His wife tried to come in, to discover what he was
doing; it seemed as if the good woman had a suspicion, an intuition,
rare with her, which gave her a sort of obscure fear of what her
husband might be about to do, but he succeeded in keeping her away
until he had finished. Ordinarily not a line of his was spared to his
family; it was a pleasure to his simple-hearted, affectionate vanity,
and a duty towards their love also, which none of them would have
neglected. This time, however, he did neglect it, for reasons which he
would not admit to himself, for though he was far from imagining the
consequences of his act, he was afraid of their objections, he did
not feel sure enough to expose himself to them, and so preferred to
confront them with the accomplished fact.
His first word was a cry of self-accusation:
"_FORGIVE US, YE DEAD_!"
This public confession began with an inscription; a musical phrase of
David's lament over the body of his son Absalom:
"_Oh! Absalom my son, my son_!"
_I had a son whom I loved, and sent to his death. You Fathers of
mourning Europe, millions of fathers, widowed of your sons, enemies or
friends, I do not speak for myself only, but for you who are stained
with their blood even as I am. You all speak by the voice of one of
you,--my unhappy voice full of sorrow and repentance_.
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