remember those lines of Shakespeare, in Othello. I -found them again not long since among my English books. I send them to -you translated (you will know why!). - - “Celui qui me vole ma bourse,[C] - Me vole une bagatelle - C’est quelque chose, mais ce n’est rien. - Elle était a moi, elle est à lui et, - A était I’esclave de mille autres. - Mais celui qui me vole ma bonne renommée, - Me vole une chose qui ni l’enrichit pas, - Et qui me rend vraiment pauvre.” - -Ah, yes! he has rendered me “_vraiment pauvre_, “the wretch who has -stolen my honor! He has made us more miserable than the meanest of human -creatures. But to each one his hour. Courage, then, dear Lucie; preserve -the unconquerable will that you have shown until now; draw from your -children the superhuman energy that triumphs over everything. Indeed, I -have no doubt whatever that you will succeed, and I hope that this -sinister tragedy is soon to end and that my innocence is at last to be -recognized. What more can I tell you, my dear Lucie--what can I say that -I have not told you in each one of my letters? My profound admiration -for the courage, the heart, the character, that you have shown in such -tragic circumstances; the absolute necessity, which supersedes -everything, all interests, even our lives, of proving my innocence in -such a way that not a doubt can remain in the mind of any one--the -necessity of doing everything noiselessly, but with a determination that -nothing can check. - -I hope that you receive my letters; this is the ninth that I have -written to you. - -Embrace all the family; embrace our dear children for me, and receive -for yourself the fondest kisses of your devoted - -ALFRED. - -As you see, my dear Lucie, I hope that when you receive these last -letters the truth shall not be far from being known and that we shall -enjoy again the happiness that was our lot until now. - - * * * * * - - -_11 June, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -Yesterday I received all your letters up to the 7th of March--that is to -say the first which you addressed to me here--also the letter of your -mother and the letters of your brothers and sisters, dating from the -same time. - -I wish to answer you while I am still under the spell of them. First of -all I must speak to you of the immense joy I felt in reading the words -written by your hand. It was something of yourself, a part of you, -which had sought me out; it was your good, noble heart come to warm and -revive mine. - -I saw also in your letters what I had already felt--how you all have -suffered in this horrible tragedy which has come upon us, surprising us -in our happiness and tearing from us our honor. This one word tells -everything, it sums up all our tortures--mine and yours. - -I know that from the day when I promised you to live, to wait for the -truth to be revealed, for justice to be done me, I ought not to have -faltered. I ought to have silenced the voice of my heart; I ought to -have waited patiently, but how could I? I had not the strength of soul. - -The blow was too heavy. All within me revolted at the thought of the -odious crime for which I had been condemned. My heart will bleed as long -as this mantle of infamy weighs upon my shoulders. - -But I ask you to forgive me if I have sometimes written you excited or -complaining letters, that must have augmented your immense grief. Your -heart and mine beat as one. - -Be sure, then, my dear and good Lucie, that I shall resist with all my -strength, so that I may reach the day when my happiness shall be given -back to me. I hope that that day may come soon; until then we must look -straight before us. - -The news, too, you give me of our dear children has given me pleasure. -Make them spend a great deal of time in the open air. Just now you must -think only of giving them health and strength. - -Courage then, still, dear Lucie; be strong and valiant. May my profound -love sustain and guide you. My thoughts do not leave you for an instant, -night or day. - -Give news of me to all the family; thank them all for their good and -affectionate letters. I have not the courage to answer them, and of what -could I speak to them? I have but one thought, always the same--that of -seeing the day when my honor shall be given back to me. I am always -hoping that that day is near. - -Embrace all your dear relations, the children, all our family, for me. - -As for you, I embrace you with all the strength of my heart. - -ALFRED. - -It is useless to send me anything in the way either of linen or of food. -I received some preserves from Cayenne yesterday and I also asked for -some linen which I need. They have given me the _Revue des Deux Mondes_, -the _Revue de Paris_, and the _Revue Rose_. Continue to send them to me; -you may also send a few light novels. - - * * * * * - - -_15 June, 1895, Saturday evening._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I have already written to you, some days ago, on the receipt of your -letters of the beginning of March, and my intention had been to send -you, by this mail, only a few words of deep affection, for what can I -tell you that I have not already told you again and again in all my -letters? But in reading your dear letters, in re-reading them every day, -I have felt each time I read them, for a moment, a lightening of my load -of sorrow. It seemed to me that you were all near me and that I felt -your hearts beating in sympathy with mine. - -Sure that you have this same feeling, I yield to the impulse of my -heart, which longs to do everything to bring some relief to your -horrible sorrow. It is contrary to reason; I know it, for reason tells -me to be calm and patient, that the light of truth will shine out, that -it is impossible that it should be otherwise in the age in which we -live; but yet when I write to you it is my heart that speaks, and then -in spite of myself everything within me revolts against the appalling -accusation so opposed to every feeling of our hearts, for to us honor is -everything. I feel within me such a fever of combat, such power of -energy to rend the impenetrable mantle that weighs me down, that still -envelops this whole affair, that I am always longing to instill them -into your souls, although I realize that the sentiments of you all are -the same as my own. It is a useless outbreak, and I know it; but you -know equally well that all my feelings are violent and deep. My heart -bleeds for all that it holds most dear; it bleeds for you and it bleeds -for our dear children, and that is to reiterate to you, my dear Lucie, -that it is the longing I have to see the name you bear, that our dear -children bear, once more as it has always been, pure, without a -stain--it is this longing that gives me the strength to overcome all. - -I live absorbed in myself. I neither see nor hear what passes around me. -My brain alone still lives and all my thoughts are concentrated on you, -on our dear children, on waiting until my honor is given back to me. - -Then still hold to your splendid courage, my dear Lucie. I hope that we -shall soon find the happiness which we used to enjoy and which we shall -enjoy even more after this appalling trial, the most awful that a man -can bear. - -I embrace you with all my strength. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_16 June, 1895, Sunday._ - -I continue my letter, always to the same end. Then, too, it is a happy -moment for me when I come to talk with you; not that I have anything of -interest to tell you, since I am living alone with my thoughts, but -because, then, I feel that I am near to you. I can only tell you my -thoughts just as they present themselves to me. - -To-day a more peculiarly intimate sadness invades my soul, because on -this day, Sunday, we used to be together all day and we used to end it -with your dear parents. But my heart, my conscience, and my reason, too, -tell me that these happy days will return to us. I cannot admit that an -innocent man can be left to expiate indefinitely, for a guilty wretch, a -crime as abominable as it is odious; and then, to sum it up in one word, -what must give you, as it gives me, unconquerable energy, is the thought -of our children, as I have already told you before, for ideas which -emanate from such a subject must, from their nature, repeat themselves. -We must have our honor, and we have not the right to be weak; without -it, it would be better to see our children die. - -As for our sufferings, we all suffer alike. Do you think that I do not -feel what you suffer--you, who are struck doubly, in your honor and in -your love? Do you believe that I do not feel how your parents suffer, -your brothers and your sisters, for whom honor is not an empty word? But -I hope that our anguish is to have an end, and that that end is near. -Until that day we must guard all our courage, all our energy. - -Thank Mathieu for those few words he wrote to me. How the poor boy must -suffer; he who is honor incarnate! But tell him that I am with him in -thought--that our two hearts suffer together. There are moments when I -think that I am the plaything of a horrible nightmare; that all this is -unreal; that it is only a bad dream; but it is, alas! the truth. But for -the moment we ought to put aside every weakening thought. We ought to -fix our eyes upon one single object: our honor. When that is returned to -me, and when I know the meaning of what is now for me an unsolvable -problem, perhaps I shall understand this enigma which baffles my reason, -which leaves my brain panting. - -I will wait, then, for that moment, sure that it will come. I wish for -us all that it may come soon; I even _hope_ it, so immovable is my faith -in justice. Mystery has no place in our century. Everything is brought -to light, and must be brought to light. - -My Sunday has seemed less long to me, my dear Lucie, because in this way -I have been able to talk with you. As for our children, I have no advice -to give you. I know you; our ideas on this subject are alike, both in -regard to their bringing up and in regard to their education. Courage -always, dear Lucie, and a thousand kisses. Do not forget that I am -answering letters dated three months ago, and that my replies may -therefore seem out of date to you. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_Friday, 21 June. 1895._ - -Dear Lucie: - -I will continue our conversation, since it is now the only ray of -happiness that we can enjoy. It is probable, and I hope it, that these -reflections have nothing in common with the present state of affairs. -Between the time when you will receive this letter and the date on which -you wrote yours, there will be an interval of more than five months; in -such a length of time the truth might well make great strides. - -Like you, like you all, I am, I have been always, convinced that in time -all will be discovered. - -If I have wavered at times, it has been under the burden of atrocious -moral suffering while anxiously waiting to know, at last, the solution -of the riddle which absolutely baffles me. - -You must understand through the feeling of reserve that keeps me from -speaking to you on any aspect of my life here. Moreover, the only -thoughts that agitate me are those that I tell to you; for the rest I -live like a machine, unconscious of its movement. - -It happens to me at times--and you, too, must feel this--when I am wide -awake, and in spite of all that surrounds me, I stand bewildered, -repeating to myself: “No, all that did not happen; it cannot be -possible; it is a fiction; it is not reality!” I cannot explain to -myself this passing inertia of the brain in any way other than by the -impassable distance that lies between the innocence in my conscience and -my present life. Nor can you picture to yourself what relief this long -conversation with you brings to me. I dare not even read over my letter, -so afraid am I to find in it repeatedly the same ideas expressed perhaps -in exactly the same way; but for you, as for me, true pleasure consists -in reading what the other has written. - -When my heart is overburdened, when I am seized by the deep horror of it -all, I draw new energy from your eyes, from the faces of our dear -children. Your portrait, the portraits of the children here on my table, -are always before my eyes. And then, you see, when a man has lost his -fortune, when he has been subjected to some disappointment in his -career, to a certain point he may indulge in weakness; he may say, -“Well, my children will straighten all that out; perhaps it will be -better for them than if they should have had nothing to do but be -amiable idlers!” But in our case it is our honor which is at -stake--their honor. To give way to weakness would be, for us, an -unpardonable crime. We must, therefore, my dear and good Lucie, accept -all our sufferings and overcome them, until the day when my innocence -shall be recognized. On that day only we shall have the right to give -free course to our tears, to unburden our hearts. - -I am hoping, always, that that day may come soon. Each morning I awake -with a new hope, and each night I lie down with a new disappointment. - -I do not need to tell you that we can speak freely to each other of our -grief--the fullest heart must sometimes overflow, but we must keep our -outbursts to ourselves. I know, indeed, that you are sincere and -single-hearted, without art of any kind. The fine qualities of your -nature, those qualities which I, so to speak, only caught a fleeting -glimpse of through our happiness, now stand out clear and distinct in -the light of our adversity. - - * * * * * - - -_26 June, 1895._ - -I will to-day bring this long talk to an end, so that I may send off my -letter. I should like to talk to you in this way morning and evening; -but were I to write volumes, the same ideas would flow from my pen. -Naturally active, in my solitude I am reduced to the necessity of coming -constantly back to the same subject. The form alone might vary, -according to the feeling of the moment, but the idea would remain the -same because it dominates everything. - -Give our dear children a fond embrace for me. I suppose that you will -not keep them in Paris during the hot season. Let them take the -initiative in a great part of their life; let them develop themselves -freely and without constraint. In that way you will make virile beings -of them. Finally, draw from them at the same time both consolation and -strength. - -Now I have only to tell you that I wish, that I am hoping always, that -this sad drama is soon to end. That would be such a blessing for all, -for us, as for our dear families. - -Your poor, dear mother, even now so delicate; your dear father--they -both will need rest and calm, after such appalling, such unimaginable -tortures. We may well call them that. - -Often and often I ask myself how you all are, when news of you is so -rare, and comes from so far. - -And how often I scan the horizon, my eyes turned toward France, hoping -that this may be the day on which my country is to call me back to her. -While we wait for that day let us stand firm, dear Lucie; let us draw -from our consciences and from our duty, the fresh stores of the strength -we need so much. - -Embrace all our family for me, and for yourself the tenderest kisses of -your devoted husband. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_2 July, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -When this letter reaches you your birthday will be at hand. The only -hope that I can form, and which is in your heart as it is in mine, is -that I shall soon be told that our honor is given back to us and with it -our former happiness. - -My conscience and my reason give me faith; the supernatural is not of -this world. In the end everything is made clear. But the hours of -waiting are long and cruel when the situation is so appalling as well -for us as for our families. - -Your dear letters of the beginning of March--you see how they are -delayed--are my daily reading. I succeed thus, though far from you, in -talking with you. My thoughts, indeed, never leave you, nor our dear -children. - -I await tidings of your health and that of our children with impatience. -I am also anxious to know what date your letters will bear. My health is -good. My heart beats with your own, and envelops you with all its -tenderness. I have written you two long letters during the last half of -June; I could only keep on repeating myself. Let me end this letter by -embracing you with all the strength of our souls, and our dear children -also. - -Your devoted - -ALFRED. - -Kisses to all our family. - - * * * * * - - -_2 July, 11 o’clock in the evening._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I had been without news of you since the seventh of March. This evening -I received your letters of March and of the beginning of April; they, -probably, had returned to France; then, later, those which you sent -directly to the Ministry. I had already written a few words to you this -morning, but I make haste to answer your letters by the same post. - -Forgive me again if, by my first letters, I caused you pain. I ought to -have hidden my atrocious sufferings from you. But my excuse is that -there is no human grief comparable to that which we suffer. - -I hope that you have received since then my many long letters; they must -have reassured you as to my physical and mental condition. My conviction -has never varied; it is founded in my conscience, and in my reason, -which tells me that all will be found out. But I lacked patience. - -Let us say no more of our sufferings. Let us simply do our duty, which -is to restore to our children the honor of a father who is innocent of -so abominable a crime. - -I have received also letters bearing the same date from your dear -parents, and from different members of our families. Embrace them for me -and thank them. Tell Mathieu that my moral energy is as exalted as his -own. - -I embrace you with all my heart; also our dear children. - -Your devoted - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_15 July, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I wrote you so many and such long letters during the months when I did -not hear from you that I have many times told and retold you all my -thoughts, all my sorrows. Let me not return again to this last subject. - -As for my thoughts, they are very clear to-day; they do not change; you -know them. - -My energy is occupied in stilling the beatings of my heart, in -containing my impatience, to learn at last that my innocence is -recognized everywhere and by every one. But if my energy is altogether -passive, yours ought, on the contrary, to be all active and animated by -the ardent spirit which gives strength to my own. - -If it were merely a question of suffering it would be nothing. But it is -a question of the honor of a name, of the life of our children, and I do -not wish, you understand, that our children should ever have to lower -their heads. Light, full, complete, must be let in upon this tragic -story. Nothing, therefore, should rebuff or tire you. All doors open, -all hearts beat for a mother who begs only for the truth, so that her -children may live. - -It is almost from the tomb--my situation here is comparable to that, -with the added grief that my heart still beats--that I write these words -to you. Thank your dear parents, our brothers and sisters, as well as -Lucie and Henri, for their good and affectionate letters. Tell them all -the pleasure which I take in reading them, and tell them that if I do -not answer directly it is because I could do nothing but keep on -repeating what I have already said. Kiss your dear parents for me; tell -them all my affection. Long, tender kisses for the children. As for you, -my dear and good Lucie, your letters are my daily reading. Continue to -write me long letters; with them I come nearer to living with you, with -our dear children, than I could by my thought alone, which, indeed, -never leaves you for an instant. - -I embrace you with all the strength of my soul. - -Your devoted - -ALFRED. - -I have not received the things which you told me you were sending--that -is to say, a sponge and some Kola-Chocolate. But do not give a thought -to my material life; that is generously provided for by the preserves -which are sent me from Cayenne. - - * * * * * - - -_27 July, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I have already written to you on the 15th of the month. I can to-day -give you tidings of myself, and cry to you as always, although I have no -knowledge of the present state of affairs, “Courage and Faith!” - -My health is good. The spirit dominates the body, as it does everything -else. Never will I admit the idea that it would be possible for our -children to enter upon life with a dishonored name. It is from the -inspiration of this thought, common to us both, that you ought to draw -new life for your indomitable will. - -I have never feared the future, but there are moral situations which are -of such a character that if a man has not deserved them, he must of -necessity escape from them as much for our own sake as for the sake of -our children, of our families. - -When a man asks, when he desires, nothing but the search for the truth, -a search for the wretches who have committed the base and cowardly -crime, he has a right to present himself everywhere with head erect. And -this truth, it must be found, and you must find it. My innocence must be -recognized by every one. - -I want to be with you and with the children when that day comes. - -Kiss the dear little ones. - -I live in them and in you. - -I embrace you with all my heart. - -Your devoted - -ALFRED. - -I hope to receive news of you before many days. - - * * * * * - - -_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. - -I embrace you with all my strength. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_2 August, 1895, 8 o’clock in the evening._ - -I had just ended this letter, so that it might leave to-morrow for -Cayenne, when they brought me your letters of the month of April and -your letters of June, with the letters of all the family. I have just -read through your letters rapidly. I will answer at greater length by -the next mail. - -I have nothing to change in what I have just written to you. No matter -how appalling to me the moral situation may be in which I am placed, no -matter how my heart may be bruised, I shall stand erect to my last -breath, for I want my honor, your honor, that of our children. As for my -friends, I have never doubted them. They know what I am. But what is -necessary, what I will have, is light, so brilliant that no one in all -our dear country can have any doubt of my honor. It is my honor, the -absolute honor of a soldier, that I must regain. This mission I confide -to you, to you all. You will accomplish it, I have no doubt of it. - -I embrace you; also our dear children. - -Your devoted - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_22 August, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I wrote you two long letters at the beginning of the month, on the 2d -and the 5th of August; I hope that both of them were in time to go by -the English boat. It is a long time since I have had a talk with you. It -was not the wish that I lacked. My whole heart is with you. How many -times have I taken up my pen only to throw it aside! What does it profit -us for me always to be stirring up these sorrows? Aside from your -health, from the health of the children, that of all the family, I have -only one thought--and that forces me to live--the thought of our honor. - -You will forgive me if at times I have presented my ideas in a somewhat -exaggerated form. But after all, if I do my duty, my whole duty, without -flinching, it is not because my heart does not tremble and bleed in a -situation so infamous and so undeserved, and its sorrow comes not only -from my own situation, but from yours, from that of all whom I love. - -And then remember that I am obliged to control myself night and day -without one moment of respite, that I never open my mouth; that there is -never a moment when my nerves are relaxed, so that when I write to you -with my whole heart, everything that cries out in me for justice and -truth runs, despite my will, under my pen. - -But what I shall tell you always, as long as my heart shall beat, is -that above all our sorrows, oh, however terrible they may be, before -life itself, is honor, and that that honor, which belongs to us, must -remain with us; it is the patrimony of our children. Then always and -still again courage, Lucie, until we have seen the end of this horrible -tragedy; but let us hope for all our sakes that it may come soon. - -Kiss your dear parents, all of our family, for me. Tell them of my -profound affection, and how often I think of them. As for you, my dear -Lucie, I have no consolation to give you; there is none, either for you -or for me, in such misfortune. But your conscience, the sense of the -great duties which you have to fulfill, should give you invincible -strength. - -And then, when the day of justice dawns for us, we will find our -consolation in our profound love. - -A thousand kisses for you and for our dear children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - -_27 August, 1895._ - -I add a few words before mailing this letter to send you again the echo -of my profound affection, to tell you how much I thought of you on your -birthday--hardly more, it is true, than on other days, that is not -possible--and to kiss you with all my heart and to say to you, “Courage -and always courage!” - -Ah, suffering, under all its forms, I know what it is, I swear to you. -From the time that this trouble began my heart has been nothing but a -wound which bleeds each day and every hour--a wound that will be healed -only when I learn at last that my innocence is recognized. In truth, the -mind stands at times bewildered and perplexed by the thought that such -errors can be in a century like ours and can last so long without the -light being let in upon them. But fear nothing; if I suffer beyond all -expression, as you suffer, as you all suffer, indeed, my soul is still -valiant, and it will do its duty to the end, for your sake, for the sake -of our children. Ah, but let us hope that this appalling, this -unbelievable situation may soon end, and that we may at last come out of -the horrible nightmare in which we have been living for more than ten -months! - -Embrace our dear little ones tenderly for me. - - * * * * * - - -_7 September, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I receive only to-day your letters of July, as well as those of all the -family. I often do as you do. At certain moments when my full heart -brims over, I re-read all your dear letters and I weep with you, for I -do not believe that two beings who place honor above everything, and -with them their families, have ever undergone a martyrdom like ours. I -suffer, and, like you, like you all, I am not ashamed of it. My heart, -night and day, demands its honor, yours, the honor of our children. -Such a situation is tragic, the anguish becomes too great for us all to -bear. - -Should it last much longer either one or the other will give way under -it. Well, my dear Lucie, that must not be! We must before all else get -back our honor, the honor of our children. We must not allow ourselves -to be overcome by a fate so infamous when it is so unmerited. However -natural, however legitimate, may be the cries of pain of souls who -suffer far beyond all imaginable suffering, to groan, my dear Lucie, -will do no good. If, when you receive this letter, the mystery has not -been made clear, then, I think, it will be time, with the courage, the -energy which duty gives, with the invincible force which innocence -gives, for you to take personal steps, so that at last light may be -thrown upon this tragic story. You have neither mercy nor favor to ask -for, but only a determined search for the truth, a search for the wretch -who wrote that infamous letter, and, in one word, justice for us all! -And you will find in your own heart words more eloquent than any that -could be contained in a mere letter. We must, in a word, find at last -the key to this mystery. Whatever may be the means, your position as a -wife and a mother gives you every right and should give you every -courage. - -From what I myself feel from the state of my own heart, I know but too -well how it must be with you all, and in my long nights I see you -suffering, agonizing with me. - -It must end. Men cannot in a century like ours leave two families in -agony without clearing up a mystery like this. The truth can be made -known, if only they are willing to have it so. Then, my dear Lucie, -while you continue to preserve the dignity which must never abandon -you, be strong, courageous, energetic! Whether great or humble, we are -all equal before justice, and that honor which I have never forfeited, -and which is the patrimony of our children, must be given back to us. I -want to be with you and with our children when that day comes. - -Kisses to all. I embrace you with all my strength, also our dear -children. - -Your devoted - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - -_7 September, evening._ - -Before sending this away so that it may leave by the English boat I want -to add a few words; all my heart, all my thoughts, are with you and with -our dear children. - -I have just re-read your dear letters, and I need not tell you that I -shall read them often until the next mail brings me others. The days are -long when one is alone, face to face with one’s thoughts, never speaking -a word. - -May my soul inspire you, my dear Lucie, for I feel that for the sake of -your dear parents, for the sake of all of us, this tragedy must end. -Even if you should have to knock at all doors, we must find the clue to -this enigma, this infernal machination, which has torn from us that -which makes life itself, and that we must have--our honor. - -As for our dear children, kiss them with all your heart for me. The few -words which Pierre adds to each letter give me great pleasure. It is for -you and for them that I have found the strength to bear all, and I long -to live to see the day when honor shall be returned to us. I wish for -this with all my strength, with all my power, with all the energy of a -man who places honor above all else. May this wish soon be realized! You -must do all in your power to accomplish it. - -I embrace you again, with all my heart. - -Your devoted - -ALFRED. - -Kiss your dear parents and all our family for me. - - * * * * * - - -_27 September, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -For nearly a year I have struggled with my conscience against the most -inexplicable fatality that can pursue a man. - -There are times when I am so harassed, so disgusted, that I am like the -soldier who, worn out by long-continued fatigue, lies down in a trench, -longing to have done with life. - -My soul awakes, the sense of my duty puts me on my feet again, all my -being then nerves itself for a supreme effort, for I wish to find myself -again with you and with my children on the day when my honor shall be -returned to me. - -But it is truly an agony that is renewed with every day, a punishment as -horrible as it is unmerited. - -If I tell you all this, if at times I have allowed you to catch a -glimpse of how horrible is my life here, how this lot of infamy, whose -effects continue day by day to harrow my being, to revolt my heart, it -is not that I would complain; it is to tell you again that if I have -lived, if I continue to live, it is because I desire my honor, yours, -that of our children. May your spirit, your energy, rise equal to such -tragic conditions, for this must come to an end. - -This is why I told you in my letter of the 7th of September that if when -you receive these letters the mystery is not made entirely clear, it is -for you, for you personally, to go to the public authorities, so that -light may at last be thrown on this tragic story. - -You have the right to present yourself everywhere, with your head erect, -for you have come not to beg for mercy, not to beg for favors, not even -for moral convictions, however legitimate they may be. You have come to -demand the search for the discovery of the wretches who have committed -the infamous and cowardly crime. The Government has all the means by -which this may be done. - -Letters can do nothing, dear Lucie. It is you yourself who must act. -What you have to say will receive from your lips a power, a force, that -paper and writing cannot give. - -Then, my dear Lucie, strong in your conscience, in your quality of wife -and mother, go on your way, tireless until justice is done to us. And -this justice, which you must demand energetically, resolutely, with all -your soul, is that light may be thrown, full and unshadowed, upon this -machination of which we are the wretched victims. - -But you know what you have to say, and you must say it squarely, -proudly. - -Yes, my dear Lucie, that was what I thought from the first. I should, -without making any noise about it, without any go-between except the -person introducing me, have taken a child by each hand, and I should -have gone to demand justice everywhere, without resting until the guilty -wretches should have been unmasked. These means are “heroic,” but they -are the best means, for they come from the heart, and they appeal to the -heart, to that sense of justice that is innate in each one of us, unless -he is carried away by passion. They proceed from the strength given by -innocence, from a duty to be fulfilled; and they know no obstacle. They -are means worthy of a woman who asks only for justice for her husband, -for her children. - -It must not be said that in our century a wretch can with impunity crush -the lives of two families. - -Courage, then, dear Lucie, and act with resolution. Kisses to all. I -embrace you with all my strength, and our dear, adored children. - -Your devoted - -ALFRED. - -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. - -Your devoted - -ALFRED. - -The books you have sent me have been announced, but I have not yet -received them. I thank you; I had great need of them, for reading is the -only thing which can distract my thoughts a little. - - -_5 October, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I had already written to you yesterday, but after I had read and re-read -all the letters from this last mail there arose from them such a cry of -agony that all my being was profoundly shaken. - -You suffer for me, and I suffer for you. - -No, it is not possible, it cannot be that an entire family can be -subjected to such martyrdom. - -Merely from the agony of waiting, we shall all be brought to the ground. -It must not be; there are our children; they must be thought of before -all else. I have just written again directly to the President of the -Republic. I can act only by my pen--it is very little--I can only -sustain you by all the ardor of my soul. You must, on your side, act -energetically, resolutely. When a man is innocent, when he asks for -nothing but justice, the clearing up of this terrible mystery, he is -strong, invincible. - -Lay, if need be, our dear children at the feet of the President, and -demand justice for them, for their father. - -Be heroic in your deeds, dear Lucie; it is on you that this duty falls. - -Yet once more I must say it; it is not noise nor gnashing of teeth that -is necessary, but an indomitable will, that nothing can rebuff. - -I sustain you, from here, across all the distance, with all the living -force of my being, with my soul of a Frenchman, of an honest man, of a -father who demands his honor--the honor of his children. - -I embrace you from the depths of my heart. - -Your devoted - -ALFRED. - - -_26 October, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I can do little but confirm my letters of the 3d and the 5th of October, -and that of the 27th of September. We are both wearing out our strength -while we wait in a situation as terrible as it is undeserved, and it -will end by failing us, for all things have their limit. But there are -our children, to whom we owe ourselves, who must have their honor before -anything else. - -That is why, trembling with anguish, not only on account of all that we -have both suffered so long, nor this martyrdom of a whole family, I -have written to the President of the Republic. I have written you my -last letters to tell you that you must act, carrying out your purpose -unflinchingly, with the head proudly raised, as innocent people who beg -neither for mercy nor for favors, but only for light and justice. Even -if one may bow the head under certain misfortunes, never can a man -accept dishonor when he has not merited it. - -Our suffering has no place in this epoch; it has lasted long enough--too -long. Energy, then, my dear Lucie, the energy of work, of action, which -must triumph, for it is based on justice, for it asks nothing but light, -the clear light of day, the absolute clearing up of this whole affair. -We are not in the presence of an unsolvable mystery. As I have told you, -not tears, not words, but acts, are necessary. - -The honor of a man, of his children, of two families, is in the balance, -and it outweighs all passions, all interests. Act, then, -my dear Lucie, with the heroic courage of a woman who has a noble -mission to accomplish, even should you have to carry the question -everywhere--before the highest heads; and I hope soon to hear that this -appalling agony is to come to an end. - -Kisses to all. - -I embrace you and our dear children with all the force of my affection. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - -_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. - -I send more fond kisses for you and for the children. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_4 November, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -The mail coming from Cayenne has arrived, and it has not brought me any -letters. I have now been without tidings of you, of the children, since -the 25th of August, but I will not let the English mail leave without -writing you a few words. I shall not be long, for grief makes my pen -tremble in my fingers. - -I think, my dear Lucie, that you are now in possession of my last -letters, and that you yourself are acting with the heroic spirit of a -woman; that you are demanding the truth on every side; that you are -demanding justice for miserable victims; that each day is a day thus -employed until that on which the light breaks, until our honor is -returned to us. - -I think, therefore, that I shall soon learn that this appalling agony is -at last at an end. I need not remind you to ask permission to send me a -dispatch when you shall have good news to tell. - -The days are long, the hours are heavy, when one has suffered so, and -for so long a time. - -I embrace you with all my strength, and the children, too. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -Kisses to all. - - * * * * * - - -_20 November, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -On the 11th I received your dear, good letters of September, as well as -letters from all the family. I need not tell you the intense joy I felt -in reading words from you. - -I thank you for remembering my birthday. I will not speak of it further, -for we must not linger over sad memories. What we need now, as you have -said so truly, is reality, the truth. After one has suffered in a manner -so atrocious and for so long a time, one’s energies, one’s activity, -above all, ought to grow in proportion to the sufferings which one -endures. Strong in your conscience, it is your right, I will even say it -is your duty, to attempt all, to dare all, in order to throw light upon -this tragic story, to regain at last our honor, the honor of our -children. - -As I have told you, in this situation, as horrible as it is undeserved, -which would soon crush us, there no longer can be any thought of waiting -for some happy chance, such as we have already waited for too long. - -You have now received my letters of October. You ought to act with the -force given by my innocence, with the power inspired by the knowledge -that you have a noble mission to fulfill. - -If I have told you to ask to have this matter cleared up by every, if -even by heroic means, it is because there are situations which, when -they are undeserved, are too much to be endured, which we must put an -end to. You know that your soul and mine are but one; they throb -together; and what I have told you must certainly have made yours -tremble and throb. - -So I am now waiting for the end of this awful drama, and I count the -days. - -Thanks for the good news that you give me of the children. Kiss them -fondly for me until I can embrace them for myself. - -My tenderest kisses for you. - -From your devoted -ALFRED. - -Embrace your dear parents, all our family, for me. - -I do not know by what route you sent the books and the reviews that you -spoke of in your letters of the 25th of August, but they certainly have -not yet arrived at Guiana. - - * * * * * - - -_27 December, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I have not yet received your dear letters of October. Neither the French -mail of November nor the English mail of December has brought them. What -does it mean? What ought I to think of it? In what horrible nightmare -have I lived for almost fifteen months? - -As for suffering, alas! my poor darling, we both know what that is; and -besides that, sufferings are of little importance, no matter what they -are. What you must have is our honor, the honor of our children. - -I wrote you a long letter on the 2d of December. To add anything to that -letter, or, indeed, to any that preceded it, would be superfluous, would -it not? Our thoughts are the same; our hearts have always beaten as one; -our souls thrill together to-day, and they cry out for their honor with -the burning ardor of honorable hearts struck in all that they hold most -precious. - -I wait with feverish impatience for news of you. I feel sure that it -will soon arrive. I will even say that nearly every day I expect good -news. I hope at last to hear something certain, positive, that the light -has broken, or, at least, is soon to break, upon this bitterly sad -story. - -Let me tell you to-day simply that the thought of you, of our dear -children, alone gives me the force to live through these long days, -these interminable nights. - -I embrace you with all my strength, as I love you, and our dear, adored -children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -Kisses to your dear parents, to all our family. - -Again for long months I have received neither books nor reviews. Those -that you told me of in your letter of August have not yet arrived. I -cannot understand it. - -I thought that you would have continued to send me regularly each month -the reviews and a few packages of books, by mail. I am all day long, and -I may add, nearly all night long, without a minute of forgetfulness, -looking at the four walls of my cabin--well, it is of little importance, -but it would be well to inquire what has become of these books. - - * * * * * - - -_31 December, 1895._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I wrote to you some days ago to tell you that I had not yet received -your letters of October. At last, after a long and terrible time of -waiting, I have just received your letters of October, and at the same -time those of November. - -How must I sometimes cause you pain by my letters, my poor darling, and -you suffer so much without that! But at times it is stronger than I am, -so eager am I to see the end of this horrible drama, for I would -willingly give my blood, drop by drop, to learn at last that my -innocence is recognized, that the guilty ones, doubly criminal as they -are, are unmasked. - -But when I suffer too much, when I faint before this life of deluding -memories, of restraint of all my intellectual and physical forces, I -murmur to myself the three names that are my talisman, that make me live -on--yours, those of our dear little Pierre, and Jeanne. - -Let us hope that we shall soon see the end of this awful drama. I cannot -write much to you, for what can I tell you that is not already common to -us? I live in the thought of you, and my soul is with you from morning -till night, and from night till morning. All my faculties are straining -toward the end that must be attained, that you will attain--all my honor -as a soldier, all the honor of our children. - -Perhaps I give you extravagant advice at times, the issue of the dreams -of a lonely exile who is suffering martyrdom, a martyrdom whose tortures -are made up not only of his own anguish, but of yours, of the anguish -you all suffer ... and nevertheless I know perfectly well that you can -judge far better than I can of the means to attain my complete, my -absolute, rehabilitation. I am going to pass a good part of the night, -of the long, long days in reading and re-reading your dear letters, in -living with you, in sustaining you in my thoughts with all my strength, -with all my ardor, with all the force of my will. - -My health is good; do not be anxious on that score. Moreover, to -reassure you, I have asked permission to send you a dispatch. I trust -that it will reach you. I hope that your health, that the health of you -all, is also good. You must sustain yourself physically to have the -force necessary to arrive at the goal. - -Let us hope that soon, near to one another and with our dear children at -our side, we may forget the events of this horrible tragedy. You must -all tell yourselves, too, that if at times I cry out in anguish, it is -because I am always as silent as the dead. I have only the paper, and -these cries of grief, these cries of suffering--call them what you -will--my heart is always valiant, even if it cannot always be silent. So -I am waiting just as you asked me to, and I will wait until that day -when the light shall at last shine out. - -Long and tender kisses to our dear children. I often gaze at their -portraits and I try to see them as they are to-day. - -Ah, dear Lucie, remember that in my moments of distress I have these -three names, that are my support, my safeguard, that raise me when I -fall, for our children must enter upon life with heads erect. - -I embrace you as I love you, with all my strength. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_3 January, 1896._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I read and re-read with eagerness your dear letters of October and -November, and although I have written to you already, on the 31st of -December, I want to come again and talk with you. - -Your letters could not increase my affection, but they inspire in me an -admiration, each day increasing, of your character, your great heart, -and I am ashamed of myself for not knowing better how to suffer, for -sometimes writing you such nervous, such disquieting letters. As to our -purpose I have never wavered. I am innocent, and my innocence must shine -out. Our name must again become what it deserves to be. But you must -understand that my torments are at times so sharp, the revolt of my -heart is at times so violent, that I cry out in spite of myself; it -seems that, no matter at what cost, I must learn the secret of this -infamy, must make the truth break forth, make justice triumph. - -I have never been discouraged, I have never doubted that a will strong -in its innocence and in the duty it has to accomplish could fail to -attain its object. I have had, perhaps may again have, attacks of -febrile impatience, the revolts of an ardent spirit, that has for so -long been crushed under foot, weighed down by this sepulchral silence, -this enervating climate, the frequent absence of news, nothing to do, -and often nothing to read. But if the tension of my nervous system was -extreme during the last three months of 1895--that was the hottest -season, the worst season in Guiana--my courage never weakened, for it -was it that held me up, that permitted me to double the dangerous cape -without flinching. Do not lay any stress upon this nervousness which -breaks out at times. Tell yourself that I am determined to be with you, -at your side, on the day when honor shall be given back to us. - -Your will, the will of you all, must continue to be what it has always -been, as great, as unconquerable as it is calm and thoughtful. - -My health is good; my body, indifferent to everything, animated by but -one thought, common to us all, common, as your dear mother has said, to -this whole sheaf of hearts, quivering with pain, lives for the honor so -unjustly wrested from us. - -And remember that if I at times have moments of personal weakness, under -the repeated shocks of this trying hour, I have also a talisman, to -reanimate me, to give me strength, the thought of you, of my -children--in a word, my duty. - -The lines in which you speak to me of the dear children give me great -pleasure; they permit me to see the children in my thoughts. - -Embrace the darlings tenderly for me. - -So, my dear and good Lucie, courage always. Hold your head proudly high -until the day comes when, side by side, we can forget this horrible -drama. - -Let us hope for all our sakes that that hour may be at hand. - -I embrace you as I love you. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -Kisses to all. - - * * * * * - - -_26 January, 1896._ - -You ask me, my dear and good Lucie, to write you long letters. What can -I tell you that you do not feel in your own heart better than I could -tell it? My heart is always with you; it is torn when it feels you -suffer pangs so unmerited, and can do nothing to help you, except to -suffer equally itself. My spirit night and day is with you; it would -sustain and animate you with its ardent fervor. I can only repeat what -I have so often said, the end is everything; the honor of our name, the -honor of our children; and that must be attained against all obstacles, -in spite of everything. But the situation is so atrocious, as well for -you as for me, that our activities, which should be of every kind, as -they should be of every hour, far from weakening, ought, on the -contrary, to grow still stronger and tax their ingenuity to the utmost -in order to succeed in making the truth shine in all its brilliancy. - -My health is good. I continue to struggle against everything so that I -may be there with you, with our children, on the day when my honor is -given back to me. I hope ardently, for your sake as for mine, that that -day may not be too long delayed. - -I expect to receive news of you in a few days, and as always, I am -waiting for it with feverish impatience. I shall write to you more at -length when I shall have received your letters. - -Kiss both the children many, many times for me. Their dear little -letters, like yours, like the letters from all our friends, are my daily -reading. - -I need not tell you the thrill of happiness they give. And for yourself -the best, the tenderest kisses of your devoted - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_5 February, 1896._ - -My dear Lucie: - -The mail has arrived, and it has brought me no letter. I need not tell -you what bitter disappointment. I could tell you what deep grief I feel -when this only consolation, your dear beloved words, do not come to me. -But, as I have said before, of what importance are sufferings--I dare -even call them tortures--however atrocious, however horrible they may -be, for the object which you are now pursuing dominates everything, it -is above all else, and beyond all else--the honor of our name, the honor -of our dear, adored children. - -As for me, dear Lucie, you are my strength, my invincible strength, so -high are you in my love, in my tenderness. Like my children, you dictate -to me my duty. Say to yourself that if often the violence of feelings, -that are at times atrocious, wrings a groan from my heart and makes my -brain reel; if at times the unending hours and the climate exceed my -strength of forbearance, and my very flesh cry out, my determination -remains unshaken. - -But you must realize all that I suffer on account of your martyrdom, -from the unmerited dishonor cast upon our children, upon all our family. -You must feel all that I suffer from such a condition of soul, striving -here against many elements united; what a determination, what a power I -feel within me to see the light--oh, no matter at what price, no matter -by what means! Often in this solitude the tempest rages in my brain; -oftener yet the blood boils in my veins with impatience to see the end -of this incredible martyrdom. The more atrocious my sufferings the more -they increase as the days roll by, the less willing we should be to give -way to grief or to rebuffs, the less inclined we should be to give -ourselves over to fate. And since our tortures are to cease only after -the light dawns full and entire, and since we must have it through and -against everything for ourselves, for our children, for us all, our -wills should strengthen as difficulties and obstacles increase. -Therefore, dear and good Lucie, courage, and more than courage; a strong -will, a daring will that knows how to be determined and to succeed, a -will strong enough to attain its object, no matter how, an object as -praiseworthy as it is elevated--the truth. This has lasted too long, too -many sufferings are crushing down innocent beings. - -Kiss the dear children often and fondly for me. Ah, indeed, dear Lucie, -there is nothing that can be called an obstacle where our children are -concerned. Remind yourself that there are no obstacles; that there -cannot be any; that the truth must be known; that a mother has all -rights, as she ought to have all courage when she is called upon to -defend that by which alone her children can live--their honor. - -And each time when I write to you I cannot bring myself to close my -letter, so brief is this moment when I come to talk to you; so wholly is -all my being with you; so entirely all I say fails to express the -feelings that agitate me and fill my soul; so inadequate to express this -desire, stronger than all else, which is in me--a desire for the truth -and for our honor and the honor of our children, or to express my deep -love for you, my love increased by unbounded reverence. - -I hope, indeed, that what I have said to you during so many long months -is being translated by you all into strong and vigorous action, and that -I shall hear soon that the sufferings of us both are to have an end. - -I embrace you as I love you, and also our dear children, with all my -heart, with all my soul, while I wait for tidings from you all. - -ALFRED. - -_26 February, 1896._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I received the 12th of this month your dear letters of December; also -all those from the family. It is needless for me to try to describe to -you the deep emotion which they gave me. I could weep--that tells it -all. As you yourself feel, in spite of yourself, the brain does not stop -working, the head and the heart still suffer, and these tortures will -only cease after the truth is brought to light, when this awful drama is -finished, explained. - -I have spoken too much of myself and of my sufferings; forgive me this -weakness. - -Whatever my sufferings may be, ah, however terrible our martyrdom is, -there is an object that must be attained--that you will attain, I am -sure of it--the light, full and entire, such as is necessary for us all, -for our name, for our dear children. I hope ardently, for you as for -myself, to hear soon that this object is at last attained. - -I have no counsels to give you, either. I can but approve absolutely -what you are doing to accomplish the complete demonstration of my -innocence. That is the end to be attained, and we must see nothing else. - -I have received Mathieu’s few words; tell him that I am always with him, -heart and soul. The 22d of February was the anniversary of the birth of -our dear little Jeanne. How often I thought of her! I will not say more -about it, for my heart will break and I have need of all my strength. -Write me long letters. Speak to me of yourself and of our dear children. - -I read and re-read each day all that you have written me; then it seems -to me that I hear your beloved voice, and that helps me to live. - -I will not write more, for I can only tell you of the horrible length of -the hours, of the sadness of all things; and complaining is very -useless. - -Kiss your dear parents for me. Thank them always for their good, -affectionate letters. - -A thousand kisses to our dear children, and for you the best, the -tenderest kisses of your devoted - -ALFRED. - -I have not yet received the things you spoke of in your letters of the -25th of November and the 25th of December. I cannot tell why the things -you send me are so long in coming. Perhaps the books you are going to -send me soon by mail will reach me with less delay. I hope so, for -reading, the only thing that is possible for me to do, may calm a little -the pains in my brain, and unhappily even that is often lacking. - - * * * * * - - -_5 March, 1896._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I have not yet received your dear letters of January. A few lines only -to send you the echo of my immense affection. Write to you at length? I -cannot. My days, my hours, slip by monotonously, in this agonizing, -enervating waiting for the discovery of the truth, the discovery of the -wretch who committed this infamous crime. Speak to you of myself? What -good can that do us? My sufferings, you know them, you share them. They, -like yours, like those of all who love us, can only have an end when the -broad, full light shall appear, when honor is returned to us. - -It is toward this end that all your energy, all your forces, all your -means, should be directed. I hope to learn that this end is almost -attained, that this appalling martyrdom of a whole family is nearly -over. My body, my health? All that is indifferent to me. My being is -animated only by one thought, by one desire, which keeps me alive--that -of seeing with you and with our children the day when my honor shall be -returned to me. It is in my thoughts of you, in the thought of our -adored children, that I rest my brain, overtried at times by this -continual tension, by this fever of impatience, by this terrible -inactivity, without one moment of distraction. - -If, then, we cannot keep ourselves from suffering--for never were human -beings, who hold honor above all, struck in such a manner--still I cry -always to you, “Courage, courage!” to march on to your goal, your head -high, your heart firm, with unshaken will, never discouraged. Your -children tell you your duty, just as they give me my strength. - -Let us hope, then, as your mother has said, that soon, in each other’s -arms, we can try to forget this fearful martyrdom, these months, so sad -and so delusive, and live again by consecrating ourselves to our -children. - -I embrace you, as I love you, with all my strength, and also our dear -children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -Kisses to all. - - * * * * * - - -_26 March, 1896._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I received the 12th of this month your good letters of January, so -impatiently expected every month, also all the letters from the family. - -I have seen with happiness that your health and the health of all resist -this frightful condition of things, this horrible nightmare, in which we -have lived so long. What a trial for you, my good darling, as horrible -as it is undeserved--for you who deserve to be so happy! Yes, I have -horrible moments, when the heart can bear no longer the blows which open -the wound already so deep, when my brain gives way under the weight of -thoughts so sad and so deceptive. When, after I have waited for my -letters in an agony of anxiety, the mail arrives, and still I do not -receive the announcement of the discovery of the truth, or of the author -of that infamous and cowardly crime, oh, I have at first a feeling of -deep, bitter disappointment. My heart is torn, is broken, under so many -sufferings, so long and so undeserved! - -I am a little like a sick man who lingers on his bed of torment, -suffering anguish, but who lives because his duty demands it, and who -keeps asking his doctor, “When will my tortures end?” And as the doctor -answers, “Soon, soon,” the sick man ends by asking himself, “But when -will this ‘soon’ come?” and he longs to see it come. - -It was a long time ago that you announced it to me ... but be -discouraged? Oh, that never! However terrible may be my sufferings, the -desire for our honor is far above them! - -Neither you, nor any one, will ever have the right to one moment of -fatigue, one second of weakness, as long as the goal has not been -reached--the absolute honor of our name. As for me, when I feel that I -am falling under the united weight of all our suffering, when I feel -that my reason is leaving me, then I think of you, of our dear -children, of the undeserved dishonor cast upon our name, and I recover -my balance by a violent effort of my whole being, and I cry to myself, -“No, you shall not bend before the tempest! Your heart may be in bits, -your brain may be crushed, but you shall not succumb until you have seen -the day when honor shall be given back to your dear children!” - -This is why, dear Lucie, I come to cry to you always, to you, as to all, -“Courage!” and more than courage--for will to accomplish!... Oh, -silently, very silently--for words do not help--but boldly, audaciously -to march straight onward to the end--the entire truth, the light upon -this awful drama, in one word, all the honor of our name! Means? They -must all be employed, of whatever nature they may be--anything that the -mind can suggest to obtain the solution of this enigma. - -The object is everything; that alone is immutable. I wish our children -to enter upon life with heads proudly erect. I wish to animate you with -my supreme desire. I wish to see you succeed, and it will be full time, -I swear to you! - -I hope that you may soon be able to tell me something certain, something -positive, oh, for both of us, my dear Lucie! I cannot write to you at -greater length, nor speak to you of anything else except my great and -deep affection for you. My head is too tired by this bitter discipline, -the most terrible, the most cruel that human brain can endure. - -Our dear little Pierre asks me to write to him. Ah, I am not strong -enough! Each word wrings a sob from my throat and I am obliged to resist -with all my strength in order to be with him on the day when they give -us back our honor. - -Take him in your arms for me, as well as our dear little Jeanne. - -Oh, my precious children!... Draw from them your invincible courage. - -I embrace you with all the forces of my being, as I love you. - -ALFRED. - -Embrace your dear parents, all the family for me; my health is good. - -I received from you at the beginning of the month a dozen packages of -provisions and some cardigans. I thank you for your touching care for -me. I have not yet received any of the reviews and the books you -announced in your letters of September, December, and January; not one -of them has yet arrived at Cayenne. Please send the things so that they -may come by parcels post. Either address them to me directly, care of -the Director of the Penitentiary Service at Cayenne, or else have them -addressed to me from the Ministry, at your own expense. - - * * * * * - - -_26 March, 1896, evening._ - -Dear Lucie: - -Before sending you the letter that I had written, I re-read, perhaps for -the hundredth time, your dear letters, for you can imagine what my long -days and nights are like, when, my arms crossed, I am alone with my -thoughts, without anything to read, sustaining myself only by the force -of duty, so that I may uphold you so that I may see, at last, the day -when our honor is given back to us. You ask me to await calmly the day -when you can announce to me the discovery of the truth. - -Ask me to wait as long as I have the strength; but with calmness? Oh, -no! When they have torn, all-living, the heart from my breast, when I -feel myself struck in my most precious possession, in you and my -children, when my heart groans with agony night and day, without one -hour of rest, when for eighteen months I have lived in a frightful -nightmare! - -But, then, that which I desire with a ferocious determination, that -which has made me bear everything, that which has made me live, is not -that you should protest my innocence by your words, but that you should -march, that you all should march, straight forward, no matter by what -means, to the conquest of the truth, to the laying bare in the full -light of day this dark story ... in a word, to the recovery of our whole -honor. - -These are the words I spoke to you before my departure--already more -than a year ago ... and, alas! it is not that I would reproach you; but -it seems to me that you are very long on this supreme mission, for it is -not living to live without honor. - -And in my long nights of torture, suffering this martyrdom, how often -have I told myself, “Ah, how I should have solved the enigma of this -horrible drama--by any means, no matter what, even had I been forced to -put the knife to the throats of the wretched accomplices, however well -hidden they might have been, of the vile criminal!” And more often still -have I cried to myself, “Will there be no one, then, with enough heart -and soul or clever enough to tear the truth from them, and to bring to -an end this fearful martyrdom of a man and of two families?” Ah, I know -that these are only the dreams of one who suffers horribly! But what -would you? All that is too horrible, too atrocious! It leads astray my -reason, my faith in loyalty and rectitude, for there is a moral law that -is above all things, above passion and hatred; it is the law that -demands the truth always and in all things. And then when my thoughts -turn back upon my past, upon my whole life, and then to see myself where -I am now! Oh, then it is horrible! black night closes in upon my soul, -and I long to shut my eyes, to think no more. It is in my thought of -you, of our dear children, in my wish to see the end of this horrible -drama that I find again the energy to live, to hold myself erect. These -are my thoughts, these are my dreams, my dear and good Lucie, and it is -in answer to your question that I have thus laid bare my soul. Know, -then, that I suffer with you, that I live in your life, that our mental -and moral tortures are the same, that they can have but one end--full -light upon this sinister affair. Let us press on, then, toward this -supreme end, active in every day, in every hour, with ferocious and -unconquerable will, the conviction that overturns all obstacles. It is -our honor that has been torn from us, and we must regain it. And now I -am going to bed to try to rest my brain a little, or rather to try to -dream of you and of our dear children. The 5th of April Pierre will be -five years old. Be sure that on that day all my heart, all my thoughts, -my tears, alas! also will have been of him, of you. And I close in -wishing that you may soon announce to me the end of this infernal -torture, and by embracing you with all my strength, as I love you. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_5 April, 1896._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I have just received your dear letters of February, also those of the -family. In your turn, my dear wife, you have been subjected to the -atrocious anguish of waiting for tidings!... I have known this anguish; -I have known many others; I have seen things that are deceiving to the -human consciousness.... Well, I say again, what matters it? Your -children are there, they live. We have given them life, we must restore -their honor to them. It is necessary to go straight forward to the end, -our eyes fixed upon one single object--to go forward with an -unconquerable will, with the courage given by the knowledge of an -absolute necessity. I told you in one of my letters that each day brings -with it its anguish. It is true. When the evening comes, after a -struggle of every instant against the turmoil of my brain, against the -overthrow of my reason, against the revolts of my heart, then I have a -cerebral and nervous depression, and I long to close my eyes to see no -more, to think no more, to suffer no more. Then I have to make a violent -effort of the will to drive away the ideas that drag me down, to bring -back the thought of you, the thought of our adored children, and to say -to myself again, “However horrible your martyrdom may be, you must be -able to die in peace, knowing that you leave to your children a proud -and honored name.” If I recall this to you, it is simply to tell you -again what effort of my will I put forth in a single day because it -concerns the honor of our name, the name of our children; that this same -determination should animate you all. I want to tell you also what I -suffer from your torture, from that of you all, what I suffer for our -children, and that then at all hours of the day and night I cry to you -and to all of you, in the agony of my grief, “March on to the conquest -of the truth, boldly, like honest and valiant people, to whom honor is -everything.” - -Ah, the means! Little do I care for means. They must be found, when one -knows what one wants, and when it is one’s right and one’s duty to want -it. - -This voice you should hear at every moment, across all space; it should -animate your souls. - -I repeat myself ever, dear Lucie; it is because but one thought, one -will gives me strength to endure everything. - -I am neither patient nor resigned, be sure of that. I long for the -light, the truth, our honor throughout all France, with all the fibres -of my being; and this supreme desire ought to inspire in you--in you, as -in all the others--all courage, all daring, so that at last we may -escape from a situation as infamous as it is undeserved. - -You have no mercy and no favor to ask of any one. You wish the light, -and that you must obtain. - -The more the physical strength decreases--for the nerves end by becoming -absolutely shattered by so many appalling shocks--the more the energies -should increase. - -Never, never, never--and this is the cry from the depths of my soul--can -a man resign himself to dishonor when he has not deserved it. - -To-day our dear little Pierre is five years old. All my heart, all my -thoughts go out to him, to you, to our dear children. All my being -quivers with sorrow. - -What can I add, my dear Lucie? My affection for you, for our children, -you know it. It has kept me alive; it has made me endure what otherwise -I should never have accepted; it gives me the force still to endure all. - -You say that we are approaching the end of our sufferings. I wish it -with all my strength; for never have human beings suffered like this. I -wrote you a long letter, ten days ago, by the French mail. - -I embrace you, as I love you, with all my strength, and also our -children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -I received some days ago the reviews and books that you sent in -November. Their tardy arrival may be traced to the fact that they were -sent by freight--that is to say, by sailing vessels. I find a little -solace in them. But my brain is so shaken, so fatigued, by all these -appalling shocks that I cannot fix my mind upon anything. The other -parcels you have sent will reach me some day. - -Embrace your dear parents, and all of our family for me. I wrote to them -by the French mail. - - * * * * * - - -_26 April, 1896._ - -My dear Lucie: - -In the long and atrocious days of which all these months are made, I -have read and re-read your dear letters of February. My heart has bled -with the anguish to which you have been subjected during these long -months, and of which each word in your letters bears the trace. I could -feel how you restrained the shivers of your being, how you held back the -overflowing volume of your grief, and in an effort of your loving and -devoted heart you found the strength to cry again to me, “Oh, I am -strong!” - -Yes, be strong, for strength is needed. - -One of these nights I dreamed of you, of our children, of our torture, -compared with which death would be sweet, and in my agony I cried out in -my sleep. - -My suffering is at times so strong that I would tear my skin from my -flesh, to forget in physical pain this too violent torture of soul. I -arise in the morning with the dread of the long hours of the day, alone, -for so long, with the horrors of my brain; I lie down at night with the -fear of the sleepless hours. You ask me to speak to you at length of -myself, of my health. You must realize that after the tortures to which -I have been subjected, supporting the atrocious life of the present, a -life that never leaves me a moment of rest, day or night, my health -cannot be brilliant. My body is broken, my nerves are sick, my brain is -crushed, say, simply, that I still hold myself erect in the absolute -sense of the word only because I resolved to, so as to see with you and -our children the day when honor shall be returned to us. - -You ask yourself sometimes, in your hours of calmness, why we have been -thus tried.... I ask it of myself at every instant, and I find no -answer. - -We deceived each other mutually, dear Lucie, by alternately recommending -each other to be calm and to be patient. Our love tries in vain to hide -from each other the thoughts that agitate our hearts. - -My anguish when I write to you, the heart quivering with pain and fever, -tells me too clearly what you feel when you write to me. - -No, let us tell each other simply that if we still live with torn and -panting hearts, with our souls shivering with anguish, it is because -there is a supreme object to be attained, cost what it may--the full -honor of our name, that of our children--and that right speedily, for -sensitive people cannot live in a situation whose every moment is a -torture. - -Very often I have wished to speak to you at length of our children--I -cannot. A dull, bitter anger floods my heart at the thought of these -dear little creatures, struck through their father, who is innocent of a -crime so abominable.... My throat contracts, my sobs choke me, my hands -are wrung with grief at not being able to do anything for them, for you -... to struggle to keep from dying in such a situation, and for so long. - -So I can only repeat to you, dear Lucie, “Courage, and determination, -and action, also, for human strength has a limit.” - -I wrote you long letters by the last mail; I wrote also to your dear -parents, to my brothers and sisters. I hope that these letters will -still more embolden your courage, the courage of every one of you, that -they will animate your souls with the fire that consumes my own -soul--the fire that gives me the strength to still stand erect. - -You tell me that you have good reasons for believing that this atrocious -situation is not to be of long duration. Ah, I wish with all my soul -that this time your hope may not be deceived, that you may soon announce -to me something certain, positive; for truly this is suffering too hard -to bear! - -What can I add, dear Lucie? The hours are all alike in their atrocity -for me; I live only by the thought of you, of our children, in the -expectation of a _dénouement_, an escape from a situation which has -lasted but too long. - -I embrace you with all my heart, as I love you; also our dear children, -and I am waiting now until I shall have the happiness of receiving your -dear letters, always so impatiently expected. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -Kisses to all. - - * * * * * - - -_May 7, 1896._ - -My dear Lucie: - -A few moments before I received your dear letters I was subjected to an -outrage--only a mean, shabby trick--but such things hurt one whose heart -has been already so deeply wounded. I have not, alas! the soul of a -martyr. To tell you that there are not times when I would be glad to die -and end this atrocious life would be to lie. Do not see in this any -trace of discouragement. The goal is immutable, it must be attained, and -it shall be. But I am a human being as well, undergoing the most -appalling of martyrdoms for a man of heart and a sense of honor, bearing -it only for you and for our children. - -Each time they turn the knife in the wound my heart cries with grief. I -wept after this last outrage ... but enough of that. As I was saying, I -have just received your dear letters of March, the letters of all the -family, and with all the joy of reading the words you have written, I -have always as well that sense of bitter disappointment, which you can -well realize, that comes from not yet seeing the end of our tortures. -How you must suffer, Lucie! how you all must suffer when you cannot -hasten the moment our honor will be restored to us, when the wretches -who committed the infamous crime shall be unmasked! I wish that this -moment may be near and that it may not be too late. - -Thanks for the good news that you give me of the children. It is from -the thought of them, from the thought of you, that I draw the strength -to resist. You must expect that sufferings, the climate, the situation, -have done their work. I have left only my skin, my bones, and my moral -energy. I hope that this last will carry me through to the end of our -trials. You spoke to me of some supplies that I might ask you for. You -know that my material life has always been indifferent to me, to-day -more so than ever. I have only asked for books, and unhappily I have -still only those you sent me in November. - -Please do not send me any more provisions. The sentiment which inspires -me to beg this favor may be puerile, but everything you send me is, by -regulations, subjected to a most minute examination, and it seems to me -each time that they give you a slap in the face, ... and my heart bleeds -and I tremble with pain of it. - -No; let us accept the atrocious situation that has been made for us. Do -not let us try to alleviate it by any care for the material order, but -let us repeat to ourselves that we must find the guilty wretch, that we -must get back our honor! March on, then, toward this goal; march on, -moved by one common, unchangeable will; try to attain it as quickly as -possible and give no care to anything else. I, for my part, shall resist -as long as I can, for I want to be there, present on that day of supreme -happiness when our honor is given back to us. - -Say to yourself, that while the head may bow before some misfortunes, -that while commonplace condolences may be received in some situations, -when it is a question of honor there can be no consolations, but only a -goal to be struggled for so long as we can keep up to have that honor -restored to us. - -Then, for you, as for all of us, I can only cry from the depths of my -soul, _Lift up your hearts_! There must be no recrimination, no -complaint, nothing but the unswerving march onward to our end--the -wretch or the wretches who are really guilty--and we must attain our end -as soon as possible. - -As I have already told you, there must not remain one single Frenchman -who can doubt our honor. - -Kiss our dear children with all your heart for me, and yourself a -thousand kisses the most tender, the most affectionate kisses of your -devoted - -ALFRED. - -Embrace your dear parents, all our family and friends for me. In the -mail which I have just received I have not found letters from any of my -sisters except Henriette. I hope that these dear sisters are not sick -from these terrible and continued trials. - - * * * * * - - -_22 May, 1896._ - -My dear Lucie: - -Your good and most affectionate letters of March have been the dear and -sweet companions of my solitude. I have read them and re-read them to -recall to me my duty each time that the situation was crushing me with -its weight. I have suffered with you, with you all; all the frightful -anguish through which you have passed has echoed in my own. - -You ask me to write to you, to come and tell you all that is in my -crushed and bleeding heart whenever my bitterness is too great for me -to bear. Ah, my poor Lucie! If I should do as you bid, I should be -writing very often, for I have not one moment of respite. But why should -I thus tear your heart? I already do this too often, and after I have -thus poured out my woes I always regret it bitterly, for you have -already suffered enough, far too much for me. But what would you? It is -impossible to break away absolutely from one’s _ego_, to stifle always -the revolts of one’s heart, to be always master of one’s sick nerves. My -only moment when the tension is relaxed is when I write to you, and then -all the accumulated grief of the long month at times goes out into what -I write.... And then I feel so profoundly in the very depths of my being -all the horror of our situation, as well for you and me as for your dear -parents, for all our family, that bursts of anger, quivers of -indignation, escape in spite of my efforts; then I cry out in my -impatience to see the end of this abominable suffering for us all. I -suffer because I am powerless to lighten your atrocious sorrow, because -I can only sustain you with all the power of my love, with all the ardor -of my soul. Ah, truly yes, dear Lucie, I feel all your anguish when each -mail day arrives, and after a long month of waiting, of suffering, and -of agony, you cannot yet announce to me the discovery of the guilty -wretches, the end of our tortures! And if then I cry out, if at times I -roar aloud, if the blood boils in my veins with all this agony, so long -drawn out, so undeserved, oh, it is as much for you as for me! For if I -had had only myself to think of in my sufferings, long ago I should have -put an end to it all, leaving it to the future to be the final judge of -everything. - -It is from the thought of you, the thought of our dear children, from -my determined resolve to sustain you, to live to see the day when our -honor shall be given back to us, that I draw all my strength. When I -sink under the united burden of all my woes, when my brain reels, when -my heart can bear no more, when I lose all hope, then to myself I murmur -three names--yours, those of our dear children--and I nerve myself again -against my agony, and not a sound passes my silent lips. To tell the -truth, I am physically very weak; it could not be otherwise. But -everything is effaced from my mind, hallucinating memories, sufferings, -the atrocities of my daily life, before so exalted, so absolute a -preoccupation, the thought of our honor, the patrimony of our children. -So I come again, as always, to cry to you with all my strength, with all -my soul, “Courage, and still courage, to march steadfastly onward to -your goal--the unclouded honor of our name”--and to wish for both our -sakes that this goal may soon be reached. The dear little letters -written by the children always move me deeply, cause me extreme emotion; -I often wet them with my tears, but I draw from them also my strength. -In all my letters I read that you are raising these dear little children -admirably. If I have never spoken of this to you it has been because I -knew it, because I knew you. - -To speak of my love for you, the love that unites us all, would be -useless, would it not? Still, let me tell you again that my thought -never leaves you for an instant day or night, that my heart is always -near to you, to our children, to you all, ready to sustain you, to -animate you with my unconquerable will. - -I embrace you with all my strength, with all my heart, and also the dear -children, while I wait to receive your good letters, the only rays of -sunshine that come to warm my cruelly wounded heart. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -Kisses to your dear parents, to all. - - * * * * * - - -_5 June, 1896._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I have not yet received your good letters of April, so I have been -forced to content myself by re-reading, as I do each day, often many -times a day, your good and affectionate letters of March, and from them -I have drawn a little calm. I cannot, however, let the English mail -leave without coming to gossip a little with you, without drawing near -to you. - -Oh, I can see you very well in thought from here, my dear and good -Lucie, for you do not leave me for a single moment. I know the moments -of your crises, when, after some one has given you hope, that hope is -again disappointed; when, after a moment of relaxation, of peace, you -fall back into a violent despair, asking yourself with anguish when we -shall wake from this abominable nightmare in which we have lived so -long. And then you write to me, and you find in your splendid soul, in -your loving and devoted heart, the strength to hide from me the -atrocious tortures, the appalling anguish through which you are passing. - -And then I, who feel, who divine all that--I, whose heart is crushed and -wounded in its purest sentiments, in its tenderest love, with the blood -boiling in my veins, because I feel all the torture heaped upon us, -upon our two families--with my very reason in revolt I go and put into -my letters the cries of anguish and of impatience that are in my soul; -then I suffer through a long month thinking of the emotion you will -feel, and I am still more unhappy. - -Instead of bringing you, you who are wounded with me in your honor as a -wife and a mother, the moral support, the steadfast, energetic, ardent -support which you need in the noble mission you must fulfill, I come, at -times, to lament, to occupy you with my little sufferings, my petty -tortures, with I know not what, to augment your poignant grief. Forgive -my weakness--human weakness, alas! all too natural. Words, indeed, are -powerless to depict a martyrdom like ours. But it can have but one -termination--the discovery of the guilty wretches, absolute, complete -rehabilitation, all the honor of our name, the name of our dear -children. - -So I am again, as always, adding to this letter, which will carry to you -the echo of my deep love, the ardent cry of my soul, Courage, still more -courage, dear Lucie, to march on to your goal, with a fierce, resolute, -unfailing will; and let us hope, for both our sakes, for the sake of our -children, that the end may soon be accomplished. - -Embrace our dear little ones tenderly for me. I live only in them, in -you, and from that source I draw my strength. Kiss your dear parents for -me; give my love to all our friends; thank them for their good and most -affectionate letters. - -I end this letter with regret, and I embrace you hard, “as hard as I -can,” as our dear little Pierre says. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -_Evening._ - -I have just received at last the things you sent me, and the books for -the months of December, January and February, and I assure you that I -had need of them. Yet more fond and ardent kisses for you, for our dear -children, for your dear parents, for all our friends; and I end my -letter by this ardent cry of my soul: Courage, always and still more -courage, my dear and good Lucie. - - * * * * * - - -_24 July, 1896._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I have not received your letters of May; the last news I have of you -dates back three months. You see that sledge-hammer blows are not spared -me. I do not want to augment your grief by depicting my own. Besides it -is of no importance. Whatever may be our suffering, however appalling -may be our martyrdom, our object is unchanging, my dear Lucie--the -light, the honor of our name. - -I can do no more than repeat to you this cry of my soul: Courage! -Courage! Courage! until the end is attained. - -As for me, I retain with all my energy whatever strength remains to me. -I repress my brain and my heart night and day, for I want to live to see -the end of this drama. I hope, for both of us, that the moment is not -far distant. - -When you receive these few lines your birthday will have passed. I will -not dwell upon thoughts so cruel for both of us, but my thoughts could -be with you no more that day than on all others. - -I embrace you with all my heart, with all my strength, you and our -children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_4 August, 1896._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I have received your letters of May and June all together, with those of -the family. I will not tell you of my emotion, after I had waited so -long; for we must not give way to such poignant feelings. - -I found but two letters from you in the mail for May. I was happy to see -that you were settled in the country with the children; perhaps there -you may find a little rest, if there can be any rest for us when our -honor has not been given back to us. - -Yes, dear Lucie, sufferings such as ours, sufferings so undeserved, -leave the mind bewildered. But let us speak no more of it; it is one of -those things that provoke irresistible indignation. - -If I am nervously impatient to see the end of all our tortures; if, -under the influence of the revolts of my heart, my letters are pressing, -do not doubt that my confidence, like my faith, is absolute. Tell -yourself that I have never said “Hope!” I have said, “We must have the -whole truth; if not to-day it will be to-morrow or the day after, but -this end will be attained--it must be!” Let us shut our eyes to our -tortures; let us compress our brains and steel our hearts. Courage, be -valiant, dear Lucie; there must not be one minute of weakness or of -lassitude. For us, for our children, for our families, we must have -light, the honor of our name. I come now, as always, to cry to you, to -cry to all, “Lift up your heart! be strong in your determination!” - -I wish with all my heart, for both our sakes, for all of us, to learn -that this suffering is to have an end. - -Embrace our children for me, and for yourself the fondest kisses of your -devoted - -ALFRED. - -Embrace your parents, all our family, for me. - - * * * * * - - -_24 August, 1896._ - -Dear Lucie: - -I replied at the beginning of the month in a few lines only to your dear -letters of May and June. The impression they made upon me after I had -waited so long for them was such that I could not write at length. I -read and re-read them each day, and it seems to me that thus for a few -moments I am near you, that I feel the beating of your heart close to -mine; and when I look at this bit of paper on which I write to you, I -wish that I could put in it all my soul, all my heart contains for you, -for our children, for you all; I wish that I might imprint upon it all -the ardor of my soul, all my courage, all my determination. - -Believe, dear Lucie, that I have never had a moment of discouragement as -to the end to be attained. But yet what impatience devours me to see the -end of our atrocious torture! - -There are for those who have hearts sorrows so bitter that the pen is -powerless to express them. And this grief, equally poignant for us all, -I hide it in my breast day and night, and not one complaint escapes from -my lips. I accept everything, stifling my heart, my whole being, seeing -only our goal. - -I wrote to you in the first days of July a letter which must have -troubled you, my dear Lucie; I was then a prey to fever; I had not -received your letter. Everything came together! And then the human beast -in me awakened, and I cried out in my distress and anguish, as if you -were not suffering enough already. But I reacted against my own lower -nature, I overcame everything, I surmounted my physical as well as my -moral being. Since then I have learned that your letters arrived at -Cayenne without delay; in consequence of a mistake made in forwarding -them, I received them only with your letters of June. - -I can only repeat my words, dear Lucie, for you must, as we all must, -fix our eager, unswerving gaze upon the supreme object; we must not -indulge in one moment of lassitude until the end shall have been -attained! The whole truth must be revealed over all France, all the -honor of our name, the patrimony of our children. - -Embrace the S----s and their dear children for me. Be sure to tell -Mathieu that if I do not write to him oftener, it is because I know him -too well; I know that his determination will remain as inflexible as -ever, until the day when the light shall burst forth. Thanks for the -good news of the dear, little ones; thank your dear parents and all the -members of our families for their good letters. As for you, my dear -Lucie, strong in your conscience, be invincibly energetic and brave. May -my profound love, our children, and your duty sustain and reanimate you. - -Again I embrace you as I love you, with all my strength, as I embrace -also our dear children. Now I am waiting for your good letters of July. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_3 September, 1896._ - -Dear Lucie: - -They brought me, just now, the mail for July. I found in it only one -poor, little letter from you, that of the 14th of July, although you -ought to have written oftener and more at length; but no matter. - -What a cry of suffering escapes from all your letters and echoes in my -own! Yes, dear Lucie, never have human beings suffered as have you, as -have I, and every one of us. The sweat starts from my forehead when I -think of it. I have lived only by straining every nerve, by the most -powerful effort of the will, by gripping, compressing all my being in a -supreme struggle; but emotions break us down; they make every fibre of -the being quiver. My hands are wrung with grief for you, for our -children, for us all; an immense cry rises to my throat and stifles me. -Ah, why am I not alone in the world! What happiness it would be could I -lie down in my grave, to think no more, to see no more, to suffer no -more! But the moment of weakness, of the derangement of all my being, of -awful anguish, has passed, and now I come to tell you, dear Lucie, that -above all deaths--for what agony do not I know, as well that of the soul -as that of the body, of the brain?--there is honor; that this honor, -which is our right, must be restored to us ... only, human strength has -its limits for us all. - -So when you receive this letter, if the situation is not at last shown -in its proper light, act as I already told you last year; go yourself, -take, if need be, a child by each hand, those two beloved and innocent -beings, and take steps to appeal to those who direct the affairs of our -country. Speak simply, from your heart, and I am sure that you will find -generous souls who will understand how appalling is this martyrdom of a -wife, of a mother, and who will put all the means in their power to work -to aid you in this noble and holy work, the discovery of the truth, the -discovery of the author of this infamous crime. Oh, dear Lucie, listen -to me well, and follow my counsels! Remember that you must see but one -thing, our object, and strive to attain it; for, oh! I long with all my -heart to see, before I succumb to this weight of suffering, honor -restored to the name that our dear, adored ones bear. I long to see you -again happy, our children, enjoying the happiness that you so merit, my -poor and dear Lucie! And as this paper seems to me cold, because I -cannot put on it all that my heart contains for you, for our children, I -would that I might write to you with my blood; perhaps then I might -express myself better.... - -And although I cannot tell you anything new I continue to talk with you, -for the long night is coming, traversed by horrible nightmares, in which -I shall see you, our children, my dear brothers and sisters, all those -whom we love. You see, dear Lucie, that I tell you everything, that I -pour out to you all my sufferings, that I tell you all my thoughts; -indeed, in this hour I am incapable of doing otherwise. - -And my thought night and day is always the same; my lips breathe forth -the same cry; oh, all my blood, drop by drop, for the truth of this -appalling mystery! - -Pardon the incoherence of this letter. I write to you, as I have told -you, under the influence of a profound emotion, not even trying to -assemble my ideas, feeling that I would be incapable of doing it, -telling myself with dread that I must pass all of one long month having -for my reading only your few poor lines, where you speak to me of the -children, where you do not speak to me of yourself, where I shall have -nothing to read that speaks of you. - -But I am going to try to collect my thoughts. My sufferings are great, -like yours, like ours; the hours, the minutes, are atrocious, and they -will continue to be so until light, full and entire, shall shine upon -the truth. And as I have told you, I am convinced that if you act in -person, if you speak from your heart, they will set every means to work -to shorten, if possible, the time, for if time is nothing, as far as the -object we must reach, which is more important than everything, is -concerned, it counts, alas! for us all, for one cannot live and endure -such sufferings. - -I regret to realize that I must end this letter in which I feel how -powerless I am to express the affection that I feel for you, for our -children, for all; what I suffer from our atrocious tortures; to make -you feel all that is in my heart; the horror of this situation, of this -life, a horror that surpasses all that can be imagined, all that the -human brain can dream; and, on the other hand, the duty which commands -me imperiously, for your sake and for our children’s, to go on as far as -I shall be able. Think that it will be a month now before I can get one -word from you, the only human word that comes to me! - -But I must end this prattling, although it eases my pain, for I feel -your presence near me in these lines that you are to read, and in ending -my letter I cry to you, “Courage, yet more courage!” for before all -things is the honor of the name that our dear children bear. I tell you -that this object for which you are striving is immutable. Therefore act -as I have said; for the co-operation of generous hearts that you will -find--I am sure of it--will realize more speedily the supreme wish that -I still cry out, the light of truth upon this sad tragedy, that I may be -with our little ones on the day when honor is restored to us! And I add -for your own self, for all of us, this ardent and supreme cry of my -soul, that rises in the darkness of the night: everything for honor. Let -this be our only thought; your sole preoccupation. There must not be one -minute of ease. - - * * * * * - - -_4 September, 1896._ - -Dear and good Lucie: - -I wrote you a letter last night under an impression caused by the mail, -the sufferings that we all endure, the pain of having only a few lines -from you, for after a long, agonized silence of a whole month, there is -now, inevitably, a strong nervous tension. I am as if crazed by grief. I -take my head in my two hands, and I ask by what miserable destiny so -many human beings are called upon to suffer so. - -I feel, too, the need of coming again to talk with you. Perhaps this -letter may yet catch the English mail and go with the other. - -If I am tired, worn out, if I should tell you the contrary you would not -believe me; for to suffer so without respite through all hours of the -day and night; to feel intuitively the sufferings of those we love; to -see our children, those dear little creatures, for whom I would give, -for whom we would give, every drop of blood in our veins, struck -down--all that is sometimes too atrocious and the pain is too great to -bear. But I am, dear Lucie, neither discouraged nor broken down, believe -it well. The more the nerves are strained by all these sufferings, the -more the will should become vigorous in its determination to bring the -trial to an end. And the only way to end our tortures, the tortures of -all of us, is to bring about the discovery of the truth. If I live in a -struggle against my body, against my heart, against my brain, fighting -against all with a ferocious energy, it is because I wish to be able to -die tranquilly, knowing that I leave to my children a pure and honored -name; knowing that you are happy. What it is necessary for you to tell -yourself, for us all to tell ourselves, is that there can be but one -termination for our situation--the light--and then, starting forward -with this one word, which outweighs everything, we must smother all that -groans in our hearts; we must see only our object and stretch every -nerve to attain it; and that soon, for the hours now weigh like lead. We -must appeal, as I told you yesterday evening, to all who can help us, to -every aid, to all kind hearts, who can help let in the light. I am sure -that you will find many, and in the presence of this immense sorrow, the -appalling sorrow of a wife and mother, who asks only for the truth, the -honor of the name that her children bear, all will be silent that they -may see only the supreme object of this work, as noble as it is exalted. -Then, dear Lucie, to moan, to lament, to tell each other how we suffer, -all that will advance nothing. - -Be calm, collected, but gather all your strength, surround yourself with -all the advice that can help you to pursue and to attain the object, -and let us hope, for your sake, that the time may not be too long in -coming. Embrace your parents, our brothers and sisters, and all your -family for me. - -I embrace you as I love you, more passionately than I ever have done -before--with all the strength of my affection, and kiss for me our dear -and adored children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_5 o’clock in the morning._ - -Before I send this letter I must come once more to embrace you with all -my soul, with all my strength; to repeat to you that your conscience, -your duty, our children, ought to be for you irresistible levers too -strong for any human grief to bend. - - * * * * * - - -_September, 1896._ - -Dear and good Lucie: - -I wrote to you upon the receipt of the July mail. The nervous strain has -been too strong, too violent. I have an irresistible longing to come to -talk to you, after this long, agonized silence of a whole month. - -Yes, sometimes my pen falls from my hands, and I ask myself what I gain -by writing so much. I am dazed by all my suffering, my poor and dear -Lucie. - -Yes, often, also, I ask myself what I have done that you, whom I love so -much, that my poor children, that all of us, should be called to suffer -thus; and, truly, I have moments of ferocious despair, of anger also, -for I am not a saint. But then I call up, as I have always called up, -the thought of you, of the poor little ones, and I evoke that feeling -with which I have wished to inspire you, to inspire you all, since the -beginning of this sad tragedy--that is, that there is above all our -anguish something higher, more exalted. My letter is like a howl of -pain, for we are like sorely wounded men whose minds are so worn out -with pain, whose bodies are so maddened by long suffering, that the -least thing causes their cups, full, too full, of sorrow, to overflow. - -But, dear Lucie, to speak forever of our grief is not a remedy for it, -it only exasperates it. We must look at things as they are, and we all -are horribly unhappy. - -Truly the end dominates everything--sufferings, life. I have told you -this often and often, for it concerns the honor of our name, the life of -our children. This object must be pursued without weakness until it is -attained. But the human spirit is formed in such a way that it lives in -the impressions of each day, and each day is composed of too many -appalling minutes; we have been waiting for so long a time for a happier -to-morrow. - -It is not with anger, it is not with lamentations, that you must hasten -the moment when the truth shall be revealed. Concentrate your -courage--and it ought to be great--strong in your conscience, strong in -the duty you have to fulfill; look only to your object; look only into -your heart of a wife, of a mother, the heart that for so many months has -been so horribly crushed and ground. - -Oh, dear Lucie, listen to me well, for I have suffered so much, I have -borne so many things, that life is profoundly indifferent to me, and I -speak to you as from the tomb, from the deep, eternal silence which -raises man above all the anxieties of earth. I speak to you as a father, -in the name of the duty to your children that you must fulfill. Go to -the President of the Republic, to the Ministers, even to those who had -me condemned; for if passions, excitements, at times lead astray the -most upright minds, the hearts remain always generous and are ready to -forget what carried them away before the appalling grief of a wife, of a -mother, who wants but one thing--the only thing we ask--the discovery of -the truth, the honor of our dear little ones. Speak simply, forget all -the little miseries--of what importance are they when compared with the -object to be attained?--and I am sure that you will find an army of -generous, ardent souls, who will help you to escape from a situation so -atrocious, and borne so long that I am yet asking myself how our brains -have been able to resist its attacks. - -I am speaking to you in perfect calmness in this deep silence, a painful -silence, it is true, but it lifts the soul above it all.... Act as I beg -you to.... - -See but one thing, my dear and good Lucie, the end which we must -attain--the truth--and appeal to all who are just and devoted.... Oh, -for that! I wish it with all the fibres of my being--to see the day when -honor shall be again restored to us! - -Courage, then, dear Lucie; I ask it of you with all my heart, with all -my soul. - -I embrace you as I love you, with all the power of my love, and also our -dear, adored children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_3 October, 1896._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I have not yet received the mail of August. Notwithstanding, I wish to -write you a few words by the English mail, and to send you the echo of -my immense love. - -I wrote to you last month, and I opened my whole heart to you, told all -my thoughts; there is nothing that I can add. I hope that the combined -aid that you have the right to ask for will be given you, and I can only -hope one thing--that I am soon to learn that light has been let in upon -this horrible affair. What I would again say to you is this: that we -must not let the terrible acuteness of our sufferings harden our hearts. -It is necessary that our name, that we ourselves, should come out of -this horrible situation such as we were when they made us go into it. - -But in the face of such sufferings our courage should be strong, not to -recriminate nor to complain, but to ask, to demand, indeed, light on -this horrible drama, that he or they whose victims we are be unmasked. -But I have spoken to you at length of all this in my last letter; I will -not repeat myself. - -If I write to you often, and at such length, it is because there is -something that I would express better than I do express it. It is that, -strong in our consciences, we must lift ourselves high above all this, -without moaning, without complaining, like sensitive, honorable people, -who are suffering a martyrdom to which they may succumb. We must simply -do our duty. If my part of this duty is to stand fast as long as I can, -your part of it, the part of you all, is to demand that the light may -shine in upon this lugubrious drama, to appeal to all who can aid in -bringing about the truth; for truly I doubt that human beings have ever -suffered more than we are suffering. I ask myself each day how we have -been able to keep alive. - -I end this prattle with regret. This moment so short, so fugitive, when -I come to chat to you, when I pretend to myself that I am talking with -you, that I am telling you all that is in my heart. But alas! I feel too -keenly that I eternally repeat myself; for there is only one thought in -the bottom of my heart; there is only one cry in my soul: to know the -truth of this frightful drama, to see the day when our honor shall be -returned to us! - -I embrace you as I love you, from the depths of my heart, as I embrace -my dear and adored children. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_5 October, 1896._ - -Dear and good Lucie: - -I have just received you dear letters of August, as well as letters from -all the family, and it is under the profound impression not only of all -the sufferings that we all endure, but of the pain that I have caused -you by my letter of the 6th of July, that I write to you. - -Ah, dear Lucie, how weak the human being is, how he is at times cowardly -and egotistical! When I wrote as I did, I was, as I think I told you, at -that time a prey to fevers that burned me, body and brain--I whose -spirit was already so beaten down, whose tortures were already so great. -And then in the profound distress of all my being, when I had need of a -friendly hand, of a gentle face, delirious from the fever and from pain, -when I did not receive your letter, I had to cry out to you in my -misery, for I could cry to no one else. - -Afterward I regained possession of myself, and I became again what I had -been, what I shall remain to my last breath. - -As I told you in my letter of the day before yesterday, strong in our -consciences, we must raise ourselves above everything; but with that -firm, inflexible determination which will make my innocence shine out -before the eyes of all France. Our name must come out of this horrible -adventure what it was when they made us enter into it. Our children must -enter upon life with heads proudly raised. - -As for the advice that I can give you, that I have developed in my -preceding letters; you must understand that the only counsels I can give -you are those that are suggested by my heart. You are, you all are, -better placed, you have better advisers, and you must know better than I -could tell you what you have to do. - -I wish with you that it may not be long before this atrocious situation -is elucidated, that our sufferings, the sufferings of us all, may soon -be ended. However that may be, we must have the faith that diminishes -all sufferings, surmounts all sorrows, so that in the end we may render -to our children a stainless name, a name that is respected. - -I embrace you as I love you, with all my strength, with all my heart, -and also our dear and adored children. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_20 October, 1896._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I have written numerous letters to you during these last days, and in -them I have once more opened my heart. - -What can I add to them? I can hope but one thing; it is that at last -they will take pity upon such a martyr, and that I shall learn soon that -by the efforts of one or of another light has been let in on this -terrible tragedy, in which we have suffered so appallingly and so long. - -Ah, yes, dear and good Lucie, for your sake, as for mine, I would that I -might hear one good word, a word of peace and consolation, coming to -place a little balm upon our hearts, that are so crushed, so tortured. - -But what I cannot tell you often enough, my good darling, is how I am -suffering for you, for our dear children, for all our family. I had not -believed that it was possible to live in such sorrow. Well, I will not -linger upon this subject. I can only, as I have told you, wish with you, -that by the discovery of the truth we may find ourselves at last in that -atmosphere of happiness which we used to enjoy so much; that we may find -forgetfulness in our mutual love and in the love of our children. - -Waiting for your good letters, I embrace you as I love you, with all my -strength; and so, also, I embrace our dear children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -Kisses to all. - - * * * * * - - -_22 November, 1896._ - -My dear and good Lucie: - -I did not write to you at the beginning of the month by the English -mail, for I expected each day your letters of September; I have not yet -received them. As I told you in my last letter, which dates back, alas! -a whole month, I hope that other hearts will feel with us the atrocious -sufferings of our long months of martyrdom; this incessant, -inexpressible torture of every hour, of every minute--in a word, all the -horror of such a crushing moral situation. I hope that other hearts are -bringing to your aid an ardent, generous co-operation in the work of -laying bare the truth; and I can but hope for both our sakes, my poor -darling, and for us all, that I shall soon hear a human word that will -be a kind word, a word that will put a soothing balm upon our stinging -wounds, make our hearts a little firmer, calm the surges of our brains, -so shaken by all these emotions, by all these appalling shocks. I can -only, therefore, while I wait for your dear letters, send you the echo -of my immense affection, embrace you with all my heart, with all my -strength, as I love you, as I embrace also our dear and adored children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -Kisses to your dear parents, to all our brothers and sisters, to all our -family. - - * * * * * - - -_22 December, 1896._ - -My dear Lucie: - -Only a few lines while I wait for your dear letters, to send you the -echo of my deep love, to repeat to you always, with all my soul, -“Courage and faith,” and to embrace you with all my heart, with all my -strength, as I love you, as I embrace also our dear children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -Kisses to all. - - * * * * * - - -_24 December, 1896._ - -My dear and good Lucie: - -I wrote you a few lines only a few days ago. But my thought is always -with you, with our children, night and day! I know also all that you -suffer, all that you all suffer, and I long to come and talk to you -before the arrival of your letters, each month so impatiently awaited. - -I also know how it calms the heart only to see the writing of those we -love, all of whose sorrows we partake; I know also that in this way it -seems that we have with us a part of their very selves, of their hearts, -feeling them tremble and throb at our sides. And then I wish that I -might render better--not my sufferings, you know them. My heart, like -yours, is only a bleeding wound; but what I suffer for you, for our -children, how my life is wrapped up in you all! And if I still stand -erect, despite the agonies that rend my being--for every impression, -even the commonplace, the exterior impressions, produce upon me the -effect of a deep wound--it is because you are there, you and our -children. I have re-read, as I have always done each month, all the -letters that I have from you; they are the companions of my profound -solitude, all these letters of you all; and it seems to me as I read -them that you have not entirely seized my thought, which is perforce -somewhat confused by being scattered among all the letters I have -written to you. - -I have often told you dreams that could never be carried into effect in -real life, crushed by the blows that have rained upon me for more than -two years without my ever having understood why they fell, my brain, -distraught, searching in vain for the meaning of the horrible dream -which has held us all enthralled for so long. - -I profit by a moment when my brain is less fatigued to try to lucidly -explain my thoughts, the scattered convictions expressed in my different -letters. The end, you know it, the light, full and unshrouded, that end -shall be attained. - -Tell yourself, then, that my confidence and my faith are complete; for, -on one hand, I am absolutely certain that this last appeal that I made -recently to the Ministry has been heard; that in that quarter everything -is to be set in motion to discover the truth. And, on the other hand, I -see that you all are wrestling for the honor of our name--that is to -say, our very lives--and I see that nothing can turn you from your -purpose. - -Let me add that the point in question is not the bringing into this -horrible affair of either acrimony or bitterness against individuals. We -must aim higher. - -If at times I have cried out in my grief, it has been because the wounds -of the heart are at times too cruel, too burning, for human strength. -But if I have made of myself the patient man that I am not, that I never -shall be, it is because above all our sufferings there is the one, only -object--the honor of our name, the life of our children. This object -ought to be your very soul, let come what may. You must be, heroically, -invincibly, at the same time a mother and a Frenchwoman. - -I repeat it then, my dear Lucie, my confidence and my faith are -absolutely alike in the efforts of one and all. I am absolutely certain -that light shall be let in, and that is the essential thing--but it will -be in a future that we know not. - -For, alas! the energies of the heart, the forces of the brain, have -their limits in a situation as atrocious as mine. I know, too, what you -suffer, and it is appalling. - -This is why, often, in the moments of my anguish--for it is not possible -to suffer so slowly without cries of agony, having but one wish to -express, to be with you and with our children on the day when honor -shall be given back to us--I have asked you to take steps to appeal to -the Government, to those persons who possess sure, decisive means of -investigation--means that they only have the right to employ. - -Whatever may come of it, and I think I have clearly expressed my -thought, my conviction, I can but repeat to you with all my soul, -Confidence and Faith! and wish for you, as for me, as for us all, that -the efforts of one or of another may soon be crowned with success and -may put an end to this appalling martyrdom of the soul. - -I embrace you as I love you, as I embrace also our dear children, from -the depths of my heart. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -Kisses to all. - - * * * * * - - -_4 January, 1897._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I have just received your letters of November, also those of -the family. The profound emotion that they cause me is always the -same--indescribable. - -Your thoughts are mine, my dear Lucie; my thought never leaves you, -never leaves our dear children, you all; and when my heart can bear no -more, when I am at the end of my strength to resist this martyrdom, that -crushes my heart incessantly as the grain is crushed in a mill, that -tears all that is most pure, most noble, and most elevated within me, -that dries up all the springs of my soul, then I cry to myself, always -the same words: “However atrocious may be your suffering, march on -still, so that you may be able to die at peace, knowing that you leave -to your children an honored name, a respected name!” - -My heart, you know it, it has not changed. It is the heart of a soldier, -indifferent to all physical suffering, who holds honor before, above all -else; who has lived, who has resisted this fearful, this incredible, -uprooting of everything that makes the Frenchman, the man, of all that -makes it possible to live; who has borne it all because he is a father -and because he must see to it that honor is restored to the name that -his children bear. - -I have already written to you at length. I have tried to sum it all up -to you, to explain to you why my confidence and my faith are absolute; -that my confidence in the efforts of one and all is fully fixed; for -believe it, be absolutely certain of it, the appeal that I again made in -the name of our children, has revealed to those to whom I appealed a -duty which men of heart will never attempt to evade. On the other hand, -I know well all the sentiments that animate you all. I know them too -well to ever think that there can be one moment of enervation in any one -of you as long as the truth remains in darkness. - -Then all hearts, all energies, will converge toward the supreme object, -running toward it with blind, irresistible force. Cheer up until the -beast is run to earth, the author or the authors of this infamous crime. -But, alas! as I have already told you, if my confidence is absolute, the -energies of the heart, of the brain, have limits when the situation is -so appalling, when it has been borne so long. I know, also, what you -suffer, and it is horrible. - -[Illustration: MADAME ALFRED DREYFUS AND HER CHILDREN - -Drawn from life by Paul Renouard] - -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. - -ALFRED. - -My best kisses to your parents, to all our friends. I need not write to -them; all our hearts beat in unison. - - * * * * * - - -_5 March, 1897._ - -My dear and good Lucie: - -I wrote you a few lines the 20th of February while I was waiting for -your dear letters, which have not yet reached me. I have just learned -that, in consequence of an accident to the machinery, the steamer has -not yet arrived at Guiana. - -As I told you in my last letter, we know too well, each one of us, the -horrible acuteness of our sufferings, to give us any reason to speak of -it. - -But I would, if it were possible, impregnate this cold and commonplace -paper with all that my heart contains for you, for our children. At -every instant of the day and of the night you tell yourself that my -thought is with them; and that when my heart can bear no more, when the -too-full cup overflows, it is in murmuring these three names that are so -dear to me, it is in telling myself always, that for their sakes I must -live to see the day when honor shall be given back to the name of my -children, that I find, at last, the strength to overcome the atrocious -nausea, that I find the strength to live. - -As to the counsel that I would give you, it never changes. - -I have told you everything at length in my numerous letters of January, -and it may be summed up in a few words, the co-operation of all the -forces of Government to hasten the moment when the truth shall be -discovered; to put an end as soon as possible to such a martyrdom. - -But whatever may come of it, I want to repeat to you always, that high -above all our sufferings, above all our lives, there is a name that must -be re-established in all its integrity in the eyes of all France. This -sentiment should reign in your soul, in the souls of us all. - -I wish only for you, my poor darling, as for me, as for us all, that all -hearts may realize with us all the tragic horror of a situation so -appalling and borne so long, this terrible torture of human souls, whose -hearts are suffering, as under the blows of a hammer, night and day, -without truce or rest. I wish for us all that by a powerful union of -determined wills the only thing that we have so long asked for may be -brought to pass--the whole truth in regard to this sad tragedy, and that -I may hear soon one human word coming to put a soothing balm upon so -deep a wound. - -I embrace you as I love you, with all the force of my affection. - -Kiss the dear little ones for me. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -My fondest kisses to your dear parents, to all the family. - - * * * * * - - -_28 March, 1897._ - -Dear Lucie: - -After a long and anxious waiting I have just received a copy of two -letters from you written in January. You complain that I do not write -more at length. I wrote you numerous letters toward the end of January; -perhaps by this time they have reached you. - -And then, the sentiments that are in our hearts, and that rule our -souls, we know them. Moreover, we have, both of us, drained the cup of -all suffering. - -You ask me again, dear Lucie, to speak to you at length about my own -self. Alas! I cannot. When one suffers so atrociously, when one has to -bear such misery of soul, it is impossible to know at night where one -will be on the morrow. - -You will forgive me if I have not always been a stoic; if often I have -made you share my bitter grief, you who had already so much to bear. But -sometimes it was too much; and I was absolutely alone. - -But to-day, darling, as yesterday, let us put behind us all complaints, -all recriminations. Life is nothing! You must triumph over all griefs, -whatever they may be, over all sufferings, like a pure, exalted human -soul that has a sacred duty to fulfill. - -Be invincibly strong and valiant; keep your eyes fixed straight before -you, looking to the end--looking neither to the right nor to the left. - -Ah, I know well that you, too, are only a human being, ... but when -grief becomes too great, when the trials that the future has in store -for you are too hard to bear, then look into the faces of our children, -and say to yourself that you must live, that you must be there, to -sustain them until the day when our country shall recognize what I have -been, what I am. - -Moreover, as I have told you, I have bequeathed to those who condemned -me a duty in which they will not fail; I am absolutely sure of it. - -To speak of the education of the children is needless, isn’t it? We have -too often, in our long conversations, gone thoroughly over this subject, -and our hearts, our feelings, everything, are bound so close together -that naturally we agree as to what that education should be; it may be -summed up in a word: to make them strong, physically and morally. - -I will not dwell too long upon all this, for these thoughts are too sad, -and I do not want to be weighed down by them. - -But what I wish to repeat to you with all the force of my soul, with a -voice that you should always hear, is “Courage, courage!” Your patience, -your resolution, that of all of us, should never tire until the truth, -full and absolute, shall have been revealed and recognized. - -I cannot fill my letters full enough of all the love that my heart -contains for you, for you all. - -If I have been able to resist until now so much agony of soul, all -mental misery and trial, it is because I have drawn strength from the -thought of you and of the children. - -I am now hoping that your letters of April may reach me soon, and that I -shall not have to suffer so long a delay before receiving them. - -I will end this letter by taking you in my arms and pressing you to my -heart. - -I embrace you with all the strength of my love, and I repeat to you -always and still again: “Courage, courage!” - -A thousand kisses to our dear children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -And for all of you, whatever may come, whatever may become of me, this -earnest cry, the invincible cry of my soul: “_Lift up your hearts!_ Life -is nothing, honor is all!” And for you, all the tenderness of my heart. - - * * * * * - - -_24 April, 1897._ - -Dear Lucie: - -I want to talk with you while I wait for your dear letters, not to speak -of myself, but to tell you always the same words, which ought to sustain -your unalterable courage; and then, too, it is a human weakness, that is -excusable enough, to get a little warmth for my tortured heart near -yours, alas! not less sad than mine. - -I have read over your letters of February in which you are astonished, -in which you almost make excuses because at times cries of grief, of -revolt, escape from your heart. Do not make excuses for them; they are -only too legitimate. In this long agony of thought to which I am -subjected, be sure that I know them, those very griefs. - -Yes, truly, all this is appalling. No human word can express such -sorrows, and sometimes I have wanted to shriek out, so inexpressible is -such anguish. I also have terrible moments, atrocious moments, the more -appalling because they are restrained, because never a complaint escapes -my silent lips, when reason is submerged, and all that is in me is -agonized, cries out in revolt. I have told you that for a long time in -my dreams I have often thought, “Ah, yes, to hold one of those miserable -accomplices of the author of that crime between my hands for a few -minutes--and were I compelled to tear his skin from him shred by shred, -I should make him confess this vile machination against our country;” -but all that, sorrows and thoughts, they are only sentiments, they are -only dreams, and it is the reality that we must see. And the reality is -this, always the same: it is that in this horrible affair there is a -double interest at stake--that of the country, our own--and one is as -sacred as the other. - -It is for this reason that I will not try to understand, I will not try -to know, why they have made me thus fall under the weight of all these -tortures. My life belongs to my country, to-day as yesterday it is hers, -let her take it; but if my life belongs to her, her imprescriptible duty -is to see to it that the light, full and entire, shall shine upon this -horrible drama, for my honor does not belong to the country, it is the -patrimony of our children, of our families. - -So now, dear Lucie, I shall repeat always, to you and to all, stifle -your hearts, compress your brains; as for you, you must be heroically, -invincibly, at once a mother and a Frenchwoman. - -Now, darling, I cannot speak to you of myself any more. If you could -know all that I have been subjected to, all that I have borne, your soul -would shiver with horror, and yet I am a human being who has a heart, a -heart swollen to bursting, and I need, I thirst for rest. Oh, think how -many appalling minutes are contained in one day of twenty-four hours, in -the most complete, the most absolute idleness, with nothing to do but -twirl my thumbs--alone with my thoughts! - -If I have been able to resist so many torments until now it is because I -have often called up the thought of you, of the children, of you all, -and then I realized what you suffer, what you all suffer. - -Then, darling, accept everything, whatever may come; bear it, suffer in -silence, like a true human soul, exalted and very proud--the soul of a -mother who is resolved to see the name she bears, the name her children -bear, cleansed from this horrible stain. Then to you, as to you all, -again and always, “Courage, courage!” - -You must kiss the dear children for me and tell them how dearly I love -them. - -And you must also kiss your dear brothers and sisters, and all my family -for me. - -And for yourself, for our dear children, all that my heart contains of -unfailing love. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_4 May, 1897._ - -Dear and good Lucie: - -I have just received your letters of March, with those of the family, -and it is always with the same poignant emotion, with the same sorrow -that I read your words, that I read the letters from you all, so deeply -wounded are all our hearts, so torn by all our sufferings. - -I have already written to you, some days ago, when I was waiting for -your dear letters, and I told you that I did not wish to know or to -understand why I had been thus crushed, under every punishment. - -But if, in the strength of my conscience, in the consciousness of my -duty, I have been enabled to raise myself above everything, ever and -always to stifle my heart, to choke down every revolt of my being, it -does not follow that my heart has not deeply suffered, that it is not, -alas! torn to shreds. But I told you, too, that never has the temptation -to yield to discouragement entered my soul, nor should it ever again -enter into yours, nor into the soul of any one of you. Yes, it is -atrocious to suffer thus; yes, all this is appalling, and it is enough -to shake every belief in all that makes life noble and beautiful; ... -but to-day there can be no consolation for any one of us other than the -discovery of the truth, the full light. - -Whatever, then, may be your pain, however bitter the grief of every one -of you, tell yourself that you have a sacred duty to accomplish, and -that nothing must turn you from it; and this duty is to re-establish a -name, in all its integrity, in the eyes of all France. - -Now, to tell you all that my heart contains for you, for our children, -for you all, is unnecessary, isn’t it? - -In happiness we do not begin to perceive all the depth, all the powerful -tenderness that the deep recesses of the heart hold for the beloved. We -need misfortune, the sense of the sufferings endured by those for whom -we would give our last drop of blood, to understand its force, to grasp -the tremendous power of it. If you knew how often in the moments of my -anguish I have called to my assistance the thought of you, of our -children, to force me to live on, to accept what I should never have -accepted but for the thought of duty. - -And this always brings me back to it, my darling; do your duty, -heroically, invincibly, as a human soul, exalted and very proud, as a -mother who is determined that the name she bears, the name her children -bear, shall be cleansed of this horrible stain. - -Say to yourself, then, as to every one, always and again, “Courage, -courage!” I cannot tell you of myself; I gave you my reasons in my -former letter. I want only to end these few lines by embracing you with -all my heart, with all my strength, as I embrace also our dear children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -Thank your dear parents, all our family, for their letters, so full of -profound tenderness and with grief not less profound. - -Why should I write to them? To speak of myself, of our sufferings? We -all know each other too well not to know both the intense love that -unites us and the deep grief that fills our souls. But for all, -unchangingly, unalterable, steadfast courage! As ---- has said so truly: -there is an object to attain, and in the thought of that object we must -forget all present griefs, whatsoever they be! - - * * * * * - - -_20 May, 1897._ - -My dear Lucie: - -Very often I have taken my pen to talk with you--to unburden my bruised -and bleeding heart, as in the presence of yours--but each time I did so -the cries of our common sorrow burst out in spite of me. - -And of what good is it to cry out? In the presence of such martyrdom, in -the presence of such sufferings, I must be silent. So what I will -repeat to you is simply this: it is the invariable, the ever-ardent, -persistent cry of my soul, “Courage, courage!” When you consider the end -we are to attain you should count neither time nor sufferings. We must -wait with confidence until it shall be attained. - -I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my love, and so also -I embrace our dear children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -My best kisses to your dear parents, to all of our family. - - * * * * * - - -_5 July, 1897._ - -My dear and good Lucie: - -I have just received your letters of April with those of May, and with -all the letters of the family; with all the strength of my soul I add -mine to your most hearty good wishes for Marie’s happiness. Kiss her for -me and tell her, too, that I found some tears--I who no longer know how -to weep--in thinking of her joy that is mingled with so much suffering. - -I wish with all the strength of my soul, for you, my poor darling, that -the end of this terrible martyrdom may be near, and if one who has -suffered so deeply can still pray, I join my hands in one last prayer -that I address to all those to whom I have appealed, that they may bring -you a co-operation more ardent, more generous than ever in the work of -discovering the truth. Moreover, I am certain that you have this -co-operation, have it fully, ungrudgingly, ... and I hope with all that -my heart contains of tenderness for you, of affection for our children, -that all these efforts may soon bring about their result. - -As for me, dear and good Lucie, I who for you would have given with all -my heart, with all my soul, every drop of my blood to relieve one pain, -to spare you one sorrow,... I have been able to do nothing but remain -alive for so long and through so many tortures. I have done it for you, -for our children. - -But I must repeat to you always, “Courage, courage!” Our children are -the future; it is their life that we must assure. And I wish to end -these few lines by expressing once more the two sentiments that reign in -my heart. First, I want to send you all my tenderness, all my deep love, -for you, for our children, for your dear parents, for my dear brothers -and sisters. I want to take you in my arms again, to press you again to -my heart with all the strength that remains to me, with all the power of -my love. And then the second sentiment is this: to repeat to you always -to be grand, to be strong, whatever may happen, whatever may be the -trials that the future may still have in store for you, to think ever -and again of our dear children, who are the future, the children of whom -you must be the unfailing guard and stay, until the day when the truth -shall be revealed. - -And then I want to tell you once again the last prayer of a man who has -been subjected to the most terrible of martyrdoms, a man who had always -and in all places done his duty; it is that they may give you a kind -word, a helping hand, an energetic and powerful aid, that nothing can -weary in the discovery of the truth. - -All my being, all my thoughts, my very heart, spring forward in a -supreme effort toward you, toward our dear children, toward your dear -parents, toward all those whom I love, while I wish with all the -strength of my soul that a future may be near which will bring to you -all a rest of the mind, a calmness, a tranquillity, all the happiness -you yourself so well deserve, that you all so well deserve. - -Then, dear and good Lucie, always, and still always, Courage! - -I embrace you as I love you, as I embrace also our dear and adored -children, your dear parents, all our family. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_22 July, 1897._ - -My dear Lucie: - -A few lines only, while I await your dear letters. - -I suffer too much for you, for our children, for you all. I know too -well what are your tortures for me to be able to tell you of myself. - -Poor love, did you, too, deserve to bear a martyrdom like this? My heart -breaks; my brain bursts its bounds as I think of all the sorrow heaped -upon you all--sorrow so unending, so unmerited! - -I have again made passionate appeals for you, for our children. I am -sure that the co-operation which will be given you will be more active, -more ardent, than ever. In my long nights of suffering, when my thought -comes back constantly to you, to our children, I often join my hands in -a silent prayer into which I put my whole heart, that the appalling -suffering of so many innocent victims may soon be ended. - -However it may be, dear Lucie, I want to repeat to you always, as long -as I shall have a breath of life, “Courage, courage!” Our children, your -duty, are for you safeguards that nothing should displace, that no human -grief should weaken. - -I want, in ending, to impregnate as well as I can these few lines with -all that my heart contains for you, for our dear children, for your dear -parents, for you all, to tell you still that night and day my thoughts, -all my very being, springs forward toward them, toward you, and it is -due to that alone that I live. I want to take you in my arms and hold -you to my heart with all the power of my love, to embrace thus also our -dear children, as I love you. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -A thousand kisses to your dear parents; again my most profound wishes of -happiness for our dear Marie, and many kisses for my brothers and -sisters; and to all, without exception, whatever may be their suffering, -whatever may be their fearful grief, always courage! - - * * * * * - - -_10 August, 1897._ - -Dear Lucie: - -I have just at this instant received your three letters of the month of -June and all the letters from the family, and it is under the -impression, always keen, always poignant, that so many sweet souvenirs -evoke in me, so many appalling sufferings also, that I will answer. - -I will tell you once more, first all my profound affection, all my -immense tenderness, all my admiration, for your noble character; then I -will open all my soul to you, and I will tell you your duty, your -right, that right that you should renounce only with your life. And this -right, this duty, that is equally imprescriptible for my country as for -you, is to will it that the light shall shine full and entire upon this -horrible drama; it is to will without weakening, without boasting, but -with indomitable energy, that our name, the name that our dear children -bear, shall be washed free from this horrible stain. - -And this object, this end, you, Lucie, you all should attain it, like -good and valiant French men and women who are suffering martyrdom, but -not one of whom, no matter what bitter outrages he has suffered, has -ever forgotten his duty to his country for one single instant. And the -day when the light shall shine, when the whole truth shall be -revealed--as it must be, for neither time, patience, nor effort of the -will should be counted in working for such an end--ah, well! if I am no -longer with you, it will be for you to wash my name from this new -outrage, so undeserved, that nothing has ever justified; and I repeat -it, whatever may have been my sufferings, however atrocious may have -been the tortures inflicted upon me--tortures that I cannot forget, -tortures that can be excused only by the passions that sometimes lead -men astray--I have never forgotten that far above men, far above their -passions, far above their errors, is our country. It is she that will be -my final judge. - -To be an honest man does not wholly consist in being incapable of -stealing a hundred sous from the pocket of a neighbor; to be an honest -man, I say, is to be able always to see one’s reflection in that mirror -that forgets nothing, that sees everything, that knows everything; to -be able to see one’s self, in a word, in one’s conscience with the -certitude of having always and everywhere done one’s duty. That -certitude I have. - -Then, dear and good Lucie, do your duty bravely, pitilessly, as a good -and valiant Frenchwoman who is suffering martyrdom, but who is resolved -that the name she bears, the name that her children bear, shall be -cleansed from this horrible stain. The light must break out, it must -shine in all its brilliancy. The limitations of time should no longer be -anything to you. - -Indeed, I know too well that the sentiments that animate me are -cherished by you all; they are common to all of us, to your dear family -as to my own. - -I cannot speak to you of the children; besides, I know you too well to -doubt for one single instant the manner in which you will bring them up. -Never leave them; be with them always, heart and soul; listen to them -always, however importunate may be their questions. - -As I have often told you, to educate children is not merely to assure -their material life, nor even their intellectual life, but it is also to -assure to them the support that they should find in their parents, the -confidence with which the latter should inspire them, the certainty that -they should always have that there is one place where they can unburden -their hearts, where they can forget their pains, their sorrows, no -matter how little, how trivial they may sometimes appear. - -In these last lines I would put once more all my deep love for you, for -our dear children, for your dear parents, for you all, all those whom I -love from the bottom of my heart, for all the friends whose thoughts for -me I divine, whose unalterable devotion I know; and I would say to you -again and again, Courage, courage! I would tell you that nothing should -shake your will; that high above my life hovers the one supreme -care--the honor of my name, of the name you bear, the name our children -bear. - -I would embrace you with the ardent fire that animates my soul, the fire -that is to be extinguished only with my life. - -I embrace you from the depths of my heart, with all my strength, and so -also I embrace my dear, my adored children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -A thousand kisses for the dear children now and always. All my wishes of -happiness for Marie and her dear husband; and as many kisses for all my -dear brothers and sisters, for Lucie and Henri. - - * * * * * - - -_4 September, 1897._ - -Dear Lucie: - -I have just received your letters of July. You tell me again that you -have the certainty that the full light of day is soon to shine; this -certainty is in my soul; it is inspired by the right that every man has -to demand it, to will that he shall have it when he demands but one -thing--the truth. - -As long as I shall have the strength to live in a situation as inhuman -as it is undeserved, I shall continue to write to you, to inspire you by -my indomitable will. - -Indeed, the last letters I wrote to you are my moral will and testament. -I spoke to you in them first of all of our love. I confessed to you also -my physical and cerebral breaking down, but I spoke to you not less -energetically of your duty, the duty of you all. - -This grandeur of soul that you all have shown equally--let there be no -illusion about this--this grandeur of soul should be accompanied neither -by weakness nor by boasting. On the contrary, it should ally itself to a -determination each day more resolute, a determination that strengthens -with each hour of the day, to march on toward the goal--the discovery of -the truth, the whole truth, for all France. - -Truly, this wound sometimes bleeds too hard, and the heart rises in -revolt. Truly, worn out as I am, I often fall under the blows of the -sledge-hammer, and then I am no more than a poor human being, full of -agony and suffering; but my indomitable soul lifts me up quivering with -pain, with energy, with implacable desire for that that is most precious -in this world--our honor, the honor of our children, the honor of us -all. And then I brace myself anew to cry out to all men the thrilling -appeal of a man who asks, who wants, only justice. And then I come to -illume in you all the ardent fire that burns in my soul, that shall be -extinguished only with my life. - -As for me, I live only by my fever; for a long time I have lived on from -day to day, proud when I have been able to hold out through a long day -of twenty-four hours. I am subjected to the stupid and useless lot of -the man in the iron mask, because there is always that same afterthought -lingering in the mind, I told you so, frankly, in one of my last -letters. - -As for you, you must not pay any attention either to what any one says -or to what any one thinks. You have your duty to do unflinchingly, and -it is incumbent upon you, and to resolve not less unflinchingly, to have -your right, the right of justice and of truth. Yes, the light must -shine out. I put my thought in a few words; but if there are in this -horrible affair other interests than ours--interests that we have never -misunderstood--there are also the imprescriptible rights of justice and -of truth; there is for us both, for all, the duty, while we respect all -these interests, of bringing to an end a situation so atrocious, so -unmerited. - -I can then but hope for both of us, for all, that our martyrdom is to -have an end. - -Now what can I say further to express this profound, this immense love -for you, for our children, to express my affection for your dear -parents, for all our brothers and sisters, for all who suffer this -appalling, this long drawn-out martyrdom? - -To speak at length of myself, of all my little affairs, is useless. I do -it sometimes in spite of myself, for the heart has irresistible revolts; -bitterness, do what I will, mounts from my heart to my lips when I see -that everything is misunderstood, everything that goes to make life -noble and beautiful; and, truly, were it a question of my own self only, -long ago would I have gone to search in the peace of the tomb for -forgetfulness of all that I have seen, of all that I have heard, of all -that I see each day. - -I have lived in order to sustain you, to sustain you all, with my -indomitable will; for it is no longer a question of my life, it is a -question of my honor, of the honor of us all, of the life of our -children. - -I have borne everything without flinching, without lowering my head; I -have stifled my heart; I curb each day the revolts of my being, urging -you all again and again to demand the truth, without lassitude as -without boasting. - -But I hope for us both, my poor beloved, for us all, that the efforts, -either of one or of another, may soon bring about their result; that the -day of justice may at last dawn for us all, who have waited for it so -long. - -Each time I write to you I hardly can lay down my pen, not that I have -anything to tell you, ... but because I am again about to leave you for -long days, living only in my thoughts of you, of the children, of you -all. - -So I will end by embracing you and my dear children, your dear parents, -all of our dear brothers and sisters, in pressing you in my arms with -all my strength, and repeating with an energy that nothing can weaken, -so long as the breath of life is in my body, “Courage, courage and -determination!” - -A thousand kisses more. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -And for you all, dear parents, and dear brothers and sisters, courage -and indomitable will that nothing should shake, that nothing should -weaken. - - * * * * * - - -_2 October, 1897._ - -My dear Lucie: - -I have just received your dear letters of August, also a few from the -family. - -I wish with you, for you, for us all, that the light of justice may -shine at last and that we may at last perceive the end of our martyrdom, -that has been as long drawn out as it has been appalling. - -Indeed, I have already told you in long letters that neither my faith -nor my courage had been nor shall ever be shaken, for, on one hand, I -know that you will all energetically fulfill your duty, and that you -will not less inflexibly be resolved to gain your right--the right of -justice and of truth; and, on the other hand, I know that if there is -any imprescriptible duty devolving upon my country, it is to bring the -full light of truth to bear upon this tragic story, to repair this -terrible error. - -In fact, very often, in so far as my human weakness has permitted -me--for if one can be a stoic in the face of death--and I have often -called on death from the bottom of my heart--it is difficult to be one -through all the minutes of an agony that is as long drawn out as it is -undeserved--I have hidden my horrible distress under such tortures to -sustain you, to keep you from fainting, from bending in your turn under -all the weight of such suffering. - -If for several months I have no longer hidden anything from you, it has -been because I think that you ought always to be prepared for -everything, drawing from the duties which as a mother you must perform -heroically, invincibly, the force to bear everything with a firm and -valiant heart, with the unshakable determination to wash the infamous -stain from the name you bear, that our children bear. - -Now, we have had enough of all this, haven’t we, darling? Leave their -fears, their suspicions, with those who have them. If my soul is always -valiant and will remain so to my last breath, everything within me is -worn out; my heart swells to bursting not only for past tortures, but to -see that you misunderstand me on this point. My brain reels and totters, -at the mercy of the least shock, the most petty of events. Besides, as -I have told you already, my long letters are too clearly the equally -intimate and heartfelt expression of my sentiments and of my immutable -will for it to be necessary for me to return to it. They are my moral -will and testament. - -Therefore, my dear Lucie, for your own sake, for us all, you must always -do your duty, be resolved to gain your right--the right of justice and -of truth--until the full light shines out; until all France is -convinced--and she must be--whether I should live or die; for, like -Banquo’s ghost, I should come out of my tomb to cry to you all with all -my soul, always and again, “Courage, courage!” to remind my country, who -thus tortures me, who sacrifices me--I dare to say it, for no human -brain could resist so long such an appalling situation, and it is only -by a miracle that I have been able to resist until now--to remind my -country that she has a duty to fulfill, and that that duty is to throw a -refulgent light upon this sad tragedy, to repair this frightful error -that has endured for so long. - -Therefore, darling, be sure of it, you are to have your day of refulgent -glory, of supreme joy; be it by your own efforts, be it by the efforts -of our country, who will fulfill all her duty; and if I am not to be -there, what would you have, darling? There are victims of state--and -truly the situation is too hard to bear--by far too heavy for the length -of time that I have borne it--and, well, Pierre will represent me! - -I shall not speak of the children; indeed, I already did so at length in -my letters of August; and then I know you too well to have any anxiety -in regard to them. You will embrace them with all my strength, with all -my soul. I must leave you, although it always is a great grief to me to -tear away from your presence, so short, so fleeting, is this moment that -I pass with you. - -I embrace you as I love you, with all my strength, with all the power of -my love, as I embrace our dear children, while I repeat to you always, -Courage, courage! and while I wish that all this suffering may have at -last an end. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -My best kisses to your dear parents, to all of our family; my wishes of -condolence to Arthur and to Lucie; I do not feel that I have the courage -to write to them. - - * * * * * - - -_22 October, 1897._ - -My dear and good Lucie: - -Should I listen only to my heart I should write to you at every instant, -at every hour in the day; for my thoughts cannot detach themselves from -you, from our dear children, from all; but it would be only to repeat -the expressions of our common grief, and there are no more words to -describe this martyrdom--so long! - -In the letters that I have written to you I have expressed my thoughts, -my determination, that determination that I know to be your own, that of -every one of you, independent of my sufferings, of my life; there have -been also in my letters, it is true, cries of sorrow, for when I suffer -night and day, even more for you and for our children than for myself, -my brain takes fire; and as if there were not enough in my own tortures, -the climate at this time of year is sufficient in itself alone. And, -indeed, the heart has need to give vent to its anguish, the human being -to cry out its distress, its weakness. - -But do not let us dwell upon all that. What I wish to tell you is this: -you must demand light on this tragic story; you must have the will to -pursue inflexibly, without boasting, without passion, but with the -unshakable conviction of your rights; with your heart of a wife, of a -mother, horribly mutilated and wounded, with an energy and a will -increasing each day in proportion to your sufferings. - -So, to-day, while I await your dear letters I wish only to embrace you -with all my heart, with all my strength, as I love you, as I embrace -also our dear children, to hope, as always, that our terrible martyrdom -may at last have an end; yes, and to repeat to you always, a thousand -and a thousand times, Courage! - -A thousand kisses more. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_4 November, 1897._ - -My dear and good Lucie: - -I have just at this moment received your letters. Words, my good -darling, are powerless to express what poignant emotions the sight of -your dear writing awakes in my heart; and, indeed, it is these -sentiments of powerful affection that this emotion awakens in me that -give me the strength to wait until the supreme day when the truth shall -be made clear concerning this sad and terrible drama. - -Your letters breathe such a sentiment of confidence that they have -brought serenity to my heart, that is suffering so much for you, for our -dear children. - -You tell me, poor darling, not to think, not to try to understand. Oh, -try to understand! I have never done that; it is impossible for me. But -how can I stop my thoughts? All that I can do is, as I have told you, to -try to wait for the supreme day of truth. - -During the last months I wrote you long letters, in which I poured out -my over-burdened heart. What would you? For three years I have seen -myself the toy of events to which I am a stranger, having never deviated -from the absolute rule of conduct that I had imposed upon myself, that -my conscience as a loyal soldier devoted to his country had imposed upon -me. Even in spite of yourself the bitterness mounts from the heart to -the lips; anger sometimes takes you by the throat and you cry out in -pain. - -Formerly I swore never to speak of myself, to close my eyes to -everything, because for me, as for you, for us all, there can be but one -supreme consolation--that of truth, of unshrouded light. - -But while my too long sufferings, the appalling situation, the climate, -which by its own power alone makes the brain burn--while all this -combined has not made me forget a single one of my duties, it has ended -by leaving me in a state of cerebral and nervous erethismus that is -terrible. I understand thoroughly, too, my good darling, that you cannot -give me details. In affairs like this, where grave interests are at -stake, silence is necessary, obligatory. - -I chatter on to you, though I have nothing to tell you; but all this -does me good, it rests my heart and relaxes the tension of my nerves. -Truly, my heart often is shrivelled with poignant grief when I think of -you, of our children; and then I ask myself what I can have committed -upon this earth that those whom I love the most, those for whom I would -give my blood, drop by drop, should be tried by such awful agony. But -even when the too full cup overflows, it is from the dear thought of -you, from the thought of the children--the thought that makes all my -being vibrate and tremble, that exalts it to its greatest heights--from -this thought that I draw the power to rise from the depths of despair, -to send out the thrilling cry of a man who has begged for so long for -himself, for those he loves, only for justice and truth--nothing but -truth. - -I have summed up my resolution clearly, and I know that that -determination is your own, that of all of you, and that nothing has ever -been able to overcome it. - -It is this feeling, associated with all my duties, that has made me -live; it is this feeling also that has made me ask once more for you, -for you all, every co-operation, a more powerful effort than ever on the -part of all in a simple work of justice and of reparation, by rising -above all question of individuals, above all passions. - -May I still tell you of all my affection? It is needless, is it not? for -you know it; but what I wish to tell you again is this, that the other -day I re-read all your letters in order that I might pass some of the -too long minutes near a loving heart, and an immense sentiment of wonder -arose in me for your dignity and your courage. If the trial found in -great misfortunes is the touchstone of noble souls, then, oh, my -darling, yours is one of the most beautiful and the most noble souls of -which it is possible to dream. - -You must thank M---- for his few words; all that I can tell him is in -your heart as it is in mine. - -Then, my darling, always and again, Courage! As I told you before my -departure from France a long time ago, alas! a very long time, our own -selves should be entirely secondary; our children are the future; there -must remain no spot upon their name; no cloud must hover, not even the -very smallest, over their dear heads. This thought should dominate all -else. - -I embrace you, as I love you, with all my strength, as also our dear and -adored children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_24 November, 1897._ - -Dear Lucie: - -All these months I have written you many long letters, in which my -oppressed heart has unburdened itself of all our too long-endured common -sorrow. It is impossible to disengage the mind from its _ego_ at all -times; to rise above the sufferings of every instant. It is impossible -that all my being should not quiver, should not cry aloud with anguish -at the thought of all you suffer, at the thought of our dear children; -and if when I fall I again and again raise myself up, it is to send -forth the thrilling appeal for you, for them. - -Though my body, my brain, my heart, everything, is worn out, my soul -remains intangible, ever ardent, its determination unshaken and strong -in the right of every human being to have justice and truth for himself, -for those who belong to him. - -And the duty of every one is to co-operate in every effort, by every -means, toward this single object--justice and reparation; to put an end -at last to this appalling and too long-continued martyrdom of so many -human creatures. - -I wish, therefore, my good darling, that our terrible tortures may soon -be ended. - -I have received during the month letters from your dear parents from all -our family. I have answered them. - -My best kisses to all. - -And for you, for our children, all the tenderness of my heart, all my -love, all my thoughts, that never leave you for one single instant. - -A thousand kisses more. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_6 December, 1897._ - -My dear and good Lucie: - -I cannot let the mail leave without writing to you, to repeat to you -always, it is true, the same words. - -As I have told you, for long months I have lived only by an incredible -tension of the nerves, of the will; and it is when I fall under the -weight of my sufferings that the thought of you, that of the children, -lifts me up quivering with grief, with determination, before that which -we hold most precious in this world--our honor, the honor of our -children, of us all. And then I send out again the thrilling cries for -help, the cries of a man who from the first day of this sad tragedy has -begged for nothing but the truth. - -Here, then, is a work of justice far above all passions, a duty that -devolves upon all, and it must be accomplished. I wish, indeed, for both -our sakes, my good darling, that it may be accomplished at last; that -our terrible and too long torment may soon be ended. - -I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my affection, and -our dear, our adored children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -My best kisses to your dear parents, to all our family. - - * * * * * - - -_25 December, 1897._ - -My dear Lucie: - -More often than ever I have terrible moments, when my reason totters; -this is why I am come to talk to you now, not to speak of myself, but to -give you still, as always, counsels as to what I believe you ought to -do. - -In a situation as tragic as ours, when the question in point is the -honor of a family, the life of our children, you must always, my good -darling, rise still higher above all; you must put aside from the -question all thought of individuals, all irritating subjects, and you -must call to your side every aid, every kind heart. - -I know better than any one that at times this will be difficult; it is -impossible not to feel our wounds; but we must do it. It is not a -question of humiliating ourselves nor abasing ourselves; but, on the -other hand, we must not throw away our energy in useless outcries; cries -are not reasons. - -We must simply stand fast, and will it that our right shall be yielded -to us, the right of innocence. You must assert your will, energetically, -without weakness, with dignity; you must act from your heart of a wife -and mother, a heart horribly torn and wounded. - -I have suffered too much. I have too often been stunned, felled by their -sledge-hammers, to have been able to act in this way myself, although -it is the only sane and reasonable line of conduct. And it is just -because often I do not know where I am, because the hours weigh so -heavily upon me, that I long to pour out my heart to you. - -All through this month I have again made numerous and passionate appeals -for you, for our children. I want to wish that this appalling martyrdom -may have an end; I want to wish that we may come out of this terrible -nightmare, in which we have lived so long; but that which I cannot -doubt, that which I have not the right to doubt, is that all -co-operation is to be given you; that this work of justice and of -reparation is to be pursued and accomplished. And now to sum it all up, -my darling, what I would tell you in a supreme effort, by which I set my -own self totally aside, is that you must sustain your rights -energetically, for it is appalling to see so many human beings suffer -thus; for we must think of our unhappy children, who are growing up; but -we must not bring any passion, we must not allow any irritating -questions to enter in, any question of individuals. - -I will not speak to you again of my love, when your dear image, that of -our children, rises before my eyes, and perhaps there is not a single -minute when this vision is not with me; then I feel my heart beat as if -to burst, as if it were full of tears repressed. - -And a supreme cry rises from my heart in all the minutes of my long -days, of my long, sleepless nights; if it is a supreme cry that will be -lifted in my last hour, it is also an appeal to all to make one great -effort for justice and for truth; that all this ardent and devoted aid -may be given you, this aid that all men of heart and honor owe to you. - -This appeal, as I have told you, I recently made again, and I cannot -doubt that it will be heard, so I will say again to you, Courage! - -In these last lines I would now put all my heart, all that it enfolds of -love for you, for our children, for all; I would tell you that in my -worst moments of anguish it is these thoughts that have saved me, that -have made me escape from the tomb for which I had longed, that have made -me try once more to do my duty. - -I embrace you with all my heart. I want to press you in my arms, as I -love you, to ask you to embrace most tenderly our dear and adored -children, in a long embrace, and your dear parents, all my dear brothers -and sisters. - -A thousand kisses more. - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_6 January, 1898._ - -Dear Lucie: - -I have not yet received your letters of October nor your letters of -November. The last news I had of you dates back, therefore, to -September. - -I shall speak to you less than ever of myself, less than ever of our -sufferings. No human word can lessen them. I wrote to you some days ago; -I was in such a state that I do not remember one word that I said to -you. - -But if I am totally worn out, body and mind, my soul is always ardent, -and I want to come into your presence to speak words that ought to -sustain your steadfast courage. I have put our fate, the fate of our -children, the fate of innocent creatures who, for more than three years, -have been struggling with unbelievable trials, into the hands of the -President of the Republic, into the hands of the Minister of War, -asking for an end at last to our appalling martyrdom; I have put the -defence of our rights into the hands of the Minister of War, whose duty -it is to have repaired, at last, this long-enduring and appalling error. - -I am waiting impatiently. I want to wish that I may yet have a minute of -happiness upon this earth; but what I have no right to doubt for one -instant is that justice will be done, that justice will be done you and -our children, that you will have your day of supreme happiness. - -I repeat to you, then, with all the strength of my soul, “Courage, -courage!” I embrace you as I love you, with all my strength, with all -the power of my affection, as I embrace our dear and adored children. - -ALFRED. - -A thousand kisses to your dear parents, to all I love. - - * * * * * - - -_9 January, 1898._ - -After long and terrible waiting I have just received, altogether, the -mails of October and November. - -I need not tell you what indescribable emotion seizes me when I read the -letters of those whom I love so much, of those for whom I would give my -blood, drop by drop; of those for whose sake I live. - -Had I thought, darling, of myself alone, long ago should I have been in -my grave; it is the thought of you, the thought of our children, that -sustains me, that lifts me up when I am bowed under the weight of so -much suffering. I told you in my last letters all that I have done, of -all the appeals that I have again made for you and for our children. - -If the light that we have awaited for more than three years is not shown -now, it will shine forth in a future that we know not. - -As I told you in one of my letters, our children are growing; their -situation, that of us all, is terrible; the situation I am supporting -only by supreme effort is becoming absolutely impossible to bear. That -is why I have placed our lot, our children’s lot, in the hands of the -Minister of War, asking that at last an end may be made of our appalling -martyrdom. That is why I have again asked the Minister of War to restore -to us our honor. - -I await his answer with the greatest impatience, and I am hoping that -this appalling torment may have at last an end. - -I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my love, with all my -tenderness, as also I embrace our adored children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -A thousand kisses to your dear parents, to all our family. - - * * * * * - - -_25 January, 1898._ - -My dear and good Lucie: - -I shall not write to you at length to-day; I suffer too deeply for you -and for our children; I feel too keenly all your appalling anguish, your -frightful martyrdom. At the very thought of it my heart beats heavily, -as if weighed down by unshed tears. No human word could lessen the -horror of your anguish. - -I told you in my last letters what I had done; during the last few days -I have renewed my appeals; the light we have so long waited for is not -yet seen; it will be seen only in a future that no one can foretell. The -situation is terrible, terrible for you, for the children, for all. As -for me, it is needless for me to tell you what it is. - -I have asked the President of the Republic, the Minister of War, and -General de Boisdeffre for my rehabilitation, for a new trial. I have put -the fate of so many innocent victims, the fate of our children, into -their hands; I have entrusted the future of our children to General de -Boisdeffre. I await their answer with feverish impatience, with all that -remains to me of my strength. - -I want to hope that there may yet be one minute of happiness for me upon -this earth; but what I have not the right to doubt is that justice shall -be done, that justice shall be done to you at least--to you, to our -children. I say to you, then, “Courage and Confidence!” - -I embrace you as I love you, with all that my heart contains of deep -affection for you, for our adored children, for your dear parents, for -all our friends. - -A thousand kisses more from your devoted - -ALFRED. - - * * * * * - - -_26 January, 1898._ - -My dear Lucie: - -In the last letters that I wrote to you I told you what I had done; to -whom I had entrusted our fate, the fate of our children; what appeals I -had sent forth. It is needless to tell you with what anxiety I am -awaiting an answer; how heavy the moments have become to me. But my -thoughts, day and night, yearn so toward you, toward our children, that -I want to write to you again to give you the counsels which I ought to -give you. - -I have read and re-read all of your letters, and the letters from home, -and I believe that for a long time we have been living in a -misconception of facts; this misunderstanding comes from different -causes (your letters were often enigmas to me)--the absolute secrecy in -which I live, the state of my brain, the blows that have been struck me -without my understanding them, acts of stupidity that may also have been -committed. - -But this is the situation as I understand it, and I think that I am not -far from the truth. I believe that General de Boisdeffre has never been -averse to rendering us justice. We, deeply wounded, ask him to give us -light upon this mystery. It has been no more in his power to give us -light than it was in ours to procure it for ourselves; it will shine out -in a future that no one can foresee. - -Some minds have probably been soured; it may be that awkwardnesses have -been committed, I cannot tell; all this has envenomed a situation -already so atrocious. We must go back to the beginning, and raise -ourselves above all our sufferings in order that we may look clearly -into our situation. - -Well, I, who have been for more than three years the greatest victim, -the victim of everything and of every one; I who am here, almost dying -of agony, I have just given you the counsels of prudence, of calmness, -that I think I ought to give you, oh, without abandoning any of my -rights, without weakness, but also without boasting. - -As I have told you, it has not been in the power of General de -Boisdeffre any more than it has been in your power to throw light upon -this mystery; it will shine in a future that no one can foresee. - -Therefore I have simply asked General de Boisdeffre for my -rehabilitation; to put an end to our appalling martyrdom, for it is -inadmissible that you should undergo such torture, that our children -should grow up dishonored by a crime that I could never have committed. - -I await the answer to my letters with all the strength that is left to -me. I count the hours, I almost count the minutes. - -I do not know if his answer will reach me soon; I know still less how I -keep alive, so extreme is my cerebral and nervous exhaustion; but if I -should succumb before that time comes, if I should faint under the -atrocious burden that I have borne so long, I leave it to you, as your -absolute duty, to go yourself to General de Boisdeffre, and, after the -letters which I wrote to him, the desire which, I am sure of it, is in -the bottom of his heart to grant us rehabilitation, when you (_sic_) -will have realized that the discovery of the truth is a task that will -take a long time, that it is impossible to foresee when it will be -accomplished, I have no doubt that he will grant you, immediately, a new -trial; that he will at once put an end to a situation as atrocious for -you as it is for our children. I hope, too, that over my grave he will -bear witness not only to the loyalty of my past conduct, but to the -absolute loyalty of my conduct for the last three years, when, under all -my sufferings, under all my tortures, I have never forgotten what I have -been--a soldier, loyal and devoted to his country. I have accepted all, -I have undergone all with closed lips. I do not boast of it, for I have -done only my duty, nothing but my duty. - -I leave you with regret, for my thoughts are with you, with our -children, night and day; for this thought of you is all that keeps me -yet alive, and I should like to come and talk like this at every instant -of my long days and my long, sleepless nights. - -I can only repeat this wish: it is that all this sorrow may have at last -an end, that this infernal torture of all the minutes may soon be over; -but if you do as I have told you, as it is your duty to do, since I -command it, I have no doubt that you shall come to see the end of your -appalling martyrdom, the martyrdom of our children. - -I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my love; I embrace -also our dear and adored children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -Kisses to your dear parents, to all. - - * * * * * - - -_4 February, 1898._ - -Dear Lucie: - -I have nothing to add to the numerous letters that I have written to you -during the past two months; all this medley of confusion may be summed -up in a few words: I have appealed to the high justice of the President -of the Republic, to that of the Government, in asking for a new trial, -for the life of our children, for the end of this appalling martyrdom. - -I have made an appeal to the loyalty of the men who caused me to be -condemned, to bring about this new trial. I am waiting feverishly, but -with confidence, to learn that at last our terrible suffering is to -have an end. - -I embrace you as I love you, as I embrace our dear children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -A thousand kisses to your dear parents, to all our friends. - - * * * * * - - -_7 February, 1898._ - -Dear Lucie: - -I have just received your dear letters of December, and my heart is -breaking; it is rent by the consciousness of so much unmerited -suffering. I have told you that the thought of you, of the children, -always raises me up, quivering with anguish, with a supreme -determination, from the thought of all that we hold most precious in the -world--our honor, that of our children--to utter this cry of appeal, -that grows more and more thrilling--the cry of a man who asks nothing -but justice for himself and those he loves, and who has the right to ask -it. - -For the last three months, in fever and in delirium, suffering martyrdom -night and day for you, for our children, I have addressed appeal on -appeal to the Chief of the State, to the Government, to those who caused -me to be condemned, to the end that I may obtain justice after all my -torment, an end to our terrible martyrdom; and I have not been answered. - -To-day I am reiterating my former appeals to the Chief of the State and -to the Government, with still more energy, if that could be; for you -must be no longer subjected to such a martyrdom; our children must not -grow up dishonored; I can no longer agonize in a black hole for an -abominable crime that I did not commit. And now I am waiting; I expect -each day to hear that the light of truth is to shine for us at last. - -I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my love; also our -dear and adored children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -A thousand, thousand kisses to your dear parents, to all our family. - - * * * * * - - -_25 February, 1898._ - -Dear Lucie: - -Our thoughts are in harmony; my thought does not leave you for one -single instant day or night; and should I listen only to my heart I -should write to you each moment, every hour. - -If you are the echo of my sufferings, I am the echo of yours, of the -sufferings of you all. I doubt that human beings have ever suffered -more. The thought of you, of the children, and my longing always -outstretched toward you, toward them, still always give me the strength -to compress my bursting brain, to restrain my heart. - -I have written you numerous letters in these last months; to add -anything to these letters would be superfluous. I have told you all the -appeals I have addressed since November last--appeals in which I ask for -my rehabilitation, for justice for so many innocent victims. - -In one of my last letters I told you that I had just addressed a last -appeal to the Government, an appeal more earnest, more energetic than -any that I had made before. So I am waiting, expecting day by day to -learn that this rehabilitation has taken place, that our tortures, as -appalling as they were unmerited, are to end; that the light of justice -shines at last. I wish, therefore, to-day only to embrace you with all -my strength, with all my heart, as I love you; so, also, I embrace our -dear children. - -Your devoted -ALFRED. - -A thousand, thousand kisses to your dear parents, to all our dear -relations, to all our dear brothers and sisters. - - * * * * * - - -_5 March, 1898._ - -Dear Lucie: - -I have just received your dear letters of January. Your letters are -always wonderfully equal in spirit, in feeling, and in elevation of -soul. I shall not add anything to the long letters I have written to you -during the last three months; the last were perhaps nervous, overflowing -with impatience, with pain, with suffering; but all this is too -appalling, and there have been responsibilities to establish. - -I will not go over and over my thoughts indefinitely. After explaining -the details of a situation as tragic as it is undeserved, a situation -that has been so long borne by so many victims, I ask and ask again my -rehabilitation of the Government, and now I am expecting each day to -learn that the light of justice is at last to shine for us. - -I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my love, as I -embrace also our dear children. - -My fondest love to all our friends. - -ALFRED. - - - - -APPENDIX - - - - -ADDITIONAL LETTERS - - -A.--1898-99 - -On September 24, 1898, Dreyfus addressed a piteous letter to the -Governor of French Guiana, saying that all his appeals had met with no -response. It was at this period that he lost all hope. In early November -he received a letter from his wife which, although giving not the -slightest intimation of the stirring events in Paris, was in cheerful -tone. He thought that it referred to his letter of September 24, and at -once became encouraged. After more than two months’ silence he wrote to -her again. He spoke of the good news contained in his wife’s letter, -repeated that he was waiting the answer to his petition with confidence, -and then he said: - - “So when you receive this letter everything will, I think, be - finished, and your happiness will be complete. But in these days of - relief and felicity which will follow so many days of pain and - suffering, I would that my thought, my heart, all that is living in - me, which has not left you during those four terrible years, may - again reach you, to add, if possible, to your joy until we can at - least resume that happy and quiet life to which your natural - qualities entitled you, and which you now deserved more than ever - owing to the greatness of your soul, to the nobility of your - character, to all the most beautiful qualities which a woman can - display under such tragic circumstances--qualities which suffering - has only developed, and which have proved to me that there was no - ideal here below to which a woman’s soul could not rise, and which - she could not surpass. It is in our mutual affection, in that of - our dear and beloved children, in the satisfaction of our - consciences, and in the feeling that we have done our duty, that we - shall forget our long trials. I do not insist. Such emotion is - great. I tremble at it; but it is lovely, as it elevates. So until - the decisive news of my rehabilitation arrives I am going to live - more than ever in thought with you, with all, sharing your common - joy.” - - * * * * * - -At length Dreyfus was officially informed of the first decision of the -Court of Cassation. Writing to his wife on November 25, he said: - -“My dear Lucie: - - “In the middle of the month I was told that the petition for the - revision of my judgment had been declared acceptable by the Court - of Cassation, and was invited to produce my means of defence. I - took the necessary measures immediately. My requests were at once - transmitted to Paris, and you must have been informed of this some - days ago. Events must therefore be moving rapidly. In thought I am - night and day, as always, with you, with our children, with all, - sharing our joy at seeing the end of this fearful drama approaching - rapidly. Words become powerless to describe such deep emotions.... - According to information which I sent you in the last mail, all - will be over in the course of December. Therefore, when these lines - reach you I shall be almost on the point of starting for France.” - -Here are touching passages from his letter of December 26. After telling -his “_chère et bonne_ Lucie”--he almost invariably addresses her -thus--that, with the exception of the telegram, to which he at once -replied, he had not heard from her for two months until he got a letter -a few days ago, he went on to explain that if he had for a moment closed -his correspondence, this was because he was awaiting the reply to his -petition for the revision of his judgment, and should only have repeated -himself: - - “If my voice had ceased to make itself heard, this would have been - because it had forever died away. If I have lived, it has been for - my honor, which is my property and the patrimony of our children; - it has been for my duty, which I have done everywhere and always; - and as it must ever be accomplished when a man has right and - justice on his side, without fear of anything or of anybody. When - one has behind one a past devoted to duty, a life devoted to honor, - when one has never known but one language, that of truth, one is - strong, I assure you, and atrocious though fate may have been, one - must have a soul lofty enough to dominate it until it bows before - one. Let us, therefore, await with confidence the decision of the - Supreme Court, as we await with confidence the decision of the new - judges before whom this decision will send me. At the same time as - your letter I have received a copy of the petition for revision, - and of the decree of the Court of Cassation, declaring it - acceptable. I read with wonderful emotion the terms of your - petition, in which you expressed admirably, as I had already done - in mine, the feelings by which I am animated in asking that an end - shall be put to the punishment of an innocent man--I may add to - that, of a noble woman, of her children, of two families, of an - innocent man who had always been a loyal soldier, who has not - ceased, even in the midst of the horrible sufferings of unmerited - chastisement, to declare his love for his native land.” - - * * * * * - -Always confident in the eventual result, Dreyfus wrote on February 8, -1899: - - “Although I think, as I told you, that the end of our horrible - martyrdom is nigh, what does it matter if there is a little delay? - The object is everything, and until the day when I can clasp you in - my arms I would have you know my thoughts, which never leave you, - which have watched night and day over you and our children. - Besides, the letter which I wrote to you on December 26 or 27 was - too deep, too adequate an expression of my thoughts, of my - invincible will, and of my feelings, for me to add a single word to - it.” - - * * * * * - -Pending the receipt of the news of his rehabilitation, he sends his love -to all their relatives. The latest letter, dated February 25, runs thus: - -“My dear and good Lucie: - - “A few lines, as I can only repeat myself, that you may still hear - the same words of firmness and dignity until the day when I am - informed of the end of this terrible judicial drama. I can well - imagine, as you tell me so yourself, what joy you feel in reading - my letters. I am sure that it is equal to my pleasure in perusing - yours. It is a bit of one which reaches the other, pending the - blessed moment when we are at last reunited. My thoughts, which - have never left you a moment, which have watched night and day over - you and our children, are always with you. I very often speak - mentally to you, but they are always the same ideas and feelings of - which I also find the echo in your letters, as all this is common - to us since these same thoughts and sentiments are the common - property, the innate basis of all loyal souls and of all honest - characters. It is with a reassured and confident mind that I must - leave to the high authority of the Court the care of the - accomplishment of its noble work of supreme justice. Pending the - news of my rehabilitation, I embrace you with all my strength, with - all my soul, as I love you and our dear and adored children. - -Your devoted -“ALFRED.” - - - - * * * * * - -It was soon after this he wrote the following letter to his little son: - -“My dear Pierre: - - “I have received your nice little letter. You wish me to write to - you. I shall soon do better; I shall soon press you in my arms. - Pending this good and sweet moment you will embrace your mamma for - me, as well as grandpapa, grandma, little Jeanne, the uncles and - aunts, all, in fact. Hearty kisses to you and little Jeanne, from - your affectionate father. - -ALFRED.” - - - -This letter, quite exceptionally, does not bear the stamp of the penal -administration. - - -B.--HIS OWN STATEMENT OF THE CASE - -Here is a letter that was received by Maître Demange, the counsel of -Dreyfus, from his client, December 31, 1894. It was first made public -when sent to M. Sarrien, Minister of Justice, July 11, 1898. In the -published copy it was deemed necessary to suppress certain words and -phrases: - - “Commandant du Paty came to-day, Monday, December 31, 1894, at 5.30 - P.M., after the rejection of my appeal, to ask me, on behalf of the - Minister, whether I had not, perhaps, been the victim of my - imprudence, whether I had not meant merely to lay a bait ... and - had then found myself caught fatally in the trap. I replied that I - had never had relations with any agent or attaché, ... that I had - undertaken no such process as baiting, and that I was innocent. He - then said to me on his own responsibility that he was himself - convinced of my guilt, first from an examination of the handwriting - of the document brought up against me, and from the nature of the - documents enumerated therein; secondly, from information according - to which the disappearance of documents corresponded with my - presence on the General Staff; that, finally, a secret agent had - declared that a Dreyfus was a spy, ... without, however, affirming - that that Dreyfus was an officer. I asked Commandant du Paty to be - confronted with this agent. He replied that it was impossible. - Commandant du Paty acknowledged that I had never been suspected - before the reception of the incriminating document. - - “I then asked him why there had been no surveillance exercised over - the officers from the month of February, since Commandant Henry - had affirmed at the court-martial that he had been warned at that - date that there was a traitor among the officers. Commandant du - Paty replied that he knew nothing about that business, that it was - not his affair, but Commandant Henry’s; that it was difficult to - watch all the officers of the General Staff.... Then, perceiving - that he had said too much, he added: ‘We are talking between four - walls. If I am questioned on all that I shall deny everything.’ I - preserved entire calmness, for I wished to know his whole idea. To - sum up, he said that I had been condemned because there was a clue - indicating that the culprit was an officer and the seized letter - came to give precision to that clue. He added, also, that since my - arrest the leakage at the Ministry had ceased; that, perhaps, ... - had left the letter about expressly to sacrifice me, in order not - to satisfy my demands. - - “He then spoke to me of the remarkable expert testimony of M. - Bertillon, according to which I had traced my own handwriting and - that of my brother in order to be able in case I should be arrested - with the letter on me to protest that it was a conspiracy against - me. He further intimated that my wife and family were my - accomplices--in short, the whole theory of M. Bertillon. At this - point, knowing what I wanted to discover, and not wishing to allow - him to insult my family as well, I stopped him, saying, ‘Enough; I - have only one word to say, namely, that I am innocent, and that - your duty is to continue your inquiries.’ ‘If you are really - innocent,’ he exclaimed, ‘you are undergoing the most monstrous - martyrdom of all time.’ ‘I am that martyr,’ I replied, ‘and I hope - the future will prove it to you.’ - - “To sum up, it results from this conversation: 1. That there have - been leakages at the Ministry. 2. That ... must have heard, and - must have repeated to Commandant Henry, that there was an officer - who was a traitor. I do not think he would have invented it of his - own accord. 3. That the incriminating letter was taken at.... From - all this I draw the following conclusions, the first certain, the - two others possible: First, a spy really exists ... at the French - Ministry, for documents have disappeared. Secondly, perhaps that - spy slipped in in an officer’s uniform, imitating his handwriting - in order to divert suspicion. Thirdly (here four lines and a half - are blank). This hypothesis does not exclude the fact No. 1, which - seems certain. But the tenor of the letter does not render this - third hypothesis very probable. It would be connected rather with - the first fact and the second hypothesis--that is to say, the - presence of a spy at the Ministry and imitation of my handwriting - by that spy, or simply resemblance of handwriting. - - “However this may be, it seems to me that if your agent is clever - he should be able to unravel this web by laying his nets as well on - the ... side as on the ... side. This will not prevent the - employment of all the other methods I have indicated, for the truth - must be discovered. After the departure of Commandant du Paty I - wrote the following letter to the Minister: ‘I received, by order, - the visit of Commandant du Paty, to whom I once more declared that - I was innocent, and that I had never even committed an imprudence. - I am condemned. I have no favor to ask. But in the name of my - honor, which I hope will one day be restored to me, it is my duty - to beg you to continue your investigations. When I am gone let the - search be kept up; it is the only favor that I solicit.’” - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[A] See Appendix A. - -[B] See Appendix B. - -[C] - - “Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing; - ’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands! - But he that filches from me my good name - Robs me of that which not enriches him, - And makes me poor indeed.” - - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTRES D'UN INNOCENT *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<table style='min-width:0; padding:0; margin-left:0; border-collapse:collapse'> - <tr><td>Title:</td><td>Lettres d'un Innocent</td></tr> - <tr><td></td><td>The Letters of Captain Dreyfus to His Wife</td></tr> -</table> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Alfred Dreyfus</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: L. G. Moreau</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March 06, 2021 [eBook #64720]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images available at The Internet Archive)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTRES D'UN INNOCENT ***</div> -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" height="550" alt="Image unavailable.]" /> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_1"> -<p><a name="FRONT" id="FRONT"></a></p> -<a href="images/ill_002.jpg"> -<img src="images/ill_002.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>CAPTAIN ALFRED DREYFUS</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_i" id="page_i">{i}</a></span></p> - -<div class="bboxx"> - -<p class="cun">Lettres d’un Innocent</p> - -<h1>THE LETTERS<br /> -<small><small>OF</small></small><br /> -CAPTAIN DREYFUS<br /><br /> -TO HIS WIFE</h1> - -<p class="c">TRANSLATED<br /><br /> -BY L. G. MOREAU<br /><br /> -WITH PORTRAITS<br /><br /> -<br /><br /> -NEW YORK AND LONDON<br /> -HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS<br /> -1899</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ii" id="page_ii">{ii}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="c"><small> -Copyright, 1899, by <span class="smcap">Harper & Brothers</span>.<br /> -<br /> -<i>All rights reserved.</i><br /></small> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iii" id="page_iii">{iii}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><td colspan="2"> </td><td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="2">Introduction, by Walter Littlefield</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_vii">vii</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="2">Letters of Captain Alfred Dreyfus:</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#page_1">I.</a></td><td><a href="#page_1">From the Prison du Cherche-Midi</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1">1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#page_30">II.</a></td><td><a href="#page_30">From the Prison of La Santé</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_30">30</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#page_56">III.</a></td><td><a href="#page_56">From Saint-Martin de Ré</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_56">56</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#page_79">IV.</a></td><td><a href="#page_79">From Îles du Salut</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_79">79</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Appendix:</td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#page_227">I.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#page_227">Later Letters from Captain Alfred Dreyfus to his Family</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_227">227</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#page_232">II.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#page_232">A Letter to his Counsel</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_232">232</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iv" id="page_iv">{iv}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_v" id="page_v">{v}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_1">CAPTAIN ALFRED DREYFUS</a></td><td class="rt"><i><a href="#FRONT">Frontispiece</a></i></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_2">CAPTAIN ALFRED DREYFUS</a> -<br /> <small>From a photograph taken on the occasion of his degradation</small> -</td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_48"><i>Facing p.</i> 48</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_3">MADAME ALFRED DREYFUS AND HER CHILDREN</a> </td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_176"> ” 176</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vi" id="page_vi">{vi}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vii" id="page_vii">{vii}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="DREYFUS_THE_MAN" id="DREYFUS_THE_MAN"></a>DREYFUS, THE MAN<br /><br /> -<small>BY WALTER LITTLEFIELD</small><br /><br /> -<small>Author of “The Truth About Dreyfus”</small></h2> - -<hr /> - -<p>In cases of high treason no less than in violations of the criminal code -the personal character of the accused has always had great weight with -French judges. In attempting to prove that Captain Alfred Dreyfus -carried on treasonable negotiations with a foreign power, M. -d’Ormescheville, in his Acte d’Accusation or indictment, laid great -stress on the information collected from the municipal police tending to -show that the prisoner was an habitual wrong-doer. The supposition that -as an Alsatian he might have entered the French army and remained there -with the patriotic and unselfish desire to serve Germany is treated with -secondary importance. It was the intention of the officer who served as -Juge d’Instruction to show that Dreyfus was criminally corrupt, and -hence was quite capable of being a traitor. Not only did the -semi-official press of Paris, in the winter of 1894-95, dwell upon those -acts that seemed intimately connected with the alleged treason, but they -delved into his domestic life. With diabolical frankness and in a -network of specious details they branded him profligate as well as -traitor. The Acte d’Accusation charges him with being a gambler and -libertine, unmindful of the well-being of his family, faithless to his -wife.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_viii" id="page_viii">{viii}</a></span></p> - -<p>For many weeks this most infamous campaign was kept up in the columns of -<i>L’Echo de Paris</i>, <i>Le Petit Journal</i>, <i>Le Gaulois</i>, <i>La Libre Parole</i>, -and <i>L’Intransigeant</i>. So varied in character and so ingenious in -conception were these libellous tales, that it became impossible for the -friends of the condemned man to make an adequate defense. Dreyfus’s -counsel, Maître Demange, heard the stories, and could do nothing. The -verdict of the court-martial closed the door to legal redress. The -devoted wife of Dreyfus at first attempted to reply to them in <i>Le -Figaro</i>. Parisians laughed at her <i>naïveté</i>. She was not the only -deceived wife in the world, they said. At length, wearied of the unequal -combat—one woman against a horde of anti-Semitic vilifiers—she gave to -the world a volume of letters written by her husband to herself. It was -her desire simply to show him as he was, to rehabilitate the prisoner as -a husband and a father in the eyes of Frenchmen. But “Les Lettres d’un -Innocent” have done more than this. To the women of France, at least, -they have established the innocence of the man. No one can read these -letters without being struck by the absolute sincerity of the writer; by -his love for his wife and his family, and for his country; by his -devotion to duty and to the traditions of the army whose heads had so -remorselessly sacrificed him; by the utter hopelessness of his position. -When, in the papers of January 6, 1895, the story of his dramatic -degradation was published to the world, the French people pretended to -see in his proud, fearless demeanor, as his uniform was stripped of -insignia and his sword broken before him, a criminal stoicism that would -have been impossible in an innocent man. Many English and American -readers recognized simply the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ix" id="page_ix">{ix}</a></span> final desperate appeal of an entirely -innocent man. The sentiment that was then aroused outside of France will -be emphasized by “Les Lettres d’un Innocent.” Although not destined to -have the judicial and logical weight of the testimony before the Cour de -Cassation, they have a sympathetic and persuasive significance that is -eminently human. The evidence before the Court proves that Dreyfus did -not write the <i>bordereau</i>. The letters convince one that he was -incapable of treason.</p> - -<p>The reader who expects to find in the epistles before us arguments -tending to prove the innocence of the writer will be disappointed. Even -if the prisoner actually attempted defense it was not allowed to pass -the censor. Only a persistent declaration of innocence will be found -here—a declaration that is repeated with awful and tragic monotony -until it smites the ear like the wail of an innocent soul in Dante’s -“Inferno.”</p> - -<p>As has been said, the conditions under which these letters were written -forbade the author to indulge in details concerning the circumstances of -his awful fate. Hence, for a fuller appreciation and a better -understanding of the emotions that moved the writer at given periods, -the following data must constantly be borne in mind: Dreyfus was -arrested October 15, 1894; his trial by court-martial began December 19 -of the same year and ended December 23. The condemned man was publicly -degraded January 5, 1895, and on the 9th day of the following February -the Chamber passed a law decreeing his place of confinement to be French -Guiana, in South America; in March he was transported thither.</p> - -<p>The prisoner wrote regularly to his wife until the spring of 1898, when -he became a victim of the conditions of his solitary position. In -September, 1898, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_x" id="page_x">{x}</a></span> bade a final adieu to his wife and children and -declared that he would write no more.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> He was beset with unconquerable -sadness. He complained to his physician, Dr. Veugnon, of Cayenne, of -mental exhaustion and insomnia. He was haunted by the “fixed idea” to -exculpate himself from the charge of treason. Yet he could only deny and -deny.</p> - -<p>He knew nothing of what was passing in Paris and in the world at large.</p> - -<p>On November 15, 1898, M. Darius, the Procureur Général of Cayenne, -entered the room occupied by the prisoner on the Ile du Diable and said -to him, “Dreyfus, the Cour de Cassation has decided to revise your case. -What have you to say?” Dreyfus seemed like one dazed. The day for which -he had so fervently prayed had come at last. Yet, according to his -inquisitor, this is what he replied: “I shall say nothing until I am -confronted by my accusers in Paris.” No further facts were revealed to -him, but, under the direction of the authorities in Paris, he was -interrogated at given periods. In the mean time he was left a prey to -strange conjectures concerning his ultimate fate. On July 3, 1899, he -was told that he was to be taken immediately to France to stand trial -before a new court-martial at Rennes. He had been a prisoner on the Ile -du Diable for more than fifty months.</p> - -<p>Alfred Dreyfus, captain in the 14th Artillery, was appointed to the -General Staff of the French Army in 1893. He was the first Jew to be so -honored. His record at the Chaptal College, at Sainte-Barbe, at the -Ecole Polytechnique, at the Ecole d’Application, at the Ecole de Guerre, -no less than his service in the 31st<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xi" id="page_xi">{xi}</a></span> Regiment of Artillery, in the 4th -Mounted Battery, and in the 21st Regiment of Artillery, shows that he -deserved the distinction. The words of praise that his chiefs then wrote -of him are in strange contrast with their later reflections.</p> - -<p>For years the Dreyfus family had been identified with large -manufacturing interests in Mulhouse, in Alsace. Alfred was one of four -brothers. When Germany took possession of the province as one of the -results of the Franco-Prussian War, the three younger brothers declared -for France, and were obliged to quit German territory; the eldest, who -had passed the age of military service, remained behind to look after -the business from which the brothers derived their income. It was -natural that they should have wished to remain Frenchmen. Had not France -emancipated the Jews forty years before they had the privileges of -Gentiles under the English law? Since disgrace has fallen upon their -family their enduring and emphasized patriotism is somewhat remarkable.</p> - -<p>It must not be supposed, on the one hand, that a long period of -suspicion was attached to Dreyfus before his melodramatic arrest in the -office of du Paty de Clam, or, on the other, that the unfortunate man -was the victim of an anti-Semitic plot created for the purpose of -ruining him. He was the victim of mistake before he became the martyr of -crime. The facts are simply these:</p> - -<p>In August, 1894, Commandant Comte Walsin-Esterhazy, who was carrying on -treasonable negotiations with the German Embassy in Paris, sent to -Lieutenant-Colonel von Schwarzkoppen some notes of information together -with a memorandum. This memorandum, or <i>bordereau</i>, fell into the hands -of a French spy. It was taken to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xii" id="page_xii">{xii}</a></span> Secret Intelligence Department. -Its importance as revealing the presence of a traitor who had access to -the secrets of the War Office was at once recognized. General Mercier, -then Minister of War, placed the investigation in the hands of -Commandant du Paty de Clam. Owing to the similarity between the -handwriting in the <i>bordereau</i> and that of Dreyfus, this officer was -suspected of being its author. He was arrested and taken to the military -prison of Cherche Midi. In the mean time, du Paty de Clam exhausted -every resource to find confirmatory evidence. In this he signally -failed. Nevertheless the indictment was drawn up.</p> - -<p>Commandant Forzinetti was in charge of Cherche Midi. His first -impression of the prisoner as deposed before the Cour de Cassation was -as follows:</p> - -<p>“I went to Captain Dreyfus. He was terribly excited. I had before me a -man bereft of reason, with bloodshot eyes. He had upset everything in -his room. I succeeded, after some trouble, in quieting him. I had an -intuition that this officer was innocent. He begged me to allow him -writing materials, so that he might ask the Minister of War to be heard -by him or by one of the general officers of the Ministry. He described -to me the details of his arrest, which were neither dignified nor -soldierly.”</p> - -<p>On October 24 Mercier asked Forzinetti what he thought of the prisoner’s -guilt. This was the reply: “They are evidently on a false scent. This -officer is not guilty.”</p> - -<p>Nearly every day du Paty de Clam visited Dreyfus and tried in every way -to force a confession from him.<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></p> - -<p>This was the position of Minister of War Mercier:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xiii" id="page_xiii">{xiii}</a></span> For months a campaign -had been carried on against him in the radical press. One fortunate act -would vindicate him—the conviction of a traitor. It is impossible that -he could have long entertained a belief in the guilt of the prisoner. -Yet, having in the first flush of seeming success publicly accused him, -he dare not draw back. Already his enemies of the radical and clerical -press were accusing him of selling himself to the Jews. “To-morrow,” -wrote Drumont in <i>La Libre Parole</i>, “no doubt they will applaud the -Minister of War, when he comes and boasts of the measures which he has -taken to save Dreyfus.”</p> - -<p>Thus the reputation of Mercier, and very possibly the existence of the -Cabinet, became staked on the conviction of Dreyfus. Dreyfus was -convicted. Space will not permit me to state the exact circumstances by -which this most stupendous miscarriage of justice was brought about. -Suffice to say, that during a secret deliberation of the court-martial -forged evidence was introduced unknown to the prisoner or to his -counsel. The criminal code as well as article 101 of the Code de Justice -Militaire was grossly violated. It was to cover this illegality and to -perpetuate its result that the conspiracy in the General Staff gradually -grew into being.</p> - -<p>The victim was publicly degraded in the courtyard of the Ecole -Militaire, in Paris. The morning was clear and cold. The sunlight -shimmered from the gaudy trappings of the Garde Républicaine. “On the -stroke of nine from the clock of the Ecole Militaire,” wrote a reporter -of <i>L’Autorité</i>, “General Darras draws his sword and commands, ‘Shoulder -arms!’ The order is repeated before each company. The troops execute the -order. Silence follows.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xiv" id="page_xiv">{xiv}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Hearts cease to beat; all eyes are fixed upon the right-hand corner of -the square, where Dreyfus is imprisoned in a low building on the -terrace.</p> - -<p>“In a moment a small group is seen; it is Alfred Dreyfus in the midst of -four artillerymen, accompanied by a lieutenant of the Garde Républicaine -and by the commander of the escort....</p> - -<p>“Dreyfus walks with a quiet, firm step.”</p> - -<p>The reporter continues to describe the march across the square to the -point in front of the troops where the degradation is to take place. -Dreyfus listens in silence while a clerk reads the sentence. General -Darras then says, “Dreyfus, you are unworthy to bear arms. In the name -of the French people we degrade you.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” continues <i>L’Autorité</i>, “Dreyfus is seen to raise both arms, -and, head erect, he cries out in a strong voice, in which no tremor is -noticed:</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I am innocent, I swear that I am innocent. Vive la France!’</p> - -<p>“And the vast crowd outside answers with a cry of, ‘Death to him!’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>The adjutant then begins his work. First cutting from the condemned -man’s uniform his galloons, cuffs, buttons, all insignia of rank, ending -by breaking the sword. During the ceremony Dreyfus several times raises -his voice:</p> - -<p>“On the heads of my wife and children I swear that I am innocent. I -swear it. Vive la France!”</p> - -<p>The reporter of <i>L’Autorité</i> seems deeply moved, for he adds:</p> - -<p>“It is over at last, but the seconds have been as centuries. We had -never before felt pangs of anguish so keen. And afresh, clear, and -without any touch of emo<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xv" id="page_xv">{xv}</a></span>tion, is heard the voice of the condemned man -in a loud tone, crying:</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>You degrade an innocent man!’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>The prisoner is then obliged to pass before the line of soldiers. As he -approaches the railing the civilian crowd gets a better view of him and -yells, “Death to him!”</p> - -<p>When he arrives before a group of reporters he pauses and says, “Tell -the people of France that I am innocent.”</p> - -<p>They mock him, however, crying, “Dastard! Traitor! Judas! Vile Jew!”</p> - -<p>He passes on and comes to a group of officers of the General Staff, his -late colleagues. Here again he pauses, and says, “Gentlemen, you know I -am innocent.”</p> - -<p>But they yell at him as did the reporters. He surveys them closely -through his pincenez and says calmly, “You’re a set of cowards.” There -is utter contempt in his voice. At length the direful march is ended. -Dreyfus enters a van and is driven to the Prison de la Santé.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p>For nearly four years the world was a blank to him. Of the efforts made -to rehabilitate him he knew nothing. He knew not that the real traitor -had been discovered. He knew nothing of the heroic Picquart’s unselfish -martyrdom in the cause of truth and justice. He knew nothing of Zola’s -melodramatic entrance upon the scene. He knew nothing of the crimes that -were committed in the name of <i>l’honneur de l’armée</i>. Was it to be -wondered at that he should have been overwhelmed when these things were -told him at Rennes?</p> - -<p>The story of the indignities that he endured, the tor<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xvi" id="page_xvi">{xvi}</a></span>tures that he -suffered at the Ile du Diable, has been given to the world by his -counsels, Maîtres Labori and Demange. It is like a chapter from the dark -ages. Once, when it was reported that an attempt would be made to rescue -him, this man, consumed with fever and almost bereft of reason, was, by -the order of M. Lebon, Minister of the Colonies, chained to his couch, -while the lamp that was kept burning over his head attracted hordes of -tropical insects. He was told that his wife sought to forget him and -desired to marry again. In his despair his jailers thought he might say -something that would incriminate him. They were mistaken. He made no -confession. There was none to make. He could only yell in their ears, “I -am innocent! I am innocent!” When, in early autumn of 1898, he was -believed to be dying this message was cabled from Paris to Cayenne: -“Embalm him if he dies, and send us his corpse.”</p> - -<p>But he lived. And he may still live to see in his appalling experience -the cause of social revolution in France—a revolution that shall make -the rights of the individual paramount to the traditions of the army, to -the subtle cravings of the clericals, to the fantastic schemers of the -Faubourg St. Germain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xvii" id="page_xvii">{xvii}</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xviii" id="page_xviii">{xviii}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="THE_LETTERS" id="THE_LETTERS"></a>THE LETTERS<br /><br /><br /> -LETTERS<br /> -OF<br /> -AN INNOCENT MAN</h2> - -<hr /> - -<p class="c">PRISON OF CHERCHE-MIDI</p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Tuesday, 5 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>At last I can write a word to you; they have just told me that my trial -is set for the 19th of this month. I am refused the right to see you.</p> - -<p>I will not tell you all that I have suffered; there are not in the world -words strong enough to express it. Do you remember when I used to tell -you how happy we were? Everything in life smiled on us. Then all at once -a fearful thunderbolt; my brain still is reeling with the shock. For me -to be accused of the most monstrous crime that a soldier can commit! -Even to-day I feel that I must be the victim of an awful nightmare.</p> - -<p>But I hope in God and in justice. In the end the truth must come to -light. My conscience is calm and tranquil. It reproaches me with -nothing. I have done my duty, never have I turned from it. I have been -crushed to the earth, buried in my dark prison; alone with my reeling -brain. There have been moments when I have been nearly crazed, -ferocious, beside myself, but even in those moments my conscience was on -guard<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span>—“Hold up thy head!” it said to me. “Look the world in the face! -Strong in thy conscience go straight onward! Rise! The trial is bitter, -but it must be undergone!”</p> - -<p>I cannot write any longer, for I want this letter to leave to-night.</p> - -<p>I embrace you a thousand times, as I love you, as I adore you, my -darling Lucie.</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses to the children. I dare not say more to you; the tears -come to my eyes when I think of them. Write to me soon.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Give my love to all the family. Tell them that I am to-day what I was -yesterday, having but one care, to do my duty.</p> - -<p>The Commissary of the Government has informed me that Me. Demange will -defend me. I think that I shall see him to-morrow. Write to me to the -prison. Your letters, like mine, will pass through the hands of the -government commissioner.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Thursday morning, 7 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I am waiting with impatience for a letter from you. You are my hope; you -are my consolation; were it not for you life would be a burden. At the -bare thought that they could accuse me of a crime so frightful, so -monstrous, my whole being trembles; my body revolts against it. To have -worked all my life for one thing alone, to avenge my country, to -struggle for her against the infamous ravisher who has snatched from us -our<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> dear Alsace, and then to be accused of treason against that -country—no, my loved one, my mind refuses to comprehend it! Do you -remember my telling you how, when I was in Mulhouse, ten years ago, in -September, I heard a German band under our windows celebrating the -anniversary of Sedan? My grief was such that I wept; I bit the sheets of -my bed with rage, and I swore an oath to consecrate all my strength, all -my intelligence, to the service of my country against those who thus -offered insult to the grief of Alsace.</p> - -<p>No, no. I will not speak of it, for I shall go mad, and I must preserve -all my reason. Moreover my life has henceforth but one aim: to find the -wretch who has betrayed his country; to find the traitor for whom no -punishment could be too severe. Oh, dear France, thou that I love with -all my soul, with all my heart! thou to whom I have consecrated all my -strength, all my intelligence, how couldst thou accuse me of a crime so -horrible! I will not write upon this subject, my darling; for spasms -take me by the throat. No man has ever borne the martyrdom that I -endure. No physical suffering can be compared to the mental agony that I -feel when my thoughts turn to this accusation. If I had not my honor to -defend, I assure you that I should prefer death; at least, death would -be forgetfulness. Write to me soon. My love to all.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My good Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Thanks for your long letter of yesterday. I have never doubted your -adorable devotion, your great heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span> It is most of all of you that I -think in these dark days; I think of your sadness, the grief that you -must feel; and in this thought lies my only weakness.</p> - -<p>As for me, fear nothing. If I have suffered deeply I have never wavered -nor bowed my head. The moments of my deepest anguish have been those in -which I have thought of you, my good darling, of all our family. I -realised your sorrow when you were without news of me. I had time to -think of you all, in the long days, in the sleepless nights, alone with -my own thoughts. In those hours I had nothing to read; no way to write! -I turned like a lion in its cage, trying to work out an enigma that -escaped me. But everything in this world is conquered by perseverance -and by energy. I swear to you that I shall discover the wretch who -committed the act of infamy. Keep up your courage, my good darling, and -look the world in the face. You have the right to do so.</p> - -<p>Thank every one for the admirable devotion shown in my cause. Embrace -our dear children and all the family for me.</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses for your own self, from your devoted</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My good Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Your letter, which I had impatiently awaited, gave me great consolation -and at the same time it made me weep, for it brought me the vivid memory -of you, my darling.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span></p> - -<p>I am not perfect; what man can boast of perfection? But I can assure you -truthfully that I have always gone straight forward in the way marked -out by duty and by honor.</p> - -<p>There has been no compromise between me and my conscience. If I have -suffered deeply, if I have undergone the most horrible agony that can be -imagined, I have at all times been sustained in this awful struggle by -my conscience, which stands on guard, rigid, upright, inflexible. My -natural reserve, perhaps a haughty reserve, the freedom of my speech and -judgment to-day militate against me. I am not supple, nor a trimmer, nor -a flatterer. We never visited the people of the world who might be -useful to us now; we shut ourselves up in our own home, we were -contented to be happy in ourselves.</p> - -<p>And to-day I am accused of the most monstrous crime a soldier can -commit!</p> - -<p>Oh, if I could but hold the wretch who not only has betrayed his -country, but who, besides, has tried to make me bear the burden of his -infamy, I do not know what suffering I could not invent to make him -expiate the agony which he has forced me to undergo! But we must not -despair—they must at last find the guilty one. Without that hope we -should have to believe that there is no justice in the world.</p> - -<p>Bend all your efforts to reveal the truth; and bring to bear upon them -all your intellect, if need be all my fortune.</p> - -<p>Money is nothing. Our Honor is All! Tell M[<i>athieu Dreyfus</i>] that I -count upon him for this work. It is not beyond his power. He must find -the wretch who has dishonored us, even though he should move Heaven<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span> and -Earth. I embrace you a thousand times, as I love you.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses for the children.</p> - -<p>All my love to all the members of our families; thank them for their -devotion to the cause of an innocent man.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Monday, 11 December.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My good Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have received your letter of yesterday; also the letters from your -sister and from Henri. Let us hope that soon justice will be done me and -that I shall once more be with you all. With you and with our dear -children I shall find the calm that now I need so much.</p> - -<p>My heart is deeply wounded; you know that it must be so. To have -consecrated all my strength, all my intelligence, to the service of my -country, and then to be accused of the most monstrous crime that a -soldier can commit—it is fearful!</p> - -<p>At the very thought of it my whole being revolts; I tremble with -indignation. I ask myself by what miracle I have been kept from going -mad. How has my brain resisted such a shock!</p> - -<p>I supplicate you, my darling, do not go to my trial. It can do no good -for you to impose new sufferings upon yourself; those that you have -already borne, with a grandeur of soul and with a heroism of which I am -proud, are more than sufficient. Save your strength for our children. We -shall need all our united strength to care for each other, to help each -other to forget this terrible trial—the most terrible that human -strength<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span> can bear. Kiss all our good, dear ones for me, until the time -comes when I can embrace them for myself. Remember me fondly to all.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Tuesday, 12 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Will you be my interpreter to all the members of our two families, to -all who have been thoughtful of me at this time? Will you tell them how -much I have been touched by their good letters and by the sympathy they -have shown me?</p> - -<p>I cannot answer them; for what could I tell them? My sufferings? They -understand them, and I do not like to complain. Besides that, my brain -reels, and my thoughts are at times confused. My soul alone remains -unshaken, as steadfast as on that awful day before the monstrous -accusation was thrown in my face. My whole being still revolts at the -thought of it.</p> - -<p>But in the end the truth must be known in spite of everything. We are -not living in a century when the light can be hidden. It must be that -the whole truth will be known, that my voice will be heard throughout -the length and breadth of our dear France—just as my accusation has -been heard. It is not only my own honor which I have to defend; it is -the honor of all the corps of officers of which I am a part, and a -worthy part.</p> - -<p>I have received the clothes that you sent me. If you should have a -chance, please send me my tippet. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span> do not need the pelisse. My tippet -is in the wardrobe in the antechamber.</p> - -<p>Embrace our darlings tenderly for me. I wept over the good letter -written by our dear Pierrot. How long the time seems to me until I can -embrace him and you all once more!</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses for yourself.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Thursday, 14 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have received your good letter; also new letters from the family. -Thank them all for me. All these proofs of affection and esteem touch me -more than I know how to tell you. As for me, I am always the same. When -a man’s conscience is pure and calm he can bear everything. I am -convinced that eventually the truth will be known; that the assurance of -my innocence will finally be borne in upon all minds.</p> - -<p>At my trial I shall be judged by soldiers as loyal and as honest as -myself. They will recognize—I am sure of it—the error that has been -committed.</p> - -<p>Error, unhappily, is a human thing. Who can say that he never has been -deceived?</p> - -<p>I am happy over the good news you give me regarding the children. You -were right to begin to give P[ierrot] cod-liver oil; the time is -propitious. Kiss the little fellow for me. How I long to hold the dear -children in my arms!</p> - -<p>I hope, with you, that they will end by letting me<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span> once more embrace -you. It will be one of the happiest days of my life; it will be a -consolation for all the pain I have endured.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Friday, 15 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have received your good letter, also mamma’s. I am grateful for the -sentiment she expresses—sentiments I never have doubted, and which, I -can say it proudly, I have merited always.</p> - -<p>At last the day of my appearance before justice draws near. I am to come -to the end of all this moral torture. My confidence is absolute; when -the conscience is pure and tranquil then can we present ourselves -everywhere, our heads high. I shall be tried by soldiers who will listen -to me and understand me. The certainty that I am innocent will enter -their hearts as it has always entered the hearts of my friends, of those -who have known me intimately.</p> - -<p>My whole life has been the best guarantee of my innocence. I will not -speak of the infamous and anonymous calumnies that have been circulated -against me. They have not touched me; I scorn them. Kiss all our -darlings for me and receive for yourself the tender kisses of your -devoted husband,</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Sunday, 17 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I do not know that this letter will reach you to-day, for the -post-offices are closed, but I will not let the day<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span> pass without -writing you one word. I am happy to know that you are surrounded by all -the family; your grief must be less great, for nothing is more -sustaining than such love as is being shown to you.</p> - -<p>As to me, my darling, do not give way to any feeling of anxiety.</p> - -<p>I am ready to appear before my judges; my mind is tranquil. I am ready -to face them as I shall one day stand before God, my head high, my -conscience pure.</p> - -<p>I am happy to know that you are all well; the children also.</p> - -<p>Continue to take good care of yourself, my darling; and keep all your -courage. It is true that the trial is great, but my courage is not less -great.</p> - -<p>If I have had moments of horrible depression, if I have borne the weight -of the frightful mental torture, of the suspicion which they have cast -upon me, my head has never bent beneath it. To-day, as yesterday, I can -look the world in the face; I am worthy to command my soldiers. Embrace -the dear ones for me; affectionate kisses from your devoted</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Monday, 18 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I received to-day only your good letter of Saturday. I could not send my -letter yesterday; the offices were closed and my letter could not have -passed out.</p> - -<p>How you must suffer, my poor darling! I can imagine it by comparing your -suffering to my own, because I cannot see you. But we must know how to -bear up, to hold<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span> our own against suffering; we must be resigned; we -must preserve all dignity of conduct.</p> - -<p>Let us show that we are worthy of one another; that trials, even the -most cruel, even the most undeserved, cannot beat us down.</p> - -<p>When the conscience is clear we can, as you say so truly, bear -everything; suffer everything. It is my conscience alone that has -enabled me to resist; had it not been for that I should have died of -sorrow, or I should be shut up in a mad-house.</p> - -<p>Even now I cannot look back to those first days without a shiver of -horror. My brain was like a boiling cauldron; at each instant I feared -that my reason would leave me.</p> - -<p>Do not be worried by the irregularity of my letters; you know that I -cannot write as I would like to; but be strong and brave; be careful of -your health.</p> - -<p>Thanks for all the news you give me of our friends. Tell them that I -have often thought of them; of the grief they must feel. It must bind us -in a union that nothing can ever break. Our pure, honorable life, all -the past of all our kindred, our devotion to France, are the best -guarantees of what we are.</p> - -<p>I have received two good letters from J. and R.; they have given me -great pleasure.</p> - -<p>I thank you also for the news you give me of the children. Ah, the poor -darlings! What joy it will be to me to be able to embrace them and you, -my good darling! But I will not allow myself to think of it; for then -everything seems to melt within me.</p> - -<p>The bitterness of my heart rises to my lips—and I must preserve all my -strength.</p> - -<p>Thank M. and my brothers and my sisters and all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span> family for what -they have done for me. Embrace them for me.</p> - -<p>I will stop, for every memory of the happiness I have known among you -all revives my grief.</p> - -<p>To have sacrificed everything for my Country, to have served her with -entire devotion, with all my strength, with all my intelligence, and -then to be accused of such a frightful crime—no, no!</p> - -<p>Write to me often; write long letters. My best moments are those when I -receive news of you all.</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses for you and for the children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Tuesday, 18 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My good, dear one:<br /> -</p> - -<p>At last I am coming to the end of my sufferings, to the end of my agony. -To-morrow I shall appear before my judges, my head high, my soul -tranquil. The trial I have undergone, terrible as it has been, has -purified my soul. I shall return to you better than I was before. I want -to consecrate to you, to my children, to our dear families, all the time -I have yet to live.</p> - -<p>As I have told you, I have passed through awful crises. I have had -moments of furious, actual madness at the thought of being accused of a -crime so monstrous.</p> - -<p>I am ready to appear before the soldiers as a soldier who has nothing -for which to reproach himself. They will see it in my face; they will -read my soul; they will know that I am innocent; as all will who know -me.</p> - -<p>Devoted to my country, to whom I have consecrated all my strength, all -my intellect, I have nothing to fear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span></p> - -<p>Sleep tranquilly then, my darling, and do not give way to any care; -think only of our joy when we are once more in each other’s arms—to -forget so quickly these sad, dark days!</p> - -<p>Until we meet—soon, my darling! soon shall I have the joy of embracing -you and our good, dear ones.</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses while I wait for that happy moment.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>23 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I suffer much, but I pity you still more than myself. I know how much -you love me. Your heart must bleed. On my side, my adored one, my -thought has always been of you night and day.</p> - -<p>To be innocent, to have lived a life without a stain, and to be -condemned for the most monstrous crime that a soldier can commit! What -could be more terrible? It seems to me at times that I am the victim of -an awful nightmare.</p> - -<p>It is for you alone that I have resisted until to-day; it is for you -alone, my adored one, that I have borne my long agony. Will my strength -hold out to the end? I cannot tell. No one but you can give me courage. -It is only from your love that I can draw it.</p> - -<p>At times I hope that God, who has not abandoned me thus far, will end -this martyrdom of an innocent man; that He will bring to light the -Guilty One.</p> - -<p>But shall I be strong enough to hold out until that time?</p> - -<p>I have signed my appeal for a revision. I dare not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span> speak to you of the -children; their memory rends my heart. Speak to them of me. May they be -your consolation.</p> - -<p>My bitterness is such, my heart is so bruised, that I should, already -have got rid of this sad life if memory of you had not hindered me; if -the fear of augmenting your grief had not stayed my arm.</p> - -<p>To have had to hear all they said to me, when I knew in my soul and -conscience that I had never failed, never committed even the most -trivial imprudence, that was the most horrible of mental torture.</p> - -<p>I shall try to live for your sake, but I have need of your aid.</p> - -<p>Above all else, no matter what may become of me, search for the truth; -move Earth and Heaven to discover it; sink in the effort, if need be, -all our fortune, to rehabilitate my name, which now is dragged through -the mud. No matter what may be the cost, we must wash out the unmerited -stain.</p> - -<p>I have not the courage to write more. Embrace our dear relations, our -children, everyone, for me.</p> - -<p>A thousand, thousand kisses.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Try to obtain permission to see me. It seems to me that they cannot -refuse it now.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Monday evening, 24 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>It is still to you that I write, for you are the only cord that binds me -to life. I know well that all my family, all your family, love me and -esteem me; but,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span> after all, if I were to disappear, their grief, however -great, would fade with the years.</p> - -<p>It is for you alone, my poor darling, that I gather strength to -struggle. It is the thought of you that stays my arm. How I feel in this -hour my love for you! Never has it been so great—so all absorbing. And -then a feeble hope sustains me yet a little; it is that we shall be able -some day to have my good name restored to me. But, above all, believe -me, if I should have strength to struggle to the end of this calvary, it -will be for your sake alone, my poor darling; it will be to avoid adding -a new chagrin to all those you have already borne. Do all that is -humanly possible to get to see me.</p> - -<p>I embrace you a thousand times, as I love you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>In the night between Monday and Tuesday, 24 December,<br /> -1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Adored one:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just received your letter; I hope that you have received mine. -Poor darling, how you must suffer, how I pity you! I have wept many -tears over your letter. I cannot accept your sacrifice. You must stay -there; you must live for the children. Think of them first, before you -think of me; it is the poor, little ones who absolutely need you.</p> - -<p>My thoughts always lead me back to you.</p> - -<p>Me. Demange, who has just been here, has told me how wonderful you are. -He has spoken words in your praise to which my heart gave back the echo.</p> - -<p>Yes, my darling, you are sublime in your courage and devotion. You are -worth more than I. I loved you be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span>fore with all my heart and soul; -to-day I do more—I marvel at you. You are truly one of the noblest -women upon the earth. My admiration for you is so great that if I live -to drink my cup to the dregs it will be because I have aspired to be -worthy of your heroism.</p> - -<p>But it will be terrible to submit to that shameful humiliation! I should -rather stand before an execution squad. I do not fear death, but the -thought of contempt is terrible.</p> - -<p>However it may be, I pray you tell them all to life their heads as I -lift mine; to look the world in the face without flinching. Never bow -your heads—proclaim my innocence aloud.</p> - -<p>Now, my darling, I am going anew to lay my head upon my pillow to think -of you.</p> - -<p>I kiss you; I press you to my heart.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Embrace the little ones tenderly for me.</p> - -<p>Will you please deposit two hundred francs with the clerk of the prison?</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>25 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I cannot date this letter, for I do not even know what day it is. Is it -Tuesday? Is it Wednesday? I do not know. It is always night. As sleep -flies my eyelids I arise to write to you.</p> - -<p>Sometimes it seems to me that all this has not happened; that I have -never left you.</p> - -<p>In my hallucinations all that has happened to us<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span> seems to me a bad -nightmare; but the awakening is terrible.</p> - -<p>I cannot believe in anything but your love and the affection of all of -ours.</p> - -<p>We must continually search for the guilty one. All means are good. -Chance alone will not suffice.</p> - -<p>Perhaps I shall succeed in surmounting the horrible terror with which -the infamous sentence I am going to bear inspires me. To be an honorable -man, to be innocent, and to see my honor torn from me and trampled under -foot—oh, it is fearful! it is the worst of sufferings! worse than -death!</p> - -<p>Oh, if I go to the end it will be for your sake, my dear, adored one, -for you are the only thread that binds me to life!</p> - -<p>How we loved each other!</p> - -<p>To-day more than ever before I know what place you hold in my heart. -But, above all, be careful of your own self; think of your health. <i>You -must, at all costs</i>, for the sake of my children, who have need of you.</p> - -<p>Then search in Paris as you did down there for the guilty one. We must -try everything; we must leave nothing undone. There are people surely, -there must be people, who know the name of the guilty man.</p> - -<p>I embrace you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Wednesday, 2 P. M., 26 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just received your two letters and Marie’s.</p> - -<p>You are sublime, my adored one, and I am amazed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span> at your courage and -your heroism. I loved you before. To-day I kneel before you, for you are -a sublime woman. But do not allow yourself to be beaten down, I -supplicate you. Think of our children, who have need of you.</p> - -<p>It may be that in my desire to be worthy of you, to reach the heights on -which you stand, I shall be able to hold out to the end. It is not -physical suffering that I fear—that has never been strong enough to -break me down; its blows glance off—but the torture of soul, the -knowledge that my name is dragged in the mire, the name of a man who is -innocent, the name of a man of honor. Cry it aloud, my darling; cry to -every one that I am innocent—the victim of terrible fatality.</p> - -<p>Shall we ever succeed in discovering the real guilty one? Let us hope -it; to lose that hope would be to despair of everything.</p> - -<p>I hope to see you soon, and that is my consolation. All the day, all the -night, my thoughts fly to you—to you all. I think of the happiness we -enjoyed, and I ask myself, even now, by what inexplicable fatality that -happiness was broken.</p> - -<p>It is the most awful tragedy that it has ever been given me to read, and -instead of reading it, I must live it out, alas! Finally, be careful of -your own self, my darling. You need all your health, all your physical -vigor, if you are to bring to a successful end the task you have so -nobly undertaken.</p> - -<p>I embrace you and our poor darlings, of whom I dare not think.</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Wednesday, 4 o’clock, 26 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>You ask me what I do all day long.</p> - -<p>I think of you; I think of you all. If this consoling thought did not -sustain me, if I could not feel through the thick walls of my prison the -strengthening breath of your sympathy, I believe that I should lose my -hold on reason and that despair would enter my soul. It is your love, it -is the affection of you all, that gives me the courage to live on.</p> - -<p>Me. Demange has just been here. He stayed some minutes with me. His -faith in me is absolute; that also gives me courage.</p> - -<p>It is not physical suffering that affrights me—I am able to bear -that—but this continual torture of soul, this contempt that is to -pursue me everywhere. I, so proud, so sure of my honor, it is that that -I find so terrible; that that I shrink from.</p> - -<p>Well, my darling, I will not torture your heart any longer; your grief -is already great enough.</p> - -<p>I embrace you fondly.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Wednesday, 10 P. M.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I do not sleep, and it is to you that I return. Am I then marked by a -fatal seal, that I must drink this cup of bitterness! At this moment I -am calm. My soul is strong, and it rises in the silence of the night. -How happy we were, my darling! Life smiled on us; fortune, love, -adorable children, a united family—Everything! Then came this -thunderbolt, fearful, terrible. Buy, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span> pray of you, playthings for the -children, for their New Year’s day; tell them that their father sends -them. It must not be that these poor souls, just entering upon life, -should suffer through our pain.</p> - -<p>Oh, my darling, had not I you how gladly would I die! Your love holds me -back; it is your love only that makes me strong enough to bear the -hatred of a nation.</p> - -<p>And the people are right to hate me: they have been told that I am a -traitor. Ah, traitor, the horrible word! It breaks my heart.</p> - -<p>I ... traitor! Is it possible that they could accuse me and condemn me -for a crime so monstrous!</p> - -<p>Cry aloud my innocence; cry it with all the strength of your lungs; cry -it upon the house-tops, till the very walls fall.</p> - -<p>And hunt out the guilty one. It is he whom we must find.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Thursday, 10 o’clock in the evening, 27 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Your heroism has conquered me. Strong in your love, strong in my -conscience and in the immovable support I find in our two families, I -feel my courage born again.</p> - -<p>I shall struggle therefore to my last breath. I shall struggle to my -last drop of blood.</p> - -<p>It is not possible that light shall not be some day let in upon this -crime. With the feeling that your heart is beat<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span>ing close to mine I -shall bear all the martyrdoms, all the humiliations, without bowing my -head. The thought of you, my darling, will give me the strength needful. -My dear, adored one, women certainly are superior to us; and among women -you are of the most beautiful and the most noble!</p> - -<p>I always loved you deeply; you know it. To-day I do more—I marvel at -and venerate you. You are a holy, a noble, woman. I am proud of you, and -I will try to be worthy of you.</p> - -<p>Yes, it would be cowardice to desert life. It would be to taint my -name—the name of my dear children—to sully that name forever. I -realize that to-day; but how could it be otherwise? The blow was cruel; -it broke down my courage; it is you who have lifted me up.</p> - -<p>Your soul makes mine tremble.</p> - -<p>So, leaning one on the other, proud of one another, we shall succeed, by -force of will, in clearing our name from dishonor. We shall remove the -stain from that honor that has never failed us.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><i>Thursday, 11 o’clock in the evening.</i></p> - -<p>I almost hoped to receive one more word from you this evening. If you -could only know with what happiness I receive your letters, with what -intoxication I read and re-read them all day long!</p> - -<p>Good-night; sleep well, my darling. We will live still for each other.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span></p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Friday, 10 o’clock in the morning, 28 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have received your good letter dated yesterday at noon. You are right. -I must live. I must live for you—for our dear children, whose name I -must restore to honor. Whatever may be the terrible tortures of soul I -endure, I must resist. I have no right to desert my post.</p> - -<p>If I were alone, I should not hesitate; but your name, the name of my -family—everything, all we have, is attacked. We must arm with all our -courage for the struggle. By the force of our energy, our will, we shall -triumph. In the end they shall speak out. Supported, sustained by your -unfailing courage, we shall conquer.</p> - -<p>Write to me often. You must relieve each other in writing; write to me -in turn. Each one of your letters soothes me. It seems to me that I hear -you speak—that I hear your dear parents speak.</p> - -<p>I embrace you and all your dear family.</p> - -<p>A thousand tender kisses to the children.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Friday, noon.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I received your letter dated Thursday evening, also the good words from -Pierrot. Embrace the darling tenderly for me. Give Jeanne a kiss for me. -Yes, I must live. I must summon all my energy to wash out the stain -which sullies the name of my children. I should be cowardly should I -desert my post. I will live; I will!</p> - -<p>I embrace you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span></p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Monday, 31 December, 1894.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I thought a long time last night of my father, of all my family. I do -not hide from you that I wept long. But the tears comforted me. Our -consolation is the deep affection that unites us all; it is the -affection which I find in your family as in my own.</p> - -<p>It is impossible, when we are so bound together, when we are upheld by -the wonderful devotion shown us by Me. Demange, that we shall not sooner -or later discover the truth. I was wrong to wish to desert life. I had -not the right to. I will struggle as long as I have a breath of life. In -these long days, in these sad nights, my soul is purified and -strengthened. My duty is clearly traced. I must leave my children a name -pure and stainless.</p> - -<p>Let us strive for that, my darling, without a truce, without rest. Let -us not be rebuffed by the difficulty of any step, of any attempt. We -must try everything.</p> - -<p>The books of M. Bayles, which you sent me, are enough for the moment; -later I shall need a work with exercises, with corrections on the -opposite page; so that I can work by myself.</p> - -<p>For the moment I must gather all my strength to meet the horrible -humiliation that awaits me. But do not relax a single instant. You may, -perhaps, enter upon a course of which I have spoken to Me. Demange this -evening. Nothing must be neglected; everything must be tried.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Good kisses to the darlings. I dare not wish you “A<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span> Happy New Year;” -this feast does not accord with our present sorrow.</p> - -<p>I have even forgotten to wish your mother a happy birthday. I pray you -to repair this forgetfulness; it is excusable under the sad -circumstances.</p> - -<p>I suppose you have given the children the toys from their father. We -must not let these young souls suffer through our sorrows.</p> - -<p>I have received the inkstand. I thank you for it.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>5 o’clock in the evening.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>The appeal is rejected, as I might have expected it would be. They have -just told me. Ask immediately for permission to see me.</p> - -<p>Send me what I asked you for; that is to say, my sabre, my belt, and the -valise with my belongings. The cruel and horrible anguish is -approaching; I am going to meet it with the dignity of a pure and -tranquil conscience. To tell you that I do not suffer would be to lie; -but I shall not weaken. I shall be strong. Keep on, for your part, -without truce, without rest.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>1 January, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>It is no longer Sunday. It is the beginning of Monday. The stroke of -midnight has just sounded at this moment, as I lighted my candle. I -cannot sleep. I would rather rise than toss upon my bed, and what more -delicious occupation than to talk with you! When I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span> write it seems that -you are near me, as it used to be in those good evenings of my happy -memories, when, as I sat at my desk, you would work by my side.</p> - -<p>Let us hope—let us hope that happiness shall shine again for us. It is -impossible that some day the light of truth shall not make all clear. I -know the energetic character of Mathieu; I have learned to appreciate -your energy, your profound devotion, I will say your heroism; and I do -not doubt the success of your investigations.</p> - -<p>You are right to act with calmness, with method. Your progress will be -surer.</p> - -<p>But I hope that soon I can speak of all this face to face with you.</p> - -<p>From this hour the agony is to become still more bitter. First, the -humiliating ceremony, then the sufferings which will follow it. I shall -bear them calmly, with dignity—be sure of it.</p> - -<p>To say that I have not at times moments of violent revolt would be to -lie. The injustice is by far too cruel; but I have faith in the future; -and I hope to have my recompense.</p> - -<p>So I try to think that the time will come when my only care will be to -ensure my happiness—the happiness of our dear children.</p> - -<p>I have received a charming letter from Marie, which I shall answer one -of these days.</p> - -<p>Be of good courage always, my darling. Take good care of your health, -for you will have need of all your strength; your courage must not -betray you in the crucial moment. Good-night and good rest.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span></p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Tuesday, 1 January, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I have not received a letter from you this morning. I miss it. I have -received several others, it is true; but dare I tell you that it is not -the same thing? Yesterday, when he left me, Me. Demange hoped to come -back and pass some hours with me to-day; but alas! not long after his -departure they told me that my appeal had been rejected; this closes my -prison door to him; he will not be permitted to visit me any more. He -must have been warned this morning. So I shall pass my day alone. What a -sad New Year, my darling! But do not let us dwell upon this subject. It -will do us no good to weep and groan; that will not open the doors of my -prison. On the contrary, we must guard all our physical strength and all -our mental energy; we must not relax our struggle for one instant. Let -nothing beat you down; do not lose hope. Throw your nets out on all -sides; the guilty one will be caught in them at last.</p> - -<p>Have you received an answer to your application? I am waiting now with -impatience for the moment when I shall hold you in my arms.</p> - -<p>Have you bought the toys for the children? Were they pleased? I am -thinking always of you and of them. I live only in the thought that some -day this frightful nightmare will vanish. It seems impossible that it -can be otherwise. We will help overcome it, I promise it to you. I -embrace you as I love you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Monday, 2 January, 1895, 11 o’clock in the evening.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>A new year is beginning. What has it in store for us? Let us hope that -it will be better than the year that is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span> just ended. Should it be -otherwise, death would be preferable. In this calm, deep night which -surrounds me, I think of you all, of you, of our dear children. What a -fearful stroke of fate, undeserved and cruel!</p> - -<p>Let me give way a little, weep without restraint in your arms. Do not -believe because I weep that my courage weakens. I have promised you to -live; I shall keep my word. But I must always feel your heart beating -close to mine. I must be sustained by your love.</p> - -<p>We must have courage. We must have an almost superhuman energy. As for -me, I can only summon my whole strength to bear all the tortures which -await me.</p> - -<p>Good-night and kisses.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Thursday, noon.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>They have informed me that the supreme humiliation is set for the day -after to-morrow. I expected it; I was prepared for it; but in spite of -that the blow was terrible. I shall stand fast, as I promised you I -would. I shall draw the force I still need for that awful day from the -deep well of your love, from the affection of you all; from the memory -of our dear children; from the supreme hope that some day the truth will -come to light; but on every side I must feel the warmth of the affection -that you all bear me. I must feel that you are struggling with me. -Search always; let there be no truce, no rest.</p> - -<p>I hope to see you soon, to gather strength from your loving eyes. Let us -sustain each other through everything and against everything.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span></p> - -<p>Your love is necessary to my life; without it the mainspring of my being -would be broken.</p> - -<p>When I am gone persuade them all that they must not stop their efforts.</p> - -<p>Take measures at once, so that you may be able to come to see me on -Saturday and the following days at the prison of la Santé. It is there, -above all, that I must feel that I am sustained.</p> - -<p>Find out also what I asked you yesterday—when I am to leave, how I am -to go, etc.</p> - -<p>We must be prepared for everything; we must not let ourselves be -surprised.</p> - -<p>Until the blessed moment, soon to come, when I shall see you, I embrace -you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>4:15 P. M.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>Since four o’clock my heart has been beating to bursting. You are not -yet here, my darling. The seconds seem hours to me. My ear is -listening—perhaps they come to call me. I cannot hear; I am waiting.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>5 o’clock.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I am more calm; the sight of you has helped me. The rapture of having -held you in my arms has done me immense good. I could not wait for the -moment. I thank you for the joy that you have given me. How I love you, -my good darling! Let us hope that some time all this sorrow is to end.</p> - -<p>I must husband all my energy.</p> - -<p> -A thousand kisses more, my darling.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span></p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Thursday, 11 o’clock in the evening.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>The nights are long; it is to you that I turn again and again; it is in -your eyes that I look for all my strength. It is in your profound love -that I find the courage to live. Not that the struggle makes me afraid, -but truly fate is too cruel to me. Could one imagine a situation more -awful, more tragic, for an innocent man? Could there be a martyrdom more -fraught with sorrow?</p> - -<p>Happy is it for me that I have the deep affection with which both our -families surround me—that above everything I have your love, which pays -me for all my sufferings.</p> - -<p>Forgive me if sometimes I complain; do not think that my soul is less -valiant because a groan escapes my lips; these cries relieve my heart; -and to whom could I cry if not to you, my dear wife?</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses for you and for the little ones.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Wednesday, 5 o’clock.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I wish to write these few words more, so that you may find them -to-morrow morning when you awake. Our conversation, even through the -bars of the prison, has done me good. My limbs trembled under me when I -went down to met you, but I gathered all my strength, so that I should -not fall from my emotion. Even now my hand is still trembling; our -interview has violently shaken me. If I did not insist that you should -stay still longer it was because I was at the end of my strength. I had -to hide myself, so that I might weep a little; do<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span> not believe because I -weep that my soul is less brave or less strong; but my body is somewhat -weakened by three months of the prison, without a breath of the outer -air. I must have had a robust constitution to have been able to resist -all these tortures.</p> - -<p>What has done me the most good is that I felt that you were so brave, so -valiant, so full of love for me. Let us, my dear wife, continue to -command the respect of the world by our attitude and by our courage. As -for me, you must have felt that I am decided to face everything. I want -my honor, and I shall have it. No obstacle shall stop me.</p> - -<p>Kiss the babies for me. A thousand kisses.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The parlor is to be occupied to-morrow, Thursday, from 1 until 4 -o’clock. So you must come either in the morning between 10 and 11 -o’clock, or in the afternoon at 4 o’clock. This takes place only -Thursdays and Sundays.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p> -<span class="smcap">IN THE PRISON OF LA SANTE.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>5 January, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I will not tell you what I have suffered to-day. Your grief is great -enough already. I will not augment it.</p> - -<p>In promising you to live, in promising you to resist until my name is -rehabilitated, I have made the greatest sacrifice that a man of deep -feeling of heart, an upright man, from whom his honor has been taken, -can make. My God, let not my physical strength abandon me! My spirit is -unshaken; a conscience that has nothing with which to reproach me -upholds me, but I am coming to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span> the end of patience and of my physical -strength. After having consecrated all my life to honor, never having -deserved reproach, to be here, to have borne the most wounding affront -that can be inflicted upon a soldier!</p> - -<p>Oh, my darling, do everything in the world to find the guilty one; do -not relax your efforts for one instant. That is my only hope in the -terrible misfortune which pursues me.</p> - -<p>If only I may soon be with you there, and if we may soon be united, you -will give me back my strength and my courage. I have need of both. This -day’s emotions have broken my heart; my cell offers me no consolation.</p> - -<p>Picture a little room all bare—four yards and a half long, -perhaps—closed by a grated garret window; a pallet standing against the -wall—no, I will not tear your heart, my poor darling.</p> - -<p>I will tell you later, when we are happy again, what I have suffered -to-day, in all my wanderings, surrounded by men who are truly guilty, -how my heart has bled. I have asked myself why I was there; what I was -doing there. I seemed the victim of an hallucination; but alas! my -garments, torn, sullied, brought me back roughly to the truth. The looks -of scorn they cast on me told me too well why I was there. Oh, why could -not my heart have been opened by a surgeon’s knife, so that they might -have read the truth! All the brave, good people along my way could have -read it: “<i>This is a man of honor!</i>” But how easy it is to understand -them! In their place I could not have contained my contempt for an -officer who I had been told was a traitor. But alas! there is the -tragedy. There is a traitor, but it is not I!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span></p> - -<p>Write to me soon; do everything in your power so that I may see you, for -my strength is giving way. I need to be upheld; come, so that we may be -together once again, that I may find in your heart all the strength I -need in this awful hour.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you.</p> - -<p><i>Saturday afternoon.</i></p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Saturday, 6 o’clock, January, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>In my dark cell, in the tortures of my soul, which refuses to understand -why I suffer so, why God so punishes me, it is always to you that I -turn, my dear wife, who, in these sad and terrible moments, have shown -for me a devotion without boundaries, a love illimitable.</p> - -<p>You have been and you are sublime; in my moments of weakness I have been -ashamed not to be at the height of your heroism. But this grief must -gnaw the best disciplined soul; the grief of seeing so many efforts, so -many years of honor, of devotion to one’s country, lost because of a -machination that seems to belong to the realms of the grotesque, rather -than to real life. Sometimes I cannot believe it; but these moments, -alas! are rare here, for subjected to the strictest discipline of the -prison cell, everything reminds me of the dark reality. Continue to -sustain me with your profound love, my darling; aid me in this awful -struggle for my honor; let me feel your beautiful soul throbbing close -to mine.</p> - -<p>When can I see you?</p> - -<p>I need affection and consolation in my sorrow.</p> - -<p>Alas! I may have the courage of a soldier, but I ask myself have I the -heroic soul of the martyr!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span></p> - -<p>A thousand good kisses for you, for our darlings. May these children be -your consolation.</p> - -<p> -<span class="smcap">A. Dreyfus.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Write to me often and at length. Think that I am here alone from morning -until evening, and from evening until morning. Not one sympathetic soul -comes to lighten my dark sorrow. I long to be there with you, where I -can wait in peace and tranquillity, until they rehabilitate me—until -they give me back my honor.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>7 o’clock, evening, 5 January, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just had a moment of terrible weakness; of tears mingled with -sobs; all my body shaken by the fever. It was the reaction from the -awful tortures of the day. It had to be—I knew it. But alas! instead of -being allowed to sob in your arms, to lean my head upon your breast, my -sobs have resounded in the emptiness of my prison. It is finished. Be -lifted up, my heart; I concentrate all my energy. Strong in my -conscience, pure and unstained, I owe myself to my family, I owe myself -to my name. I have not the right to desert. While there remains in me a -breath of life I will struggle, hoping that light soon may be let in -upon the truth. And do you continue your searches. As for me, the only -thing that I ask is to leave here as soon as possible; to find you -there; to settle down to our life there, while our friends, our -families, are busy here searching for the guilty one, so that we may -come back to our dear country, martyrs who have borne the most terrible, -the most harrowing, of trials.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span></p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Saturday, 7:30 P. M.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>It is the hour when we are obliged to go to bed. What will become of me? -What am I going to do when I am in my bed, a straw mattress supported on -iron rods. Physical sufferings are nothing—you know that I do not fear -them—but my moral tortures are far from being ended. Oh, my darling, -what did I do the day I promised you to live! I thought then that my -soul was stronger. It is easy to talk of being resigned because the -heart is innocent, but it is hard to be so.</p> - -<p>Write to me soon, my darling; try to see me. I need to draw new strength -from your dear eyes.</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Sunday, 5 o’clock, 6 January, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>Forgive me, my adored one, if in my letters yesterday I poured out my -grief and made a parade of my torture. I must confide them to some one. -What heart is better prepared than yours to receive the overflowing -grief of mine? It is your love that gives me courage to live; I must -feel the thrill of your love close to my heart. Let us show that we are -worthy of each other; that you are a noble, a sublime wife.</p> - -<p>Courage, then, my darling. Do not think too much of me; you have other -duties to fulfil. You owe yourself to our dear children, to our name, -which must be restored to honor. Think, then, of all the noble duties -incumbent upon you. They are heavy, but I know that you will be capable -of undertaking, of accomplishing them all, if you do not let yourself be -beaten down—if you preserve your strength.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span></p> - -<p>You must struggle, therefore, against yourself. Summon all your energy; -think only of your duties.</p> - -<p>As to me, my darling, your know that I suffered yesterday even more than -you can imagine. I shall tell you how much some day, when we are once -more happy and united. For the present I hope but one thing. Since I am -useless to you here, and since, on the other hand, the search for the -guilty man will, I fear, be a long one, I hope to be sent down there -soon, and under the best conditions possible to wait there with you -until the combined efforts of all our relations shall have been -successful. The life of the prison cell is wearing me out, and I ask but -one thing, to be sent down there as soon as possible. I was heart-broken -this morning because I did not get any letters. Happily, at 2 o’clock, -the director of the prison brought me a package of good letters, which -gave me much pleasure. They have been the one ray of joy in my wretched -cell. Will you please send me my travelling rug, for it is very cold in -our cells.</p> - -<p>Try to obtain permission to see me as soon as possible.</p> - -<p>I embrace you a thousand times.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Good kisses to the poor darlings.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>7 o’clock in the evening.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>My God, how sorrowful is my soul! What in all my life have I done that I -should be thus punished? The wretch who has committed the crime of -betraying me, the wretch through whom I am lost, deserves, if there is a -God, a terrible chastisement. He deserves to be punished through all he -loves. In the name of my poor children I curse him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span></p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Monday, 5 P. M., 7 January, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have borne for your sake, my adored one, for the name which my dear -children bear, the most agonizing, the most appalling, of calvaries for -a heart that is pure and honorable. I ask myself how I am yet alive. -That which sustained me is, above all else, the hope that I shall soon -be united to you down there. Then, though innocent as I am, but -sustained as I shall be by your profound love, I shall have the patience -to await in exile the vindication of my name. There, too, I shall work, -I shall be busy. I shall impose silence upon my heart and my brain by -force of physical fatigue. But in my prison it would be difficult to -live, for my thought always brings me fatally back to my condition.</p> - -<p>They have not given me any letter from you to-day; do not be anxious, my -darling, if my letters do not reach you regularly. I will write to you -every day as long as I am permitted to.</p> - -<p>I have been told that I can see you Monday and Friday. Alas! Monday has -passed, and I am obliged to wait until Friday. I wait with extreme joy -for the moment when I can kiss you; when I can throw myself into your -arms. It is in your eyes, in your noble heart, that I find the strength -needful to enable me to bear my fearful tortures of soul. I should -almost like it better had I some sin upon my conscience; then I should, -at least, have something to expiate. But alas! you know, my darling, how -honest, how upright, my life has always been.</p> - -<p>I will do all I can to live. I will do all I can to resist until the -supreme moment when they give back to me the honor of my name.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span></p> - -<p>But I shall bear the waiting better when you are there, in exile, with -me. So, together, proud and worthy of one another, we will, in exile, -give proof of the calm of two pure, honest hearts; of two hearts whose -thoughts have always all been given to our dear country—France.</p> - -<p>Good kisses to our poor darlings. Kisses to all our friends.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>8 January, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>They have given to me to-day your letters of Sunday, also those sent to -me by R., H. and A.</p> - -<p>Thank them all. Give them news of me. Pray them to write to me, but tell -them that it is impossible for me to answer them all. Not that the time -is lacking, alas! but I cannot abuse the time and the kindness of the -director of the prison, who is obliged to read all my letters. I am -relatively strong in this sense: that I live by hope. But I feel that -this situation cannot be prolonged. I have, and this is easy to -understand, moments of violent revolt against the injustice of my fate. -It is truly terrible to suffer as I have suffered through these long -months for a crime of which I am innocent. My brain, after all these -shocks, has moments of wandering.</p> - -<p>I hope to see Me. Demange this evening and to beg of him to take steps -with those who have the power to grant my prayer, so that they will, -under conditions which I shall indicate, arrange to have me sent into -exile with you, to wait until light is let in upon this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span> crime. As to -this last, I have great hope. My efforts must eventually have their -reward. But I must have air, hard physical work, your dear society, to -steady my brain, which has been shaken by so many shocks. Great God, how -little I expected them!</p> - -<p>Pray Me. Demange, who has obtained permission to see me, to come as soon -as he can, so that I may explain to him the favor asked by an innocent -man waiting until complete justice shall be done him.</p> - -<p>You ask me also, my darling, what I do from morning until night. I do -not want to tell you all my sad reflections. Your grief is great enough, -and it is useless to add to it. What I have said above will tell you -what at this moment I desire, exile with you in the free air, while I -await my vindication.</p> - -<p>As to the rest I will tell it all to you by and by, when we are together -again and happy.</p> - -<p>I will confide one thing to you, however—in the moments of my deepest -sadness, in my moments of violent crisis, a star shines all at once, -lighting up my brain and beaming upon me. It is your image, my darling, -it is your adored image that I hope soon to behold face to face. And -with that before me I can wait patiently until they give me back that -which I hold dearest in this world—my honor, my honor that has never -failed me.</p> - -<p>Embrace them all for me. Kisses to the darlings.</p> - -<p>I embrace you a thousand times.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>How impatiently I wait for Friday! What a pity that you came to-day at -the hour of the director’s luncheon; had you come at some other time -perhaps they might have permitted you to embrace me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span></p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Tuesday, 7 o’clock in the evening.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>They have just given me a whole package of letters—from Jeanmaire, from -your father, from Louise, and from you. Thank them all for writing to -me. The letters have made me weep, but they have eased my wounded soul. -Answer every one for me.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>9 January, 1895, Wednesday, 5 o’clock.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My good Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I, also, receive my letters only after a long delay. They have only now -given me your letter of Tuesday morning. With it were numerous letters -from all the family. What can we do, my darling? We must bow our heads, -we must suffer without complaining. Truly, even now, when I think it -over, I wonder how I could have had the courage to promise you to live -on after my condemnation. That day, that Saturday, is burned into my -mind in letters of fire. I have the courage of the soldier who goes -forward gladly to meet death face to face: but alas! shall I have the -soul of the martyr?</p> - -<p>But be tranquil, my darling. I shall force myself to live and to resist -until the day of my vindication. I have borne without flinching the -anguish of the most wounding affront that can be imposed upon a man of -heart who is innocent, whose conscience is pure. My heart has bled; it -bleeds still. I live only by the hope that they will give me back my -place in the army, the place I won by gallant and meritorious -conduct—the <i>galons</i> that no act of mine had ever sullied!</p> - -<p>And moreover, whatever sufferings may still await me, my heart commands -me to live. I must resist; I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span> must resist for the name that is borne by -my dear children, for the name of all the family.</p> - -<p>But duty is sometimes hard to follow. You speak of my life in this -prison—what good can it do to increase your sadness, my darling? Your -grief is great enough without my augmenting it by my complaining.</p> - -<p>I live by hope, my good darling. I live, because I believe that it is -impossible that the truth shall not some day be made clear, because it -cannot be that my innocence shall not be some day recognised and -proclaimed by this dear France—my country, to whom I have always -brought my intelligence and my strength—to whom I would have -consecrated all the blood that is in my veins.</p> - -<p>I must have patience; I must draw it from the deep well of your love, -from the affection of all those who love us, and from the conviction -that I shall ultimately be rehabilitated.</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses to the darlings.</p> - -<p> -I embrace you as I love you.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p>Your letter tells me that they have refused to permit Me. Demange to see -me; I hope, notwithstanding this, that they will soon accord him the -permission.</p> - -<p>I count the hours until Friday, when I shall see you. Thanks for the -good letters I receive from all. Thank them all for me and tell them -that one of the best hours in my day is that which I pass in reading my -letters. But I am incapable of answering all of them. I can say nothing -except that I am resigned and that I expect that the truth will be -discovered.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span></p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>10 January, 1895, 9 A. M.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>Since two o’clock this morning I could not sleep for thinking that -to-day I should see you. It seems that even now I hear your sweet voice -speaking to me of my dear children, of our dear families, and if I weep -I am not ashamed of it, for the martyrdom that I endure is truly cruel -for a man who is innocent.</p> - -<p>Who is the monster who has thrown the brand of evil, of dishonor, into a -brave and honorable family?</p> - -<p>If there is such a thing as justice on this earth, there is no -punishment too great to be reserved for him, no torture that should not -some day be inflicted on him.</p> - -<p>But my courage is not weakening. I have painful moments, when my eyes -are veiled by the mournful darkness of the present; but I comfort myself -by looking forward to the future.</p> - -<p>Your devotion is so heroic—you are all making such powerful efforts, it -is impossible that the truth shall be forever hidden. Besides that, the -truth must be made plain, <i>it must be</i>; the will is a powerful lever.</p> - -<p>Now, at once, my darling, I am to have the joy of embracing you, of -clasping you in my arms. I count the seconds which separate me from that -happy moment.</p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Half-past 3 o’clock, P. M., 10 January, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>The moment is passed, my darling; so quick, so short, that it seems to -me I have not told you the twentieth part of what I had to say. How -heroic you are, my adored one! How sublime is your self-forgetfulness, -your devotion! I can do nothing but wonder at you.</p> - -<p>Under the combined influence of your loving sympathy and of your heroic -efforts I have not the right to hesitate.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span></p> - -<p>I will suffer, then, I will not murmur, but let me when my heart -overflows weep out my anguish on your breast.</p> - -<p>The cruelest of all is this—I cannot repeat it too often—it is not the -physical suffering that I endure; it is this atmosphere of contempt -which surrounds my name—your name, my adored Lucie. You know that I -have always been proud, dignified. You know that I have held duty above -all else. You can therefore appreciate all that I suffer now. And that -is why I wish to live; that is why I cry my innocence to all the world. -I will cry it each day until my last breath, while in my body there is -one drop of blood.</p> - -<p>I shall find in your dear eyes the courage needful for my martyrdom. I -shall draw from the memory of my children the strength to resist to the -end of my agony.</p> - -<p>Bring me your portrait, too. I will place it between the pictures of our -darlings, and contemplating those faces, I shall each day, each instant, -read my duty.</p> - -<p> -Embrace all for me.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred Dreyfus.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Thank your sister Alice for her excellent letter, which has given me a -great deal of pleasure. Also give me news of all the members of the -family, to whom I cannot write. Tell them that their letters are always -welcome.</p> - -<p> -I embrace you tenderly.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Half-past 7 in the evening.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I have to-day received no letter from you—no letter from any one. Have -they been stopped on the way? However that may be, I have to-day been -deprived of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span> the only ray of sunlight which can lighten the darkness of -my prison.</p> - -<p>P. S. Just now, as I was about to go to bed, they brought me a package -of letters, which I am going to devour with delight.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Thursday, 5 o’clock in the evening, 11 January,<br /> -1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I thank you for your two last letters (one written Tuesday and the other -written, I think, Wednesday morning). They have just given them to me. -Write to me morning and evening. Although I receive the two letters at -the same time, nevertheless I can follow you in my thoughts. I see you -in all you do. It seems to me that I am living near to you.</p> - -<p>I occupy my time in reading and in writing; in that way I try to calm -the fever of my brain; to think no more of my situation, so sad, so -undeserved.</p> - -<p>Forgive me, my darling, if sometimes I complain. What would you, at -times memory is so bitter! I need to throw myself upon your breast, -there to pour out my overburdened heart. We have always understood each -other’s thoughts so well, my darling, that I am sure that your strong -and generous heart beats with the indignation of my own.</p> - -<p>We were so happy—everything in life smiled upon us. Do you remember -when I told you that we had nothing for which to envy any one; that all -was ours? Position, fortune, the love we bore each other, our adorable -little children—we had everything.</p> - -<p>There was not a cloud on the horizon; then came the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span> awful thunderbolt, -so unexpected, so unbelievable! Even now it seems sometimes that I must -be the victim of a horrible nightmare.</p> - -<p>I do not complain of physical sufferings, you know that I despise them; -but to know that an accusation of infamy stains my name, when I am -innocent—oh, no! no! This is why I have borne all my torment, all the -anguish, all the insults. I am convinced that soon or late the truth -will come to light, and then they will do me justice.</p> - -<p>I can easily excuse this anger, this rage of all the people—the noble -people, who have been taught to believe that there is a traitor; but I -want to live so that they may know that the traitor is not I.</p> - -<p>Upheld by your love, by the boundless love of all of ours, I shall -overcome fatality. I do not say that I shall not still have moments of -despondency, even of despair. Truly not to complain of an error so -monstrous would require a grandeur of soul to which I cannot pretend. -But my heart will remain strong and valiant.</p> - -<p>Then courage and energy, my darling. We must all be brave and strong. -Let us lift up our heads all of us, carry them high and proudly. We are -martyrs. I will live, my adored one, because I will that you shall bear -my name, as you have borne it until now, with honor, with joy, and with -love; and because I will to transmit it to our children without a stain.</p> - -<p>Therefore do not allow yourselves to be beaten down by -adversity—neither you nor the others. Search for the truth without -parleying, without a truce.</p> - -<p>As to me, I shall wait with the strength born of a pure and tranquil -conscience until this mysterious and tragical affair is dragged into the -light.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span></p> - -<p>You know, moreover, my darling, that the only mercy I have ever asked -for is the truth; I hope that my countrymen will not fail in the duty -which they owe to a fellow-man, who asks one right only—that the search -for the truth may be kept up.</p> - -<p>And when the light shines in on my vindication; when they give me back -my <i>galons</i> that I won, and that I am as worthy to wear now as when I -won them by my own might; when I am once more in my own place, at the -head of my troopers, oh, then, my darling, I shall forget -everything—the sufferings, the torture, the insults, the bleeding -wounds.</p> - -<p>May God and human justice grant that the day break soon!</p> - -<p>Until to-morrow, my adored Lucie! Then shall I have the pleasure of -embracing you again. Now I am counting the hours; to-morrow I shall -count the minutes.</p> - -<p>I embrace you fondly.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Good, long kisses to our two darlings. I dare not think of them. Talk to -them about me. Let not these young souls suffer from our sadness. -Embrace every one at home for me.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>12 January, 1895, Saturday, 4 o’clock.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>How short was that half hour yesterday! I arrange in my mind in advance -just how I shall employ every minute, so that I may not forget what I -want to say. Then the time goes by as in a dream; and all at once the -interview is over, and again I have said almost nothing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span></p> - -<p>How can two beings like you and me be so cruelly tried?</p> - -<p>Do you remember the charming plans that we had sketched out for this -very winter? We ought to profit a little by our liberty when we are -together to go back to those days when, two young lovers, we wandered -together in the land of the sun. Ah, it cannot be possible! All this -anguish, all that is passing now, is inhuman. If there is a God, if -there is any justice in this world, we must believe that the truth must -declare itself soon; that we shall be recompensed for all that we have -suffered.</p> - -<p>I have put the children’s photographs before me on the little table of -my cell. When I look at them the tears rush to my eyes, my heart -bursts—but at the same time it does me good, it strengthens my courage. -Bring me your photograph, too. Your three faces before my eyes will be -the companions of my mournful solitude.</p> - -<p>Ah, my darling wife, you have a noble mission to fulfil, and for it you -need all your energy. That is why I am always begging of you to care for -your health. Your physical strength is more necessary than ever before. -You owe yourself to your children first, then to the name they bear. It -must be proven to the whole world that that name is pure and stainless.</p> - -<p>Oh, for light upon my tragic situation! How I long for it! How I wait -for it! How I would buy it if I could, not only with all my -fortune—that would be nothing—but with my very blood!</p> - -<p>If only I could put my brain to sleep! If I could prevent it from -thinking always of this unexplainable mystery! I long to pierce the -shadows; I long to tear up the earth that the daylight may burst -through.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span></p> - -<p>You will answer, and with justice, that I must be patient; that time is -necessary to discover the truth. Alas! I know it. But what would you? -The minutes to me seem hours. It always seems to me that some one will -come to me in another minute and say:</p> - -<p>“Forgive us, we were deceived; the mistake has been discovered.”</p> - -<p>Now I am waiting for Monday. Henceforth the weeks for me are composed -but of the two days when you come to visit me. You cannot know how I -marvel at your self-sacrifice, your heroism, how I draw courage from -your love, so profound, so devoted.</p> - -<p>Thank your sister Alice for her excellent letter, which has given me -great pleasure. Give news of me to all the members of the family to whom -I cannot write. Tell them that their letters are always most welcome.</p> - -<p> -I embrace you tenderly, fondly.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><i>14 January, 1895, Monday, 9 o’clock in the morning.</i></p> - -<p>At last the happy day has come again when I can have the happiness of -seeing you, of kissing you, of receiving news by word of mouth of you -all. I have so many things to tell you; but when I see you shall not I -again, in the emotion which will seize me, forget everything? Last night -again I could not sleep until two o’clock. I was thinking of you, of you -all, of this fearful enigma which I long to decipher. I have turned over -in my mind a thousand ways, each more violent, more extravagant than the -other, by which to rend the veil which shields the monster.</p> - -<p>How can I help it, my darling? Night and day I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span> think only of that. My -mind is always straining to reach that end, and I cannot help you in any -way. It is the feeling of my utter helplessness which hurts me most.</p> - -<p>I try hard to read, but while my eyes follow the lines my thoughts -wander.</p> - -<p>And now, immediately, my darling, I am to have the joy of seeing you!</p> - -<p>Waiting for that moment, I pace my cell like a lion in its cage.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>14 January, 1895, 1 o’clock.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>The time drags slowly; the minutes are hours. How can I use up my -energy! How can I restrain my heart! Sometimes I lose my patience. It is -not the courage, the energy that I lack—you know it well—and my -conscience gives me superhuman force, but it is this terrible idleness, -this longing to be able to help you to pursue the only object of my -life, to discover the wretch who has stolen my honor; this is what burns -in my blood. Ah, I would rather mount alone to the assault of ten -redoubts than be here powerless, inactive, waiting passively for the -truth to be revealed! I envy the man who breaks stones on the highway, -absorbed in his mechanical labor. But, my darling, I shall soon see you -now, and you will give me back my patience.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>3 o’clock.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>Already the time has passed as in a dream, ... and I had so many things -to tell you, ... and then when I am</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;" id="ill_2"> -<a href="images/ill_003.jpg"> -<img src="images/ill_003.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>CAPTAIN ALFRED DREYFUS</p> - -<p>This portrait is enlarged from a photograph taken on the occasion of his -degradation.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">in your presence I look at you, I no longer can remember anything. All -that happens to me then appears a dream; it seems to me that never again -shall we be separated—that I am awaking from my horrible nightmare. But -alas! then comes reality—our parting.</p> - -<p>Ah, the wretch who committed the crime—who stole our honor! It is no -ordinary punishment that he deserves. When the day comes and his guilt -is known I hope that public opinion may nail his name to the pillory of -history, that his punishment may be beyond all that we can imagine.</p> - -<p>I ask you to forgive me for my weakness, for my impatience. But think, -my darling, what these long hours are to me—these long days.</p> - -<p>But I am calmer after each interview. I draw new strength, a new store -of patience from your looks, from your love.</p> - -<p>Ah, the truth! We must reveal it, it must shine forth clear and -luminous. I live only for that; I live only by that hope.</p> - -<p>And this truth, as you have so truly said, must be entire, -absolute—there must be left no doubt in the mind of any one. My -innocence must burst forth. Everybody—all must recognize it—they must -know that my honor stands as high as that of any man on the earth.</p> - -<p>And it is to this end that I must be patient.... I realize it as you do, -... but the heart has reasons that reason knows not! If I could only put -my brain to sleep until the day when they find the guilty one I should -bear physical torments valiantly, I should not waver. And then think of -the atmosphere that is to envelop me on the path I have yet to follow!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span></p> - -<p>But my heart must be silent. I gain each time new strength, new -patience, from your dear eyes.</p> - -<p>Do not think any longer of my sufferings. You can comfort me only in -doing as you have done—in searching for the guilty one, without a -thought of truce—without an hour of rest.</p> - -<p>I have read Pierrot’s few lines in Marie’s letter. Thank them both, -particularly the hand that directed the hand of Pierrot.</p> - -<p>Make of our dear children vigorous and healthy beings.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Tuesday, 15 January, 1895, 9 o’clock in the morning.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I was thinking a great deal last night of what you said yesterday when -you urged me to be patient; when you explained to me that nothing is -done in a day. Alas! I know it well; but I suffer precisely because of -my good qualities, which are defects situated as we are now. I am an -active man, and I am impatient to have it deciphered—this enigma that -is torturing my brain.</p> - -<p>But you understand, my darling, since you know me so well. It is useless -for me to tell each day of the fevers of impatience which at times -overcome me; the paroxysms of crazy anger which at times carry me -away....</p> - -<p>Yesterday I received good news. They told me that I am to see your -mother to-day. I am rejoicing over it in advance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span></p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Half-past 5 o’clock.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I have seen Me. Demange for a few minutes; afterward I had the pleasure -of seeing your mother.</p> - -<p>I was so enervated to-day that I almost fainted before her. I could not -help it. Sometimes I become again a man, with all man’s weakness, with -all man’s passions. You must admit that there is in my situation enough -to break down the strongest.</p> - -<p>Ah, believe that were it not for you—for our dear children—it would be -far easier for me to die! But I must bear up and face my sorrow. I must -tell myself that I will bear all the agony, all the martyrdom, until the -time when my innocence shall burst forth in the light of day.</p> - -<p>It is impossible that it can be otherwise.</p> - -<p>I shall hold out to the end, be sure of it; but at times I will give way -to cries of wrath—to cries of anguish.</p> - -<p>Embrace them all, our darlings, for me.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>7 o’clock.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>My moment of weakness is past. I see and I live in the future. Courage, -then, all of us. Sooner or later innocence will triumph.</p> - -<p>Go forward without flinching on the path you have marked out, as I shall -go forward without weakening on my dolorous journey.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span></p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Wednesday, 16 January, 1895,<br /> -10 o’clock in the morning.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have succeeded in conquering my nerves. I have silenced the tumult of -my soul. It does no good to be impatient, since I am resolved to live to -see my innocence proclaimed.</p> - -<p>I know that it will require time—yes, a long time—but I shall wait, as -I promised you that I would, with calmness and with dignity until the -truth is known. My conscience will give me the necessary strength.</p> - -<p>I will prepare my soul to bear without a murmur the suffering which yet -awaits me. I will stifle the sobs of my bleeding heart.</p> - -<p>Yesterday I lost for some minutes the sense of my existence; remember -that it is now three months that I have been shut up in this room, a -prey to the most appalling mental tortures that can be inflicted upon a -man of heart; but by a violent effort of my whole being I regained -possession of myself.</p> - -<p>It is, above all, my nerves that are weak; my spirit is what it was in -the beginning.</p> - -<p>But you all are united in will, in intelligence, and in devotion; -therefore I have the conviction that soon or late the day will dawn. I -shall not belie your efforts.</p> - -<p>Let us speak no more of it.</p> - -<p>What shall I tell you? My daily life? You know it! I have described it -to you in its smallest details. My thoughts? They are all of you, of our -dear children, of our dear families. Still two more days to wait before -I can see you and embrace you. How long the interval is that separates -our interviews, and how short the time of our meetings! I would make the -time run by when<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span> you are far from me. I would make it an eternity when -you are with me.</p> - -<p>What courage you give me to live, my darling; what patience I draw from -the deep well of your eyes, from the memories you recall to me, from my -duty to our darlings.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>1 o’clock.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just received your two dear letters of Tuesday. You are right to -speak to me of our dear ones. Though every thought of them rends my -heart, their chatter, which you repeat to me, awakes in me happy and -touching memories, and faith comes back to me—a faith in better days.</p> - -<p>I agree absolutely with you as to the work in which you are engaged. -Calmness, time, and perseverance are needful if we would go on to the -end. I know it well; I should do just as you are doing were I in your -place, preferring to advance slowly but surely rather than lose all by -thoughtless haste. But I, alas! I am shut up between four walls, idle, -my blood on fire and my point of view is necessarily different from -yours.</p> - -<p>They have just told me that my two sisters will come to see me at two -o’clock. What a happiness it is to see those who belong to one!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>5 o’clock.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I have seen Louise and Rachel. I have felt that their hearts beat with -mine, that they share my sufferings. Their faith in the future is -absolute. I hope as they do.</p> - -<p>What devotion I meet in our wonderful families, in our friends! It -consoles me, moreover, for the weakness<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span> of humanity. Truly we can judge -of people only when we are in trouble.</p> - -<p>I embrace you a thousand times, as I love you.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Dear Jeanne must be changing in her appearance. Is she becoming as -handsome as a girl as her brother is handsome as a boy?</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Thursday, 17 January, 1895, 9 o’clock.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>What a part these accursed nerves play in human life! Why cannot we -entirely disengage our material being from our moral personality, so -that one shall not influence the other?</p> - -<p>My moral personality is always salient, always strong, as ever resolved -to go on to the end; it is determined to face all. I must get back my -honor that they tore from me, although I had never faltered. But my -material personality is subjected to rude shocks. My nerves, which have -been too tensely strung during nearly three months, make me suffer -horribly at times, and I have not even the resource of violent physical -exercise by which to subdue them. I am to be given some medicine to-day -to relax their tension.</p> - -<p>Ah, when I think of those who have accused me and caused my -condemnation! May remorse pursue them and make them bear the anguish -that I am bearing. But let us talk of other things.</p> - -<p>How are you, my darling? How are the children? I hope that you all may -continue to be well. Be careful of yourself; you have not the right to -allow yourself to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span> be broken down. You have need of all your courage and -of all your energy; and therefore you need all your physical strength.</p> - -<p>At last the time has come. To-morrow will be Friday. How long that day -is in coming! Happily the time seemed a little less long this week; for -yesterday and the day before I heard of you from those who came to see -me.</p> - -<p>After all, why should not I, too, have confidence, when I feel around me -all this friendship, all this affection, all this devotion!</p> - -<p>But that which I must have above all things is patience.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>2 o’clock.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>They have given me your letter of yesterday. I find that I moan enough -of my own accord without encouragement from you to do so still more. Ah, -how terrible this helplessness is, when I long to cry aloud my -innocence, proclaim it, prove it! Well, all this will do no good. It is -necessary, as I cannot reiterate too often, as every one must have told -you for me—it is necessary to search on without truce, without rest.</p> - -<p>The will is a lever which pries up and breaks in pieces all obstacles.</p> - -<p>Yesterday I received a good letter from your sister; to-day one from -your mother. I have, alas! nothing in particular to tell them. My life, -you know it hour by hour. You can describe it to them as completely as I -could. Tell your mother that she must not fear anything. I have nervous -weakness, which is easily explained, but my mind remains strong. My soul -needs<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span> the truth, it demands its honor, and it shall have it. I shall -not belie your efforts.</p> - -<p>Sooner or later, my darling, our happiness will return to us. I have the -firm conviction of this. The hardest of all is to have the patience that -is absolutely necessary. Happy is it for you that you have a powerful -diversion—action.</p> - -<p>Until to-morrow, my darling, when I shall have the pleasure of seeing -you, of talking with you, of kissing you!</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Good kisses to the dear ones.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p>JANUARY AND FEBRUARY, 1895.</p> - -<p>THE PRISON OF SAINT-MARTIN DE RE.</p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>19 January, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Thursday evening, toward ten o’clock, they came to wake me to bring me -here, where I arrived only last night. I do not want to speak of my -journey, it would break your heart. Know only that I have heard the -legitimate cries of a brave and generous people against him whom they -believe to be a traitor, the lowest of wretches. I am no longer sure if -I have a heart.</p> - -<p>Oh, what a sacrifice I made the day of my condemnation, when I promised -you that I should not kill myself! What a sacrifice I made to the name -of my poor, dear, little children, in bearing what I am under<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span>going! If -there is a divine justice, we must hope that I shall be recompensed for -this long and fearful torture, for this suffering of every minute and -every instant. The other day your father told me that he would have -preferred death. And I—I would rather, a hundred thousand times rather, -be dead. But this right to die belongs to none of us; the more I suffer -the more must it impel your courage and your resolution to find the -truth. Look on for the truth, do not waver, do not rest. Let your -efforts be in proportion to the sufferings which I have imposed upon -myself.</p> - -<p>Will you please ask, or have some one ask, at the Ministry for the -following authorizations; the Minister alone can accord them:</p> - -<p>1. The right to write to all the members of my family—father, mother, -brothers, and sisters.</p> - -<p>2. The right to write and to work in my cell. At present I have neither -<i>paper</i>, nor <i>pen</i>, nor <i>ink</i>. I am given only the sheet of paper on -which I write to you; then they take away my pen and ink.</p> - -<p>3. Permission to smoke.</p> - -<p>I beg you not to come before you are completely cured.</p> - -<p>The climate here is very rigorous, and you need all your health, first -for our dear children, then for the end for which you are working. <i>As -to my régime here, I am forbidden to speak to you of it.</i></p> - -<p>And now I must remind you that before you come here you must provide -yourself with <i>all</i> the authorizations necessary <i>to see me</i>; do not -forget to ask permission <i>to kiss me</i>, etc., etc.</p> - -<p>When shall we be reunited, my darling? I live in the hope of that, and -in the still greater hope of my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span> restoration to honor. But oh, how my -soul suffers! Tell all our family that they must work on without -weakening, without resting; for all that comes to us now is appalling, -tragic. Write to me soon. I embrace you as I love you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Tuesday, 21 January, 1895, 9 o’clock in the morning.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>How you must suffer!... The tragedy of which we are the victims is -certainly the most terrible of the century. To have -everything—happiness, the future, a charming home—and then, all at -once, to be accused and condemned for a crime so monstrous!</p> - -<p>Ah, the monster who has cast dishonor in our family might better have -killed me; at least there would then have been only me to suffer! This -is what tortures me the most; it is the thought of the infamy that is -coupled with my name. If I had only physical sufferings to bear, it -would be nothing. Sufferings borne for a noble cause are elevating; but -to suffer because I am condemned for an infamous crime—ah, no! Cannot -you see that it is too much, even for energy like mine?</p> - -<p>Oh, why am I not dead? I have not even the right to leave this life of -my own will; it would be an act of cowardice. I have not the right to -die, to look for oblivion, until I shall have regained my honor. The -other day when they insulted me at La Rochelle, I wished that I might -escape from the hands of my guards and present myself with naked breast -to those to whom I was a just object of indignation and say to them: “Do -not insult me; my heart that you cannot know is pure and free from all -defilement; but if you be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span>lieve me guilty, here, take my body; I give it -up to you without regret.”</p> - -<p>At least then, when under the sharp sting of physical suffering, I -should still have cried, “<i>Vive la France!</i>” Perhaps then they would -have believed in my innocence.</p> - -<p>After all, what do I beg for night and day? Justice, justice! Are we in -the nineteenth century, or must we turn back for centuries? Is it -possible that innocence can be unrecognized in a century of light and -truth? They must search for the truth. I do not ask for mercy, but I -demand the justice due to every human creature. They must search. Let -those who possess powerful means of investigation use them to this end; -it is a sacred duty which they owe to humanity and justice. It is -impossible that light shall not be thrown upon my mysterious and tragic -fate.</p> - -<p>O God! who will give me back my honor that has been stolen from me, -basely stolen from me? Oh, what a dark drama, my poor darling! As you -have so truly said, it surpasses anything that can be imagined.</p> - -<p>I have but two happy moments in my days, but so short. The first is when -they bring me this sheet of paper so that I can write to you—I pass a -few moments in talking with you. The second is when they bring me your -daily letter. The rest of the time I am alone with my thoughts; and God -knows that they are sad and dark.</p> - -<p>When is this horrible drama to end? When will the truth at last be -known? Oh, my fortune, all of it, to the one who is adroit, able enough, -to solve this sad enigma!</p> - -<p>Tell me about all our friends.</p> - -<p>Embrace them all for me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span></p> - -<p>I dare not speak of our darlings. When I look at their photographs, when -I see their eyes so good, so sweet, the sobs rise from my heart to my -lips. When we suffer for some thing or for some one it is easy to -understand.... But why and, above all, for whom am I suffering this -odious martyrdom?</p> - -<p>I press you to my heart.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Do not come until you are completely recovered and in excellent health. -Our children have need of you.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>23 January, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I receive your letters every day. As yet they have given me none from -any member of the family, and, on my side, I have not yet received the -authorization to write to them. I have written to you every day since -Saturday. I hope that you have received all my letters.</p> - -<p>You must not be astonished, my darling, at the scene of La Rochelle. I -find it perfectly natural. What astonishes me is that no one has yet -been found to come forward and tell what our families really -are—families whose names are synonymous with loyalty and honor. Ah, -human cowardice, I have measured its length and breadth in these sad, -dark days!</p> - -<p>When I think of what I was but a few months ago, and when I compare it -with my miserable situation to-day, I confess that my heart faints, that -I give way to ferocious outbreaks against the injustice of my lot. Truly -I am the victim of the most hideous error of our century. At times my -reason refuses to believe it; it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span> seems to me that I am the dupe of a -terrible hallucination, that it will all vanish; ... but, alas! the -reality is all around me.</p> - -<p>Why did not we all die before the beginning of this tragedy? Truly it -would have been preferable. And now we have not the right to die, not -one of us has that right. We must live to cleanse our name of the stain -with which it has been sullied. My conviction is absolute; I am sure -that sooner or later the light will shine out. It is impossible in an -age like ours that search shall not result in the discovery of the one -who is really guilty; but what shall I be, mentally and physically, at -that time? I believe that life will have no more attraction for me, and -if I cling to it, it will be for your sake, my dear heart, whose -devotion has been heroic through all these terrible hours—for you and -for my dear children, to whom I wish to restore their honorable name.</p> - -<p>But whatever may come, I am sure that history will place things in their -true position. There will be in our dear country of France, so easily -excited, but so generous to innocent sufferers, some man honest and -courageous enough to try to find the truth.</p> - -<p>And I, my darling, what can I say to you? That my heart is broken; at -least they will have accomplished that. But be tranquil; until my last -breath I shall stand firm. I will not weaken, nor bow my head.</p> - -<p>My honor is equal to that of any man on the earth. I demand justice; you -also must demand it. This is all the mercy that I beg for. I ask for -nothing but the truth—the whole truth.</p> - -<p>And this truth, if we pursue it steadfastly, we shall have at last; it -is impossible that such an error can rest unexposed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span></p> - -<p>When I look back, my sufferings are so appalling that I am seized by -terrible nervous shocks. I look forward always with the hope that soon -all will be made clear and that they will give me back my honor—the -thing I hold dearest in this world.</p> - -<p>May God and justice grant that it may be soon! Truly I have suffered -enough. We all have suffered enough.</p> - -<p>I hope that you always take good care of your health. You need, my -darling, all your physical strength to be able to bear the moral -tortures that are inflicted upon you.</p> - -<p>How are all the members of our two families? Give me news of them, since -I cannot hear directly from them.</p> - -<p>Kiss our two darlings for me—my love to all the family.</p> - -<p>I embrace you with all my strength.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>24 January, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>After all, let us hope that this horrible agony may end—that is my only -reason for living, that is my only hope.</p> - -<p>The days and the nights are long. My brain is always searching for the -answer to this appalling riddle that it cannot solve.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p> -I embrace you as I love you.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Friday, 25 January, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Your letter of yesterday wrung my heart. The sorrow transpierced every -word.</p> - -<p>Never, surely, have two unfortunate creatures suffered as we suffer. If -I had not faith in the future, if my conscience, clean and pure, did not -tell me that such an error cannot exist eternally, I should, of a truth, -give way to the darkest thoughts. I should despair. Once, as you know, I -determined to kill myself; I yielded to your remonstrances; I have -promised you to live, for you have made me realize that I have not the -right to desert my post; because I am innocent I must live. But alas! if -you could know how, sometimes, it is more difficult to live than to die!</p> - -<p>But be tranquil, my darling; no matter how I am tortured I shall not -belie your generous efforts. I will live ... as long as my physical -strength and, above all, my moral strength hold out.</p> - -<p>All night long I thought of you, my darling; I suffered with you. I have -written to you every day since last Saturday. I hope that by this time -you have received all my letters.</p> - -<p>I do not know either on whom or on what to fix my ideas. When I look -back to the past anger rises to my brain, so impossible it seems to me -that everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span> has been thus wrested from me. When I look to the -present, my plight is so wretched that my thoughts turn toward death, in -which I might forget all my misery. It is only when I look forward to -the future that I have a moment of consolation, for, as I have just told -you, hope is all that gives me life.</p> - -<p>Just now I gazed for several minutes at the pictures of our dear -children; but I could not bear to look at them longer; my sobs strangled -me. Yes, my darling, I must live. I must bear my martyrdom to the end, -for the name borne by these dear little ones. Some day they must learn -that this name is worthy to be honored, to be respected; they must be -sure that if I hold the honor of many men below my own, there is none -that I hold above it.</p> - -<p>Ah, surely it is full time that this horrible suffering to which we are -all subjected should end! I dare not think of it. Everything within me -swells my heart to bursting.</p> - -<p>I embrace you a thousand, thousand times, and our good darlings.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Friday, 4 o’clock.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>They have given me your letter of Friday, in which you tell me that you -have received my last letter. You are asked to abstain from making any -reflections upon the measures taken in regard to us. Henceforth I shall -no longer have the right to write to you more than twice a week. You can -write to me every day. Do it, my darling, for that is the only thing -that gives me courage<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span> to live. If I could not feel your warm affection, -the love of all of ours, struggling with me for my honor, I should not -have the courage to pursue this almost superhuman task. They still give -me no letters from any of the family, and I am not permitted to write to -them. The Minister is the only one who can modify this state of things.</p> - -<p>You cannot imagine, my poor child, how unhappy I am. Night and day I -think of the horrible word that is coupled with my name; there are times -when my brain refuses to admit such a thing. I ask myself, in my -agitated nights, if I am awake or if I sleep. Added to everything else I -have no occupation by which to distract my sombre thoughts.</p> - -<p>I kiss you a thousand times, and also all the others.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>28 January, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>This is one of the happy days of my sad existence, because I can come to -pass half an hour with you, talking to you and telling you of my life. -You know that I am permitted to write to you but twice a week. I have -received your two letters, of Friday and Saturday. Each time that they -bring me a letter from you a ray of joy pierces to my wounded heart. -What you told me in your letter of Saturday is perfectly true. Like you, -I have the absolute conviction that all will be discovered, but when? -You know that in the end everything is blunted, even the most heroic -courage. And, then, between the courage that makes a man confront -danger—no matter what danger it may be—and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span> courage that enables -him to bear, without fainting, the worst of outrages, scorn and shame, -there is a great difference. I have never lowered my head, believe it; -my conscience forbade that. I have a right to look all the world in the -face. But, alas! all the world cannot look into my soul, into my -conscience. The fact is there, brutal and terrible. That is why each -time that I receive one of your dear letters I have a ray of hope; I -hope at last to hear some good news. If the Léons have come back to -Paris, their impatience not letting them wait, only think how it is with -me. I know that you all suffer as I do, that you partake of my anguish -and my tortures, but you have your activity to distract you, a little, -from this awful sorrow; while I am here, impatient, shut up alone night -and day with my thoughts.</p> - -<p>I ask myself even now how my brain has been strong enough to resist so -many and so oft-repeated blows; how is it that I have not gone mad.</p> - -<p>It is certain, my darling, that it is only your profound love which can -make me still hold on to life. To have consecrated all my strength, all -my intelligence, to the service of my country, and then suddenly to be -accused of the greatest, the most monstrous, crime a soldier can -commit—condemned for it—that is enough to disgust one with life! When -my honor is given back to me—oh, may that day come soon!—then I will -consecrate myself entirely to you and to our dear children.</p> - -<p>And then think of the terrible way I have still to traverse before I -shall arrive at the end of my journey—crossing the seas for sixty or -eighty days under conditions so appalling. I do not speak—you know -it—of the material conditions of the passage; you know that my body has -never worried me much; but the moral con<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span>ditions! To be during all that -time before sailors, the officers of the navy—that is, before honest -and loyal soldiers—who will see in me a traitor, the most abject of -criminals! At the bare thought of it my heart shrinks.</p> - -<p>I think that no innocent man in this world has ever endured the mental -torments that I have already borne, that I have still to bear. So you -can think that in each of your letters I search for that word of hope, -so long waited for, so ardently desired.</p> - -<p>Write to me, each day, long letters. Give me news of all the members of -the family, since I do not hear from them and cannot write to them. Your -letters give me, as I have already said, my only moments of happiness. -You only, you alone, bind me to life.</p> - -<p>Look backward I cannot. The tears blind me when I think of our lost -happiness. I can look forward only in the supreme hope that soon the day -will break, illumined with the light of truth.</p> - -<p>Kiss them all for me; kiss our dear children. A thousand kisses for you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Thursday, 31 January, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>At last the happy day is here! I can write to you. I count them, alas! -my happy days.</p> - -<p>I have not, indeed, received any letters from you since the one they -gave me last Sunday. What terrible suffering! Until now I have had each -day a moment of happiness in receiving your letter. It was an echo from -you all—an echo of the sympathy of you all, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span> warmed my poor frozen -heart. I used to read and re-read your letters. I absorbed each word. -Little by little the written words were transformed and given a -voice—it seemed to me that I could hear you speaking; that you were by -my side. Oh, the delicious music that whispered to my soul! Now, for -four days nothing but my dreary sorrow, the appalling solitude.</p> - -<p>Truly I ask myself how I live. Night and day my sole companion is my -brain. I have nothing to do except to weep over our misfortunes.</p> - -<p>Last night when I thought of all my past life, of all my labor, of all -that I have done in order to acquire an honorable position, ... then -when I compared that with my present lot, sobs seized my throat; it -seemed that my heart was being torn asunder; and, so that my guards -should not hear me—I was so ashamed of my weakness—I stifled my sobs -with the coverings of my bed.</p> - -<p>Oh, it is too cruel!</p> - -<p>How I prove to-day by my own experience that it is sometimes harder to -live than to die!</p> - -<p>To die would be to pass a moment of suffering; but it would be to forget -all my woes, all my tortures.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, to carry each day the weight of suffering, to feel -the heart bleed, and to endure this torment in every nerve, to feel -every fibre of my being tremble, to suffer the undying martyrdom of the -heart, this is terrible.</p> - -<p>But I have not the right to die. We have none of us that right. We shall -have it only after the truth shall have been brought to light; only when -my honor shall have been given back to me. Until then we must live. I -bend every effort to this task, to live. I try to annihi<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span>late in me all -my intellectual part, all that is sensible of suffering, so that I may -live, like a beast, preoccupied with the satisfying of its material -needs.</p> - -<p>When shall this martyrdom come to an end? When will men recognize the -truth?</p> - -<p>How are our poor darlings? When I think of them it is a torrent of -tears. And you, I hope that you are well. You must take care of your -health, my darling. The children first of all, and then the mission -which you have to fulfill, impose upon you duties which you cannot -neglect.</p> - -<p>Forgive the disconnected and wandering style of my writing. I no longer -know how to write; the words will not come to me, my brain is shattered. -There is but one fixed idea in my mind—the hope of some day knowing the -truth, of seeing my innocence recognized and proclaimed. That is what I -mutter night and day, in my dreams as in my waking hours.</p> - -<p>When shall I be able to embrace you and recover in your deep love the -strength I need to carry me to the end of my calvary?</p> - -<p>Embrace every one for me.</p> - -<p>Kisses for the darlings.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Sunday, 3 February, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have passed an atrocious week. I have been without a word from you -since last Sunday—that is to say, for eight days. I thought that you -must be sick, then<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span> that one of the children was sick, then, in my -reeling brain, I conjured up all kinds of suppositions—I imagined -everything.</p> - -<p>You can realize, my darling, all that I have suffered, all that I still -suffer. In my horrible solitude, in the tragic situation in which events -as unnatural as they are incomprehensible have placed me, I had at least -one consolation; it was to feel that you were near me, your heart -beating in unison with mine and sharing all my tortures.</p> - -<p>The night between Thursday and Friday, above all, was appalling. I will -not tell you about it; it would rend your heart. All that I can tell you -is that my mind kept going over and over the accusation they had brought -against me. I told myself that the thing was impossible.... Then I -aroused myself, and I realized the sad truth of it all.</p> - -<p>Oh, why cannot they open my heart and read there as one reads in an open -book; there, at least, they would see the sentiments which I have always -professed and which I still hold. No, no, it seems to me impossible that -all this is to endure eternally. Some day the truth must come to light. -By an unheard-of effort of the will I regained my self-control; I told -myself that I could neither go down into my grave nor go mad with a -dishonored name. I must live then, whatever may be the torture of soul -to which I am a prey.</p> - -<p>Oh, this opprobrium, this infamy covering my name! When will they be -taken away?</p> - -<p>May it come, the blessed day when my innocence is recognized! when they -give me back that honor that never failed me! I am tired of suffering.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span></p><p>Let them take my blood, let them do what they will with my body, ... -you know that I do not care a straw for that; ... but let them give me -back my honor.</p> - -<p>Will no one hear this cry of despair, this cry of an innocent wretch who -begs only for justice—only justice?</p> - -<p>Each day I hope that the hour is at hand, that men are now to recognize -what I have been, what I am—a loyal soldier, worthy to lead the -soldiers of France under fire. Then the night comes, and nothing, still -nothing.</p> - -<p>Add to this that I received no letter from you; that I am absolutely -alone with my torture of soul, and you can judge of my condition. But be -reassured, I am strong again. I have called myself a coward; I have told -myself all that you yourself could have told me were you at my side; an -innocent man has never the right to despair. Then, though I have no news -of you, I feel that all your hearts, all your souls, are throbbing in -unison with my heart and with my soul; that you suffer with me the -infamy that covers my name and that you are endeavoring to wipe it out. -When can you come to pass some hours with me? How happy I should be -could I but draw new strength from your heart!</p> - -<p>Shall I have a letter from you to-day? I dare not hope too much, since -each day my hope is deferred, and at each disappointment the suffering -is too great.</p> - -<p>Well, my darling, what can I tell you? I live by hope. Night and day I -see before me, like a brilliant star, the moment when all shall be -forgotten, when my honor shall be given back to me.</p> - -<p>Kiss my darlings tenderly, most tenderly, for me.</p> - -<p>I send kisses for all the members of our families.</p> - -<p>As for you, I embrace you, as I love you, with all my strength.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Thursday, 7 February, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>On Sunday I received a package of fifteen letters all dated before -Sunday, January 27. Thank all the members of the family for their warm -affection, which I have never doubted. I am still without news of you -for more than ten days. To tell you my tortures is impossible.</p> - -<p>To find myself thus confronted by soldiers whom yesterday I was so proud -to command, whom I am as worthy to command to-day, and who see in me the -lowest of wretches—oh, it is appalling! At the very thought my heart -stops its beating.</p> - -<p>My story is too horrible, my brain can bear no more.</p> - -<p>I have been able to resist thus far because my heart, honest and pure, -told me that it was my duty; that my innocence, so complete and so -absolute, must soon be made manifest; but this long-continued outrage is -heart-breaking.</p> - -<p>I would rather have stood before the execution squad; at least then -there could have been no possible discussion, and you could afterward -have rehabilitated my memory.</p> - -<p>But do not fear that I shall ever attempt to take my life. I have -promised you never to do it, and you know that I have but one word. -Therefore do not be anxious in regard to that. But how far will my -strength carry me, how long will my heart continue to beat in this -atmosphere of scorn, I, so proud of my stainless honor, I, so haughty, -that is what I cannot tell!</p> - -<p>Ah, if there were nothing worse than bodily torture to be borne, if it -were only that I must suffer, waiting for the truth, I should be strong -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span>enough to bear this appalling martyrdom. But to bear scorn, ... and for -so long, ... it is horrible!</p> - -<p>I do not believe that there has ever been an innocent man who has -endured tortures to be compared to mine.</p> - -<p>As for you, my poor and well-beloved wife, you must keep all your -courage and all your energy. It is in the name of our profound love that -I beg you to do this, for you must be there to wash away from my name -the stain with which it has been sullied. You must be there to bring up -our children to be brave and honorable. You must be there to tell them, -one day, what their father was—a brave and loyal soldier, crushed by an -appalling fatality.</p> - -<p>Shall I have news of you to-day? When shall I be told that I may have -the pleasure and the joy of embracing you? Each day I hope it, and -nothing comes to lighten the burden of my horrible agony.</p> - -<p>Courage, my darling, you need so much of it—so much! You all need it, -all of our two families. You have not the right to let yourself break -down, for you have a great mission to fulfill, no matter what may become -of me. Give them all my love; embrace our two poor darlings tenderly for -me, and receive for yourself the tenderest kisses of him who loves you -so dearly.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Sunday, 10 February, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I received, Friday evening, your letters up to and including that of the -2d of February. I saw with pleasure that you are all well. I hope that -you have received my letters. I shall not speak to you of myself; you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span> -must understand the slow agony of my heart. But it will serve no purpose -to complain. What you need, what you must all have, is steadfast -courage. You must not allow yourself to be beaten down by adversity, -however terrible it may be.</p> - -<p>You must succeed in proving throughout the length and breadth of France -that I was a worthy and a loyal soldier, who loved his country above -everything, who served it with devotion always.</p> - -<p>That is the principal, the essential object, far above my own being, my -personal fate. There is a name that must be washed free from the stain -with which it has been sullied, a name, until now pure and spotless, -that must shine again as pure as in former days. It is the name that our -dear children bear, and that in itself should give you all the necessary -courage.</p> - -<p>I thank you for all the news you give me of our friends. I, too, regret -that I cannot write to them. You know how dearly I love them all. Kiss -my relations tenderly for me, your dear family and mine. Tell them what -I think, what I would convince you of; it is that I personally am only -the secondary consideration, that there is a name to be cleansed from -dishonor.</p> - -<p>No one must falter until this supreme task has been accomplished. To -speak to you of the condition I am in is useless. As I said above, your -heart tells you far better than my pen could tell. I will go on as long -as my heart still beats, having before me night and day the supreme hope -that the place that I deserve will be restored to me.</p> - -<p>You see, darling, a man of honor cannot live without his honor. It does -no good to tell himself that he is innocent; it is an unceasing gnawing -of the heart. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span> solitude the hours are long, and my mind cannot -comprehend all that has come upon me. Never could a romancer, however -rich his imagination, have written a story more tragic.</p> - -<p>I am convinced, as you are, that sooner or later the truth will come to -light. The just cause always triumphs; but when that day comes what -shall my condition be? It is that that I cannot tell.... There is always -my aching heart, which from morning till night, and from night till -morning, beats as if to burst.</p> - -<p>I hope that they will let me kiss you at least before I set out upon my -journey.</p> - -<p>I thank you for all you tell me about the children. You must bring them -up seriously and give them a thorough education; be as careful of their -bodies as you are of their minds and hearts. I know what you are; I have -no uneasiness on this score. Indeed, I know that you will bring them up -to be generous and noble souls, eager for all that is good and -beautiful, marching forward always in the way of duty.</p> - -<p>Kiss the good darlings for me a thousand, thousand times.</p> - -<p>I pray you give every one my love. Receive the most ardent kisses of -your husband, who loves you, who lives only in the thought of you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>14 February, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>The few minutes that I passed with you were very sweet to me, although -it was impossible for me to tell you all that I had within my heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span></p> - -<p>My time passed while I looked at you, trying to impress your image upon -my very being, asking myself by what inconceivable fatality I was -separated from you.</p> - -<p>Some day when they will tell my story it will seem unbelievable. But -what we must tell ourselves now is that I must be rehabilitated. My name -must shine anew with all the lustre it should never have lost. I would -rather see my children dead than think that the name which they bear is -a dishonored one.</p> - -<p>This is a vital question for us all. It is not possible to live without -honor. I cannot tell you this often enough.</p> - -<p>I shall soon come to a new station on my dolorous way.</p> - -<p>I do not fear bodily suffering; but oh, my God, that I might be spared -the torture of my soul! I am tired of feeling that my name is -scorned—I, so proud, so uplifted, just because my name was above -reproach; I, who had the right to look the whole world in the face. I -live only in the hope of seeing my name soon cleansed from this horrible -stain. You have again given me back my courage. Your noble abnegation, -your heroic devotion, give me renewed strength to bear my terrible -martyrdom.</p> - -<p>I shall not tell you that I love you yet more; you know how profound my -love is for you. It is that love that enables me to bear my tortures of -mind. It is the love of all of you for me.</p> - -<p>Embrace them all tenderly for me, the members of our two families, your -dear parents, our children, and, for yourself, receive the best, the -tenderest kisses of your devoted husband.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>21 February, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>When I see you the time is so short, I am so distracted at seeing the -hour slipping away with a rapidity that I cannot realize—the hours at -other times seem so horribly long to me—that I forget to tell you half -of all that I had prepared in my imagination.</p> - -<p>I wanted to ask you if the journey had not fatigued you, if the sea had -been kind to you. I wanted to tell you all the admiration I feel for -your noble character, for your incomparable devotion. More than one -woman must have lost her mind amidst the repeated shocks of a lot so -cruel, so undeserved.</p> - -<p>I wanted to speak to you a long time of our children, of their health, -their daily life. I wanted also to beg of you to thank all our families -for their devotion to my cause—the cause of an innocent man—to ask you -about their health. It would take a long day to exhaust all these -subjects, and our minutes are numbered. Well, we must hope that the -happy days are coming back to us, for it is impossible, it is contrary -to human reason, to believe that they will not in the end put their -hands upon the one who is really guilty.</p> - -<p>As I have told you, I will do all in my power to conquer the beating of -my sick heart, to bear this horrible and long martyrdom, so that I may -live to see with you the happy light of the day of rehabilitation.</p> - -<p>I will bear without a groan the natural scorn rightly inspired by the -sight of the creature I represent. I will suppress the convulsions of my -being against a lot so terrible, so appalling.</p> - -<p>Oh, this scorn that shrouds my name, how it tortures me! My pen cannot -express such suffering.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span></p> - -<p>I ask myself how a man who has really forfeited his honor can continue -to live. But I live only because my conscience is clear, because I hope -that soon all is to be discovered; that the true criminal will be -punished for his odious crime, that they will at last give me back my -honor.</p> - -<p>When I am gone write me long letters. I am thinking of the moment when -you all can write to me and when I shall receive news from all the -members of our families.</p> - -<p>The first time you are sending me anything, will you please send me the -Ollendorf method which I have had a chance to try here, and which I -think preferable to that of your teacher? Send with it the corrected -exercises, which form a separate volume, and which will also be my -teacher.</p> - -<p>Embrace our darlings tenderly for me, your parents, all whom you see, -and receive the affectionate kisses of your devoted</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p>1895—1896—1897—1898.</p> - -<p>ILES DU SALUT.</p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Tuesday, 12 March, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Thursday, the 21st of February, some hours after your departure, I was -taken to Rochefort and put on shipboard.</p> - -<p>I shall not speak to you of my voyage; I was transported in the manner -in which the vile scoundrel whom I represent deserved to be transported. -It was only just. They could not accord any pity to a traitor, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span> -lowest of blackguards; and as long as I represent this wretch I can only -approve their conduct.</p> - -<p>My life here must drag itself out under the same conditions.</p> - -<p>But your heart can tell you all that I have suffered—all that I suffer. -I live only through the hope in my soul of soon seeing the triumphant -light of my rehabilitation. That is the only thing that gives me -strength to live. Without honor a man is not worthy of life.</p> - -<p>On the day of my departure you assured me that the truth would surely -come soon to light. I have lived during that awful voyage, I am living -now, only on that word of yours—remember it well. I have been -disembarked but a few minutes, and I have obtained permission to send -you a cablegram.</p> - -<p>I write in haste these few words, which will leave on the 15th by the -English mail. It solaces me to have a talk with you, whom I love so -profoundly. There are two mails a month for France—the 15th the -English, and the 3d the French mail.</p> - -<p>And in the same way there are two mails a month for the Isles—the -English mail and the French mail. Find out the days of their departure -and write to me by both of them.</p> - -<p>All that I can tell you more is that if you want me to live have my -honor given back to me. Convictions, whatever they may be, do nothing -for me; they do not change my lot. What is necessary is a decision which -will reinstate me.</p> - -<p>I made for your sake the greatest sacrifice a man can make in resigning -myself to live after my tragic fate was decided. I did this because you -had inculcated in me the conviction that the truth must always come to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span> -light. In your turn, my darling, do all that is humanly possible to -discover the truth. A wife and a mother yourself, try to move the hearts -of wives and mothers, so that they may give up to you the key of this -dreadful mystery. I must have my honor if you want me to live. I must -have it for our dear children. Do not reason with your heart; that does -no good. I have been convicted. Nothing can be changed in our tragic -situation until the decision shall have been reversed. Reflect, then, -and pursue the solution of this enigma. That will be worth more than -coming here to share my horrible life. It will be the best, the only -means of saving my life. Say to yourself that it is a question of life -or death for me, for our children.</p> - -<p>I am incapable of writing to you all. My brain will bear no more; my -despair is too great. My nervous system is in a deplorable condition, -and it is full time that this horrible tragedy should end.</p> - -<p>Now my spirit alone is above water.</p> - -<p>Oh, for God’s sake, hurry, work with all your might!</p> - -<p>Tell them all to write to me.</p> - -<p>Embrace them all for me; our poor darlings, too.</p> - -<p>And for you a thousand tender kisses from your devoted husband,</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>When you have some good news to announce to me send me a dispatch. I am -waiting for it day by day as for the Messiah.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>15 March, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My Darling:<br /> -</p> - -<p>As I cannot send this letter until to-day I hasten to talk to you a -little longer. I shall not speak of my ap<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span>palling tortures; you know -them and you share them with me.</p> - -<p>My situation here is what it was before; be sure that I shall not be -able to endure it long; it seems impracticable for you to come to join -me. Moreover, as I told you yesterday, if you wish to save my life there -is something better for you to do; have my honor given back to me—the -honor of my name, the honor of the name of our poor children.</p> - -<p>In my horrible distress I pass my time in mentally repeating the words -you spoke the day of my departure—your absolute certainty of arriving -at the truth. Otherwise it would be death for me, and that soon; for -without my honor I could not live. I have surmounted everything only -because of my conscience alone, and because of the hope you have given -me that the truth will be discovered. Were this hope dead I, too, should -die.</p> - -<p>Say to yourself, therefore, my darling, that you must succeed, and that -as soon as possible, in giving me back my honor. I cannot bear much -longer this atmosphere of scorn, legitimate enough, which is all around -me.</p> - -<p>Upon your efforts depends my honor, and that is to say my life—the -honor of our poor children, too. You must then attempt everything, try -everything, to reach the truth, whether I live or die, for your mission -has a higher object than my fate.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>20 March, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>My letter will be short, for I do not wish to rend your soul; moreover, -my sufferings are yours.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span></p> - -<p>I cannot do more than repeat what I said in the letter that I wrote to -you the 13th of this month. The more you hasten my rehabilitation the -more you will abridge my martyrdom.</p> - -<p>I have done for you more than the deepest love can inspire. I have -endured the worst tortures to which a man of spirit can be subjected. -Now it is your turn to do the impossible, to restore to me my honor, if -you wish me to live.</p> - -<p>My condition here is not yet definite; I am still in close confinement.</p> - -<p>I will not speak to you of my material life, that is indifferent to me; -physical miseries are nothing, whatever they may be. I wish for but one -thing, and of that I dream night and day; with that my brain is always -haunted; it is that they shall give me back the honor that never failed -me.</p> - -<p>As yet they have not given me the books that I brought; they are -awaiting orders.</p> - -<p>Always send me the reviews by the first post. Then, my darling, if you -want me to live, have my honor given back to me as soon as possible; my -martyrdom cannot be borne indefinitely. I think that I ought to tell you -the truth rather than to calm you with deceitful illusions. We must look -the situation in the face. I have been persuaded to live only because -you have inculcated in my mind the conviction that innocence always -makes itself known. My innocence must be made manifest not only for my -sake, but for the children’s, for you all.</p> - -<p>Embrace the darlings, embrace every one for me, and a thousand kisses -for yourself.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span></p> - -<p>As letters will be very long in reaching me, send me a dispatch when you -have good news to announce to me. My life hangs upon this expectation. -Think of all that I am suffering.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><i>28 March, 1895.</i></p> - -<p>I was hoping to receive news of you at about this time; as yet I have -heard nothing. I have already written you two letters.</p> - -<p>I know nothing as yet beyond the four walls of my chamber. As for my -health, it could not be very brilliant. Aside from my physical miseries, -of which I speak only to cite them, the cause of this condition of my -health lies chiefly in the disorder of my nervous system, produced by an -uninterrupted succession of moral shocks.</p> - -<p>You know that no matter how severe they might be at times, physical -sufferings never wrung a groan from me, and that I could look death -coolly in the face if only my mental sufferings did not darken my -thoughts.</p> - -<p>My mind cannot extricate itself for an instant from the horrible drama -of which I am the victim, a tragedy which has struck a blow not only at -my life—that is the least of evils, and truly it would have been better -had the wretch who committed the crime killed me instead of wounding me -as he has—but at my honor, the honor of my children, the honor of you -all.</p> - -<p>This piercing thought of my honor torn from me leaves me no rest either -by day or by night. My nights, alas! you can imagine what they are! -Formerly it was only sleeplessness, now the greater part of the night is -passed in such a state of hallucination and of fever that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span> I ask myself -each morning how my brain still resists. This is one of the most cruel -of all my sufferings. Add to this the long hours of the day passed in -solitary communion with my thoughts, in the most absolute isolation.</p> - -<p>Is it possible to rise above such preoccupation of the mind? Is it -possible to force the mind to turn aside to other subjects of thought? I -do not believe it; at least I cannot. When one is in this, the most -agitating, the most tragic, plight that can possibly be conceived for a -man whose honor has never failed him, nothing can turn the mind from the -idea which dominates it.</p> - -<p>Then when I think of you, of our dear children, my grief is unutterable; -for the weight of the crime which some wretch has committed weighs -heavily upon you also. You must, therefore, for our children’s sake, -pursue without truce, without rest, the work you have undertaken, and -you must make my innocence burst forth in such a way that no doubt can -be left in the mind of any human being. Whoever may be the persons who -are convinced of my innocence, tell yourself that they will change -nothing in our position; we often pay ourselves in words and nourish -ourselves on illusions; nothing but my rehabilitation can save us.</p> - -<p>You see, then, what I cannot cease reiterating to you, that it is a -matter of life or of death, not only for me, but for our children. For -myself I never will accept life without my honor. To say that an -innocent man ought to live, that he always can live, is a commonplace -whose triteness drives me to despair.</p> - -<p>I used to say it and I used to believe it. Now that I have suffered all -this myself, I declare that if a man has any spirit he cannot live under -such circumstances. Life<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span> is admissible only when he can lift his head -and look the world in the face; otherwise, there is nothing left for him -but to die. To live for the sake of living is simply low and cowardly.</p> - -<p>I am sure that in this you think as I do; any other opinion would be -unworthy of us.</p> - -<p>The situation, already so tragic, becomes each day more tense. You have -not to weep, not to groan, but to face it with all your energy and with -all your soul. To make clear this situation, we must not wait for a -happy chance, but we must display all-absorbing activity. Knock at all -doors. We must employ all means to make the light burst forth. All forms -of investigation must be tried; the object we have in view is my life, -the life of every one of us.</p> - -<p>Here is a very clear bulletin of my state, moral and physical. I will -sum it up:</p> - -<p>A pitiable nervous and cervical condition, but extreme moral energy, -outstretched toward the one object, which, no matter what the price, no -matter by what means, we must attain—vindication. I will leave you to -judge from this what struggles I am each day forced to make to keep -myself from choosing death rather than this slow agony in every fibre of -my being, rather than this torture of every instinct, in which physical -suffering is added to agony of soul. You see that I am holding to my -promise that I made you to struggle to live until the day of my -rehabilitation. It remains for you to do the rest if you would have me -reach that day.</p> - -<p>Then away with weakness. Tell yourself that I am suffering martyrdom, -that each day my brain is growing weaker; tell yourself that it is a -question of my honor—that is to say, of my life, of the honor of your<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span> -children. Let these thoughts inspire you, and then act accordingly.</p> - -<p>Embrace every one, the children, for me.</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses from your husband, who loves you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>How are the children? Give me news of them. I cannot think of you and of -them without throbs of pain through my whole being. I would breathe into -your soul all the fire that is in my own, to march forward to the -assault that is to liberate the truth. I would convince you of the -absolute necessity of unmasking the one who is guilty by every means, -whatever it may be, and above all without delay.</p> - -<p>Send me a few books.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>27 April, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>A few more lines so that you may know that I am still living, and to -send you the echo of my immense affection.</p> - -<p>However great may be our grief, your grief and mine, I can only tell you -always to surmount it in order to pursue the rehabilitation with -indomitable perseverance.</p> - -<p>Preserve at all times the calmness and the dignity which befit our -misfortune, so great and so undeserved; but keep on working to restore -to me my honor, the honor of the name which my dear children bear.</p> - -<p>Let no setback rebuff you or discourage you; search out, if you think it -useful, the members of the government, move their hearts, as fathers and -as Frenchmen. Tell them that you ask for me no mercy, no pity, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span> only -that the investigations may be absolutely thorough.</p> - -<p>In spite of a combination of sufferings, physical as well as mental, -which are at times terrible, I feel that my duty to you, to our dear -children, is to resist to the limit of my strength and to protest my -innocence with my last breath.</p> - -<p>But if there is such a thing as justice in this world, it seems -impossible to me, my reason refuses to believe, that we shall not -recover the happiness which ought never to have been torn from us.</p> - -<p>Truly, under the influence of extreme nervous excitement, or of a great -physical depression, at times I write you feverish, excited letters; but -who would not yield sometimes to such attacks of mental aberration, such -revolts of the heart and soul, in a situation as tragic, as narrowing as -ours? And if I urge you to hasten, it is because I long to be with you -on that day of triumph when my innocence shall be recognized; and then -when I am always alone, in solitude, given over to my sad thoughts, -without news for more than two months of you, of the children, of all -those who are dear to me, to whom should I confide the sufferings of my -heart if not to you, the confidant of all my thoughts?</p> - -<p>I suffer not for myself only, but yet more deeply for you, for our dear -children. It is from them, my darling, that you must draw the moral -strength, the superhuman energy which you need to succeed in making our -honor appear again to every one, no matter at what price, what it has -always been, pure and spotless.</p> - -<p>But I know you. I know the greatness of your soul. I have confidence in -you.</p> - -<p>I am still without letters from you; as for me, this is the fifth letter -that I have written. Kiss every one for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span> me. A thousand fond kisses for -you, for our dear children.</p> - -<p>Tell me all about them.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Wednesday, 8 May, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Though I cannot send this letter before the 18th, I begin it to-day, so -much do I feel the unconquerable need of talking with you.</p> - -<p>It seems to me when I write to you that the distance is lessened. I see -before me your beloved face and I feel that you are near me. It is a -weakness. I know it; for in spite of myself the echo of my sufferings -shows itself sometimes in my letters, and your sufferings are great -enough without my continuing to tell you of mine. But I should like to -see in my place the philosophers and psychologists who sit tranquilly in -their chimney corners, offering their opinions upon the calmness and the -serenity which should be shown by an innocent man.</p> - -<p>A profound silence reigns around me, interrupted only by the roaring of -the sea; and my thoughts, crossing the distance which separates us, -carry me to your midst, among all those who are dear to me, whose -thoughts must of a truth be often turned toward me. Often I ask at such -an hour, “What is my dear Lucie doing?” and I send you by my thoughts -the echo of my immense affection. Then I close my eyes, and it seems to -me that I see your face and the faces of my dear children. I am still -without letters from you, with the exception of those of the 16th and -17th of February, still addressed to the Ile de Ré. For three months now -I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span> have been without news of you, of the children, of our families.</p> - -<p>I believe that I have already told you that I advised you to ask -permission to leave your letters at the Ministry eight or ten days -before the departure of the mails; perhaps in that way I shall receive -them sooner. But, my good darling, forget all my sufferings, overcome -your own, and think of our children. Say to yourself that you have a -sacred mission to fulfill, that of having my honor given back to me, the -honor of the name borne by our dear little ones. Moreover, I recall to -my mind what you told me before my departure. I know, as you repeated to -me in your letter of the 17th of February, what the words of your mouth -are worth. I have an absolute confidence in you.</p> - -<p>Then do not weep any more, my good darling; I will struggle until the -last minute for you, for our dear children.</p> - -<p>The body may give way under such a burden of grief, but the soul should -remain firm and valiant, to protest against a lot that we have not -deserved. When my honor is given back to me, then only, my good darling, -we shall have the right to withdraw from the field. We will live for -each other, far from the noise of the world; we will take refuge in our -mutual affection, in our love, grown still stronger in these tragical -events. We will sustain each other, that we may bind up the wounds of -our hearts; we will live in our children, to whom we will consecrate the -remainder of our days. We will try to make them good, simple beings, -strong in body and mind. We will elevate their souls so that they may -always find in them a refuge from the realities of life.</p> - -<p>May this day come soon, for we have all paid our<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span> tribute of sufferings -upon this earth! Courage, then, my darling; be strong and valiant; carry -on your work without weakness, with dignity, but with the conviction of -your rights. I am going to lie down, to close my eyes and think of you. -Good night and a thousand kisses.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>12 May, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I continue this letter, for I wish to share with you all my thoughts as -fast as they come into my mind. In my solitude I have the time to -reflect deeply.</p> - -<p>Indeed, the mothers who watch at the bedside of their sick children, for -whom with ferocious energy they wrestle with death, have not so much -need of a brave heart as have you; for it is more than the life of your -children which you have to defend, it is their honor. But I know that -you are fitted for this noble task.</p> - -<p>So, my dear Lucie, I ask you to forgive me if at times I have added to -your grief by my complainings, by showing a feverish impatience to see -at last the light shining in upon this mystery, against which my reason -battles in vain. But you know my nervous temperament, my hasty, -passionate disposition. It seemed to me that all must be immediately -discovered, that it was impossible that the truth should not be at once -fully revealed. Each morning I arose with that hope and each night I -went to my bed again a victim of the same deception. I thought only of -my own tortures, and I forgot that you must suffer as much as I.</p> - -<p>And this awful crime of some unknown wretch strikes not only at me, but -it strikes also, and more than all,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span> our two dear children. This is why -we must conquer all our sufferings. It is not enough to give our -children life; we must dower them with honor, without which life is not -possible. I know your sentiments; I know that you think as I do. -Courage, then, dear wife. I will struggle as you are struggling and -sustain you with all my energy, because in the face of such an absolute -necessity all else should be forgotten. We must, for the sake of our -dear little Pierre, for the sake of our dear little Jeanne.</p> - -<p>I know how marvellous you have been in your devotion, your grandeur of -soul, in the tragic events just past.</p> - -<p>Fight on, then, my dear Lucie. My confidence in you is absolute. My deep -affection will recompense you some day for all the pains you are -enduring so nobly.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>18 May, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I am ending to-day this letter which will carry you a part of myself and -the expression of the thoughts over which I have pondered deeply in the -sepulchral silence that surrounds me.</p> - -<p>I have thought too often of myself; not enough of you, of the children. -Your suffering, that of our families, is as great as mine. Our hearts -must be lifted high above it all, so that we shall see only the end -which we must attain—our honor!</p> - -<p>I will stand upright as long as my strength permits, to sustain you with -all my ardor, with all the depth of my love.</p> - -<p>Courage, then, dear Lucie—courage and perseverance. We have our little -ones to defend.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span></p> - -<p>Embrace our brothers and sisters for me; tell them that I have received -the letters addressed to the Ile de Ré, and that I shall write to them -soon.</p> - -<p>For you my fondest kisses.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>I forgot to tell you that I received yesterday the two reviews of March -15, but nothing else.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p> -Dear little Pierre:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Papa sends good big kisses to you, also to little Jeanne. Papa thinks -often of both of you. You must show little Jeanne how to make beautiful -towers with the wooden blocks, very high, such as I made for you, and -which toppled down so well. Be very good. Give good caresses to your -mamma when she is sorrowful. Be very gentle and kind also to grandmother -and grandfather. Set good, little traps for your aunts. When papa comes -back from his journey you will come to the railway station to meet him, -with little Jeanne, with mamma, with every one.</p> - -<p>More good big kisses for you and for Jeanne. Your</p> - -<p> -<span class="smcap">Papa</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>27 May, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I profit by each mail to Cayenne to write to you, because I want to give -you news of me as often as possible. During the month I wrote you a long -letter. I sent it on the 18th.</p> - -<p>Although I have not heard from you since my de<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span>parture—all the letters -having been dated earlier than our last interview—I am hoping that by -the time that you receive this letter the denouement of our tragic story -will be at hand.</p> - -<p>However that may be, I cry to you always with all the strength of my -soul: Courage and perseverance!</p> - -<p>My nerves often get the better of me, but my moral energy remains -unshaken; it is to-day greater than ever.</p> - -<p>Let us, then, arm our hearts against every feeling of anxiety or grief; -let us conquer our sufferings and our miseries, so that we may see -nothing before us but the supreme object—our honor, the honor of our -children! Everything should be effaced by that.</p> - -<p>Then, still, courage, my dear Lucie. I will sustain you with all my -energy, with all the strength that my innocence gives me, with all the -longing that I have, to see the light shine out, full, perfect, -absolute, as it must shine, for our sakes, for that of our children, of -our two families.</p> - -<p>Good kisses for the dear little ones.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>3 June, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Still no letters from you, nor from any one. Since my departure I have -had no tidings of you, of our children, nor of any of the family.</p> - -<p>You may have seen by my letters the successive crises through which I -have passed. But for the moment let us forget the past. We will speak of -our sufferings when we are happy again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span></p> - -<p>I do not know anything of what is passing around me, I live as in a -tomb. I am incapable of deciphering in my brain this appalling enigma. -All that I can do, then, and I shall not fail in this duty, is to -sustain you to my last breath—is to continue to fan in your heart the -flame which glows in mine, so that you may march straight forward to the -conquest of the truth, so that you may get me back my honor, the honor -of my children. You remember those lines of Shakespeare, in Othello. I -found them again not long since among my English books. I send them to -you translated (you will know why!).</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Celui qui me vole ma bourse,<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a><br /></span> -<span class="i1">Me vole une bagatelle<br /></span> -<span class="i1">C’est quelque chose, mais ce n’est rien.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Elle était a moi, elle est à lui et,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">A était I’esclave de mille autres.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Mais celui qui me vole ma bonne renommée,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Me vole une chose qui ni l’enrichit pas,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Et qui me rend vraiment pauvre.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Ah, yes! he has rendered me “<i>vraiment pauvre</i>, “the wretch who has -stolen my honor! He has made us more miserable than the meanest of human -creatures. But to each one his hour. Courage, then, dear Lucie; preserve -the unconquerable will that you have shown until now; draw from your -children the superhuman energy that triumphs over everything. Indeed, I -have no doubt whatever that you will succeed, and I hope that this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span> -sinister tragedy is soon to end and that my innocence is at last to be -recognized. What more can I tell you, my dear Lucie—what can I say that -I have not told you in each one of my letters? My profound admiration -for the courage, the heart, the character, that you have shown in such -tragic circumstances; the absolute necessity, which supersedes -everything, all interests, even our lives, of proving my innocence in -such a way that not a doubt can remain in the mind of any one—the -necessity of doing everything noiselessly, but with a determination that -nothing can check.</p> - -<p>I hope that you receive my letters; this is the ninth that I have -written to you.</p> - -<p>Embrace all the family; embrace our dear children for me, and receive -for yourself the fondest kisses of your devoted</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>As you see, my dear Lucie, I hope that when you receive these last -letters the truth shall not be far from being known and that we shall -enjoy again the happiness that was our lot until now.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>11 June, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Yesterday I received all your letters up to the 7th of March—that is to -say the first which you addressed to me here—also the letter of your -mother and the letters of your brothers and sisters, dating from the -same time.</p> - -<p>I wish to answer you while I am still under the spell of them. First of -all I must speak to you of the immense joy I felt in reading the words -written by your hand. It was something of yourself, a part of you,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span> -which had sought me out; it was your good, noble heart come to warm and -revive mine.</p> - -<p>I saw also in your letters what I had already felt—how you all have -suffered in this horrible tragedy which has come upon us, surprising us -in our happiness and tearing from us our honor. This one word tells -everything, it sums up all our tortures—mine and yours.</p> - -<p>I know that from the day when I promised you to live, to wait for the -truth to be revealed, for justice to be done me, I ought not to have -faltered. I ought to have silenced the voice of my heart; I ought to -have waited patiently, but how could I? I had not the strength of soul.</p> - -<p>The blow was too heavy. All within me revolted at the thought of the -odious crime for which I had been condemned. My heart will bleed as long -as this mantle of infamy weighs upon my shoulders.</p> - -<p>But I ask you to forgive me if I have sometimes written you excited or -complaining letters, that must have augmented your immense grief. Your -heart and mine beat as one.</p> - -<p>Be sure, then, my dear and good Lucie, that I shall resist with all my -strength, so that I may reach the day when my happiness shall be given -back to me. I hope that that day may come soon; until then we must look -straight before us.</p> - -<p>The news, too, you give me of our dear children has given me pleasure. -Make them spend a great deal of time in the open air. Just now you must -think only of giving them health and strength.</p> - -<p>Courage then, still, dear Lucie; be strong and valiant. May my profound -love sustain and guide you. My thoughts do not leave you for an instant, -night or day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span></p> - -<p>Give news of me to all the family; thank them all for their good and -affectionate letters. I have not the courage to answer them, and of what -could I speak to them? I have but one thought, always the same—that of -seeing the day when my honor shall be given back to me. I am always -hoping that that day is near.</p> - -<p>Embrace all your dear relations, the children, all our family, for me.</p> - -<p>As for you, I embrace you with all the strength of my heart.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>It is useless to send me anything in the way either of linen or of food. -I received some preserves from Cayenne yesterday and I also asked for -some linen which I need. They have given me the <i>Revue des Deux Mondes</i>, -the <i>Revue de Paris</i>, and the <i>Revue Rose</i>. Continue to send them to me; -you may also send a few light novels.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>15 June, 1895, Saturday evening.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have already written to you, some days ago, on the receipt of your -letters of the beginning of March, and my intention had been to send -you, by this mail, only a few words of deep affection, for what can I -tell you that I have not already told you again and again in all my -letters? But in reading your dear letters, in re-reading them every day, -I have felt each time I read them, for a moment, a lightening of my load -of sorrow. It seemed to me that you were all near me and that I felt -your hearts beating in sympathy with mine.</p> - -<p>Sure that you have this same feeling, I yield to the impulse of my -heart, which longs to do everything to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span> bring some relief to your -horrible sorrow. It is contrary to reason; I know it, for reason tells -me to be calm and patient, that the light of truth will shine out, that -it is impossible that it should be otherwise in the age in which we -live; but yet when I write to you it is my heart that speaks, and then -in spite of myself everything within me revolts against the appalling -accusation so opposed to every feeling of our hearts, for to us honor is -everything. I feel within me such a fever of combat, such power of -energy to rend the impenetrable mantle that weighs me down, that still -envelops this whole affair, that I am always longing to instill them -into your souls, although I realize that the sentiments of you all are -the same as my own. It is a useless outbreak, and I know it; but you -know equally well that all my feelings are violent and deep. My heart -bleeds for all that it holds most dear; it bleeds for you and it bleeds -for our dear children, and that is to reiterate to you, my dear Lucie, -that it is the longing I have to see the name you bear, that our dear -children bear, once more as it has always been, pure, without a -stain—it is this longing that gives me the strength to overcome all.</p> - -<p>I live absorbed in myself. I neither see nor hear what passes around me. -My brain alone still lives and all my thoughts are concentrated on you, -on our dear children, on waiting until my honor is given back to me.</p> - -<p>Then still hold to your splendid courage, my dear Lucie. I hope that we -shall soon find the happiness which we used to enjoy and which we shall -enjoy even more after this appalling trial, the most awful that a man -can bear.</p> - -<p>I embrace you with all my strength.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>16 June, 1895, Sunday.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I continue my letter, always to the same end. Then, too, it is a happy -moment for me when I come to talk with you; not that I have anything of -interest to tell you, since I am living alone with my thoughts, but -because, then, I feel that I am near to you. I can only tell you my -thoughts just as they present themselves to me.</p> - -<p>To-day a more peculiarly intimate sadness invades my soul, because on -this day, Sunday, we used to be together all day and we used to end it -with your dear parents. But my heart, my conscience, and my reason, too, -tell me that these happy days will return to us. I cannot admit that an -innocent man can be left to expiate indefinitely, for a guilty wretch, a -crime as abominable as it is odious; and then, to sum it up in one word, -what must give you, as it gives me, unconquerable energy, is the thought -of our children, as I have already told you before, for ideas which -emanate from such a subject must, from their nature, repeat themselves. -We must have our honor, and we have not the right to be weak; without -it, it would be better to see our children die.</p> - -<p>As for our sufferings, we all suffer alike. Do you think that I do not -feel what you suffer—you, who are struck doubly, in your honor and in -your love? Do you believe that I do not feel how your parents suffer, -your brothers and your sisters, for whom honor is not an empty word? But -I hope that our anguish is to have an end, and that that end is near. -Until that day we must guard all our courage, all our energy.</p> - -<p>Thank Mathieu for those few words he wrote to me. How the poor boy must -suffer; he who is honor incarnate! But tell him that I am with him in -thought—that our two hearts suffer together. There are moments<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span> when I -think that I am the plaything of a horrible nightmare; that all this is -unreal; that it is only a bad dream; but it is, alas! the truth. But for -the moment we ought to put aside every weakening thought. We ought to -fix our eyes upon one single object: our honor. When that is returned to -me, and when I know the meaning of what is now for me an unsolvable -problem, perhaps I shall understand this enigma which baffles my reason, -which leaves my brain panting.</p> - -<p>I will wait, then, for that moment, sure that it will come. I wish for -us all that it may come soon; I even <i>hope</i> it, so immovable is my faith -in justice. Mystery has no place in our century. Everything is brought -to light, and must be brought to light.</p> - -<p>My Sunday has seemed less long to me, my dear Lucie, because in this way -I have been able to talk with you. As for our children, I have no advice -to give you. I know you; our ideas on this subject are alike, both in -regard to their bringing up and in regard to their education. Courage -always, dear Lucie, and a thousand kisses. Do not forget that I am -answering letters dated three months ago, and that my replies may -therefore seem out of date to you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Friday, 21 June. 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I will continue our conversation, since it is now the only ray of -happiness that we can enjoy. It is probable, and I hope it, that these -reflections have nothing in common with the present state of affairs. -Between the time when you will receive this letter and the date on which -you wrote yours, there will be an interval of more than<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span> five months; in -such a length of time the truth might well make great strides.</p> - -<p>Like you, like you all, I am, I have been always, convinced that in time -all will be discovered.</p> - -<p>If I have wavered at times, it has been under the burden of atrocious -moral suffering while anxiously waiting to know, at last, the solution -of the riddle which absolutely baffles me.</p> - -<p>You must understand through the feeling of reserve that keeps me from -speaking to you on any aspect of my life here. Moreover, the only -thoughts that agitate me are those that I tell to you; for the rest I -live like a machine, unconscious of its movement.</p> - -<p>It happens to me at times—and you, too, must feel this—when I am wide -awake, and in spite of all that surrounds me, I stand bewildered, -repeating to myself: “No, all that did not happen; it cannot be -possible; it is a fiction; it is not reality!” I cannot explain to -myself this passing inertia of the brain in any way other than by the -impassable distance that lies between the innocence in my conscience and -my present life. Nor can you picture to yourself what relief this long -conversation with you brings to me. I dare not even read over my letter, -so afraid am I to find in it repeatedly the same ideas expressed perhaps -in exactly the same way; but for you, as for me, true pleasure consists -in reading what the other has written.</p> - -<p>When my heart is overburdened, when I am seized by the deep horror of it -all, I draw new energy from your eyes, from the faces of our dear -children. Your portrait, the portraits of the children here on my table, -are always before my eyes. And then, you see, when a man has lost his -fortune, when he has been subjected to some<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span> disappointment in his -career, to a certain point he may indulge in weakness; he may say, -“Well, my children will straighten all that out; perhaps it will be -better for them than if they should have had nothing to do but be -amiable idlers!” But in our case it is our honor which is at -stake—their honor. To give way to weakness would be, for us, an -unpardonable crime. We must, therefore, my dear and good Lucie, accept -all our sufferings and overcome them, until the day when my innocence -shall be recognized. On that day only we shall have the right to give -free course to our tears, to unburden our hearts.</p> - -<p>I am hoping, always, that that day may come soon. Each morning I awake -with a new hope, and each night I lie down with a new disappointment.</p> - -<p>I do not need to tell you that we can speak freely to each other of our -grief—the fullest heart must sometimes overflow, but we must keep our -outbursts to ourselves. I know, indeed, that you are sincere and -single-hearted, without art of any kind. The fine qualities of your -nature, those qualities which I, so to speak, only caught a fleeting -glimpse of through our happiness, now stand out clear and distinct in -the light of our adversity.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>26 June, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I will to-day bring this long talk to an end, so that I may send off my -letter. I should like to talk to you in this way morning and evening; -but were I to write volumes, the same ideas would flow from my pen. -Naturally active, in my solitude I am reduced to the necessity of coming -constantly back to the same subject. The form alone might vary, -according to the feeling of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span> the moment, but the idea would remain the -same because it dominates everything.</p> - -<p>Give our dear children a fond embrace for me. I suppose that you will -not keep them in Paris during the hot season. Let them take the -initiative in a great part of their life; let them develop themselves -freely and without constraint. In that way you will make virile beings -of them. Finally, draw from them at the same time both consolation and -strength.</p> - -<p>Now I have only to tell you that I wish, that I am hoping always, that -this sad drama is soon to end. That would be such a blessing for all, -for us, as for our dear families.</p> - -<p>Your poor, dear mother, even now so delicate; your dear father—they -both will need rest and calm, after such appalling, such unimaginable -tortures. We may well call them that.</p> - -<p>Often and often I ask myself how you all are, when news of you is so -rare, and comes from so far.</p> - -<p>And how often I scan the horizon, my eyes turned toward France, hoping -that this may be the day on which my country is to call me back to her. -While we wait for that day let us stand firm, dear Lucie; let us draw -from our consciences and from our duty, the fresh stores of the strength -we need so much.</p> - -<p>Embrace all our family for me, and for yourself the tenderest kisses of -your devoted husband.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>2 July, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>When this letter reaches you your birthday will be at hand. The only -hope that I can form, and which is in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span> your heart as it is in mine, is -that I shall soon be told that our honor is given back to us and with it -our former happiness.</p> - -<p>My conscience and my reason give me faith; the supernatural is not of -this world. In the end everything is made clear. But the hours of -waiting are long and cruel when the situation is so appalling as well -for us as for our families.</p> - -<p>Your dear letters of the beginning of March—you see how they are -delayed—are my daily reading. I succeed thus, though far from you, in -talking with you. My thoughts, indeed, never leave you, nor our dear -children.</p> - -<p>I await tidings of your health and that of our children with impatience. -I am also anxious to know what date your letters will bear. My health is -good. My heart beats with your own, and envelops you with all its -tenderness. I have written you two long letters during the last half of -June; I could only keep on repeating myself. Let me end this letter by -embracing you with all the strength of our souls, and our dear children -also.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Kisses to all our family.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>2 July, 11 o’clock in the evening.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I had been without news of you since the seventh of March. This evening -I received your letters of March and of the beginning of April; they, -probably, had <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span>returned to France; then, later, those which you sent -directly to the Ministry. I had already written a few words to you this -morning, but I make haste to answer your letters by the same post.</p> - -<p>Forgive me again if, by my first letters, I caused you pain. I ought to -have hidden my atrocious sufferings from you. But my excuse is that -there is no human grief comparable to that which we suffer.</p> - -<p>I hope that you have received since then my many long letters; they must -have reassured you as to my physical and mental condition. My conviction -has never varied; it is founded in my conscience, and in my reason, -which tells me that all will be found out. But I lacked patience.</p> - -<p>Let us say no more of our sufferings. Let us simply do our duty, which -is to restore to our children the honor of a father who is innocent of -so abominable a crime.</p> - -<p>I have received also letters bearing the same date from your dear -parents, and from different members of our families. Embrace them for me -and thank them. Tell Mathieu that my moral energy is as exalted as his -own.</p> - -<p>I embrace you with all my heart; also our dear children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>15 July, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I wrote you so many and such long letters during the months when I did -not hear from you that I have many times told and retold you all my -thoughts, all my sorrows. Let me not return again to this last subject.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span></p> - -<p>As for my thoughts, they are very clear to-day; they do not change; you -know them.</p> - -<p>My energy is occupied in stilling the beatings of my heart, in -containing my impatience, to learn at last that my innocence is -recognized everywhere and by every one. But if my energy is altogether -passive, yours ought, on the contrary, to be all active and animated by -the ardent spirit which gives strength to my own.</p> - -<p>If it were merely a question of suffering it would be nothing. But it is -a question of the honor of a name, of the life of our children, and I do -not wish, you understand, that our children should ever have to lower -their heads. Light, full, complete, must be let in upon this tragic -story. Nothing, therefore, should rebuff or tire you. All doors open, -all hearts beat for a mother who begs only for the truth, so that her -children may live.</p> - -<p>It is almost from the tomb—my situation here is comparable to that, -with the added grief that my heart still beats—that I write these words -to you. Thank your dear parents, our brothers and sisters, as well as -Lucie and Henri, for their good and affectionate letters. Tell them all -the pleasure which I take in reading them, and tell them that if I do -not answer directly it is because I could do nothing but keep on -repeating what I have already said. Kiss your dear parents for me; tell -them all my affection. Long, tender kisses for the children. As for you, -my dear and good Lucie, your letters are my daily reading. Continue to -write me long letters; with them I come nearer to living with you, with -our dear children, than I could by my thought alone, which, indeed, -never leaves you for an instant.</p> - -<p>I embrace you with all the strength of my soul.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>. -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span></p> - -<p>I have not received the things which you told me you were sending—that -is to say, a sponge and some Kola-Chocolate. But do not give a thought -to my material life; that is generously provided for by the preserves -which are sent me from Cayenne.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>27 July, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have already written to you on the 15th of the month. I can to-day -give you tidings of myself, and cry to you as always, although I have no -knowledge of the present state of affairs, “Courage and Faith!”</p> - -<p>My health is good. The spirit dominates the body, as it does everything -else. Never will I admit the idea that it would be possible for our -children to enter upon life with a dishonored name. It is from the -inspiration of this thought, common to us both, that you ought to draw -new life for your indomitable will.</p> - -<p>I have never feared the future, but there are moral situations which are -of such a character that if a man has not deserved them, he must of -necessity escape from them as much for our own sake as for the sake of -our children, of our families.</p> - -<p>When a man asks, when he desires, nothing but the search for the truth, -a search for the wretches who have committed the base and cowardly -crime, he has a right to present himself everywhere with head erect. And -this truth, it must be found, and you must find it. My innocence must be -recognized by every one.</p> - -<p>I want to be with you and with the children when that day comes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span></p> - -<p>Kiss the dear little ones.</p> - -<p>I live in them and in you.</p> - -<p>I embrace you with all my heart.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>I hope to receive news of you before many days.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>2 August, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Had I been alone in the world, probably, unable to have regained my -honor for myself, I should have acted in another way.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>But I may still say this, that the only thought which should now occupy -your mind is this: the care of guard<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span>ing 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Then, be always strong and valiant. May my spirit, my profound love, -sustain and guide you.</p> - -<p>My thoughts are constantly with you, with our dear little ones, with you -all.</p> - -<p>Kisses to the children—to all.</p> - -<p>I embrace you with all my strength.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>2 August, 1895, 8 o’clock in the evening.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I had just ended this letter, so that it might leave to-morrow for -Cayenne, when they brought me your letters of the month of April and -your letters of June, with the letters of all the family. I have just -read through your letters rapidly. I will answer at greater length by -the next mail.</p> - -<p>I have nothing to change in what I have just written to you. No matter -how appalling to me the moral situation may be in which I am placed, no -matter how my heart may be bruised, I shall stand erect to my last<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span> -breath, for I want my honor, your honor, that of our children. As for my -friends, I have never doubted them. They know what I am. But what is -necessary, what I will have, is light, so brilliant that no one in all -our dear country can have any doubt of my honor. It is my honor, the -absolute honor of a soldier, that I must regain. This mission I confide -to you, to you all. You will accomplish it, I have no doubt of it.</p> - -<p>I embrace you; also our dear children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>22 August, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I wrote you two long letters at the beginning of the month, on the 2d -and the 5th of August; I hope that both of them were in time to go by -the English boat. It is a long time since I have had a talk with you. It -was not the wish that I lacked. My whole heart is with you. How many -times have I taken up my pen only to throw it aside! What does it profit -us for me always to be stirring up these sorrows? Aside from your -health, from the health of the children, that of all the family, I have -only one thought—and that forces me to live—the thought of our honor.</p> - -<p>You will forgive me if at times I have presented my ideas in a somewhat -exaggerated form. But after all, if I do my duty, my whole duty, without -flinching, it is not because my heart does not tremble and bleed in a -situation so infamous and so undeserved, and its sorrow comes not only -from my own situation, but from yours, from that of all whom I love.</p> - -<p>And then remember that I am obliged to control my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span>self night and day -without one moment of respite, that I never open my mouth; that there is -never a moment when my nerves are relaxed, so that when I write to you -with my whole heart, everything that cries out in me for justice and -truth runs, despite my will, under my pen.</p> - -<p>But what I shall tell you always, as long as my heart shall beat, is -that above all our sorrows, oh, however terrible they may be, before -life itself, is honor, and that that honor, which belongs to us, must -remain with us; it is the patrimony of our children. Then always and -still again courage, Lucie, until we have seen the end of this horrible -tragedy; but let us hope for all our sakes that it may come soon.</p> - -<p>Kiss your dear parents, all of our family, for me. Tell them of my -profound affection, and how often I think of them. As for you, my dear -Lucie, I have no consolation to give you; there is none, either for you -or for me, in such misfortune. But your conscience, the sense of the -great duties which you have to fulfill, should give you invincible -strength.</p> - -<p>And then, when the day of justice dawns for us, we will find our -consolation in our profound love.</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses for you and for our dear children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>27 August, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I add a few words before mailing this letter to send you again the echo -of my profound affection, to tell you how much I thought of you on your -birthday—hardly more, it is true, than on other days, that is not -possible<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span>—and to kiss you with all my heart and to say to you, “Courage -and always courage!”</p> - -<p>Ah, suffering, under all its forms, I know what it is, I swear to you. -From the time that this trouble began my heart has been nothing but a -wound which bleeds each day and every hour—a wound that will be healed -only when I learn at last that my innocence is recognized. In truth, the -mind stands at times bewildered and perplexed by the thought that such -errors can be in a century like ours and can last so long without the -light being let in upon them. But fear nothing; if I suffer beyond all -expression, as you suffer, as you all suffer, indeed, my soul is still -valiant, and it will do its duty to the end, for your sake, for the sake -of our children. Ah, but let us hope that this appalling, this -unbelievable situation may soon end, and that we may at last come out of -the horrible nightmare in which we have been living for more than ten -months!</p> - -<p>Embrace our dear little ones tenderly for me.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>7 September, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I receive only to-day your letters of July, as well as those of all the -family. I often do as you do. At certain moments when my full heart -brims over, I re-read all your dear letters and I weep with you, for I -do not believe that two beings who place honor above everything, and -with them their families, have ever undergone a martyrdom like ours. I -suffer, and, like you, like you all, I am not ashamed of it. My heart, -night and day, demands its honor, yours, the honor of our children.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span> -Such a situation is tragic, the anguish becomes too great for us all to -bear.</p> - -<p>Should it last much longer either one or the other will give way under -it. Well, my dear Lucie, that must not be! We must before all else get -back our honor, the honor of our children. We must not allow ourselves -to be overcome by a fate so infamous when it is so unmerited. However -natural, however legitimate, may be the cries of pain of souls who -suffer far beyond all imaginable suffering, to groan, my dear Lucie, -will do no good. If, when you receive this letter, the mystery has not -been made clear, then, I think, it will be time, with the courage, the -energy which duty gives, with the invincible force which innocence -gives, for you to take personal steps, so that at last light may be -thrown upon this tragic story. You have neither mercy nor favor to ask -for, but only a determined search for the truth, a search for the wretch -who wrote that infamous letter, and, in one word, justice for us all! -And you will find in your own heart words more eloquent than any that -could be contained in a mere letter. We must, in a word, find at last -the key to this mystery. Whatever may be the means, your position as a -wife and a mother gives you every right and should give you every -courage.</p> - -<p>From what I myself feel from the state of my own heart, I know but too -well how it must be with you all, and in my long nights I see you -suffering, agonizing with me.</p> - -<p>It must end. Men cannot in a century like ours leave two families in -agony without clearing up a mystery like this. The truth can be made -known, if only they are willing to have it so. Then, my dear Lucie, -while you continue to preserve the dignity which must<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span> never abandon -you, be strong, courageous, energetic! Whether great or humble, we are -all equal before justice, and that honor which I have never forfeited, -and which is the patrimony of our children, must be given back to us. I -want to be with you and with our children when that day comes.</p> - -<p>Kisses to all. I embrace you with all my strength, also our dear -children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>7 September, evening.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>Before sending this away so that it may leave by the English boat I want -to add a few words; all my heart, all my thoughts, are with you and with -our dear children.</p> - -<p>I have just re-read your dear letters, and I need not tell you that I -shall read them often until the next mail brings me others. The days are -long when one is alone, face to face with one’s thoughts, never speaking -a word.</p> - -<p>May my soul inspire you, my dear Lucie, for I feel that for the sake of -your dear parents, for the sake of all of us, this tragedy must end. -Even if you should have to knock at all doors, we must find the clue to -this enigma, this infernal machination, which has torn from us that -which makes life itself, and that we must have—our honor.</p> - -<p>As for our dear children, kiss them with all your heart for me. The few -words which Pierre adds to each letter give me great pleasure. It is for -you and for them that I have found the strength to bear all, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span> I long -to live to see the day when honor shall be returned to us. I wish for -this with all my strength, with all my power, with all the energy of a -man who places honor above all else. May this wish soon be realized! You -must do all in your power to accomplish it.</p> - -<p>I embrace you again, with all my heart.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Kiss your dear parents and all our family for me.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>27 September, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>For nearly a year I have struggled with my conscience against the most -inexplicable fatality that can pursue a man.</p> - -<p>There are times when I am so harassed, so disgusted, that I am like the -soldier who, worn out by long-continued fatigue, lies down in a trench, -longing to have done with life.</p> - -<p>My soul awakes, the sense of my duty puts me on my feet again, all my -being then nerves itself for a supreme effort, for I wish to find myself -again with you and with my children on the day when my honor shall be -returned to me.</p> - -<p>But it is truly an agony that is renewed with every day, a punishment as -horrible as it is unmerited.</p> - -<p>If I tell you all this, if at times I have allowed you to catch a -glimpse of how horrible is my life here, how this lot of infamy, whose -effects continue day by day to harrow my being, to revolt my heart, it -is not that I would complain; it is to tell you again that if I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span> -lived, if I continue to live, it is because I desire my honor, yours, -that of our children. May your spirit, your energy, rise equal to such -tragic conditions, for this must come to an end.</p> - -<p>This is why I told you in my letter of the 7th of September that if when -you receive these letters the mystery is not made entirely clear, it is -for you, for you personally, to go to the public authorities, so that -light may at last be thrown on this tragic story.</p> - -<p>You have the right to present yourself everywhere, with your head erect, -for you have come not to beg for mercy, not to beg for favors, not even -for moral convictions, however legitimate they may be. You have come to -demand the search for the discovery of the wretches who have committed -the infamous and cowardly crime. The Government has all the means by -which this may be done.</p> - -<p>Letters can do nothing, dear Lucie. It is you yourself who must act. -What you have to say will receive from your lips a power, a force, that -paper and writing cannot give.</p> - -<p>Then, my dear Lucie, strong in your conscience, in your quality of wife -and mother, go on your way, tireless until justice is done to us. And -this justice, which you must demand energetically, resolutely, with all -your soul, is that light may be thrown, full and unshadowed, upon this -machination of which we are the wretched victims.</p> - -<p>But you know what you have to say, and you must say it squarely, -proudly.</p> - -<p>Yes, my dear Lucie, that was what I thought from the first. I should, -without making any noise about it, without any go-between except the -person introducing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span> me, have taken a child by each hand, and I should -have gone to demand justice everywhere, without resting until the guilty -wretches should have been unmasked. These means are “heroic,” but they -are the best means, for they come from the heart, and they appeal to the -heart, to that sense of justice that is innate in each one of us, unless -he is carried away by passion. They proceed from the strength given by -innocence, from a duty to be fulfilled; and they know no obstacle. They -are means worthy of a woman who asks only for justice for her husband, -for her children.</p> - -<p>It must not be said that in our century a wretch can with impunity crush -the lives of two families.</p> - -<p>Courage, then, dear Lucie, and act with resolution. Kisses to all. I -embrace you with all my strength, and our dear, adored children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>4 October, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>When you suffer too much take your pen and come and talk with me.</p> - -<p>I thank you for your good tidings of the children. Kiss them tenderly -for me.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Enough of moaning, Lucie; it will not make things any better. This -appalling suffering must end for us all.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Do not give way to grief, my dear and good Lucie;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span> that will not help -us. Pass from words to acts, and become great and worthy by those acts.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Courage, then, dear Lucie; we must see the end of this tragedy.</p> - -<p>I embrace you with all my strength, with all my soul, and also our dear -children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The books you have sent me have been announced, but I have not yet -received them. I thank you; I had great need of them, for reading is the -only thing which can distract my thoughts a little.</p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>5 October, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I had already written to you yesterday, but after I had read and re-read -all the letters from this last mail there arose from them such a cry of -agony that all my being was profoundly shaken.</p> - -<p>You suffer for me, and I suffer for you.</p> - -<p>No, it is not possible, it cannot be that an entire family can be -subjected to such martyrdom.</p> - -<p>Merely from the agony of waiting, we shall all be brought to the ground. -It must not be; there are our children; they must be thought of before -all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span> else. I have just written again directly to the President of the -Republic. I can act only by my pen—it is very little—I can only -sustain you by all the ardor of my soul. You must, on your side, act -energetically, resolutely. When a man is innocent, when he asks for -nothing but justice, the clearing up of this terrible mystery, he is -strong, invincible.</p> - -<p>Lay, if need be, our dear children at the feet of the President, and -demand justice for them, for their father.</p> - -<p>Be heroic in your deeds, dear Lucie; it is on you that this duty falls.</p> - -<p>Yet once more I must say it; it is not noise nor gnashing of teeth that -is necessary, but an indomitable will, that nothing can rebuff.</p> - -<p>I sustain you, from here, across all the distance, with all the living -force of my being, with my soul of a Frenchman, of an honest man, of a -father who demands his honor—the honor of his children.</p> - -<p>I embrace you from the depths of my heart.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>26 October, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I can do little but confirm my letters of the 3d and the 5th of October, -and that of the 27th of September. We are both wearing out our strength -while we wait in a situation as terrible as it is undeserved, and it -will end by failing us, for all things have their limit. But there are -our children, to whom we owe ourselves, who must have their honor before -anything else.</p> - -<p>That is why, trembling with anguish, not only on account of all that we -have both suffered so long, nor this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span> martyrdom of a whole family, I -have written to the President of the Republic. I have written you my -last letters to tell you that you must act, carrying out your purpose -unflinchingly, with the head proudly raised, as innocent people who beg -neither for mercy nor for favors, but only for light and justice. Even -if one may bow the head under certain misfortunes, never can a man -accept dishonor when he has not merited it.</p> - -<p>Our suffering has no place in this epoch; it has lasted long enough—too -long. Energy, then, my dear Lucie, the energy of work, of action, which -must triumph, for it is based on justice, for it asks nothing but light, -the clear light of day, the absolute clearing up of this whole affair. -We are not in the presence of an unsolvable mystery. As I have told you, -not tears, not words, but acts, are necessary.</p> - -<p>The honor of a man, of his children, of two families, is in the balance, -and it outweighs all passions, all interests. Act, then, my dear Lucie, -with the heroic courage of a woman who has a noble mission to -accomplish, even should you have to carry the question -everywhere—before the highest heads; and I hope soon to hear that this -appalling agony is to come to an end.</p> - -<p>Kisses to all.</p> - -<p>I embrace you and our dear children with all the force of my affection.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>26 October, 1895, evening.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>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 to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span>gether 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span> when I can -breathe freer, when I can relax myself a little; it is full time, of -that I assure you.</p> - -<p>I send more fond kisses for you and for the children.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>4 November, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>The mail coming from Cayenne has arrived, and it has not brought me any -letters. I have now been without tidings of you, of the children, since -the 25th of August, but I will not let the English mail leave without -writing you a few words. I shall not be long, for grief makes my pen -tremble in my fingers.</p> - -<p>I think, my dear Lucie, that you are now in possession of my last -letters, and that you yourself are acting with the heroic spirit of a -woman; that you are demanding the truth on every side; that you are -demanding justice for miserable victims; that each day is a day thus -employed until that on which the light breaks, until our honor is -returned to us.</p> - -<p>I think, therefore, that I shall soon learn that this appalling agony is -at last at an end. I need not remind you to ask permission to send me a -dispatch when you shall have good news to tell.</p> - -<p>The days are long, the hours are heavy, when one has suffered so, and -for so long a time.</p> - -<p>I embrace you with all my strength, and the children, too.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p> -Kisses to all.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>20 November, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>On the 11th I received your dear, good letters of September, as well as -letters from all the family. I need not tell you the intense joy I felt -in reading words from you.</p> - -<p>I thank you for remembering my birthday. I will not speak of it further, -for we must not linger over sad memories. What we need now, as you have -said so truly, is reality, the truth. After one has suffered in a manner -so atrocious and for so long a time, one’s energies, one’s activity, -above all, ought to grow in proportion to the sufferings which one -endures. Strong in your conscience, it is your right, I will even say it -is your duty, to attempt all, to dare all, in order to throw light upon -this tragic story, to regain at last our honor, the honor of our -children.</p> - -<p>As I have told you, in this situation, as horrible as it is undeserved, -which would soon crush us, there no longer can be any thought of waiting -for some happy chance, such as we have already waited for too long.</p> - -<p>You have now received my letters of October. You ought to act with the -force given by my innocence, with the power inspired by the knowledge -that you have a noble mission to fulfill.</p> - -<p>If I have told you to ask to have this matter cleared up by every, if -even by heroic means, it is because there are situations which, when -they are undeserved, are too much to be endured, which we must put an -end to. You know that your soul and mine are but one; they throb -together; and what I have told you must certainly have made yours -tremble and throb.</p> - -<p>So I am now waiting for the end of this awful drama, and I count the -days.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span></p> - -<p>Thanks for the good news that you give me of the children. Kiss them -fondly for me until I can embrace them for myself.</p> - -<p>My tenderest kisses for you.</p> - -<p> -From your devoted<br /> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Embrace your dear parents, all our family, for me.</p> - -<p>I do not know by what route you sent the books and the reviews that you -spoke of in your letters of the 25th of August, but they certainly have -not yet arrived at Guiana.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>27 December, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have not yet received your dear letters of October. Neither the French -mail of November nor the English mail of December has brought them. What -does it mean? What ought I to think of it? In what horrible nightmare -have I lived for almost fifteen months?</p> - -<p>As for suffering, alas! my poor darling, we both know what that is; and -besides that, sufferings are of little importance, no matter what they -are. What you must have is our honor, the honor of our children.</p> - -<p>I wrote you a long letter on the 2d of December. To add anything to that -letter, or, indeed, to any that preceded it, would be superfluous, would -it not? Our thoughts are the same; our hearts have always beaten as one; -our souls thrill together to-day, and they cry out for their honor with -the burning ardor of honorable hearts struck in all that they hold most -precious.</p> - -<p>I wait with feverish impatience for news of you. I feel sure that it -will soon arrive. I will even say that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span> nearly every day I expect good -news. I hope at last to hear something certain, positive, that the light -has broken, or, at least, is soon to break, upon this bitterly sad -story.</p> - -<p>Let me tell you to-day simply that the thought of you, of our dear -children, alone gives me the force to live through these long days, -these interminable nights.</p> - -<p>I embrace you with all my strength, as I love you, and our dear, adored -children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Kisses to your dear parents, to all our family.</p> - -<p>Again for long months I have received neither books nor reviews. Those -that you told me of in your letter of August have not yet arrived. I -cannot understand it.</p> - -<p>I thought that you would have continued to send me regularly each month -the reviews and a few packages of books, by mail. I am all day long, and -I may add, nearly all night long, without a minute of forgetfulness, -looking at the four walls of my cabin—well, it is of little importance, -but it would be well to inquire what has become of these books.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>31 December, 1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I wrote to you some days ago to tell you that I had not yet received -your letters of October. At last, after a long and terrible time of -waiting, I have just received your letters of October, and at the same -time those of November.</p> - -<p>How must I sometimes cause you pain by my letters,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span> my poor darling, and -you suffer so much without that! But at times it is stronger than I am, -so eager am I to see the end of this horrible drama, for I would -willingly give my blood, drop by drop, to learn at last that my -innocence is recognized, that the guilty ones, doubly criminal as they -are, are unmasked.</p> - -<p>But when I suffer too much, when I faint before this life of deluding -memories, of restraint of all my intellectual and physical forces, I -murmur to myself the three names that are my talisman, that make me live -on—yours, those of our dear little Pierre, and Jeanne.</p> - -<p>Let us hope that we shall soon see the end of this awful drama. I cannot -write much to you, for what can I tell you that is not already common to -us? I live in the thought of you, and my soul is with you from morning -till night, and from night till morning. All my faculties are straining -toward the end that must be attained, that you will attain—all my honor -as a soldier, all the honor of our children.</p> - -<p>Perhaps I give you extravagant advice at times, the issue of the dreams -of a lonely exile who is suffering martyrdom, a martyrdom whose tortures -are made up not only of his own anguish, but of yours, of the anguish -you all suffer ... and nevertheless I know perfectly well that you can -judge far better than I can of the means to attain my complete, my -absolute, rehabilitation. I am going to pass a good part of the night, -of the long, long days in reading and re-reading your dear letters, in -living with you, in sustaining you in my thoughts with all my strength, -with all my ardor, with all the force of my will.</p> - -<p>My health is good; do not be anxious on that score. Moreover, to -reassure you, I have asked permission to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span> send you a dispatch. I trust -that it will reach you. I hope that your health, that the health of you -all, is also good. You must sustain yourself physically to have the -force necessary to arrive at the goal.</p> - -<p>Let us hope that soon, near to one another and with our dear children at -our side, we may forget the events of this horrible tragedy. You must -all tell yourselves, too, that if at times I cry out in anguish, it is -because I am always as silent as the dead. I have only the paper, and -these cries of grief, these cries of suffering—call them what you -will—my heart is always valiant, even if it cannot always be silent. So -I am waiting just as you asked me to, and I will wait until that day -when the light shall at last shine out.</p> - -<p>Long and tender kisses to our dear children. I often gaze at their -portraits and I try to see them as they are to-day.</p> - -<p>Ah, dear Lucie, remember that in my moments of distress I have these -three names, that are my support, my safeguard, that raise me when I -fall, for our children must enter upon life with heads erect.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you, with all my strength.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>3 January, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I read and re-read with eagerness your dear letters of October and -November, and although I have written to you already, on the 31st of -December, I want to come again and talk with you.</p> - -<p>Your letters could not increase my affection, but they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span> inspire in me an -admiration, each day increasing, of your character, your great heart, -and I am ashamed of myself for not knowing better how to suffer, for -sometimes writing you such nervous, such disquieting letters. As to our -purpose I have never wavered. I am innocent, and my innocence must shine -out. Our name must again become what it deserves to be. But you must -understand that my torments are at times so sharp, the revolt of my -heart is at times so violent, that I cry out in spite of myself; it -seems that, no matter at what cost, I must learn the secret of this -infamy, must make the truth break forth, make justice triumph.</p> - -<p>I have never been discouraged, I have never doubted that a will strong -in its innocence and in the duty it has to accomplish could fail to -attain its object. I have had, perhaps may again have, attacks of -febrile impatience, the revolts of an ardent spirit, that has for so -long been crushed under foot, weighed down by this sepulchral silence, -this enervating climate, the frequent absence of news, nothing to do, -and often nothing to read. But if the tension of my nervous system was -extreme during the last three months of 1895—that was the hottest -season, the worst season in Guiana—my courage never weakened, for it -was it that held me up, that permitted me to double the dangerous cape -without flinching. Do not lay any stress upon this nervousness which -breaks out at times. Tell yourself that I am determined to be with you, -at your side, on the day when honor shall be given back to us.</p> - -<p>Your will, the will of you all, must continue to be what it has always -been, as great, as unconquerable as it is calm and thoughtful.</p> - -<p>My health is good; my body, indifferent to every<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span>thing, animated by but -one thought, common to us all, common, as your dear mother has said, to -this whole sheaf of hearts, quivering with pain, lives for the honor so -unjustly wrested from us.</p> - -<p>And remember that if I at times have moments of personal weakness, under -the repeated shocks of this trying hour, I have also a talisman, to -reanimate me, to give me strength, the thought of you, of my -children—in a word, my duty.</p> - -<p>The lines in which you speak to me of the dear children give me great -pleasure; they permit me to see the children in my thoughts.</p> - -<p>Embrace the darlings tenderly for me.</p> - -<p>So, my dear and good Lucie, courage always. Hold your head proudly high -until the day comes when, side by side, we can forget this horrible -drama.</p> - -<p>Let us hope for all our sakes that that hour may be at hand.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Kisses to all.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>26 January, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>You ask me, my dear and good Lucie, to write you long letters. What can -I tell you that you do not feel in your own heart better than I could -tell it? My heart is always with you; it is torn when it feels you -suffer pangs so unmerited, and can do nothing to help you, except to -suffer equally itself. My spirit night and day is with you; it would -sustain and animate<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span> you with its ardent fervor. I can only repeat what -I have so often said, the end is everything; the honor of our name, the -honor of our children; and that must be attained against all obstacles, -in spite of everything. But the situation is so atrocious, as well for -you as for me, that our activities, which should be of every kind, as -they should be of every hour, far from weakening, ought, on the -contrary, to grow still stronger and tax their ingenuity to the utmost -in order to succeed in making the truth shine in all its brilliancy.</p> - -<p>My health is good. I continue to struggle against everything so that I -may be there with you, with our children, on the day when my honor is -given back to me. I hope ardently, for your sake as for mine, that that -day may not be too long delayed.</p> - -<p>I expect to receive news of you in a few days, and as always, I am -waiting for it with feverish impatience. I shall write to you more at -length when I shall have received your letters.</p> - -<p>Kiss both the children many, many times for me. Their dear little -letters, like yours, like the letters from all our friends, are my daily -reading.</p> - -<p>I need not tell you the thrill of happiness they give. And for yourself -the best, the tenderest kisses of your devoted</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>5 February, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>The mail has arrived, and it has brought me no letter. I need not tell -you what bitter disappointment. I could tell you what deep grief I feel -when this only consola<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span>tion, your dear beloved words, do not come to me. -But, as I have said before, of what importance are sufferings—I dare -even call them tortures—however atrocious, however horrible they may -be, for the object which you are now pursuing dominates everything, it -is above all else, and beyond all else—the honor of our name, the honor -of our dear, adored children.</p> - -<p>As for me, dear Lucie, you are my strength, my invincible strength, so -high are you in my love, in my tenderness. Like my children, you dictate -to me my duty. Say to yourself that if often the violence of feelings, -that are at times atrocious, wrings a groan from my heart and makes my -brain reel; if at times the unending hours and the climate exceed my -strength of forbearance, and my very flesh cry out, my determination -remains unshaken.</p> - -<p>But you must realize all that I suffer on account of your martyrdom, -from the unmerited dishonor cast upon our children, upon all our family. -You must feel all that I suffer from such a condition of soul, striving -here against many elements united; what a determination, what a power I -feel within me to see the light—oh, no matter at what price, no matter -by what means! Often in this solitude the tempest rages in my brain; -oftener yet the blood boils in my veins with impatience to see the end -of this incredible martyrdom. The more atrocious my sufferings the more -they increase as the days roll by, the less willing we should be to give -way to grief or to rebuffs, the less inclined we should be to give -ourselves over to fate. And since our tortures are to cease only after -the light dawns full and entire, and since we must have it through and -against everything for ourselves, for our children, for us all, our -wills should strengthen as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span> difficulties and obstacles increase. -Therefore, dear and good Lucie, courage, and more than courage; a strong -will, a daring will that knows how to be determined and to succeed, a -will strong enough to attain its object, no matter how, an object as -praiseworthy as it is elevated—the truth. This has lasted too long, too -many sufferings are crushing down innocent beings.</p> - -<p>Kiss the dear children often and fondly for me. Ah, indeed, dear Lucie, -there is nothing that can be called an obstacle where our children are -concerned. Remind yourself that there are no obstacles; that there -cannot be any; that the truth must be known; that a mother has all -rights, as she ought to have all courage when she is called upon to -defend that by which alone her children can live—their honor.</p> - -<p>And each time when I write to you I cannot bring myself to close my -letter, so brief is this moment when I come to talk to you; so wholly is -all my being with you; so entirely all I say fails to express the -feelings that agitate me and fill my soul; so inadequate to express this -desire, stronger than all else, which is in me—a desire for the truth -and for our honor and the honor of our children, or to express my deep -love for you, my love increased by unbounded reverence.</p> - -<p>I hope, indeed, that what I have said to you during so many long months -is being translated by you all into strong and vigorous action, and that -I shall hear soon that the sufferings of us both are to have an end.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you, and also our dear children, with all my -heart, with all my soul, while I wait for tidings from you all.</p> - -<p> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span><span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -<br /> -<i>26 February, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I received the 12th of this month your dear letters of December; also -all those from the family. It is needless for me to try to describe to -you the deep emotion which they gave me. I could weep—that tells it -all. As you yourself feel, in spite of yourself, the brain does not stop -working, the head and the heart still suffer, and these tortures will -only cease after the truth is brought to light, when this awful drama is -finished, explained.</p> - -<p>I have spoken too much of myself and of my sufferings; forgive me this -weakness.</p> - -<p>Whatever my sufferings may be, ah, however terrible our martyrdom is, -there is an object that must be attained—that you will attain, I am -sure of it—the light, full and entire, such as is necessary for us all, -for our name, for our dear children. I hope ardently, for you as for -myself, to hear soon that this object is at last attained.</p> - -<p>I have no counsels to give you, either. I can but approve absolutely -what you are doing to accomplish the complete demonstration of my -innocence. That is the end to be attained, and we must see nothing else.</p> - -<p>I have received Mathieu’s few words; tell him that I am always with him, -heart and soul. The 22d of February was the anniversary of the birth of -our dear little Jeanne. How often I thought of her! I will not say more -about it, for my heart will break and I have need of all my strength. -Write me long letters. Speak to me of yourself and of our dear children.</p> - -<p>I read and re-read each day all that you have written me; then it seems -to me that I hear your beloved voice, and that helps me to live.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span></p> - -<p>I will not write more, for I can only tell you of the horrible length of -the hours, of the sadness of all things; and complaining is very -useless.</p> - -<p>Kiss your dear parents for me. Thank them always for their good, -affectionate letters.</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses to our dear children, and for you the best, the -tenderest kisses of your devoted</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have not yet received the things you spoke of in your letters of the -25th of November and the 25th of December. I cannot tell why the things -you send me are so long in coming. Perhaps the books you are going to -send me soon by mail will reach me with less delay. I hope so, for -reading, the only thing that is possible for me to do, may calm a little -the pains in my brain, and unhappily even that is often lacking.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>5 March, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have not yet received your dear letters of January. A few lines only -to send you the echo of my immense affection. Write to you at length? I -cannot. My days, my hours, slip by monotonously, in this agonizing, -enervating waiting for the discovery of the truth, the discovery of the -wretch who committed this infamous crime. Speak to you of myself? What -good can that do us? My sufferings, you know them, you share them. They, -like yours, like those of all who love us, can only have an end when the -broad, full light shall appear, when honor is returned to us.</p> - -<p>It is toward this end that all your energy, all your<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span> forces, all your -means, should be directed. I hope to learn that this end is almost -attained, that this appalling martyrdom of a whole family is nearly -over. My body, my health? All that is indifferent to me. My being is -animated only by one thought, by one desire, which keeps me alive—that -of seeing with you and with our children the day when my honor shall be -returned to me. It is in my thoughts of you, in the thought of our -adored children, that I rest my brain, overtried at times by this -continual tension, by this fever of impatience, by this terrible -inactivity, without one moment of distraction.</p> - -<p>If, then, we cannot keep ourselves from suffering—for never were human -beings, who hold honor above all, struck in such a manner—still I cry -always to you, “Courage, courage!” to march on to your goal, your head -high, your heart firm, with unshaken will, never discouraged. Your -children tell you your duty, just as they give me my strength.</p> - -<p>Let us hope, then, as your mother has said, that soon, in each other’s -arms, we can try to forget this fearful martyrdom, these months, so sad -and so delusive, and live again by consecrating ourselves to our -children.</p> - -<p>I embrace you, as I love you, with all my strength, and also our dear -children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Kisses to all.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>26 March, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I received the 12th of this month your good letters of January, so -impatiently expected every month, also all the letters from the family.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span></p> - -<p>I have seen with happiness that your health and the health of all resist -this frightful condition of things, this horrible nightmare, in which we -have lived so long. What a trial for you, my good darling, as horrible -as it is undeserved—for you who deserve to be so happy! Yes, I have -horrible moments, when the heart can bear no longer the blows which open -the wound already so deep, when my brain gives way under the weight of -thoughts so sad and so deceptive. When, after I have waited for my -letters in an agony of anxiety, the mail arrives, and still I do not -receive the announcement of the discovery of the truth, or of the author -of that infamous and cowardly crime, oh, I have at first a feeling of -deep, bitter disappointment. My heart is torn, is broken, under so many -sufferings, so long and so undeserved!</p> - -<p>I am a little like a sick man who lingers on his bed of torment, -suffering anguish, but who lives because his duty demands it, and who -keeps asking his doctor, “When will my tortures end?” And as the doctor -answers, “Soon, soon,” the sick man ends by asking himself, “But when -will this ‘soon’ come?” and he longs to see it come.</p> - -<p>It was a long time ago that you announced it to me ... but be -discouraged? Oh, that never! However terrible may be my sufferings, the -desire for our honor is far above them!</p> - -<p>Neither you, nor any one, will ever have the right to one moment of -fatigue, one second of weakness, as long as the goal has not been -reached—the absolute honor of our name. As for me, when I feel that I -am falling under the united weight of all our suffering, when I feel -that my reason is leaving me, then I think of you, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span> our dear -children, of the undeserved dishonor cast upon our name, and I recover -my balance by a violent effort of my whole being, and I cry to myself, -“No, you shall not bend before the tempest! Your heart may be in bits, -your brain may be crushed, but you shall not succumb until you have seen -the day when honor shall be given back to your dear children!”</p> - -<p>This is why, dear Lucie, I come to cry to you always, to you, as to all, -“Courage!” and more than courage—for will to accomplish!... Oh, -silently, very silently—for words do not help—but boldly, audaciously -to march straight onward to the end—the entire truth, the light upon -this awful drama, in one word, all the honor of our name! Means? They -must all be employed, of whatever nature they may be—anything that the -mind can suggest to obtain the solution of this enigma.</p> - -<p>The object is everything; that alone is immutable. I wish our children -to enter upon life with heads proudly erect. I wish to animate you with -my supreme desire. I wish to see you succeed, and it will be full time, -I swear to you!</p> - -<p>I hope that you may soon be able to tell me something certain, something -positive, oh, for both of us, my dear Lucie! I cannot write to you at -greater length, nor speak to you of anything else except my great and -deep affection for you. My head is too tired by this bitter discipline, -the most terrible, the most cruel that human brain can endure.</p> - -<p>Our dear little Pierre asks me to write to him. Ah, I am not strong -enough! Each word wrings a sob from my throat and I am obliged to resist -with all my strength in order to be with him on the day when they give -us back our honor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span></p> - -<p>Take him in your arms for me, as well as our dear little Jeanne.</p> - -<p>Oh, my precious children!... Draw from them your invincible courage.</p> - -<p>I embrace you with all the forces of my being, as I love you.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Embrace your dear parents, all the family for me; my health is good.</p> - -<p>I received from you at the beginning of the month a dozen packages of -provisions and some cardigans. I thank you for your touching care for -me. I have not yet received any of the reviews and the books you -announced in your letters of September, December, and January; not one -of them has yet arrived at Cayenne. Please send the things so that they -may come by parcels post. Either address them to me directly, care of -the Director of the Penitentiary Service at Cayenne, or else have them -addressed to me from the Ministry, at your own expense.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>26 March, 1896, evening.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Before sending you the letter that I had written, I re-read, perhaps for -the hundredth time, your dear letters, for you can imagine what my long -days and nights are like, when, my arms crossed, I am alone with my -thoughts, without anything to read, sustaining myself only by the force -of duty, so that I may uphold you so that I may see, at last, the day -when our honor is given<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span> back to us. You ask me to await calmly the day -when you can announce to me the discovery of the truth.</p> - -<p>Ask me to wait as long as I have the strength; but with calmness? Oh, -no! When they have torn, all-living, the heart from my breast, when I -feel myself struck in my most precious possession, in you and my -children, when my heart groans with agony night and day, without one -hour of rest, when for eighteen months I have lived in a frightful -nightmare!</p> - -<p>But, then, that which I desire with a ferocious determination, that -which has made me bear everything, that which has made me live, is not -that you should protest my innocence by your words, but that you should -march, that you all should march, straight forward, no matter by what -means, to the conquest of the truth, to the laying bare in the full -light of day this dark story ... in a word, to the recovery of our whole -honor.</p> - -<p>These are the words I spoke to you before my departure—already more -than a year ago ... and, alas! it is not that I would reproach you; but -it seems to me that you are very long on this supreme mission, for it is -not living to live without honor.</p> - -<p>And in my long nights of torture, suffering this martyrdom, how often -have I told myself, “Ah, how I should have solved the enigma of this -horrible drama—by any means, no matter what, even had I been forced to -put the knife to the throats of the wretched accomplices, however well -hidden they might have been, of the vile criminal!” And more often still -have I cried to myself, “Will there be no one, then, with enough heart -and soul or clever enough to tear the truth from them, and to bring to -an end this fearful martyrdom of a man and of two families?” Ah, I know -that these are only<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span> the dreams of one who suffers horribly! But what -would you? All that is too horrible, too atrocious! It leads astray my -reason, my faith in loyalty and rectitude, for there is a moral law that -is above all things, above passion and hatred; it is the law that -demands the truth always and in all things. And then when my thoughts -turn back upon my past, upon my whole life, and then to see myself where -I am now! Oh, then it is horrible! black night closes in upon my soul, -and I long to shut my eyes, to think no more. It is in my thought of -you, of our dear children, in my wish to see the end of this horrible -drama that I find again the energy to live, to hold myself erect. These -are my thoughts, these are my dreams, my dear and good Lucie, and it is -in answer to your question that I have thus laid bare my soul. Know, -then, that I suffer with you, that I live in your life, that our mental -and moral tortures are the same, that they can have but one end—full -light upon this sinister affair. Let us press on, then, toward this -supreme end, active in every day, in every hour, with ferocious and -unconquerable will, the conviction that overturns all obstacles. It is -our honor that has been torn from us, and we must regain it. And now I -am going to bed to try to rest my brain a little, or rather to try to -dream of you and of our dear children. The 5th of April Pierre will be -five years old. Be sure that on that day all my heart, all my thoughts, -my tears, alas! also will have been of him, of you. And I close in -wishing that you may soon announce to me the end of this infernal -torture, and by embracing you with all my strength, as I love you.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>5 April, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just received your dear letters of February, also those of the -family. In your turn, my dear wife, you have been subjected to the -atrocious anguish of waiting for tidings!... I have known this anguish; -I have known many others; I have seen things that are deceiving to the -human consciousness.... Well, I say again, what matters it? Your -children are there, they live. We have given them life, we must restore -their honor to them. It is necessary to go straight forward to the end, -our eyes fixed upon one single object—to go forward with an -unconquerable will, with the courage given by the knowledge of an -absolute necessity. I told you in one of my letters that each day brings -with it its anguish. It is true. When the evening comes, after a -struggle of every instant against the turmoil of my brain, against the -overthrow of my reason, against the revolts of my heart, then I have a -cerebral and nervous depression, and I long to close my eyes to see no -more, to think no more, to suffer no more. Then I have to make a violent -effort of the will to drive away the ideas that drag me down, to bring -back the thought of you, the thought of our adored children, and to say -to myself again, “However horrible your martyrdom may be, you must be -able to die in peace, knowing that you leave to your children a proud -and honored name.” If I recall this to you, it is simply to tell you -again what effort of my will I put forth in a single day because it -concerns the honor of our name, the name of our children; that this same -determination should animate you all. I want to tell you also what I -suffer from your torture, from that of you all, what I suffer for our -children, and that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span> then at all hours of the day and night I cry to you -and to all of you, in the agony of my grief, “March on to the conquest -of the truth, boldly, like honest and valiant people, to whom honor is -everything.”</p> - -<p>Ah, the means! Little do I care for means. They must be found, when one -knows what one wants, and when it is one’s right and one’s duty to want -it.</p> - -<p>This voice you should hear at every moment, across all space; it should -animate your souls.</p> - -<p>I repeat myself ever, dear Lucie; it is because but one thought, one -will gives me strength to endure everything.</p> - -<p>I am neither patient nor resigned, be sure of that. I long for the -light, the truth, our honor throughout all France, with all the fibres -of my being; and this supreme desire ought to inspire in you—in you, as -in all the others—all courage, all daring, so that at last we may -escape from a situation as infamous as it is undeserved.</p> - -<p>You have no mercy and no favor to ask of any one. You wish the light, -and that you must obtain.</p> - -<p>The more the physical strength decreases—for the nerves end by becoming -absolutely shattered by so many appalling shocks—the more the energies -should increase.</p> - -<p>Never, never, never—and this is the cry from the depths of my soul—can -a man resign himself to dishonor when he has not deserved it.</p> - -<p>To-day our dear little Pierre is five years old. All my heart, all my -thoughts go out to him, to you, to our dear children. All my being -quivers with sorrow.</p> - -<p>What can I add, my dear Lucie? My affection for you, for our children, -you know it. It has kept me alive; it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span> has made me endure what otherwise -I should never have accepted; it gives me the force still to endure all.</p> - -<p>You say that we are approaching the end of our sufferings. I wish it -with all my strength; for never have human beings suffered like this. I -wrote you a long letter, ten days ago, by the French mail.</p> - -<p>I embrace you, as I love you, with all my strength, and also our -children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>I received some days ago the reviews and books that you sent in -November. Their tardy arrival may be traced to the fact that they were -sent by freight—that is to say, by sailing vessels. I find a little -solace in them. But my brain is so shaken, so fatigued, by all these -appalling shocks that I cannot fix my mind upon anything. The other -parcels you have sent will reach me some day.</p> - -<p>Embrace your dear parents, and all of our family for me. I wrote to them -by the French mail.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>26 April, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>In the long and atrocious days of which all these months are made, I -have read and re-read your dear letters of February. My heart has bled -with the anguish to which you have been subjected during these long -months, and of which each word in your letters bears the trace. I could -feel how you restrained the shivers of your being, how you held back the -overflowing volume of your grief, and in an effort of your loving and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span> -devoted heart you found the strength to cry again to me, “Oh, I am -strong!”</p> - -<p>Yes, be strong, for strength is needed.</p> - -<p>One of these nights I dreamed of you, of our children, of our torture, -compared with which death would be sweet, and in my agony I cried out in -my sleep.</p> - -<p>My suffering is at times so strong that I would tear my skin from my -flesh, to forget in physical pain this too violent torture of soul. I -arise in the morning with the dread of the long hours of the day, alone, -for so long, with the horrors of my brain; I lie down at night with the -fear of the sleepless hours. You ask me to speak to you at length of -myself, of my health. You must realize that after the tortures to which -I have been subjected, supporting the atrocious life of the present, a -life that never leaves me a moment of rest, day or night, my health -cannot be brilliant. My body is broken, my nerves are sick, my brain is -crushed, say, simply, that I still hold myself erect in the absolute -sense of the word only because I resolved to, so as to see with you and -our children the day when honor shall be returned to us.</p> - -<p>You ask yourself sometimes, in your hours of calmness, why we have been -thus tried.... I ask it of myself at every instant, and I find no -answer.</p> - -<p>We deceived each other mutually, dear Lucie, by alternately recommending -each other to be calm and to be patient. Our love tries in vain to hide -from each other the thoughts that agitate our hearts.</p> - -<p>My anguish when I write to you, the heart quivering with pain and fever, -tells me too clearly what you feel when you write to me.</p> - -<p>No, let us tell each other simply that if we still live with torn and -panting hearts, with our souls shivering<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span> with anguish, it is because -there is a supreme object to be attained, cost what it may—the full -honor of our name, that of our children—and that right speedily, for -sensitive people cannot live in a situation whose every moment is a -torture.</p> - -<p>Very often I have wished to speak to you at length of our children—I -cannot. A dull, bitter anger floods my heart at the thought of these -dear little creatures, struck through their father, who is innocent of a -crime so abominable.... My throat contracts, my sobs choke me, my hands -are wrung with grief at not being able to do anything for them, for you -... to struggle to keep from dying in such a situation, and for so long.</p> - -<p>So I can only repeat to you, dear Lucie, “Courage, and determination, -and action, also, for human strength has a limit.”</p> - -<p>I wrote you long letters by the last mail; I wrote also to your dear -parents, to my brothers and sisters. I hope that these letters will -still more embolden your courage, the courage of every one of you, that -they will animate your souls with the fire that consumes my own -soul—the fire that gives me the strength to still stand erect.</p> - -<p>You tell me that you have good reasons for believing that this atrocious -situation is not to be of long duration. Ah, I wish with all my soul -that this time your hope may not be deceived, that you may soon announce -to me something certain, positive; for truly this is suffering too hard -to bear!</p> - -<p>What can I add, dear Lucie? The hours are all alike in their atrocity -for me; I live only by the thought of you, of our children, in the -expectation of a <i>dénouement</i>, an escape from a situation which has -lasted but too long.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span></p> - -<p>I embrace you with all my heart, as I love you; also our dear children, -and I am waiting now until I shall have the happiness of receiving your -dear letters, always so impatiently expected.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Kisses to all.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>May 7, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>A few moments before I received your dear letters I was subjected to an -outrage—only a mean, shabby trick—but such things hurt one whose heart -has been already so deeply wounded. I have not, alas! the soul of a -martyr. To tell you that there are not times when I would be glad to die -and end this atrocious life would be to lie. Do not see in this any -trace of discouragement. The goal is immutable, it must be attained, and -it shall be. But I am a human being as well, undergoing the most -appalling of martyrdoms for a man of heart and a sense of honor, bearing -it only for you and for our children.</p> - -<p>Each time they turn the knife in the wound my heart cries with grief. I -wept after this last outrage ... but enough of that. As I was saying, I -have just received your dear letters of March, the letters of all the -family, and with all the joy of reading the words you have written, I -have always as well that sense of bitter disappointment, which you can -well realize, that comes from not yet seeing the end of our tortures. -How you must suffer, Lucie! how you all must suffer when you cannot -hasten the moment our honor will be restored to us, when the wretches -who committed the infamous crime<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span> shall be unmasked! I wish that this -moment may be near and that it may not be too late.</p> - -<p>Thanks for the good news that you give me of the children. It is from -the thought of them, from the thought of you, that I draw the strength -to resist. You must expect that sufferings, the climate, the situation, -have done their work. I have left only my skin, my bones, and my moral -energy. I hope that this last will carry me through to the end of our -trials. You spoke to me of some supplies that I might ask you for. You -know that my material life has always been indifferent to me, to-day -more so than ever. I have only asked for books, and unhappily I have -still only those you sent me in November.</p> - -<p>Please do not send me any more provisions. The sentiment which inspires -me to beg this favor may be puerile, but everything you send me is, by -regulations, subjected to a most minute examination, and it seems to me -each time that they give you a slap in the face, ... and my heart bleeds -and I tremble with pain of it.</p> - -<p>No; let us accept the atrocious situation that has been made for us. Do -not let us try to alleviate it by any care for the material order, but -let us repeat to ourselves that we must find the guilty wretch, that we -must get back our honor! March on, then, toward this goal; march on, -moved by one common, unchangeable will; try to attain it as quickly as -possible and give no care to anything else. I, for my part, shall resist -as long as I can, for I want to be there, present on that day of supreme -happiness when our honor is given back to us.</p> - -<p>Say to yourself, that while the head may bow before some misfortunes, -that while commonplace condolences may be received in some situations, -when it is a ques<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span>tion of honor there can be no consolations, but only a -goal to be struggled for so long as we can keep up to have that honor -restored to us.</p> - -<p>Then, for you, as for all of us, I can only cry from the depths of my -soul, <i>Lift up your hearts</i>! There must be no recrimination, no -complaint, nothing but the unswerving march onward to our end—the -wretch or the wretches who are really guilty—and we must attain our end -as soon as possible.</p> - -<p>As I have already told you, there must not remain one single Frenchman -who can doubt our honor.</p> - -<p>Kiss our dear children with all your heart for me, and yourself a -thousand kisses the most tender, the most affectionate kisses of your -devoted</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Embrace your dear parents, all our family and friends for me. In the -mail which I have just received I have not found letters from any of my -sisters except Henriette. I hope that these dear sisters are not sick -from these terrible and continued trials.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>22 May, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Your good and most affectionate letters of March have been the dear and -sweet companions of my solitude. I have read them and re-read them to -recall to me my duty each time that the situation was crushing me with -its weight. I have suffered with you, with you all; all the frightful -anguish through which you have passed has echoed in my own.</p> - -<p>You ask me to write to you, to come and tell you all that is in my -crushed and bleeding heart whenever my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span> bitterness is too great for me -to bear. Ah, my poor Lucie! If I should do as you bid, I should be -writing very often, for I have not one moment of respite. But why should -I thus tear your heart? I already do this too often, and after I have -thus poured out my woes I always regret it bitterly, for you have -already suffered enough, far too much for me. But what would you? It is -impossible to break away absolutely from one’s <i>ego</i>, to stifle always -the revolts of one’s heart, to be always master of one’s sick nerves. My -only moment when the tension is relaxed is when I write to you, and then -all the accumulated grief of the long month at times goes out into what -I write.... And then I feel so profoundly in the very depths of my being -all the horror of our situation, as well for you and me as for your dear -parents, for all our family, that bursts of anger, quivers of -indignation, escape in spite of my efforts; then I cry out in my -impatience to see the end of this abominable suffering for us all. I -suffer because I am powerless to lighten your atrocious sorrow, because -I can only sustain you with all the power of my love, with all the ardor -of my soul. Ah, truly yes, dear Lucie, I feel all your anguish when each -mail day arrives, and after a long month of waiting, of suffering, and -of agony, you cannot yet announce to me the discovery of the guilty -wretches, the end of our tortures! And if then I cry out, if at times I -roar aloud, if the blood boils in my veins with all this agony, so long -drawn out, so undeserved, oh, it is as much for you as for me! For if I -had had only myself to think of in my sufferings, long ago I should have -put an end to it all, leaving it to the future to be the final judge of -everything.</p> - -<p>It is from the thought of you, the thought of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span> dear children, from -my determined resolve to sustain you, to live to see the day when our -honor shall be given back to us, that I draw all my strength. When I -sink under the united burden of all my woes, when my brain reels, when -my heart can bear no more, when I lose all hope, then to myself I murmur -three names—yours, those of our dear children—and I nerve myself again -against my agony, and not a sound passes my silent lips. To tell the -truth, I am physically very weak; it could not be otherwise. But -everything is effaced from my mind, hallucinating memories, sufferings, -the atrocities of my daily life, before so exalted, so absolute a -preoccupation, the thought of our honor, the patrimony of our children. -So I come again, as always, to cry to you with all my strength, with all -my soul, “Courage, and still courage, to march steadfastly onward to -your goal—the unclouded honor of our name”—and to wish for both our -sakes that this goal may soon be reached. The dear little letters -written by the children always move me deeply, cause me extreme emotion; -I often wet them with my tears, but I draw from them also my strength. -In all my letters I read that you are raising these dear little children -admirably. If I have never spoken of this to you it has been because I -knew it, because I knew you.</p> - -<p>To speak of my love for you, the love that unites us all, would be -useless, would it not? Still, let me tell you again that my thought -never leaves you for an instant day or night, that my heart is always -near to you, to our children, to you all, ready to sustain you, to -animate you with my unconquerable will.</p> - -<p>I embrace you with all my strength, with all my heart, and also the dear -children, while I wait to re<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span>ceive your good letters, the only rays of -sunshine that come to warm my cruelly wounded heart.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Kisses to your dear parents, to all.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>5 June, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have not yet received your good letters of April, so I have been -forced to content myself by re-reading, as I do each day, often many -times a day, your good and affectionate letters of March, and from them -I have drawn a little calm. I cannot, however, let the English mail -leave without coming to gossip a little with you, without drawing near -to you.</p> - -<p>Oh, I can see you very well in thought from here, my dear and good -Lucie, for you do not leave me for a single moment. I know the moments -of your crises, when, after some one has given you hope, that hope is -again disappointed; when, after a moment of relaxation, of peace, you -fall back into a violent despair, asking yourself with anguish when we -shall wake from this abominable nightmare in which we have lived so -long. And then you write to me, and you find in your splendid soul, in -your loving and devoted heart, the strength to hide from me the -atrocious tortures, the appalling anguish through which you are passing.</p> - -<p>And then I, who feel, who divine all that—I, whose heart is crushed and -wounded in its purest sentiments, in its tenderest love, with the blood -boiling in my veins, because I feel all the torture heaped upon us, -upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span> our two families—with my very reason in revolt I go and put into -my letters the cries of anguish and of impatience that are in my soul; -then I suffer through a long month thinking of the emotion you will -feel, and I am still more unhappy.</p> - -<p>Instead of bringing you, you who are wounded with me in your honor as a -wife and a mother, the moral support, the steadfast, energetic, ardent -support which you need in the noble mission you must fulfill, I come, at -times, to lament, to occupy you with my little sufferings, my petty -tortures, with I know not what, to augment your poignant grief. Forgive -my weakness—human weakness, alas! all too natural. Words, indeed, are -powerless to depict a martyrdom like ours. But it can have but one -termination—the discovery of the guilty wretches, absolute, complete -rehabilitation, all the honor of our name, the name of our dear -children.</p> - -<p>So I am again, as always, adding to this letter, which will carry to you -the echo of my deep love, the ardent cry of my soul, Courage, still more -courage, dear Lucie, to march on to your goal, with a fierce, resolute, -unfailing will; and let us hope, for both our sakes, for the sake of our -children, that the end may soon be accomplished.</p> - -<p>Embrace our dear little ones tenderly for me. I live only in them, in -you, and from that source I draw my strength. Kiss your dear parents for -me; give my love to all our friends; thank them for their good and most -affectionate letters.</p> - -<p>I end this letter with regret, and I embrace you hard, “as hard as I -can,” as our dear little Pierre says.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span></p> - -<p class="rt"><i>Evening.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just received at last the things you sent me, and the books for -the months of December, January and February, and I assure you that I -had need of them. Yet more fond and ardent kisses for you, for our dear -children, for your dear parents, for all our friends; and I end my -letter by this ardent cry of my soul: Courage, always and still more -courage, my dear and good Lucie.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>24 July, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have not received your letters of May; the last news I have of you -dates back three months. You see that sledge-hammer blows are not spared -me. I do not want to augment your grief by depicting my own. Besides it -is of no importance. Whatever may be our suffering, however appalling -may be our martyrdom, our object is unchanging, my dear Lucie—the -light, the honor of our name.</p> - -<p>I can do no more than repeat to you this cry of my soul: Courage! -Courage! Courage! until the end is attained.</p> - -<p>As for me, I retain with all my energy whatever strength remains to me. -I repress my brain and my heart night and day, for I want to live to see -the end of this drama. I hope, for both of us, that the moment is not -far distant.</p> - -<p>When you receive these few lines your birthday will have passed. I will -not dwell upon thoughts so cruel for both of us, but my thoughts could -be with you no more that day than on all others.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span></p> - -<p>I embrace you with all my heart, with all my strength, you and our -children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>4 August, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have received your letters of May and June all together, with those of -the family. I will not tell you of my emotion, after I had waited so -long; for we must not give way to such poignant feelings.</p> - -<p>I found but two letters from you in the mail for May. I was happy to see -that you were settled in the country with the children; perhaps there -you may find a little rest, if there can be any rest for us when our -honor has not been given back to us.</p> - -<p>Yes, dear Lucie, sufferings such as ours, sufferings so undeserved, -leave the mind bewildered. But let us speak no more of it; it is one of -those things that provoke irresistible indignation.</p> - -<p>If I am nervously impatient to see the end of all our tortures; if, -under the influence of the revolts of my heart, my letters are pressing, -do not doubt that my confidence, like my faith, is absolute. Tell -yourself that I have never said “Hope!” I have said, “We must have the -whole truth; if not to-day it will be to-morrow or the day after, but -this end will be attained—it must be!” Let us shut our eyes to our -tortures; let us compress our brains and steel our hearts. Courage, be -valiant, dear Lucie; there must not be one minute of weakness or of -lassitude. For us, for our children, for our families, we must have -light, the honor of our name. I come now, as always, to cry to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span> you, to -cry to all, “Lift up your heart! be strong in your determination!”</p> - -<p>I wish with all my heart, for both our sakes, for all of us, to learn -that this suffering is to have an end.</p> - -<p>Embrace our children for me, and for yourself the fondest kisses of your -devoted</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Embrace your parents, all our family, for me.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>24 August, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I replied at the beginning of the month in a few lines only to your dear -letters of May and June. The impression they made upon me after I had -waited so long for them was such that I could not write at length. I -read and re-read them each day, and it seems to me that thus for a few -moments I am near you, that I feel the beating of your heart close to -mine; and when I look at this bit of paper on which I write to you, I -wish that I could put in it all my soul, all my heart contains for you, -for our children, for you all; I wish that I might imprint upon it all -the ardor of my soul, all my courage, all my determination.</p> - -<p>Believe, dear Lucie, that I have never had a moment of discouragement as -to the end to be attained. But yet what impatience devours me to see the -end of our atrocious torture!</p> - -<p>There are for those who have hearts sorrows so bitter that the pen is -powerless to express them. And this grief, equally poignant for us all, -I hide it in my breast day and night, and not one complaint escapes from -my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span> lips. I accept everything, stifling my heart, my whole being, seeing -only our goal.</p> - -<p>I wrote to you in the first days of July a letter which must have -troubled you, my dear Lucie; I was then a prey to fever; I had not -received your letter. Everything came together! And then the human beast -in me awakened, and I cried out in my distress and anguish, as if you -were not suffering enough already. But I reacted against my own lower -nature, I overcame everything, I surmounted my physical as well as my -moral being. Since then I have learned that your letters arrived at -Cayenne without delay; in consequence of a mistake made in forwarding -them, I received them only with your letters of June.</p> - -<p>I can only repeat my words, dear Lucie, for you must, as we all must, -fix our eager, unswerving gaze upon the supreme object; we must not -indulge in one moment of lassitude until the end shall have been -attained! The whole truth must be revealed over all France, all the -honor of our name, the patrimony of our children.</p> - -<p>Embrace the S——s and their dear children for me. Be sure to tell -Mathieu that if I do not write to him oftener, it is because I know him -too well; I know that his determination will remain as inflexible as -ever, until the day when the light shall burst forth. Thanks for the -good news of the dear, little ones; thank your dear parents and all the -members of our families for their good letters. As for you, my dear -Lucie, strong in your conscience, be invincibly energetic and brave. May -my profound love, our children, and your duty sustain and reanimate you.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span></p><p>Again I embrace you as I love you, with all my strength, as I embrace -also our dear children. Now I am waiting for your good letters of July.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>3 September, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>They brought me, just now, the mail for July. I found in it only one -poor, little letter from you, that of the 14th of July, although you -ought to have written oftener and more at length; but no matter.</p> - -<p>What a cry of suffering escapes from all your letters and echoes in my -own! Yes, dear Lucie, never have human beings suffered as have you, as -have I, and every one of us. The sweat starts from my forehead when I -think of it. I have lived only by straining every nerve, by the most -powerful effort of the will, by gripping, compressing all my being in a -supreme struggle; but emotions break us down; they make every fibre of -the being quiver. My hands are wrung with grief for you, for our -children, for us all; an immense cry rises to my throat and stifles me. -Ah, why am I not alone in the world! What happiness it would be could I -lie down in my grave, to think no more, to see no more, to suffer no -more! But the moment of weakness, of the derangement of all my being, of -awful anguish, has passed, and now I come to tell you, dear Lucie, that -above all deaths—for what agony do not I know, as well that of the soul -as that of the body, of the brain?—there is honor; that this honor, -which is our right, must be restored to us ... only, human strength has -its limits for us all.</p> - -<p>So when you receive this letter, if the situation is not at last shown -in its proper light, act as I already told<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span> you last year; go yourself, -take, if need be, a child by each hand, those two beloved and innocent -beings, and take steps to appeal to those who direct the affairs of our -country. Speak simply, from your heart, and I am sure that you will find -generous souls who will understand how appalling is this martyrdom of a -wife, of a mother, and who will put all the means in their power to work -to aid you in this noble and holy work, the discovery of the truth, the -discovery of the author of this infamous crime. Oh, dear Lucie, listen -to me well, and follow my counsels! Remember that you must see but one -thing, our object, and strive to attain it; for, oh! I long with all my -heart to see, before I succumb to this weight of suffering, honor -restored to the name that our dear, adored ones bear. I long to see you -again happy, our children, enjoying the happiness that you so merit, my -poor and dear Lucie! And as this paper seems to me cold, because I -cannot put on it all that my heart contains for you, for our children, I -would that I might write to you with my blood; perhaps then I might -express myself better....</p> - -<p>And although I cannot tell you anything new I continue to talk with you, -for the long night is coming, traversed by horrible nightmares, in which -I shall see you, our children, my dear brothers and sisters, all those -whom we love. You see, dear Lucie, that I tell you everything, that I -pour out to you all my sufferings, that I tell you all my thoughts; -indeed, in this hour I am incapable of doing otherwise.</p> - -<p>And my thought night and day is always the same; my lips breathe forth -the same cry; oh, all my blood, drop by drop, for the truth of this -appalling mystery!</p> - -<p>Pardon the incoherence of this letter. I write to you,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span> as I have told -you, under the influence of a profound emotion, not even trying to -assemble my ideas, feeling that I would be incapable of doing it, -telling myself with dread that I must pass all of one long month having -for my reading only your few poor lines, where you speak to me of the -children, where you do not speak to me of yourself, where I shall have -nothing to read that speaks of you.</p> - -<p>But I am going to try to collect my thoughts. My sufferings are great, -like yours, like ours; the hours, the minutes, are atrocious, and they -will continue to be so until light, full and entire, shall shine upon -the truth. And as I have told you, I am convinced that if you act in -person, if you speak from your heart, they will set every means to work -to shorten, if possible, the time, for if time is nothing, as far as the -object we must reach, which is more important than everything, is -concerned, it counts, alas! for us all, for one cannot live and endure -such sufferings.</p> - -<p>I regret to realize that I must end this letter in which I feel how -powerless I am to express the affection that I feel for you, for our -children, for all; what I suffer from our atrocious tortures; to make -you feel all that is in my heart; the horror of this situation, of this -life, a horror that surpasses all that can be imagined, all that the -human brain can dream; and, on the other hand, the duty which commands -me imperiously, for your sake and for our children’s, to go on as far as -I shall be able. Think that it will be a month now before I can get one -word from you, the only human word that comes to me!</p> - -<p>But I must end this prattling, although it eases my pain, for I feel -your presence near me in these lines that you are to read, and in ending -my letter I cry to you,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span> “Courage, yet more courage!” for before all -things is the honor of the name that our dear children bear. I tell you -that this object for which you are striving is immutable. Therefore act -as I have said; for the co-operation of generous hearts that you will -find—I am sure of it—will realize more speedily the supreme wish that -I still cry out, the light of truth upon this sad tragedy, that I may be -with our little ones on the day when honor is restored to us! And I add -for your own self, for all of us, this ardent and supreme cry of my -soul, that rises in the darkness of the night: everything for honor. Let -this be our only thought; your sole preoccupation. There must not be one -minute of ease.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>4 September, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear and good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I wrote you a letter last night under an impression caused by the mail, -the sufferings that we all endure, the pain of having only a few lines -from you, for after a long, agonized silence of a whole month, there is -now, inevitably, a strong nervous tension. I am as if crazed by grief. I -take my head in my two hands, and I ask by what miserable destiny so -many human beings are called upon to suffer so.</p> - -<p>I feel, too, the need of coming again to talk with you. Perhaps this -letter may yet catch the English mail and go with the other.</p> - -<p>If I am tired, worn out, if I should tell you the contrary you would not -believe me; for to suffer so without respite through all hours of the -day and night; to feel intuitively the sufferings of those we love; to -see our children, those dear little creatures, for whom I would<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span> give, -for whom we would give, every drop of blood in our veins, struck -down—all that is sometimes too atrocious and the pain is too great to -bear. But I am, dear Lucie, neither discouraged nor broken down, believe -it well. The more the nerves are strained by all these sufferings, the -more the will should become vigorous in its determination to bring the -trial to an end. And the only way to end our tortures, the tortures of -all of us, is to bring about the discovery of the truth. If I live in a -struggle against my body, against my heart, against my brain, fighting -against all with a ferocious energy, it is because I wish to be able to -die tranquilly, knowing that I leave to my children a pure and honored -name; knowing that you are happy. What it is necessary for you to tell -yourself, for us all to tell ourselves, is that there can be but one -termination for our situation—the light—and then, starting forward -with this one word, which outweighs everything, we must smother all that -groans in our hearts; we must see only our object and stretch every -nerve to attain it; and that soon, for the hours now weigh like lead. We -must appeal, as I told you yesterday evening, to all who can help us, to -every aid, to all kind hearts, who can help let in the light. I am sure -that you will find many, and in the presence of this immense sorrow, the -appalling sorrow of a wife and mother, who asks only for the truth, the -honor of the name that her children bear, all will be silent that they -may see only the supreme object of this work, as noble as it is exalted. -Then, dear Lucie, to moan, to lament, to tell each other how we suffer, -all that will advance nothing.</p> - -<p>Be calm, collected, but gather all your strength, surround yourself with -all the advice that can help you to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span> pursue and to attain the object, -and let us hope, for your sake, that the time may not be too long in -coming. Embrace your parents, our brothers and sisters, and all your -family for me.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you, more passionately than I ever have done -before—with all the strength of my affection, and kiss for me our dear -and adored children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>5 o’clock in the morning.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>Before I send this letter I must come once more to embrace you with all -my soul, with all my strength; to repeat to you that your conscience, -your duty, our children, ought to be for you irresistible levers too -strong for any human grief to bend.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>September, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear and good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I wrote to you upon the receipt of the July mail. The nervous strain has -been too strong, too violent. I have an irresistible longing to come to -talk to you, after this long, agonized silence of a whole month.</p> - -<p>Yes, sometimes my pen falls from my hands, and I ask myself what I gain -by writing so much. I am dazed by all my suffering, my poor and dear -Lucie.</p> - -<p>Yes, often, also, I ask myself what I have done that you, whom I love so -much, that my poor children, that all of us, should be called to suffer -thus; and, truly, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span> have moments of ferocious despair, of anger also, -for I am not a saint. But then I call up, as I have always called up, -the thought of you, of the poor little ones, and I evoke that feeling -with which I have wished to inspire you, to inspire you all, since the -beginning of this sad tragedy—that is, that there is above all our -anguish something higher, more exalted. My letter is like a howl of -pain, for we are like sorely wounded men whose minds are so worn out -with pain, whose bodies are so maddened by long suffering, that the -least thing causes their cups, full, too full, of sorrow, to overflow.</p> - -<p>But, dear Lucie, to speak forever of our grief is not a remedy for it, -it only exasperates it. We must look at things as they are, and we all -are horribly unhappy.</p> - -<p>Truly the end dominates everything—sufferings, life. I have told you -this often and often, for it concerns the honor of our name, the life of -our children. This object must be pursued without weakness until it is -attained. But the human spirit is formed in such a way that it lives in -the impressions of each day, and each day is composed of too many -appalling minutes; we have been waiting for so long a time for a happier -to-morrow.</p> - -<p>It is not with anger, it is not with lamentations, that you must hasten -the moment when the truth shall be revealed. Concentrate your -courage—and it ought to be great—strong in your conscience, strong in -the duty you have to fulfill; look only to your object; look only into -your heart of a wife, of a mother, the heart that for so many months has -been so horribly crushed and ground.</p> - -<p>Oh, dear Lucie, listen to me well, for I have suffered so much, I have -borne so many things, that life is pro<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span>foundly indifferent to me, and I -speak to you as from the tomb, from the deep, eternal silence which -raises man above all the anxieties of earth. I speak to you as a father, -in the name of the duty to your children that you must fulfill. Go to -the President of the Republic, to the Ministers, even to those who had -me condemned; for if passions, excitements, at times lead astray the -most upright minds, the hearts remain always generous and are ready to -forget what carried them away before the appalling grief of a wife, of a -mother, who wants but one thing—the only thing we ask—the discovery of -the truth, the honor of our dear little ones. Speak simply, forget all -the little miseries—of what importance are they when compared with the -object to be attained?—and I am sure that you will find an army of -generous, ardent souls, who will help you to escape from a situation so -atrocious, and borne so long that I am yet asking myself how our brains -have been able to resist its attacks.</p> - -<p>I am speaking to you in perfect calmness in this deep silence, a painful -silence, it is true, but it lifts the soul above it all.... Act as I beg -you to....</p> - -<p>See but one thing, my dear and good Lucie, the end which we must -attain—the truth—and appeal to all who are just and devoted.... Oh, -for that! I wish it with all the fibres of my being—to see the day when -honor shall be again restored to us!</p> - -<p>Courage, then, dear Lucie; I ask it of you with all my heart, with all -my soul.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you, with all the power of my love, and also our -dear, adored children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>3 October, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have not yet received the mail of August. Notwithstanding, I wish to -write you a few words by the English mail, and to send you the echo of -my immense love.</p> - -<p>I wrote to you last month, and I opened my whole heart to you, told all -my thoughts; there is nothing that I can add. I hope that the combined -aid that you have the right to ask for will be given you, and I can only -hope one thing—that I am soon to learn that light has been let in upon -this horrible affair. What I would again say to you is this: that we -must not let the terrible acuteness of our sufferings harden our hearts. -It is necessary that our name, that we ourselves, should come out of -this horrible situation such as we were when they made us go into it.</p> - -<p>But in the face of such sufferings our courage should be strong, not to -recriminate nor to complain, but to ask, to demand, indeed, light on -this horrible drama, that he or they whose victims we are be unmasked. -But I have spoken to you at length of all this in my last letter; I will -not repeat myself.</p> - -<p>If I write to you often, and at such length, it is because there is -something that I would express better than I do express it. It is that, -strong in our consciences, we must lift ourselves high above all this, -without moaning, without complaining, like sensitive, honorable people, -who are suffering a martyrdom to which they may succumb. We must simply -do our duty. If my part of this duty is to stand fast as long as I can, -your part of it, the part of you all, is to demand that the light may -shine in upon this lugubrious drama, to appeal to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span> all who can aid in -bringing about the truth; for truly I doubt that human beings have ever -suffered more than we are suffering. I ask myself each day how we have -been able to keep alive.</p> - -<p>I end this prattle with regret. This moment so short, so fugitive, when -I come to chat to you, when I pretend to myself that I am talking with -you, that I am telling you all that is in my heart. But alas! I feel too -keenly that I eternally repeat myself; for there is only one thought in -the bottom of my heart; there is only one cry in my soul: to know the -truth of this frightful drama, to see the day when our honor shall be -returned to us!</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you, from the depths of my heart, as I embrace -my dear and adored children.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>5 October, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear and good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just received you dear letters of August, as well as letters from -all the family, and it is under the profound impression not only of all -the sufferings that we all endure, but of the pain that I have caused -you by my letter of the 6th of July, that I write to you.</p> - -<p>Ah, dear Lucie, how weak the human being is, how he is at times cowardly -and egotistical! When I wrote as I did, I was, as I think I told you, at -that time a prey to fevers that burned me, body and brain—I whose -spirit was already so beaten down, whose tortures were already so great. -And then in the profound distress of all my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span> being, when I had need of a -friendly hand, of a gentle face, delirious from the fever and from pain, -when I did not receive your letter, I had to cry out to you in my -misery, for I could cry to no one else.</p> - -<p>Afterward I regained possession of myself, and I became again what I had -been, what I shall remain to my last breath.</p> - -<p>As I told you in my letter of the day before yesterday, strong in our -consciences, we must raise ourselves above everything; but with that -firm, inflexible determination which will make my innocence shine out -before the eyes of all France. Our name must come out of this horrible -adventure what it was when they made us enter into it. Our children must -enter upon life with heads proudly raised.</p> - -<p>As for the advice that I can give you, that I have developed in my -preceding letters; you must understand that the only counsels I can give -you are those that are suggested by my heart. You are, you all are, -better placed, you have better advisers, and you must know better than I -could tell you what you have to do.</p> - -<p>I wish with you that it may not be long before this atrocious situation -is elucidated, that our sufferings, the sufferings of us all, may soon -be ended. However that may be, we must have the faith that diminishes -all sufferings, surmounts all sorrows, so that in the end we may render -to our children a stainless name, a name that is respected.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you, with all my strength, with all my heart, -and also our dear and adored children.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>20 October, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have written numerous letters to you during these last days, and in -them I have once more opened my heart.</p> - -<p>What can I add to them? I can hope but one thing; it is that at last -they will take pity upon such a martyr, and that I shall learn soon that -by the efforts of one or of another light has been let in on this -terrible tragedy, in which we have suffered so appallingly and so long.</p> - -<p>Ah, yes, dear and good Lucie, for your sake, as for mine, I would that I -might hear one good word, a word of peace and consolation, coming to -place a little balm upon our hearts, that are so crushed, so tortured.</p> - -<p>But what I cannot tell you often enough, my good darling, is how I am -suffering for you, for our dear children, for all our family. I had not -believed that it was possible to live in such sorrow. Well, I will not -linger upon this subject. I can only, as I have told you, wish with you, -that by the discovery of the truth we may find ourselves at last in that -atmosphere of happiness which we used to enjoy so much; that we may find -forgetfulness in our mutual love and in the love of our children.</p> - -<p>Waiting for your good letters, I embrace you as I love you, with all my -strength; and so, also, I embrace our dear children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Kisses to all.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>22 November, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear and good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I did not write to you at the beginning of the month by the English -mail, for I expected each day your letters<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span> of September; I have not yet -received them. As I told you in my last letter, which dates back, alas! -a whole month, I hope that other hearts will feel with us the atrocious -sufferings of our long months of martyrdom; this incessant, -inexpressible torture of every hour, of every minute—in a word, all the -horror of such a crushing moral situation. I hope that other hearts are -bringing to your aid an ardent, generous co-operation in the work of -laying bare the truth; and I can but hope for both our sakes, my poor -darling, and for us all, that I shall soon hear a human word that will -be a kind word, a word that will put a soothing balm upon our stinging -wounds, make our hearts a little firmer, calm the surges of our brains, -so shaken by all these emotions, by all these appalling shocks. I can -only, therefore, while I wait for your dear letters, send you the echo -of my immense affection, embrace you with all my heart, with all my -strength, as I love you, as I embrace also our dear and adored children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Kisses to your dear parents, to all our brothers and sisters, to all our -family.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>22 December, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Only a few lines while I wait for your dear letters, to send you the -echo of my deep love, to repeat to you always, with all my soul, -“Courage and faith,” and to embrace you with all my heart, with all my -strength, as I love you, as I embrace also our dear children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Kisses to all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>24 December, 1896.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear and good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I wrote you a few lines only a few days ago. But my thought is always -with you, with our children, night and day! I know also all that you -suffer, all that you all suffer, and I long to come and talk to you -before the arrival of your letters, each month so impatiently awaited.</p> - -<p>I also know how it calms the heart only to see the writing of those we -love, all of whose sorrows we partake; I know also that in this way it -seems that we have with us a part of their very selves, of their hearts, -feeling them tremble and throb at our sides. And then I wish that I -might render better—not my sufferings, you know them. My heart, like -yours, is only a bleeding wound; but what I suffer for you, for our -children, how my life is wrapped up in you all! And if I still stand -erect, despite the agonies that rend my being—for every impression, -even the commonplace, the exterior impressions, produce upon me the -effect of a deep wound—it is because you are there, you and our -children. I have re-read, as I have always done each month, all the -letters that I have from you; they are the companions of my profound -solitude, all these letters of you all; and it seems to me as I read -them that you have not entirely seized my thought, which is perforce -somewhat confused by being scattered among all the letters I have -written to you.</p> - -<p>I have often told you dreams that could never be carried into effect in -real life, crushed by the blows that have rained upon me for more than -two years without my ever having understood why they fell, my brain, -distraught, searching in vain for the meaning of the horri<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span>ble dream -which has held us all enthralled for so long.</p> - -<p>I profit by a moment when my brain is less fatigued to try to lucidly -explain my thoughts, the scattered convictions expressed in my different -letters. The end, you know it, the light, full and unshrouded, that end -shall be attained.</p> - -<p>Tell yourself, then, that my confidence and my faith are complete; for, -on one hand, I am absolutely certain that this last appeal that I made -recently to the Ministry has been heard; that in that quarter everything -is to be set in motion to discover the truth. And, on the other hand, I -see that you all are wrestling for the honor of our name—that is to -say, our very lives—and I see that nothing can turn you from your -purpose.</p> - -<p>Let me add that the point in question is not the bringing into this -horrible affair of either acrimony or bitterness against individuals. We -must aim higher.</p> - -<p>If at times I have cried out in my grief, it has been because the wounds -of the heart are at times too cruel, too burning, for human strength. -But if I have made of myself the patient man that I am not, that I never -shall be, it is because above all our sufferings there is the one, only -object—the honor of our name, the life of our children. This object -ought to be your very soul, let come what may. You must be, heroically, -invincibly, at the same time a mother and a Frenchwoman.</p> - -<p>I repeat it then, my dear Lucie, my confidence and my faith are -absolutely alike in the efforts of one and all. I am absolutely certain -that light shall be let in, and that is the essential thing—but it will -be in a future that we know not.</p> - -<p>For, alas! the energies of the heart, the forces of the brain, have -their limits in a situation as atrocious as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span> mine. I know, too, what you -suffer, and it is appalling.</p> - -<p>This is why, often, in the moments of my anguish—for it is not possible -to suffer so slowly without cries of agony, having but one wish to -express, to be with you and with our children on the day when honor -shall be given back to us—I have asked you to take steps to appeal to -the Government, to those persons who possess sure, decisive means of -investigation—means that they only have the right to employ.</p> - -<p>Whatever may come of it, and I think I have clearly expressed my -thought, my conviction, I can but repeat to you with all my soul, -Confidence and Faith! and wish for you, as for me, as for us all, that -the efforts of one or of another may soon be crowned with success and -may put an end to this appalling martyrdom of the soul.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you, as I embrace also our dear children, from -the depths of my heart.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Kisses to all.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>4 January, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just received your letters of November, also those of the family. -The profound emotion that they cause me is always the -same—indescribable.</p> - -<p>Your thoughts are mine, my dear Lucie; my thought never leaves you, -never leaves our dear children, you all; and when my heart can bear no -more, when I am at the end of my strength to resist this martyrdom, that -crushes my heart incessantly as the grain is crushed in a mill, that -tears all that is most pure, most noble, and most elevated within me, -that dries up all the springs of my soul, then I cry to myself, always -the same words:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span> “However atrocious may be your suffering, march on -still, so that you may be able to die at peace, knowing that you leave -to your children an honored name, a respected name!”</p> - -<p>My heart, you know it, it has not changed. It is the heart of a soldier, -indifferent to all physical suffering, who holds honor before, above all -else; who has lived, who has resisted this fearful, this incredible, -uprooting of everything that makes the Frenchman, the man, of all that -makes it possible to live; who has borne it all because he is a father -and because he must see to it that honor is restored to the name that -his children bear.</p> - -<p>I have already written to you at length. I have tried to sum it all up -to you, to explain to you why my confidence and my faith are absolute; -that my confidence in the efforts of one and all is fully fixed; for -believe it, be absolutely certain of it, the appeal that I again made in -the name of our children, has revealed to those to whom I appealed a -duty which men of heart will never attempt to evade. On the other hand, -I know well all the sentiments that animate you all. I know them too -well to ever think that there can be one moment of enervation in any one -of you as long as the truth remains in darkness.</p> - -<p>Then all hearts, all energies, will converge toward the supreme object, -running toward it with blind, irresistible force. Cheer up until the -beast is run to earth, the author or the authors of this infamous crime. -But, alas! as I have already told you, if my confidence is absolute, the -energies of the heart, of the brain, have limits when the situation is -so appalling, when it has been borne so long. I know, also, what you -suffer, and it is horrible.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_3"> -<a href="images/ill_004.jpg"> -<img src="images/ill_004.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>MADAME ALFRED DREYFUS AND HER CHILDREN</p> - -<p>Drawn from life by Paul Renouard</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>6 January, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span> 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!</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you, with all the power of my love, as I embrace -also our dear children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Kisses to all.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>20 January, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear and good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I have told you that I had an equal confidence in the efforts of one and -all. I will not go back to that.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I know what you are suffering, too, what you are all suffering, and the -thought is horrible.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>21 January, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I embrace you with all the power of my love, and our dear and good -children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>5 February, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear and good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>To tell you of my sufferings—what good would it do?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span> heard, and that, knowing you all as I do, you will -not fail in your duty.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span></p> - -<p>But whatever may become of me, I wish to repeat to you with all my soul, -Courage and Faith!</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you, with all the strength of my soul, and our -dear little ones.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Kisses to your dear parents, to all our family.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>20 February, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Moreover, I have given you all the advice that my heart can suggest.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>My best kisses to your parents, to all our friends. I need not write to -them; all our hearts beat in unison.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>5 March, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear and good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I wrote you a few lines the 20th of February while I was waiting for -your dear letters, which have not yet reached me. I have just learned -that, in consequence of an accident to the machinery, the steamer has -not yet arrived at Guiana.</p> - -<p>As I told you in my last letter, we know too well, each one of us, the -horrible acuteness of our sufferings, to give us any reason to speak of -it.</p> - -<p>But I would, if it were possible, impregnate this cold and commonplace -paper with all that my heart contains for you, for our children. At -every instant of the day and of the night you tell yourself that my -thought is with them; and that when my heart can bear no more, when the -too-full cup overflows, it is in murmuring these three names that are so -dear to me, it is in telling myself always, that for their sakes I must -live to see the day when honor shall be given back to the name of my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">{187}</a></span> -children, that I find, at last, the strength to overcome the atrocious -nausea, that I find the strength to live.</p> - -<p>As to the counsel that I would give you, it never changes.</p> - -<p>I have told you everything at length in my numerous letters of January, -and it may be summed up in a few words, the co-operation of all the -forces of Government to hasten the moment when the truth shall be -discovered; to put an end as soon as possible to such a martyrdom.</p> - -<p>But whatever may come of it, I want to repeat to you always, that high -above all our sufferings, above all our lives, there is a name that must -be re-established in all its integrity in the eyes of all France. This -sentiment should reign in your soul, in the souls of us all.</p> - -<p>I wish only for you, my poor darling, as for me, as for us all, that all -hearts may realize with us all the tragic horror of a situation so -appalling and borne so long, this terrible torture of human souls, whose -hearts are suffering, as under the blows of a hammer, night and day, -without truce or rest. I wish for us all that by a powerful union of -determined wills the only thing that we have so long asked for may be -brought to pass—the whole truth in regard to this sad tragedy, and that -I may hear soon one human word coming to put a soothing balm upon so -deep a wound.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you, with all the force of my affection.</p> - -<p>Kiss the dear little ones for me.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>My fondest kisses to your dear parents, to all the family.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">{188}</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>28 March, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>After a long and anxious waiting I have just received a copy of two -letters from you written in January. You complain that I do not write -more at length. I wrote you numerous letters toward the end of January; -perhaps by this time they have reached you.</p> - -<p>And then, the sentiments that are in our hearts, and that rule our -souls, we know them. Moreover, we have, both of us, drained the cup of -all suffering.</p> - -<p>You ask me again, dear Lucie, to speak to you at length about my own -self. Alas! I cannot. When one suffers so atrociously, when one has to -bear such misery of soul, it is impossible to know at night where one -will be on the morrow.</p> - -<p>You will forgive me if I have not always been a stoic; if often I have -made you share my bitter grief, you who had already so much to bear. But -sometimes it was too much; and I was absolutely alone.</p> - -<p>But to-day, darling, as yesterday, let us put behind us all complaints, -all recriminations. Life is nothing! You must triumph over all griefs, -whatever they may be, over all sufferings, like a pure, exalted human -soul that has a sacred duty to fulfill.</p> - -<p>Be invincibly strong and valiant; keep your eyes fixed straight before -you, looking to the end—looking neither to the right nor to the left.</p> - -<p>Ah, I know well that you, too, are only a human being, ... but when -grief becomes too great, when the trials that the future has in store -for you are too hard to bear, then look into the faces of our children, -and say to yourself that you must live, that you must be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">{189}</a></span> there, to -sustain them until the day when our country shall recognize what I have -been, what I am.</p> - -<p>Moreover, as I have told you, I have bequeathed to those who condemned -me a duty in which they will not fail; I am absolutely sure of it.</p> - -<p>To speak of the education of the children is needless, isn’t it? We have -too often, in our long conversations, gone thoroughly over this subject, -and our hearts, our feelings, everything, are bound so close together -that naturally we agree as to what that education should be; it may be -summed up in a word: to make them strong, physically and morally.</p> - -<p>I will not dwell too long upon all this, for these thoughts are too sad, -and I do not want to be weighed down by them.</p> - -<p>But what I wish to repeat to you with all the force of my soul, with a -voice that you should always hear, is “Courage, courage!” Your patience, -your resolution, that of all of us, should never tire until the truth, -full and absolute, shall have been revealed and recognized.</p> - -<p>I cannot fill my letters full enough of all the love that my heart -contains for you, for you all.</p> - -<p>If I have been able to resist until now so much agony of soul, all -mental misery and trial, it is because I have drawn strength from the -thought of you and of the children.</p> - -<p>I am now hoping that your letters of April may reach me soon, and that I -shall not have to suffer so long a delay before receiving them.</p> - -<p>I will end this letter by taking you in my arms and pressing you to my -heart.</p> - -<p>I embrace you with all the strength of my love, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">{190}</a></span> I repeat to you -always and still again: “Courage, courage!”</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses to our dear children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>And for all of you, whatever may come, whatever may become of me, this -earnest cry, the invincible cry of my soul: “<i>Lift up your hearts!</i> Life -is nothing, honor is all!” And for you, all the tenderness of my heart.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>24 April, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I want to talk with you while I wait for your dear letters, not to speak -of myself, but to tell you always the same words, which ought to sustain -your unalterable courage; and then, too, it is a human weakness, that is -excusable enough, to get a little warmth for my tortured heart near -yours, alas! not less sad than mine.</p> - -<p>I have read over your letters of February in which you are astonished, -in which you almost make excuses because at times cries of grief, of -revolt, escape from your heart. Do not make excuses for them; they are -only too legitimate. In this long agony of thought to which I am -subjected, be sure that I know them, those very griefs.</p> - -<p>Yes, truly, all this is appalling. No human word can express such -sorrows, and sometimes I have wanted to shriek out, so inexpressible is -such anguish. I also have terrible moments, atrocious moments, the more -appalling because they are restrained, because never a complaint escapes -my silent lips, when reason is sub<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">{191}</a></span>merged, and all that is in me is -agonized, cries out in revolt. I have told you that for a long time in -my dreams I have often thought, “Ah, yes, to hold one of those miserable -accomplices of the author of that crime between my hands for a few -minutes—and were I compelled to tear his skin from him shred by shred, -I should make him confess this vile machination against our country;” -but all that, sorrows and thoughts, they are only sentiments, they are -only dreams, and it is the reality that we must see. And the reality is -this, always the same: it is that in this horrible affair there is a -double interest at stake—that of the country, our own—and one is as -sacred as the other.</p> - -<p>It is for this reason that I will not try to understand, I will not try -to know, why they have made me thus fall under the weight of all these -tortures. My life belongs to my country, to-day as yesterday it is hers, -let her take it; but if my life belongs to her, her imprescriptible duty -is to see to it that the light, full and entire, shall shine upon this -horrible drama, for my honor does not belong to the country, it is the -patrimony of our children, of our families.</p> - -<p>So now, dear Lucie, I shall repeat always, to you and to all, stifle -your hearts, compress your brains; as for you, you must be heroically, -invincibly, at once a mother and a Frenchwoman.</p> - -<p>Now, darling, I cannot speak to you of myself any more. If you could -know all that I have been subjected to, all that I have borne, your soul -would shiver with horror, and yet I am a human being who has a heart, a -heart swollen to bursting, and I need, I thirst for rest. Oh, think how -many appalling minutes are contained in one day of twenty-four hours, in -the most<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">{192}</a></span> complete, the most absolute idleness, with nothing to do but -twirl my thumbs—alone with my thoughts!</p> - -<p>If I have been able to resist so many torments until now it is because I -have often called up the thought of you, of the children, of you all, -and then I realized what you suffer, what you all suffer.</p> - -<p>Then, darling, accept everything, whatever may come; bear it, suffer in -silence, like a true human soul, exalted and very proud—the soul of a -mother who is resolved to see the name she bears, the name her children -bear, cleansed from this horrible stain. Then to you, as to you all, -again and always, “Courage, courage!”</p> - -<p>You must kiss the dear children for me and tell them how dearly I love -them.</p> - -<p>And you must also kiss your dear brothers and sisters, and all my family -for me.</p> - -<p>And for yourself, for our dear children, all that my heart contains of -unfailing love.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>4 May, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear and good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just received your letters of March, with those of the family, -and it is always with the same poignant emotion, with the same sorrow -that I read your words, that I read the letters from you all, so deeply -wounded are all our hearts, so torn by all our sufferings.</p> - -<p>I have already written to you, some days ago, when I was waiting for -your dear letters, and I told you that I did not wish to know or to -understand why I had been thus crushed, under every punishment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">{193}</a></span></p> - -<p>But if, in the strength of my conscience, in the consciousness of my -duty, I have been enabled to raise myself above everything, ever and -always to stifle my heart, to choke down every revolt of my being, it -does not follow that my heart has not deeply suffered, that it is not, -alas! torn to shreds. But I told you, too, that never has the temptation -to yield to discouragement entered my soul, nor should it ever again -enter into yours, nor into the soul of any one of you. Yes, it is -atrocious to suffer thus; yes, all this is appalling, and it is enough -to shake every belief in all that makes life noble and beautiful; ... -but to-day there can be no consolation for any one of us other than the -discovery of the truth, the full light.</p> - -<p>Whatever, then, may be your pain, however bitter the grief of every one -of you, tell yourself that you have a sacred duty to accomplish, and -that nothing must turn you from it; and this duty is to re-establish a -name, in all its integrity, in the eyes of all France.</p> - -<p>Now, to tell you all that my heart contains for you, for our children, -for you all, is unnecessary, isn’t it?</p> - -<p>In happiness we do not begin to perceive all the depth, all the powerful -tenderness that the deep recesses of the heart hold for the beloved. We -need misfortune, the sense of the sufferings endured by those for whom -we would give our last drop of blood, to understand its force, to grasp -the tremendous power of it. If you knew how often in the moments of my -anguish I have called to my assistance the thought of you, of our -children, to force me to live on, to accept what I should never have -accepted but for the thought of duty.</p> - -<p>And this always brings me back to it, my darling; do your duty, -heroically, invincibly, as a human soul, exalted and very proud, as a -mother who is determined<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">{194}</a></span> that the name she bears, the name her children -bear, shall be cleansed of this horrible stain.</p> - -<p>Say to yourself, then, as to every one, always and again, “Courage, -courage!” I cannot tell you of myself; I gave you my reasons in my -former letter. I want only to end these few lines by embracing you with -all my heart, with all my strength, as I embrace also our dear children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Thank your dear parents, all our family, for their letters, so full of -profound tenderness and with grief not less profound.</p> - -<p>Why should I write to them? To speak of myself, of our sufferings? We -all know each other too well not to know both the intense love that -unites us and the deep grief that fills our souls. But for all, -unchangingly, unalterable, steadfast courage! As —— has said so truly: -there is an object to attain, and in the thought of that object we must -forget all present griefs, whatsoever they be!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>20 May, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Very often I have taken my pen to talk with you—to unburden my bruised -and bleeding heart, as in the presence of yours—but each time I did so -the cries of our common sorrow burst out in spite of me.</p> - -<p>And of what good is it to cry out? In the presence of such martyrdom, in -the presence of such sufferings, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">{195}</a></span> must be silent. So what I will -repeat to you is simply this: it is the invariable, the ever-ardent, -persistent cry of my soul, “Courage, courage!” When you consider the end -we are to attain you should count neither time nor sufferings. We must -wait with confidence until it shall be attained.</p> - -<p>I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my love, and so also -I embrace our dear children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>My best kisses to your dear parents, to all of our family.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>5 July, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear and good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just received your letters of April with those of May, and with -all the letters of the family; with all the strength of my soul I add -mine to your most hearty good wishes for Marie’s happiness. Kiss her for -me and tell her, too, that I found some tears—I who no longer know how -to weep—in thinking of her joy that is mingled with so much suffering.</p> - -<p>I wish with all the strength of my soul, for you, my poor darling, that -the end of this terrible martyrdom may be near, and if one who has -suffered so deeply can still pray, I join my hands in one last prayer -that I address to all those to whom I have appealed, that they may bring -you a co-operation more ardent, more generous than ever in the work of -discovering the truth. Moreover, I am certain that you have this -co-operation, have it fully, ungrudgingly, ... and I hope with all that -my heart contains of tenderness for you, of affection<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">{196}</a></span> for our children, -that all these efforts may soon bring about their result.</p> - -<p>As for me, dear and good Lucie, I who for you would have given with all -my heart, with all my soul, every drop of my blood to relieve one pain, -to spare you one sorrow,... I have been able to do nothing but remain -alive for so long and through so many tortures. I have done it for you, -for our children.</p> - -<p>But I must repeat to you always, “Courage, courage!” Our children are -the future; it is their life that we must assure. And I wish to end -these few lines by expressing once more the two sentiments that reign in -my heart. First, I want to send you all my tenderness, all my deep love, -for you, for our children, for your dear parents, for my dear brothers -and sisters. I want to take you in my arms again, to press you again to -my heart with all the strength that remains to me, with all the power of -my love. And then the second sentiment is this: to repeat to you always -to be grand, to be strong, whatever may happen, whatever may be the -trials that the future may still have in store for you, to think ever -and again of our dear children, who are the future, the children of whom -you must be the unfailing guard and stay, until the day when the truth -shall be revealed.</p> - -<p>And then I want to tell you once again the last prayer of a man who has -been subjected to the most terrible of martyrdoms, a man who had always -and in all places done his duty; it is that they may give you a kind -word, a helping hand, an energetic and powerful aid, that nothing can -weary in the discovery of the truth.</p> - -<p>All my being, all my thoughts, my very heart, spring forward in a -supreme effort toward you, toward our dear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">{197}</a></span> children, toward your dear -parents, toward all those whom I love, while I wish with all the -strength of my soul that a future may be near which will bring to you -all a rest of the mind, a calmness, a tranquillity, all the happiness -you yourself so well deserve, that you all so well deserve.</p> - -<p>Then, dear and good Lucie, always, and still always, Courage!</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you, as I embrace also our dear and adored -children, your dear parents, all our family.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>22 July, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>A few lines only, while I await your dear letters.</p> - -<p>I suffer too much for you, for our children, for you all. I know too -well what are your tortures for me to be able to tell you of myself.</p> - -<p>Poor love, did you, too, deserve to bear a martyrdom like this? My heart -breaks; my brain bursts its bounds as I think of all the sorrow heaped -upon you all—sorrow so unending, so unmerited!</p> - -<p>I have again made passionate appeals for you, for our children. I am -sure that the co-operation which will be given you will be more active, -more ardent, than ever. In my long nights of suffering, when my thought -comes back constantly to you, to our children, I often join my hands in -a silent prayer into which I put my whole heart, that the appalling -suffering of so many innocent victims may soon be ended.</p> - -<p>However it may be, dear Lucie, I want to repeat to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">{198}</a></span> you always, as long -as I shall have a breath of life, “Courage, courage!” Our children, your -duty, are for you safeguards that nothing should displace, that no human -grief should weaken.</p> - -<p>I want, in ending, to impregnate as well as I can these few lines with -all that my heart contains for you, for our dear children, for your dear -parents, for you all, to tell you still that night and day my thoughts, -all my very being, springs forward toward them, toward you, and it is -due to that alone that I live. I want to take you in my arms and hold -you to my heart with all the power of my love, to embrace thus also our -dear children, as I love you.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses to your dear parents; again my most profound wishes of -happiness for our dear Marie, and many kisses for my brothers and -sisters; and to all, without exception, whatever may be their suffering, -whatever may be their fearful grief, always courage!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>10 August, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just at this instant received your three letters of the month of -June and all the letters from the family, and it is under the -impression, always keen, always poignant, that so many sweet souvenirs -evoke in me, so many appalling sufferings also, that I will answer.</p> - -<p>I will tell you once more, first all my profound affection, all my -immense tenderness, all my admiration, for your noble character; then I -will open all my soul to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">{199}</a></span> you, and I will tell you your duty, your -right, that right that you should renounce only with your life. And this -right, this duty, that is equally imprescriptible for my country as for -you, is to will it that the light shall shine full and entire upon this -horrible drama; it is to will without weakening, without boasting, but -with indomitable energy, that our name, the name that our dear children -bear, shall be washed free from this horrible stain.</p> - -<p>And this object, this end, you, Lucie, you all should attain it, like -good and valiant French men and women who are suffering martyrdom, but -not one of whom, no matter what bitter outrages he has suffered, has -ever forgotten his duty to his country for one single instant. And the -day when the light shall shine, when the whole truth shall be -revealed—as it must be, for neither time, patience, nor effort of the -will should be counted in working for such an end—ah, well! if I am no -longer with you, it will be for you to wash my name from this new -outrage, so undeserved, that nothing has ever justified; and I repeat -it, whatever may have been my sufferings, however atrocious may have -been the tortures inflicted upon me—tortures that I cannot forget, -tortures that can be excused only by the passions that sometimes lead -men astray—I have never forgotten that far above men, far above their -passions, far above their errors, is our country. It is she that will be -my final judge.</p> - -<p>To be an honest man does not wholly consist in being incapable of -stealing a hundred sous from the pocket of a neighbor; to be an honest -man, I say, is to be able always to see one’s reflection in that mirror -that forgets nothing, that sees everything, that knows everything;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">{200}</a></span> to -be able to see one’s self, in a word, in one’s conscience with the -certitude of having always and everywhere done one’s duty. That -certitude I have.</p> - -<p>Then, dear and good Lucie, do your duty bravely, pitilessly, as a good -and valiant Frenchwoman who is suffering martyrdom, but who is resolved -that the name she bears, the name that her children bear, shall be -cleansed from this horrible stain. The light must break out, it must -shine in all its brilliancy. The limitations of time should no longer be -anything to you.</p> - -<p>Indeed, I know too well that the sentiments that animate me are -cherished by you all; they are common to all of us, to your dear family -as to my own.</p> - -<p>I cannot speak to you of the children; besides, I know you too well to -doubt for one single instant the manner in which you will bring them up. -Never leave them; be with them always, heart and soul; listen to them -always, however importunate may be their questions.</p> - -<p>As I have often told you, to educate children is not merely to assure -their material life, nor even their intellectual life, but it is also to -assure to them the support that they should find in their parents, the -confidence with which the latter should inspire them, the certainty that -they should always have that there is one place where they can unburden -their hearts, where they can forget their pains, their sorrows, no -matter how little, how trivial they may sometimes appear.</p> - -<p>In these last lines I would put once more all my deep love for you, for -our dear children, for your dear parents, for you all, all those whom I -love from the bottom of my heart, for all the friends whose thoughts for -me I divine, whose unalterable devotion I know; and I would say to you -again and again, Courage, courage!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201">{201}</a></span> I would tell you that nothing should -shake your will; that high above my life hovers the one supreme -care—the honor of my name, of the name you bear, the name our children -bear.</p> - -<p>I would embrace you with the ardent fire that animates my soul, the fire -that is to be extinguished only with my life.</p> - -<p>I embrace you from the depths of my heart, with all my strength, and so -also I embrace my dear, my adored children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses for the dear children now and always. All my wishes of -happiness for Marie and her dear husband; and as many kisses for all my -dear brothers and sisters, for Lucie and Henri.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>4 September, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just received your letters of July. You tell me again that you -have the certainty that the full light of day is soon to shine; this -certainty is in my soul; it is inspired by the right that every man has -to demand it, to will that he shall have it when he demands but one -thing—the truth.</p> - -<p>As long as I shall have the strength to live in a situation as inhuman -as it is undeserved, I shall continue to write to you, to inspire you by -my indomitable will.</p> - -<p>Indeed, the last letters I wrote to you are my moral will and testament. -I spoke to you in them first of all of our love. I confessed to you also -my physical and cerebral breaking down, but I spoke to you not less -energetically of your duty, the duty of you all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202">{202}</a></span></p> - -<p>This grandeur of soul that you all have shown equally—let there be no -illusion about this—this grandeur of soul should be accompanied neither -by weakness nor by boasting. On the contrary, it should ally itself to a -determination each day more resolute, a determination that strengthens -with each hour of the day, to march on toward the goal—the discovery of -the truth, the whole truth, for all France.</p> - -<p>Truly, this wound sometimes bleeds too hard, and the heart rises in -revolt. Truly, worn out as I am, I often fall under the blows of the -sledge-hammer, and then I am no more than a poor human being, full of -agony and suffering; but my indomitable soul lifts me up quivering with -pain, with energy, with implacable desire for that that is most precious -in this world—our honor, the honor of our children, the honor of us -all. And then I brace myself anew to cry out to all men the thrilling -appeal of a man who asks, who wants, only justice. And then I come to -illume in you all the ardent fire that burns in my soul, that shall be -extinguished only with my life.</p> - -<p>As for me, I live only by my fever; for a long time I have lived on from -day to day, proud when I have been able to hold out through a long day -of twenty-four hours. I am subjected to the stupid and useless lot of -the man in the iron mask, because there is always that same afterthought -lingering in the mind, I told you so, frankly, in one of my last -letters.</p> - -<p>As for you, you must not pay any attention either to what any one says -or to what any one thinks. You have your duty to do unflinchingly, and -it is incumbent upon you, and to resolve not less unflinchingly, to have -your right, the right of justice and of truth. Yes, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203">{203}</a></span> light must -shine out. I put my thought in a few words; but if there are in this -horrible affair other interests than ours—interests that we have never -misunderstood—there are also the imprescriptible rights of justice and -of truth; there is for us both, for all, the duty, while we respect all -these interests, of bringing to an end a situation so atrocious, so -unmerited.</p> - -<p>I can then but hope for both of us, for all, that our martyrdom is to -have an end.</p> - -<p>Now what can I say further to express this profound, this immense love -for you, for our children, to express my affection for your dear -parents, for all our brothers and sisters, for all who suffer this -appalling, this long drawn-out martyrdom?</p> - -<p>To speak at length of myself, of all my little affairs, is useless. I do -it sometimes in spite of myself, for the heart has irresistible revolts; -bitterness, do what I will, mounts from my heart to my lips when I see -that everything is misunderstood, everything that goes to make life -noble and beautiful; and, truly, were it a question of my own self only, -long ago would I have gone to search in the peace of the tomb for -forgetfulness of all that I have seen, of all that I have heard, of all -that I see each day.</p> - -<p>I have lived in order to sustain you, to sustain you all, with my -indomitable will; for it is no longer a question of my life, it is a -question of my honor, of the honor of us all, of the life of our -children.</p> - -<p>I have borne everything without flinching, without lowering my head; I -have stifled my heart; I curb each day the revolts of my being, urging -you all again and again to demand the truth, without lassitude as -without boasting.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204">{204}</a></span></p> - -<p>But I hope for us both, my poor beloved, for us all, that the efforts, -either of one or of another, may soon bring about their result; that the -day of justice may at last dawn for us all, who have waited for it so -long.</p> - -<p>Each time I write to you I hardly can lay down my pen, not that I have -anything to tell you, ... but because I am again about to leave you for -long days, living only in my thoughts of you, of the children, of you -all.</p> - -<p>So I will end by embracing you and my dear children, your dear parents, -all of our dear brothers and sisters, in pressing you in my arms with -all my strength, and repeating with an energy that nothing can weaken, -so long as the breath of life is in my body, “Courage, courage and -determination!”</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses more.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>And for you all, dear parents, and dear brothers and sisters, courage -and indomitable will that nothing should shake, that nothing should -weaken.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>2 October, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just received your dear letters of August, also a few from the -family.</p> - -<p>I wish with you, for you, for us all, that the light of justice may -shine at last and that we may at last perceive the end of our martyrdom, -that has been as long drawn out as it has been appalling.</p> - -<p>Indeed, I have already told you in long letters that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205">{205}</a></span> neither my faith -nor my courage had been nor shall ever be shaken, for, on one hand, I -know that you will all energetically fulfill your duty, and that you -will not less inflexibly be resolved to gain your right—the right of -justice and of truth; and, on the other hand, I know that if there is -any imprescriptible duty devolving upon my country, it is to bring the -full light of truth to bear upon this tragic story, to repair this -terrible error.</p> - -<p>In fact, very often, in so far as my human weakness has permitted -me—for if one can be a stoic in the face of death—and I have often -called on death from the bottom of my heart—it is difficult to be one -through all the minutes of an agony that is as long drawn out as it is -undeserved—I have hidden my horrible distress under such tortures to -sustain you, to keep you from fainting, from bending in your turn under -all the weight of such suffering.</p> - -<p>If for several months I have no longer hidden anything from you, it has -been because I think that you ought always to be prepared for -everything, drawing from the duties which as a mother you must perform -heroically, invincibly, the force to bear everything with a firm and -valiant heart, with the unshakable determination to wash the infamous -stain from the name you bear, that our children bear.</p> - -<p>Now, we have had enough of all this, haven’t we, darling? Leave their -fears, their suspicions, with those who have them. If my soul is always -valiant and will remain so to my last breath, everything within me is -worn out; my heart swells to bursting not only for past tortures, but to -see that you misunderstand me on this point. My brain reels and totters, -at the mercy of the least shock, the most petty of events. Besides, as -I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206">{206}</a></span> have told you already, my long letters are too clearly the equally -intimate and heartfelt expression of my sentiments and of my immutable -will for it to be necessary for me to return to it. They are my moral -will and testament.</p> - -<p>Therefore, my dear Lucie, for your own sake, for us all, you must always -do your duty, be resolved to gain your right—the right of justice and -of truth—until the full light shines out; until all France is -convinced—and she must be—whether I should live or die; for, like -Banquo’s ghost, I should come out of my tomb to cry to you all with all -my soul, always and again, “Courage, courage!” to remind my country, who -thus tortures me, who sacrifices me—I dare to say it, for no human -brain could resist so long such an appalling situation, and it is only -by a miracle that I have been able to resist until now—to remind my -country that she has a duty to fulfill, and that that duty is to throw a -refulgent light upon this sad tragedy, to repair this frightful error -that has endured for so long.</p> - -<p>Therefore, darling, be sure of it, you are to have your day of refulgent -glory, of supreme joy; be it by your own efforts, be it by the efforts -of our country, who will fulfill all her duty; and if I am not to be -there, what would you have, darling? There are victims of state—and -truly the situation is too hard to bear—by far too heavy for the length -of time that I have borne it—and, well, Pierre will represent me!</p> - -<p>I shall not speak of the children; indeed, I already did so at length in -my letters of August; and then I know you too well to have any anxiety -in regard to them. You will embrace them with all my strength, with all -my soul. I must leave you, although it always is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207">{207}</a></span> a great grief to me to -tear away from your presence, so short, so fleeting, is this moment that -I pass with you.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you, with all my strength, with all the power of -my love, as I embrace our dear children, while I repeat to you always, -Courage, courage! and while I wish that all this suffering may have at -last an end.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>My best kisses to your dear parents, to all of our family; my wishes of -condolence to Arthur and to Lucie; I do not feel that I have the courage -to write to them.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>22 October, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear and good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Should I listen only to my heart I should write to you at every instant, -at every hour in the day; for my thoughts cannot detach themselves from -you, from our dear children, from all; but it would be only to repeat -the expressions of our common grief, and there are no more words to -describe this martyrdom—so long!</p> - -<p>In the letters that I have written to you I have expressed my thoughts, -my determination, that determination that I know to be your own, that of -every one of you, independent of my sufferings, of my life; there have -been also in my letters, it is true, cries of sorrow, for when I suffer -night and day, even more for you and for our children than for myself, -my brain takes fire; and as if there were not enough in my own tortures, -the climate at this time of year is sufficient in itself alone. And, -indeed, the heart has need to give vent to its an<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208">{208}</a></span>guish, the human being -to cry out its distress, its weakness.</p> - -<p>But do not let us dwell upon all that. What I wish to tell you is this: -you must demand light on this tragic story; you must have the will to -pursue inflexibly, without boasting, without passion, but with the -unshakable conviction of your rights; with your heart of a wife, of a -mother, horribly mutilated and wounded, with an energy and a will -increasing each day in proportion to your sufferings.</p> - -<p>So, to-day, while I await your dear letters I wish only to embrace you -with all my heart, with all my strength, as I love you, as I embrace -also our dear children, to hope, as always, that our terrible martyrdom -may at last have an end; yes, and to repeat to you always, a thousand -and a thousand times, Courage!</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses more.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>4 November, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear and good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just at this moment received your letters. Words, my good -darling, are powerless to express what poignant emotions the sight of -your dear writing awakes in my heart; and, indeed, it is these -sentiments of powerful affection that this emotion awakens in me that -give me the strength to wait until the supreme day when the truth shall -be made clear concerning this sad and terrible drama.</p> - -<p>Your letters breathe such a sentiment of confidence that they have -brought serenity to my heart, that is suffering so much for you, for our -dear children.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209">{209}</a></span></p> - -<p>You tell me, poor darling, not to think, not to try to understand. Oh, -try to understand! I have never done that; it is impossible for me. But -how can I stop my thoughts? All that I can do is, as I have told you, to -try to wait for the supreme day of truth.</p> - -<p>During the last months I wrote you long letters, in which I poured out -my over-burdened heart. What would you? For three years I have seen -myself the toy of events to which I am a stranger, having never deviated -from the absolute rule of conduct that I had imposed upon myself, that -my conscience as a loyal soldier devoted to his country had imposed upon -me. Even in spite of yourself the bitterness mounts from the heart to -the lips; anger sometimes takes you by the throat and you cry out in -pain.</p> - -<p>Formerly I swore never to speak of myself, to close my eyes to -everything, because for me, as for you, for us all, there can be but one -supreme consolation—that of truth, of unshrouded light.</p> - -<p>But while my too long sufferings, the appalling situation, the climate, -which by its own power alone makes the brain burn—while all this -combined has not made me forget a single one of my duties, it has ended -by leaving me in a state of cerebral and nervous erethismus that is -terrible. I understand thoroughly, too, my good darling, that you cannot -give me details. In affairs like this, where grave interests are at -stake, silence is necessary, obligatory.</p> - -<p>I chatter on to you, though I have nothing to tell you; but all this -does me good, it rests my heart and relaxes the tension of my nerves. -Truly, my heart often is shrivelled with poignant grief when I think of -you, of our children; and then I ask myself what I can have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210">{210}</a></span> committed -upon this earth that those whom I love the most, those for whom I would -give my blood, drop by drop, should be tried by such awful agony. But -even when the too full cup overflows, it is from the dear thought of -you, from the thought of the children—the thought that makes all my -being vibrate and tremble, that exalts it to its greatest heights—from -this thought that I draw the power to rise from the depths of despair, -to send out the thrilling cry of a man who has begged for so long for -himself, for those he loves, only for justice and truth—nothing but -truth.</p> - -<p>I have summed up my resolution clearly, and I know that that -determination is your own, that of all of you, and that nothing has ever -been able to overcome it.</p> - -<p>It is this feeling, associated with all my duties, that has made me -live; it is this feeling also that has made me ask once more for you, -for you all, every co-operation, a more powerful effort than ever on the -part of all in a simple work of justice and of reparation, by rising -above all question of individuals, above all passions.</p> - -<p>May I still tell you of all my affection? It is needless, is it not? for -you know it; but what I wish to tell you again is this, that the other -day I re-read all your letters in order that I might pass some of the -too long minutes near a loving heart, and an immense sentiment of wonder -arose in me for your dignity and your courage. If the trial found in -great misfortunes is the touchstone of noble souls, then, oh, my -darling, yours is one of the most beautiful and the most noble souls of -which it is possible to dream.</p> - -<p>You must thank M—— for his few words; all that I can tell him is in -your heart as it is in mine.</p> - -<p>Then, my darling, always and again, Courage! As<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211">{211}</a></span> I told you before my -departure from France a long time ago, alas! a very long time, our own -selves should be entirely secondary; our children are the future; there -must remain no spot upon their name; no cloud must hover, not even the -very smallest, over their dear heads. This thought should dominate all -else.</p> - -<p>I embrace you, as I love you, with all my strength, as also our dear and -adored children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>24 November, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>All these months I have written you many long letters, in which my -oppressed heart has unburdened itself of all our too long-endured common -sorrow. It is impossible to disengage the mind from its <i>ego</i> at all -times; to rise above the sufferings of every instant. It is impossible -that all my being should not quiver, should not cry aloud with anguish -at the thought of all you suffer, at the thought of our dear children; -and if when I fall I again and again raise myself up, it is to send -forth the thrilling appeal for you, for them.</p> - -<p>Though my body, my brain, my heart, everything, is worn out, my soul -remains intangible, ever ardent, its determination unshaken and strong -in the right of every human being to have justice and truth for himself, -for those who belong to him.</p> - -<p>And the duty of every one is to co-operate in every effort, by every -means, toward this single object—justice and reparation; to put an end -at last to this appalling and too long-continued martyrdom of so many -human creatures.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212">{212}</a></span></p> - -<p>I wish, therefore, my good darling, that our terrible tortures may soon -be ended.</p> - -<p>I have received during the month letters from your dear parents from all -our family. I have answered them.</p> - -<p>My best kisses to all.</p> - -<p>And for you, for our children, all the tenderness of my heart, all my -love, all my thoughts, that never leave you for one single instant.</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses more.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>6 December, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear and good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I cannot let the mail leave without writing to you, to repeat to you -always, it is true, the same words.</p> - -<p>As I have told you, for long months I have lived only by an incredible -tension of the nerves, of the will; and it is when I fall under the -weight of my sufferings that the thought of you, that of the children, -lifts me up quivering with grief, with determination, before that which -we hold most precious in this world—our honor, the honor of our -children, of us all. And then I send out again the thrilling cries for -help, the cries of a man who from the first day of this sad tragedy has -begged for nothing but the truth.</p> - -<p>Here, then, is a work of justice far above all passions, a duty that -devolves upon all, and it must be accomplished. I wish, indeed, for both -our sakes, my good darling, that it may be accomplished at last; that -our terrible and too long torment may soon be ended.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213">{213}</a></span></p> - -<p>I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my affection, and -our dear, our adored children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>My best kisses to your dear parents, to all our family.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>25 December, 1897.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>More often than ever I have terrible moments, when my reason totters; -this is why I am come to talk to you now, not to speak of myself, but to -give you still, as always, counsels as to what I believe you ought to -do.</p> - -<p>In a situation as tragic as ours, when the question in point is the -honor of a family, the life of our children, you must always, my good -darling, rise still higher above all; you must put aside from the -question all thought of individuals, all irritating subjects, and you -must call to your side every aid, every kind heart.</p> - -<p>I know better than any one that at times this will be difficult; it is -impossible not to feel our wounds; but we must do it. It is not a -question of humiliating ourselves nor abasing ourselves; but, on the -other hand, we must not throw away our energy in useless outcries; cries -are not reasons.</p> - -<p>We must simply stand fast, and will it that our right shall be yielded -to us, the right of innocence. You must assert your will, energetically, -without weakness, with dignity; you must act from your heart of a wife -and mother, a heart horribly torn and wounded.</p> - -<p>I have suffered too much. I have too often been stunned, felled by their -sledge-hammers, to have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214">{214}</a></span> able to act in this way myself, although -it is the only sane and reasonable line of conduct. And it is just -because often I do not know where I am, because the hours weigh so -heavily upon me, that I long to pour out my heart to you.</p> - -<p>All through this month I have again made numerous and passionate appeals -for you, for our children. I want to wish that this appalling martyrdom -may have an end; I want to wish that we may come out of this terrible -nightmare, in which we have lived so long; but that which I cannot -doubt, that which I have not the right to doubt, is that all -co-operation is to be given you; that this work of justice and of -reparation is to be pursued and accomplished. And now to sum it all up, -my darling, what I would tell you in a supreme effort, by which I set my -own self totally aside, is that you must sustain your rights -energetically, for it is appalling to see so many human beings suffer -thus; for we must think of our unhappy children, who are growing up; but -we must not bring any passion, we must not allow any irritating -questions to enter in, any question of individuals.</p> - -<p>I will not speak to you again of my love, when your dear image, that of -our children, rises before my eyes, and perhaps there is not a single -minute when this vision is not with me; then I feel my heart beat as if -to burst, as if it were full of tears repressed.</p> - -<p>And a supreme cry rises from my heart in all the minutes of my long -days, of my long, sleepless nights; if it is a supreme cry that will be -lifted in my last hour, it is also an appeal to all to make one great -effort for justice and for truth; that all this ardent and devoted aid -may be given you, this aid that all men of heart and honor owe to you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215">{215}</a></span></p> - -<p>This appeal, as I have told you, I recently made again, and I cannot -doubt that it will be heard, so I will say again to you, Courage!</p> - -<p>In these last lines I would now put all my heart, all that it enfolds of -love for you, for our children, for all; I would tell you that in my -worst moments of anguish it is these thoughts that have saved me, that -have made me escape from the tomb for which I had longed, that have made -me try once more to do my duty.</p> - -<p>I embrace you with all my heart. I want to press you in my arms, as I -love you, to ask you to embrace most tenderly our dear and adored -children, in a long embrace, and your dear parents, all my dear brothers -and sisters.</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses more.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>6 January, 1898.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have not yet received your letters of October nor your letters of -November. The last news I had of you dates back, therefore, to -September.</p> - -<p>I shall speak to you less than ever of myself, less than ever of our -sufferings. No human word can lessen them. I wrote to you some days ago; -I was in such a state that I do not remember one word that I said to -you.</p> - -<p>But if I am totally worn out, body and mind, my soul is always ardent, -and I want to come into your presence to speak words that ought to -sustain your steadfast courage. I have put our fate, the fate of our -children, the fate of innocent creatures who, for more than three years, -have been struggling with unbelievable trials, into the hands of the -President of the Republic, into<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216">{216}</a></span> the hands of the Minister of War, -asking for an end at last to our appalling martyrdom; I have put the -defence of our rights into the hands of the Minister of War, whose duty -it is to have repaired, at last, this long-enduring and appalling error.</p> - -<p>I am waiting impatiently. I want to wish that I may yet have a minute of -happiness upon this earth; but what I have no right to doubt for one -instant is that justice will be done, that justice will be done you and -our children, that you will have your day of supreme happiness.</p> - -<p>I repeat to you, then, with all the strength of my soul, “Courage, -courage!” I embrace you as I love you, with all my strength, with all -the power of my affection, as I embrace our dear and adored children.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses to your dear parents, to all I love.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>9 January, 1898.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>After long and terrible waiting I have just received, altogether, the -mails of October and November.</p> - -<p>I need not tell you what indescribable emotion seizes me when I read the -letters of those whom I love so much, of those for whom I would give my -blood, drop by drop; of those for whose sake I live.</p> - -<p>Had I thought, darling, of myself alone, long ago should I have been in -my grave; it is the thought of you, the thought of our children, that -sustains me, that lifts me up when I am bowed under the weight of so -much suffering. I told you in my last letters all that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217">{217}</a></span> have done, of -all the appeals that I have again made for you and for our children.</p> - -<p>If the light that we have awaited for more than three years is not shown -now, it will shine forth in a future that we know not.</p> - -<p>As I told you in one of my letters, our children are growing; their -situation, that of us all, is terrible; the situation I am supporting -only by supreme effort is becoming absolutely impossible to bear. That -is why I have placed our lot, our children’s lot, in the hands of the -Minister of War, asking that at last an end may be made of our appalling -martyrdom. That is why I have again asked the Minister of War to restore -to us our honor.</p> - -<p>I await his answer with the greatest impatience, and I am hoping that -this appalling torment may have at last an end.</p> - -<p>I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my love, with all my -tenderness, as also I embrace our adored children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses to your dear parents, to all our family.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>25 January, 1898.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear and good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I shall not write to you at length to-day; I suffer too deeply for you -and for our children; I feel too keenly all your appalling anguish, your -frightful martyrdom. At the very thought of it my heart beats heavily, -as if weighed down by unshed tears. No human word could lessen the -horror of your anguish.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218">{218}</a></span></p> - -<p>I told you in my last letters what I had done; during the last few days -I have renewed my appeals; the light we have so long waited for is not -yet seen; it will be seen only in a future that no one can foretell. The -situation is terrible, terrible for you, for the children, for all. As -for me, it is needless for me to tell you what it is.</p> - -<p>I have asked the President of the Republic, the Minister of War, and -General de Boisdeffre for my rehabilitation, for a new trial. I have put -the fate of so many innocent victims, the fate of our children, into -their hands; I have entrusted the future of our children to General de -Boisdeffre. I await their answer with feverish impatience, with all that -remains to me of my strength.</p> - -<p>I want to hope that there may yet be one minute of happiness for me upon -this earth; but what I have not the right to doubt is that justice shall -be done, that justice shall be done to you at least—to you, to our -children. I say to you, then, “Courage and Confidence!”</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you, with all that my heart contains of deep -affection for you, for our adored children, for your dear parents, for -all our friends.</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses more from your devoted</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>26 January, 1898.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>In the last letters that I wrote to you I told you what I had done; to -whom I had entrusted our fate, the fate of our children; what appeals I -had sent forth. It is needless to tell you with what anxiety I am -awaiting an<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219">{219}</a></span> answer; how heavy the moments have become to me. But my -thoughts, day and night, yearn so toward you, toward our children, that -I want to write to you again to give you the counsels which I ought to -give you.</p> - -<p>I have read and re-read all of your letters, and the letters from home, -and I believe that for a long time we have been living in a -misconception of facts; this misunderstanding comes from different -causes (your letters were often enigmas to me)—the absolute secrecy in -which I live, the state of my brain, the blows that have been struck me -without my understanding them, acts of stupidity that may also have been -committed.</p> - -<p>But this is the situation as I understand it, and I think that I am not -far from the truth. I believe that General de Boisdeffre has never been -averse to rendering us justice. We, deeply wounded, ask him to give us -light upon this mystery. It has been no more in his power to give us -light than it was in ours to procure it for ourselves; it will shine out -in a future that no one can foresee.</p> - -<p>Some minds have probably been soured; it may be that awkwardnesses have -been committed, I cannot tell; all this has envenomed a situation -already so atrocious. We must go back to the beginning, and raise -ourselves above all our sufferings in order that we may look clearly -into our situation.</p> - -<p>Well, I, who have been for more than three years the greatest victim, -the victim of everything and of every one; I who am here, almost dying -of agony, I have just given you the counsels of prudence, of calmness, -that I think I ought to give you, oh, without abandoning any of my -rights, without weakness, but also without boasting.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220">{220}</a></span></p> - -<p>As I have told you, it has not been in the power of General de -Boisdeffre any more than it has been in your power to throw light upon -this mystery; it will shine in a future that no one can foresee.</p> - -<p>Therefore I have simply asked General de Boisdeffre for my -rehabilitation; to put an end to our appalling martyrdom, for it is -inadmissible that you should undergo such torture, that our children -should grow up dishonored by a crime that I could never have committed.</p> - -<p>I await the answer to my letters with all the strength that is left to -me. I count the hours, I almost count the minutes.</p> - -<p>I do not know if his answer will reach me soon; I know still less how I -keep alive, so extreme is my cerebral and nervous exhaustion; but if I -should succumb before that time comes, if I should faint under the -atrocious burden that I have borne so long, I leave it to you, as your -absolute duty, to go yourself to General de Boisdeffre, and, after the -letters which I wrote to him, the desire which, I am sure of it, is in -the bottom of his heart to grant us rehabilitation, when you (<i>sic</i>) -will have realized that the discovery of the truth is a task that will -take a long time, that it is impossible to foresee when it will be -accomplished, I have no doubt that he will grant you, immediately, a new -trial; that he will at once put an end to a situation as atrocious for -you as it is for our children. I hope, too, that over my grave he will -bear witness not only to the loyalty of my past conduct, but to the -absolute loyalty of my conduct for the last three years, when, under all -my sufferings, under all my tortures, I have never forgotten what I have -been—a soldier, loyal and devoted to his country. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221">{221}</a></span> have accepted all, -I have undergone all with closed lips. I do not boast of it, for I have -done only my duty, nothing but my duty.</p> - -<p>I leave you with regret, for my thoughts are with you, with our -children, night and day; for this thought of you is all that keeps me -yet alive, and I should like to come and talk like this at every instant -of my long days and my long, sleepless nights.</p> - -<p>I can only repeat this wish: it is that all this sorrow may have at last -an end, that this infernal torture of all the minutes may soon be over; -but if you do as I have told you, as it is your duty to do, since I -command it, I have no doubt that you shall come to see the end of your -appalling martyrdom, the martyrdom of our children.</p> - -<p>I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my love; I embrace -also our dear and adored children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Kisses to your dear parents, to all.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>4 February, 1898.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have nothing to add to the numerous letters that I have written to you -during the past two months; all this medley of confusion may be summed -up in a few words: I have appealed to the high justice of the President -of the Republic, to that of the Government, in asking for a new trial, -for the life of our children, for the end of this appalling martyrdom.</p> - -<p>I have made an appeal to the loyalty of the men who caused me to be -condemned, to bring about this new trial. I am waiting feverishly, but -with confidence, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222">{222}</a></span> learn that at last our terrible suffering is to -have an end.</p> - -<p>I embrace you as I love you, as I embrace our dear children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>A thousand kisses to your dear parents, to all our friends.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>7 February, 1898.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just received your dear letters of December, and my heart is -breaking; it is rent by the consciousness of so much unmerited -suffering. I have told you that the thought of you, of the children, -always raises me up, quivering with anguish, with a supreme -determination, from the thought of all that we hold most precious in the -world—our honor, that of our children—to utter this cry of appeal, -that grows more and more thrilling—the cry of a man who asks nothing -but justice for himself and those he loves, and who has the right to ask -it.</p> - -<p>For the last three months, in fever and in delirium, suffering martyrdom -night and day for you, for our children, I have addressed appeal on -appeal to the Chief of the State, to the Government, to those who caused -me to be condemned, to the end that I may obtain justice after all my -torment, an end to our terrible martyrdom; and I have not been answered.</p> - -<p>To-day I am reiterating my former appeals to the Chief of the State and -to the Government, with still more energy, if that could be; for you -must be no longer subjected to such a martyrdom; our children must not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223">{223}</a></span> -grow up dishonored; I can no longer agonize in a black hole for an -abominable crime that I did not commit. And now I am waiting; I expect -each day to hear that the light of truth is to shine for us at last.</p> - -<p>I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my love; also our -dear and adored children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>A thousand, thousand kisses to your dear parents, to all our family.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>25 February, 1898.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>Our thoughts are in harmony; my thought does not leave you for one -single instant day or night; and should I listen only to my heart I -should write to you each moment, every hour.</p> - -<p>If you are the echo of my sufferings, I am the echo of yours, of the -sufferings of you all. I doubt that human beings have ever suffered -more. The thought of you, of the children, and my longing always -outstretched toward you, toward them, still always give me the strength -to compress my bursting brain, to restrain my heart.</p> - -<p>I have written you numerous letters in these last months; to add -anything to these letters would be superfluous. I have told you all the -appeals I have addressed since November last—appeals in which I ask for -my rehabilitation, for justice for so many innocent victims.</p> - -<p>In one of my last letters I told you that I had just addressed a last -appeal to the Government, an appeal more earnest, more energetic than -any that I had made<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224">{224}</a></span> before. So I am waiting, expecting day by day to -learn that this rehabilitation has taken place, that our tortures, as -appalling as they were unmerited, are to end; that the light of justice -shines at last. I wish, therefore, to-day only to embrace you with all -my strength, with all my heart, as I love you; so, also, I embrace our -dear children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>A thousand, thousand kisses to your dear parents, to all our dear -relations, to all our dear brothers and sisters.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>5 March, 1898.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -Dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have just received your dear letters of January. Your letters are -always wonderfully equal in spirit, in feeling, and in elevation of -soul. I shall not add anything to the long letters I have written to you -during the last three months; the last were perhaps nervous, overflowing -with impatience, with pain, with suffering; but all this is too -appalling, and there have been responsibilities to establish.</p> - -<p>I will not go over and over my thoughts indefinitely. After explaining -the details of a situation as tragic as it is undeserved, a situation -that has been so long borne by so many victims, I ask and ask again my -rehabilitation of the Government, and now I am expecting each day to -learn that the light of justice is at last to shine for us.</p> - -<p>I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my love, as I -embrace also our dear children.</p> - -<p>My fondest love to all our friends.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225">{225}</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226">{226}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227">{227}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="APPENDIX" id="APPENDIX"></a>APPENDIX<br /><br /><br /> -ADDITIONAL LETTERS</h2> - -<h3>A.—1898-99</h3> - -<hr /> - -<p>On September 24, 1898, Dreyfus addressed a piteous letter to the -Governor of French Guiana, saying that all his appeals had met with no -response. It was at this period that he lost all hope. In early November -he received a letter from his wife which, although giving not the -slightest intimation of the stirring events in Paris, was in cheerful -tone. He thought that it referred to his letter of September 24, and at -once became encouraged. After more than two months’ silence he wrote to -her again. He spoke of the good news contained in his wife’s letter, -repeated that he was waiting the answer to his petition with confidence, -and then he said:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“So when you receive this letter everything will, I think, be -finished, and your happiness will be complete. But in these days of -relief and felicity which will follow so many days of pain and -suffering, I would that my thought, my heart, all that is living in -me, which has not left you during those four terrible years, may -again reach you, to add, if possible, to your joy until we can at -least resume that happy and quiet life to which your natural -qualities entitled you, and which you now deserved more than ever -owing to the greatness of your soul, to the nobility of your -character, to all the most beautiful qualities which a woman can -display<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228">{228}</a></span> under such tragic circumstances—qualities which suffering -has only developed, and which have proved to me that there was no -ideal here below to which a woman’s soul could not rise, and which -she could not surpass. It is in our mutual affection, in that of -our dear and beloved children, in the satisfaction of our -consciences, and in the feeling that we have done our duty, that we -shall forget our long trials. I do not insist. Such emotion is -great. I tremble at it; but it is lovely, as it elevates. So until -the decisive news of my rehabilitation arrives I am going to live -more than ever in thought with you, with all, sharing your common -joy.”</p></div> - -<hr /> - -<p>At length Dreyfus was officially informed of the first decision of the -Court of Cassation. Writing to his wife on November 25, he said:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="nind"> -“My dear Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>“In the middle of the month I was told that the petition for the -revision of my judgment had been declared acceptable by the Court -of Cassation, and was invited to produce my means of defence. I -took the necessary measures immediately. My requests were at once -transmitted to Paris, and you must have been informed of this some -days ago. Events must therefore be moving rapidly. In thought I am -night and day, as always, with you, with our children, with all, -sharing our joy at seeing the end of this fearful drama approaching -rapidly. Words become powerless to describe such deep emotions.... -According to information which I sent you in the last mail, all -will be over in the course of December. Therefore, when these lines -reach you I shall be almost on the point of starting for France.”</p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229">{229}</a></span></p> - -<p>Here are touching passages from his letter of December 26. After telling -his “<i>chère et bonne</i> Lucie”—he almost invariably addresses her -thus—that, with the exception of the telegram, to which he at once -replied, he had not heard from her for two months until he got a letter -a few days ago, he went on to explain that if he had for a moment closed -his correspondence, this was because he was awaiting the reply to his -petition for the revision of his judgment, and should only have repeated -himself:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“If my voice had ceased to make itself heard, this would have been -because it had forever died away. If I have lived, it has been for -my honor, which is my property and the patrimony of our children; -it has been for my duty, which I have done everywhere and always; -and as it must ever be accomplished when a man has right and -justice on his side, without fear of anything or of anybody. When -one has behind one a past devoted to duty, a life devoted to honor, -when one has never known but one language, that of truth, one is -strong, I assure you, and atrocious though fate may have been, one -must have a soul lofty enough to dominate it until it bows before -one. Let us, therefore, await with confidence the decision of the -Supreme Court, as we await with confidence the decision of the new -judges before whom this decision will send me. At the same time as -your letter I have received a copy of the petition for revision, -and of the decree of the Court of Cassation, declaring it -acceptable. I read with wonderful emotion the terms of your -petition, in which you expressed admirably, as I had already done -in mine, the feelings by which I am animated in asking that an end -shall be put<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230">{230}</a></span> to the punishment of an innocent man—I may add to -that, of a noble woman, of her children, of two families, of an -innocent man who had always been a loyal soldier, who has not -ceased, even in the midst of the horrible sufferings of unmerited -chastisement, to declare his love for his native land.”</p></div> - -<hr /> - -<p>Always confident in the eventual result, Dreyfus wrote on February 8, -1899:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“Although I think, as I told you, that the end of our horrible -martyrdom is nigh, what does it matter if there is a little delay? -The object is everything, and until the day when I can clasp you in -my arms I would have you know my thoughts, which never leave you, -which have watched night and day over you and our children. -Besides, the letter which I wrote to you on December 26 or 27 was -too deep, too adequate an expression of my thoughts, of my -invincible will, and of my feelings, for me to add a single word to -it.”</p></div> - -<hr /> - -<p>Pending the receipt of the news of his rehabilitation, he sends his love -to all their relatives. The latest letter, dated February 25, runs thus:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="nind"> -“My dear and good Lucie:<br /> -</p> - -<p>“A few lines, as I can only repeat myself, that you may still hear -the same words of firmness and dignity until the day when I am -informed of the end of this terrible judicial drama. I can well -imagine, as you tell me so yourself, what joy you feel in reading -my letters. I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231">{231}</a></span> sure that it is equal to my pleasure in perusing -yours. It is a bit of one which reaches the other, pending the -blessed moment when we are at last reunited. My thoughts, which -have never left you a moment, which have watched night and day over -you and our children, are always with you. I very often speak -mentally to you, but they are always the same ideas and feelings of -which I also find the echo in your letters, as all this is common -to us since these same thoughts and sentiments are the common -property, the innate basis of all loyal souls and of all honest -characters. It is with a reassured and confident mind that I must -leave to the high authority of the Court the care of the -accomplishment of its noble work of supreme justice. Pending the -news of my rehabilitation, I embrace you with all my strength, with -all my soul, as I love you and our dear and adored children.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Your devoted<br /></p> -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred</span>.<br /> -</p> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p>It was soon after this he wrote the following letter to his little son:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="nind"> -“My dear Pierre:<br /> -</p> - -<p>“I have received your nice little letter. You wish me to write to -you. I shall soon do better; I shall soon press you in my arms. -Pending this good and sweet moment you will embrace your mamma for -me, as well as grandpapa, grandma, little Jeanne, the uncles and -aunts, all, in fact. Hearty kisses to you and little Jeanne, from -your affectionate father.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Alfred.</span>”<br /> -</p></div> - -<p>This letter, quite exceptionally, does not bear the stamp of the penal -administration.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232">{232}</a></span></p> - -<h3>B.—HIS OWN STATEMENT OF THE CASE</h3> - -<p>Here is a letter that was received by Maître Demange, the counsel of -Dreyfus, from his client, December 31, 1894. It was first made public -when sent to M. Sarrien, Minister of Justice, July 11, 1898. In the -published copy it was deemed necessary to suppress certain words and -phrases:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“Commandant du Paty came to-day, Monday, December 31, 1894, at 5.30 -<small>P.M.</small>, after the rejection of my appeal, to ask me, on behalf of the -Minister, whether I had not, perhaps, been the victim of my -imprudence, whether I had not meant merely to lay a bait ... and -had then found myself caught fatally in the trap. I replied that I -had never had relations with any agent or attaché, ... that I had -undertaken no such process as baiting, and that I was innocent. He -then said to me on his own responsibility that he was himself -convinced of my guilt, first from an examination of the handwriting -of the document brought up against me, and from the nature of the -documents enumerated therein; secondly, from information according -to which the disappearance of documents corresponded with my -presence on the General Staff; that, finally, a secret agent had -declared that a Dreyfus was a spy, ... without, however, affirming -that that Dreyfus was an officer. I asked Commandant du Paty to be -confronted with this agent. He replied that it was impossible. -Commandant du Paty acknowledged that I had never been suspected -before the reception of the incriminating document.</p> - -<p>“I then asked him why there had been no surveillance exercised over -the officers from the month of February,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233">{233}</a></span> since Commandant Henry -had affirmed at the court-martial that he had been warned at that -date that there was a traitor among the officers. Commandant du -Paty replied that he knew nothing about that business, that it was -not his affair, but Commandant Henry’s; that it was difficult to -watch all the officers of the General Staff.... Then, perceiving -that he had said too much, he added: ‘We are talking between four -walls. If I am questioned on all that I shall deny everything.’ I -preserved entire calmness, for I wished to know his whole idea. To -sum up, he said that I had been condemned because there was a clue -indicating that the culprit was an officer and the seized letter -came to give precision to that clue. He added, also, that since my -arrest the leakage at the Ministry had ceased; that, perhaps, ... -had left the letter about expressly to sacrifice me, in order not -to satisfy my demands.</p> - -<p>“He then spoke to me of the remarkable expert testimony of M. -Bertillon, according to which I had traced my own handwriting and -that of my brother in order to be able in case I should be arrested -with the letter on me to protest that it was a conspiracy against -me. He further intimated that my wife and family were my -accomplices—in short, the whole theory of M. Bertillon. At this -point, knowing what I wanted to discover, and not wishing to allow -him to insult my family as well, I stopped him, saying, ‘Enough; I -have only one word to say, namely, that I am innocent, and that -your duty is to continue your inquiries.’ ‘If you are really -innocent,’ he exclaimed, ‘you are undergoing the most monstrous -martyrdom of all time.’ ‘I am that martyr,’ I replied, ‘and I hope -the future will prove it to you.’</p> - -<p>“To sum up, it results from this conversation:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234">{234}</a></span> 1. That there have -been leakages at the Ministry. 2. That ... must have heard, and -must have repeated to Commandant Henry, that there was an officer -who was a traitor. I do not think he would have invented it of his -own accord. 3. That the incriminating letter was taken at.... From -all this I draw the following conclusions, the first certain, the -two others possible: First, a spy really exists ... at the French -Ministry, for documents have disappeared. Secondly, perhaps that -spy slipped in in an officer’s uniform, imitating his handwriting -in order to divert suspicion. Thirdly (here four lines and a half -are blank). This hypothesis does not exclude the fact No. 1, which -seems certain. But the tenor of the letter does not render this -third hypothesis very probable. It would be connected rather with -the first fact and the second hypothesis—that is to say, the -presence of a spy at the Ministry and imitation of my handwriting -by that spy, or simply resemblance of handwriting.</p> - -<p>“However this may be, it seems to me that if your agent is clever -he should be able to unravel this web by laying his nets as well on -the ... side as on the ... side. This will not prevent the -employment of all the other methods I have indicated, for the truth -must be discovered. After the departure of Commandant du Paty I -wrote the following letter to the Minister: ‘I received, by order, -the visit of Commandant du Paty, to whom I once more declared that -I was innocent, and that I had never even committed an imprudence. -I am condemned. I have no favor to ask. But in the name of my -honor, which I hope will one day be restored to me, it is my duty -to beg you to continue your investigations. When I am gone let the -search be kept up; it is the only favor that I solicit.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> -</div> - -<div class="footnotes"><p class="cb">FOOTNOTES:</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> See Appendix A.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> See Appendix B.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> -</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands!<br /></span> -<span class="i1">But he that filches from me my good name<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Robs me of that which not enriches him,<br /></span> -<span class="i7">And makes me poor indeed.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> -<hr class="full" /> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTRES D'UN INNOCENT ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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