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.
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.