THE TRIAL. (continued 8)

On the morning of the 15th Lieutenant-Colonel d’Aboville appeared in uniform, and handed me a document bearing date of the 14th, which informed me that Captain Dreyfus, of the 14th regiment of artillery, and licentiate at the staff, would be entered in the jail-book in the morning as accused of the crime of high treason, and that I would be held personally responsible for his person. Colonel d’Aboville asked me to give my word of honor that I would execute literally the orders from the department that he was about to communicate to me in writing and verbally. One of these communications ordered me to keep the prisoner in the most absolute secrecy, and to see that he had neither knife, or paper, or pen, or ink, or pencil. He was also to be treated like ordinary prisoners: but this order was cancelled, when I pointed out that it was irregular. The colonel ordered me to take such precautions as I might deem necessary to prevent the incarceration from becoming known, either in the prison or out of it. He asked me to show him the rooms set apart for officers, and designated that which Captain Dreyfus was to occupy. He cautioned me against the probable steps that the “high Jewry” would take as soon as it should become aware of the incarceration. I informed nobody, and no such step was taken in my neighborhood. I add that, throughout the prisoner’s detention, I never remained a moment in his room except in the company of the principal police agent, who alone had the key.

Toward noon Captain Dreyfus, in civil dress, arrived in a cab, accompanied by Major Henry and a police agent. This superior officer handed me the order for the entry of his name on the jail-book—an order signed by the minister of war himself, and bearing date of the 14th, which proves that the arrest was ordered before the captain had been questioned. This shows also that the imprisonment was effected without the knowledge of the military governor of Paris, who was notified of it by a superior officer of the staff sent for the purpose, I having been forbidden to notify him myself. The principal police agent of the prison (to whom I had given instructions), after having caused the name of Dreyfus to be inscribed on the register without anything to indicate who he was, escorted the captain to the room designated for him. From that time he was buried there alive. No one was allowed to see him, and his door was never opened except in my presence. A few moments after he had been placed in his room I went to see him. He was in a state of tremendous excitement. He seemed a veritable madman, with bloodshot eyes. He had upset everything in his room. I succeeded in quieting him, but not without difficulty. I had an intuition that this officer was innocent. He begged me to give him writing materials, or to write myself to the minister of war, asking a hearing for him. He told me the phases of his arrest, which were neither dignified or military.

Between the 18th and 24th of October Major du Paty de Clam came to question him, equipped with a special permit from the minister of war. Before seeing Dreyfus, he asked me if he could not enter his cell noiselessly, carrying a lamp of sufficient power to enable him to throw a flood of light upon the captain’s face, whom he wished to surprise in such a way as to throw him off his guard. I answered that it was not possible. He submitted him to two examinations, and each time dictated to him parts of phrases from the incriminating document, with a view of establishing a comparison of handwritings.

“I beg you to remember these facts, which are the less disputable since the file contains an official letter written at that time by Major Forzinetti, in which he tells his superiors of the terrible agitation of the prisoner,—an agitation bordering on mental alienation.

During this time Captain Dreyfus’s excitement continued to be very great. From the corridor one could hear him groaning and crying, speaking in a loud voice, and protesting his innocence. He threw himself against the furniture and against the walls, and seemed unconscious of the injuries that he was inflicting upon himself. He had not a moment’s rest, and, when, exhausted by suffering and fatigue, he threw himself upon the bed in his clothing, his sleep was haunted by horrible nightmares. He gave such starts that he sometimes fell out of bed. During these nine days of real agony he took nothing but bouillon and sweetened wine, refusing all other nourishment.

On the morning of the 24th his mental condition, bordering on madness, seemed to me so serious that, anxious to cover my responsibility, I informed the minister of it, as well as the governor of Paris. In the afternoon, in answer to a summons, I went to General de Boisdeffre, whom I followed to the minister of war. The general having asked my opinion, I answered without hesitation: “They are on a wrong track. This officer is not guilty.” Such was my conviction, and it has been only strengthened since. Entering the minister’s office alone, the general came out again a few moments later, apparently very much annoyed, to say to me; “The minister is just starting for his niece’s wedding, and gives me carte blanche. Try to manage Dreyfus for me until his return. Then he will see to the matter.” I was led to think that General de Boisdeffre had not been aware of the arrest, or did not approve it. He ordered me to have the captain secretly visited by the prison physician, who prescribed quieting potions and continual watch.

Starting from the 27th, Major du Paty de Clam came almost daily to submit him to new examinations and comparisons of handwriting, the sole purpose of which was to obtain a confession, which Dreyfus never would make. Up to the day when this unfortunate was handed over to the reporter of the council of war, he knew nothing more than that he was accused of the crime of high treason. The examination was long and detailed, and, while it was in progress, Dreyfus had so little expectation that he would be put on trial, and still less that he would be convicted, that he said several times: “What compensation shall I ask? I will apply for the cross, and give my resignation. I told Major du Paty that I would do so, and he has embodied the statement in his report to the minister. He could find no proof against me,—for there was none,—any more than could the reporter-magistrate, who confines himself to inferences and suppositions, without making any precise assertions.”

A few moments before appearing before his judges, he said: “I hope that my martyrdom is nearing its end, and that I shall soon be in the arms of my family.” Unfortunately it was to be otherwise. After the verdict, Dreyfus was taken back to his room, where I awaited him. At sight of me he cried out, sobbing: “My only crime is that I was born a Jew. To this point has my life of labor led me. Why did I enter the war school? Why did I not hand in my resignation, as my family so desired me to do?” Such was his despair that, fearing a fatal ending, I had to redouble my vigilance. The next day his counsel came to see him. M. Demange, entering his room, approached him with open arms, and, in tears, said to him, as he pressed him to his breast: “My child, your condemnation is the greatest infamy of the century.” I was completely upset.

From that day Dreyfus, who all this time had been without news from his family,—for so far he had not been allowed to write to them,—was authorized to correspond with them under the eye of the commissioner of the government, to whom all letters sent or received were delivered. I witnessed the only two authorized interviews that he had with his wife and his mother-in-law. They were very touching.

As soon as the appeal was taken, Major du Paty came again, with a special permit from the minister for free communication with Dreyfus. After making inquiries concerning the state of mind of the condemned man, he went to him, telling the principal agent to remain within call in case of need. In this last interview, as appears from a letter written immediately by Dreyfus to the minister of war, Major du Paty endeavored to obtain a confession of guilt, or, at least, a confession of an impudent act of bribery. Dreyfus answered that he had never bribed anyone,—that he was innocent.

On January 4, 1895, I was relieved of my heavy responsibility. After shaking hands with Captain Dreyfus, I gave him over to the gendarmes, who took him, handcuffed, to the military school, where, proclaiming his innocence, he underwent his degradation,—a torture more terrible than death,—and was then sent into exile. My mission was an extremely sad and painful one, having lived on terms of intimacy with this unfortunate for three months, my formal orders being to be present at all his meals and watch him narrowly, in order that no written communication from without might reach him, hidden in his food. During all the long years that, by a choice which has honored me, I have been at the head of various penitentiary establishments, I have had much experience with prisoners, and I do not fear to declare openly that a terrible error has been committed. I have never considered Captain Dreyfus as a traitor to his country, to his uniform. My immediate superiors knew my opinion from the first. I declared it in presence of high official and political personages, as well as before numerous officers of all grades, journalists, and men of letters. Moreover, the government knew my opinion, for, on the eve of the degradation, the head of a bureau in the interior department came to me, sent by his chief, M. Dupuy, to ask me for information concerning Dreyfus. I answered to the same effect. This official must have repeated it to his superiors. Now, I declare that up to November 5 last I had never received from any of my superiors any order or hint to keep silent, and that I have steadily proclaimed the innocence of Dreyfus, who is the victim either of one of those fatalities which are inexplicable and impenetrable, or else of an unfathomable conspiracy, deliberately concocted.

“What I desired to make known to you, gentlemen, was not only the personal impression of Major Forzinetti,—who, since this campaign entered upon its acute stage, has been relieved of his position, but who, until then, had held it, though his superiors knew his opinion,—but also the singular, bizarre, and mysterious processes to which they resorted during this examination.

“A secret examination, a romantic examination, followed by closed doors, closed doors declared under circumstances which I am going to point out to you by showing you how M. Demange was interrupted during the public hearing, doors closed in spite of the protests of the press, which was of one voice in demanding publicity. Picture to yourselves now the falsehoods that the press circulated, the mystery that hovered over the affair, the semi-revelations that, from one direction and another, reveal this prison in the Rue de Cherche-Midi as one of those fantastic prisons in which go on I know not what frightful and mysterious things. People necessarily came to the conclusion that Dreyfus had been caught in direct relations with an ambassador, or with an ambassador’s secretary, or a military attaché. This was the starting-point of the convictions against which now all argument is powerless, because, from the first, thanks to all these lies, there has been effected in many sincere minds one of those crystallizations which have the character of permanency. To justify so much mystery two things were necessary: first, absolute respect for the law; second, a complete knowledge of the case by all who played a part in it,—examining magistrates, minister’s counsel, prisoner, and judges. I spoke to you yesterday of the arguments of those honest people who say: ‘We cannot believe that the judges wilfully erred.’ Upon what does this argument rest? Upon the conviction that the judges rendered their verdict in perfect conformity to the law, and in full knowledge of the cause. Is not this the basis today of the sentiments of those who talk to us of the thing judged? Would the simple argument that Captain Dreyfus is a Jew be accepted by anyone? I do not believe it. Yesterday I spoke severely of anti-Semitism, because I consider it a doctrine which one should have the courage to combat. Yet I do not offer a single one of the anti-Semites the insult of believing that they would accept the argument: ‘Captain Dreyfus is a Jew; therefore his conviction was justified, whether he was innocent or guilty.’ Then I am right in saying that that which constitutes the strength of my honest adversaries is the double idea that everything took place in accordance with law, and that everybody concerned was in full possession of the facts. Well, gentlemen, nothing of all this is true. The basis of these honest convictions has no real existence. Saying nothing at present of the violation of law, the gravity of the facts was not established, their materiality was not proved. Pressing visits of Dreyfus to Belgium or Germany,—none. Relations with an ambassador, or with an ambassador’s secretary, or even with a military attaché, directly proven,—none. For the present, I am obliged to confine myself to this. We shall come to the rest later. But I must add that, if there was in the department a photograph of a document that represented a letter exchanged between two military attachés of the Triple Alliance,—a letter which they tried later to use as a document in the Dreyfus trial,—this photograph was in the war department eight months before the arrest of Dreyfus, eight months before they thought of him. It does not apply to Dreyfus, as I shall show you presently. Relations of Dreyfus with the enemy, civil accomplices? Nothing of the sort; and I speak here according to the indictment, on the strength of the d’Ormescheville report, to which alone they have a right to appeal. There is a single document, the bordereau, whose origin is not declared, but is said by General Gonse to tell against the accused, though they refuse to put him in a position to contradict it. This writing and the expert opinions upon it,—opinions which I shall discuss, but which for the moment I refer to only as contradictory,—these comprise the entire evidence communicated to the defence. Outside of these, the government knows nothing. One man alone, General Mercier, who may be a brave soldier, but who surely knows more of military tactics than of great cases like this, took everything upon himself. For the absent documents he substituted his impression, his arbitrary impression, the result of a naive confidence, of an incredible credulity, in the puerile processes of the examination, processes which are nothing but the fruit of the imagination—honest, I admit, but really childish—of his subordinates. In using the word childish, do I go too far, gentlemen? What, then, is to be thought of that dictation from the bordereau which was made to Captain Dreyfus at the moment of his arrest?”

Here M. Labori read the passage from the d’Ormescheville indictment, describing the dictation from the bordereau to Dreyfus by M. du Paty de Clam, who notes the agitation of the accused. Then he continued:

“I have a right to say that these are puerile methods of judicial examination.

“There is the accusation! So far, there is no question of the secret document. Now for the proof of my statement that General Mercier substituted his arbitrary impression for absent documents. Does he speak of other documents to the cabinet? Were any other charges made known to M. Guérin or to M. Dupuy, who was then a cabinet minister? No. They had nothing but the minister’s word to determine them to follow him in the path leading to the dishonor and civil death of an officer. Listen to an interview with M. Guérin, the authenticity of which will not be disputed,—an interview reported by M. Marcel Hutin in ‘Le Gaulois.’ In presence of the jury the cabinet ministers shelter themselves behind professional secrecy. Not so in the press, and it is so much the better. Hear, then, what they said before this trial. M. Guérin, says the author of the article, explained that M. Charles Dupuy and himself were the only cabinet ministers whom General Mercier made familiar with the case. Says the former keeper of the seals:

Let me tell you how the Dreyfus case was brought to my knowledge in 1894. There were three of us in the cabinet who were informed of the examination at the beginning. After a cabinet meeting held in the office of the minister of war, General Mercier, the minister of war, asked me to go to the office of the president of the cabinet. The three being assembled in M. Dupuy’s office, General Mercier told us that very important documents concerning the national defence had been communicated by a staff officer to a foreign power, and he gave the name of the suspected officer, Captain Dreyfus. The belief of the minister of war was based, in the first place, on the nature of the documents concerned, of which only Captain Dreyfus could have had knowledge. They were locked up in the fourth bureau, said our colleague, with which Captain Dreyfus was connected, and he alone could have communicated them.

“On this first point, gentlemen, let us try to connect all the complex incidents of this trial with each of the points that I argue. You remember the reply made by Colonel Picquart, and also by General Gonse and General de Pellieux, to the questions that I put to them. Now let us continue.

Furthermore, the general told me that he had had experts examine the letter which accompanied these documents, and that they had given an opinion that it was in the writing of Captain Dreyfus. Finally, our colleague told us about the dictation from the famous bordereau. When General Mercier had told this story, which, you can imagine, made a great impression upon us, he turned to me, and said: “I desired, my dear colleague, to relate these facts in your presence, in order to ask your advice. I do not wish to rest my opinion solely on the proofs that have been gathered. I want you to name a counter-expert, so that complete light may be shed on the authenticity of this important document.” I made haste to send for M. Baudoin, president of the civil court of the Seine, who suggested M. Bertillon.

“You see, gentlemen, whether I was right in saying, after M. Bertillon’s testimony: ‘The accusation, there you have it!’ For, indeed, it is M. Bertillon who determines the prosecution, because it is to him that they apply for a final expert opinion.

The minister of war told us that it was through one of his agents that this document, found in a waste-basket, had been communicated to him. The cabinet was not informed of the phases of the matter, until after the arrest of the guilty man.

“Were you aware, Monsieur le Ministre, of another document incriminating Dreyfus, outside of the bordereau?”

No, never were any secret documents mentioned to us. I can say to you that none of my colleagues were informed of the communication of secret documents to the council of war without the knowledge of the accused and his counsel. Some time ago I endeavored to recall exactly, in the presence of my friend and former colleague, Poincaré, everything that then took place. I asked him if his recollections agreed with mine, and I found myself entirely corroborated. A single thing strikes me. Why has there been no frank denial of the secret communication of documents, which, indeed, would have constituted closed doors within closed doors?

“And what does M. Dupuy, the president of the cabinet, say to ‘Le Gaulois’? This:

Never did I know of any document incriminating the condemned man, except the bordereau, and I believe that my colleagues in the cabinet are in the same position as myself. If any secret documents were communicated to the council of war, I say frankly that I can only regret it as absolutely contrary to the law and to the rights of defence.

“What I wish you now to notice, gentlemen, is that, at the time when the arrest of Dreyfus was about to be determined upon, there was no secret document, no charge except the bordereau and the dictation scene; and that even of these not the entire cabinet, but only M. Dupuy and M. Guérin, had been informed by the minister of war, proving, as I have just said, that General Mercier took everything upon himself.

“I know very well that, since, there has been mention of a secret document. I know very well that a ridiculous document has been produced,—ridiculous by the confession of those who for a long time pretended to make use of it, since today they find it so inadequate that they thrust uselessly into this trial still later documents, which they describe as absolute proofs. We shall see what they are worth. But this ridiculous document is that of which they have a photograph, and which contains the words: ‘That scoundrel D——.’ It is a letter addressed by one military attaché to another, which was photographed en route, and has this postscript: ‘That scoundrel D—— is becoming too exacting.’ Let it not be said that this document has no value. Let it not be said that, if it is not a proof, there are others. It is the document upon which, from the point of view of pretended guilt, they have lived for years. We have seen it everywhere, pointed out as of the highest importance,—in the office of Colonel Picquart shown to M. Leblois, in the pages of ‘L’Eclair.’ Oh! if it were only an article from ‘L’Eclair,’ one might say: ‘It is a newspaper invention.’ But Major Ravary has referred to this document in his public report. It is the document that was in the possession of that ideal veiled lady. It is ‘the liberating document.’ It is the document for which the minister of war gave Major Esterhazy a receipt. Major Esterhazy returned this document to the minister under cover of the staff, and therefore it must have the value that I attribute to it. It is the important document. Oh! I know very well that they have invented others since. When the document was invented, there was mention of others. They do not lie, these officers, but they equivocate, consciously or not; in telling only a part of the truth, in not telling the whole truth, they equivocate. There are other documents in the secret file, yes, but they have no importance, because they relate as much to one as to another. M. Picquart has told us that in the secret file there is a document which applies rather to Esterhazy than to Dreyfus. What does that mean? Simply that there are documents concerning spying, which have been placed in the file because they belong there, but which are no more applicable to Dreyfus than to anybody else. And the proof that all these other documents are especially inapplicable is that, when this one no longer seemed sufficient after having been submitted to discussion, they produced another; and we have heard the declaration of General de Pellieux, which was the culminating-point of this trial, and which was intended to change its course, but which, when we have shown its real significance, will be seen to be only an ephemeral incident.

“Only it was not until after the prosecution, gentlemen, that importance was attributed to this document. With General Mercier himself it seems to have been only an artifice, as is proved by the fact that he, who had no right to distrust his colleagues, said nothing about it to them when he was preparing the case.

“And then, in itself, from the judicial standpoint, what can such a document amount to? D——, what does that mean? Really, gentlemen, since this document was in the war department eight months before the prosecution of Dreyfus, and no one had dreamed of applying it to him, must not one have been really hypnotized over the name, or else weak-minded, to see nothing but Dreyfus in this initial? And then, why was no importance attached to it at the beginning? Though the name Dreyfus had been in this document, it might have been the work of a forger. You know that there have been forgeries in this case. When Major Esterhazy talks of forgery, he is not disputed. His statement is accepted because he makes it. But there may be other forgeries, emanating from other hands and applying to other persons. And, even though this document were authentic, and however overwhelming it might be in its significance, it could have no value whatever until it had been discussed pro and con,—until it had been shown to the accused and his counsel, who perhaps could overturn it with a word.

“Again, is it permissible to disdain the official declarations of certain foreign governments regarding relations with Captain Dreyfus? [Murmurs of protest.] I expected these murmurs, and I answer that, if we had wished, we could have called foreigners to this bar; if they are not here, it is because we did not wish to call them.”

The Judge.—“I hasten to say that we would not have listened to them.”

M. Labori.—“Very likely, Monsieur le Président. That would have been another question of law, to be discussed after the others. But it is certain that we considered that in such an affair the light should be produced between Frenchmen, because it is important that the foreigner should be on the side of neither party, in order that tomorrow, if the threatened war should become a reality, we might all join hands to face the foe, of whom we ask nothing. But, so much said, is it permissible, as an honest adversary of the foreigner, to neglect declarations as official as those made in the committee of the reichstag and at the Italian tribune?”

The Judge.—“No, pass on.”

M. Labori.—“I pass on, Monsieur le Président. But I do not think there is anything in my words that can be attacked by anybody.”

The Judge.—“Pass on, pass on.”

M. Labori.—“Continuing on this point, I say that the foreigner has no sort of reason to defend traitors. It is contrary to diplomatic usage. Of course a country does not betray its spies; but it has no reason to defend them when they are caught. Consequently it must be admitted that declarations such as those which I have referred to, if not decisive, must at least be attentively considered, and weighed in the balance. And for that reason I say to you that nothing at all is left of the document referring to ‘That scoundrel D——.’

“Moreover, gentlemen, this document seemed of no value to those who made use of it. There was no mention of it in the d’Ormescheville report; no question of it in the charges against Dreyfus.

“You know, gentlemen, the source of the document. That matter I have already explained, but I must return to it for a little. Not simply one article appeared in ‘L’Eclair’ in September, 1896. A whole campaign was carried on, and the article of September 15 was itself preceded by an article of September 10, violent against ex-Captain Dreyfus to the last degree. Listen to it.

For some hours it was believed that Dreyfus, the traitor, had escaped. A dispatch has reassured us. He is still in confinement. How long will his captivity last? Undoubtedly, it is only temporary. Occult intelligences are at work to free him. This time there has been no escape, but it is clear that there was a conspiracy. The report started by a foreign newspaper was not a simple canard. It was published deliberately, and it rests on a certain fact. We need no other proof than the emotion which it caused in certain official circles. Whether they confess it or not, they are still concerning themselves regarding this report, in spite of the formal denial that has come from Devil’s Island. An investigation has been opened, and is being carried on with the greatest secrecy. The false news was either a premature announcement of a fact that was to have been accomplished, or it was a part of a plan for defence of the traitor, shrewdly organized by his friends. The family is the soul of this agitation,—the family and its accomplices. For there have been civil accomplices. Perhaps it is time to say so, and to unmask them.

“You see the spirit of this article. Is it attributable to the friends or the family of Dreyfus? I have already said that that cannot be maintained. And this is the proper time to say a word of the communication of the secret file to M. Leblois by Colonel Picquart in September or October, 1896. Do you know what I think about that? I think it a petty matter, uselessly and ridiculously magnified. I think that, when Adjutant Gribelin and Colonel Henry come here in good faith to say that they witnessed this thing, we are in presence of a veritable optical illusion.”

M. Labori then recalled the contradictions in the testimony of M. Gribelin and Colonel Henry, and showed that the pretended visit of M. Leblois to the war department could not have occurred, as he was not in Paris. Consequently it could not have been through him that the article reached “L’Eclair.”

“So ‘L’Eclair’s’ article of September 15, 1896, must have originated with the staff. Who gave it out? That it is impossible to ascertain, but it is to be remembered that, at various times in this campaign, Major Esterhazy has been warned of what was going on at the staff office, and we may inquire whether the person who conveyed these warnings is not the person who communicated the article to ‘L’Eclair.’ We have the more reason to be disturbed about this, because there has been no investigation, in spite of Colonel Picquart’s demand for one.

“And then, gentlemen, what have we to say of all this stage-setting of which you know, this romantic examination and melodramatic arrest of Captain Dreyfus in an office arranged with mirrors on the walls, as is stated in M. du Paty de Clam’s report,—mirrors arranged for the purpose of surprising the play of his features? What shall we say of the scene of dictation, of the threats uttered to Mme. Dreyfus, of the dark lantern by the aid of which, as in the novels of Ponson du Terrail, they expected to surprise the secret of this guilty man’s conscience? I do not dare to say that all this had but one object, but I do say that it had but one result,—that of misleading public opinion. Do you say that these methods were adopted in sincerity? I admit it. Has not M. Zola himself admitted it? Listen to what he said.

I accuse Lieutenant-Colonel du Paty de Clam of having been the diabolical workman of a judicial error,—unconsciously, I am willing to believe,—and of having then defended his calamitous work for three years by the most preposterous and most guilty machinations.

I accuse General Mercier of having made himself an accomplice, at least through weakness of mind, in one of the greatest iniquities of the century.

“Good faith, gentlemen, is admitted; but where have these men of good faith been led by their credulity? One trembles at the thought of all these puerile details, especially that scene of dictation from the bordereau. At first I did not believe it to be true. It seemed to me to pass the bounds of imagination. I was not convinced, until it was affirmed in the interview with M. Guérin and in the official report of M. d’Ormescheville. What are we to think of these judicial methods? I appeal to all the criminologists here. They say that Dreyfus’s hand trembled. Perhaps it did not tremble, but, even if it did, what does that prove? Fancy, gentlemen, the tone in which Colonel du Paty de Clam, who has been before you and whom you undoubtedly remember, said: ‘You tremble, wretch. Then you are guilty.’ Fancy that! Who would not have trembled? What does it prove? If it proves anything, it proves the emptiness of the charges. Do not forget, gentlemen, that at that moment all had been done. The cell at Cherche-Midi was ready. The order of arrest had been signed, M. Cochefert, of the police, was in the office of Colonel du Paty de Clam, and they did not hesitate to set in motion this romantic and melodramatic machinery. Their evidence was so slight that they had to resort to a melodramatic incident to supply the place of truth.

“Does it astonish you, then, that the council of war, after deliberation, was on the point of acquittal? Oh! gentlemen, I do not need the echoes that have reached my ears to convince me of it. We say that the countersign went forth; we say that a verdict was rendered in obedience to orders; but we do not suspect the honesty of the members of the council of war. If they obeyed orders, it was because they believed that they were obeying just orders. I admit that, had they known the order to be unjust and irregular, they would not have obeyed it. But, from the very fact that the order had been given, they at first concluded that it was just. Nevertheless, when the evidence was before them, and they saw that there was no proof of guilt, they were going to acquit, I do not doubt. They were going to acquit, because they had nothing but the bordereau before them; because the bordereau was the only document involved at the beginning of the trial; because nothing was left but the bordereau at the end of the trial, just as today there is nothing but the bordereau.

“I must demonstrate this to you, gentlemen, step by step. So you will pardon me for reading another document which seems to me indispensable. I borrow from ‘L’Autorité’—for I prefer to borrow from our enemies—the story of the public proceedings of the council of war of 1894. The account is indisputable, and, were it to be questioned, I have here also the account published by ‘La Libre Parole,’ which confirms it at every point.

The presiding judge orders the call of witnesses to begin. Then the representative of the government rises.

“By virtue,” he says, “of Article 113 of the code of military justice, which says that, if publicity appears dangerous to good order or to public morals, the council may order the trial to proceed behind closed doors, I move that the doors be closed. You know the documents that are included in the file. I do not need to insist; I know that it will be enough to appeal to your patriotism.”

M. Demange asks the floor.

The Judge.—“In giving the floor to the counsel, I ask him to confine himself to the question of closed doors, with which alone we are now concerned.”

The counsel then begins the reading of his motion, in which, after examining the legal texts permitting the ordering of closed doors, he declares that, since the legislator had in view no special case, it is necessary, whenever the question of closing the doors shall be raised, to inquire into the circumstances of the case, in order to ascertain whether any of them are of such a nature as to make a public trial dangerous to good morals or to good order. And he continues thus:

“In fact, from the point of view of the charge here preferred, whereas the only document” ...

But the judge abruptly stops him, and says in an imperious tone:

“I remind the counsel of my pressing invitation to make no reference to any document here involved.”

M. Demange.—“I have the floor to read my motion formulating my opinion regarding closed doors. Under these circumstances, and in my remarks in support of my motion, I shall divulge no documents, but it seems to me necessary to point out” ...

The Judge.—“I do not think that it is necessary to point out a single document. Otherwise, the demand of the representative of the government would be entirely illusory.”

But M. Demange insists:

“I offer a motion. I ask the council to examine certain documents. I reveal nothing of the contents of these documents. I confine myself to my right to specify the facts and circumstances concerning which the members of the council must be satisfied before deciding to close the doors. You will see that I shall reveal nothing.”

And he resumes: “Whereas the only document” ...

The Judge.—“I cannot allow you to continue thus. You cannot speak of the only document.”

M. Brisset, the representative of the government.—“On a question of closing the doors the defence can offer observations only. It is not allowed to offer motions.”

M. Demange.—“I had asked to be given a record of the refusal to allow me to offer a motion.”

The Judge.—“I give you the record. You can offer your observations, and say what you like, but you must not touch the substance of the question.”

M. Demange.—“How can I demonstrate that publicity is not dangerous, if I cannot refer to the material proofs?”

The Judge.—“You have no right to do so.”

M. Demange.—“But the interest of the defence requires me to develop my motion.”

“Gentlemen, when I read that for the first time, I did not know that I was reading a phrase of which we should hear an echo in this court-room.

M. Brisset.—“There are other interests at stake in this trial than those of the defence and of the prosecution. Moreover, the judge has the file of documents. He will tell these gentlemen of what they consist.”

M. Demange.—“True, the presiding judge knows these documents, and I regret that all the members of the council are not familiar with them. I desire to show that there is no matter of fact here to furnish a sufficient ground for closed doors.”

The Judge.—“There is a decree of the court of appeals in 1883 which declares that closed doors may be ordered without consultation of the accused, if higher interests require it. Therefore I do not wish you to touch upon the substance of the issue.”

M. Demange.—“Yes or no, is my motion accepted?”

M. Brisset.—“File your motion without reading it.”

M. Demange.—“I ask for a record of the filing of my motion, and of the refusal to allow me to read it.”

M. Brisset.—“But you have been doing that for the last half-hour.”

M. Demange.—“I have examined only the question of right.”

The Judge.—“That is sufficient.”

M. Demange.—“I have read only a part.”

M. Brisset.—“It is the principal part.”

M. Demange.—“How do you know, since I have not read the whole? My motion is filed. Now I have a right to speak in support of it. I offer two observations.”

And M. Demange proceeds to maintain that, if it is true that the court of appeals has decided that a decree is not nullified by the simple fact that the accused was not consulted concerning the question of closing the doors, it is no less true that the accused must be heard when, either in person or through his counsel, he asks to offer observations or motions. M. Demange quotes three decrees in support of this view.

“You are,” he adds, “the sole judges of the question of closing the doors. You decide according to your conscience, from an examination of the facts and documents.”

The Judge.—“You must not speak of the documents.”

M. Demange.—“A decree has declared that the court must consider the circumstances of the case.”

The Judge.—“That is what I deny, for then your argument begins.”

M. Demange.—“No, Monsieur le Président: I have a right to say that in every case there are moral and material elements. Here I must put them in evidence. I say that the moral elements, like the previous conduct of the accused and his motives, cannot concern order.”

The Judge.—“You are now making an argument.”

M. Demange.—“So far as the material elements are concerned, order is not endangered, if I ask the counsel to refer to the documents which I simply indicate. The report contains the official record of the document” ...

The Judge.—“There I stop you. Otherwise the demand for the closing of the doors becomes illusory.”

M. Brisset.—“These are the tactics of the defence.”

The Judge.—“In view of the demand of the defence, the council will retire for deliberation.”

M. Demange.—“One word more. If we ask publicity, let it be well understood that we do not do so from any belief that your decision will be governed by publicity. We know that you will decide according to your conscience, and that your impartiality will not be affected by a closing of the doors. But no one will contradict me, if I declare that for the last seven weeks the honor of an officer of the French army has been exposed to all sorts of rumors.”

At these words the presiding judge rises abruptly and says:

“By virtue of my discretionary power, I order that the council now retire.”

M. Demange.—“I ask a record of the interruption to which my remarks are thus subjected.”

“Yes, I give you the record,” said the judge, as he withdrew.

And the council retired amid much excitement.

“You see, gentlemen, that everything was done to make the darkness complete. I do not say that the members of the council of war are to be suspected of bad faith. I do not say that, knowing Dreyfus to be innocent, they were determined to convict him at any rate. But I do say that, having entered upon a certain path, a little lightly and almost unconsciously, these men of good faith worked upon themselves by a phenomenon of auto-suggestion which it is very easy to understand. In this respect nothing is more characteristic than the exhibition that M. Bertillon made of himself here. So convinced that he had become as deaf as a stone to the truth, he said: ‘Though I should be shown a hundred officers in the French army who could have written the bordereau, I would declare nevertheless that Dreyfus wrote it, because I have the proof.’

“I add, gentlemen, that it was with the best faith in the world that Colonel Maurel, who presided over the council of war, exhibited the brutality and rudeness of which I have just given you the proof, unaware that he was thus rushing into error perhaps, and at any rate into the illegality that was to come.

“Such, gentlemen, was the position of the Dreyfus case at the opening of the trial before the council of war. Do not think that the trial added anything to the charges. The minister of war, speaking from the tribune of the chamber, has referred to the fact that twenty-seven officers were called as witnesses. In the first place, it is to be noted that these twenty-seven officers included witnesses in favor of Dreyfus as well as witnesses against him. But, for or against, it is now plain that their evidence amounted to nothing. If there existed any serious facts regarding this matter of spying; if there existed between Dreyfus and any foreigner designated by name, between Dreyfus and specified spying agencies, between Dreyfus and definite international agencies, suspicious and intimate relations; if there had been any suspicious journeys or any guilty connections,—they would have been proclaimed before this. Perhaps they would not have been spoken of to M. Trarieux or to M. Scheurer-Kestner, and, when the latter went to see his old friend General Billot, perhaps his old friend would not have taken him into his confidence. But it would have been printed baldly in ‘Le Jour,’ in ‘L’Echo de Paris,’ in ‘L’Eclair,’ which are the recipients of the confidential declarations of the staff. And, if they had not done that, they certainly would have proclaimed them here; and General de Pellieux, if he had been in possession of serious proofs of an earlier date than that of the conviction, would not have been reduced to the introduction into this trial of pretended proofs of a later date, of no more significance than the others.

“Such, then, was the position of the prosecution at the beginning of the trial before the council of war. And, before approaching the capital fact that led to the condemnation,—I mean the communication to the council of one or more secret documents,—I desire to say a word of a certain method that has been employed on several occasions during the last few months to close the mouths of those who champion Dreyfus’s cause. I refer to the confessions said to have been made by him to Captain Lebrun-Renault, on the day of his degradation. If you had been allowed to hear testimony on this matter, you would know what these confessions amount to. You would have seen Captain Lebrun-Renault at this bar. If he had been the first witness to be heard on this point, perhaps they would have allowed him to say that he had received confessions; after which they would have closed the mouths of any witnesses that might have come to contradict him, on the ground that they were talking of the Dreyfus case, and we should have been prohibited from asking any questions. He did not come, but be sure that, if he had come, he would have told a story of pretended confessions. Only, if I had been allowed to question him, I should have asked: ‘At what date did you record these confessions?’ And, if I am not greatly mistaken, he would have answered me that he recorded them at a very recent date,—November, 1897. Then I would have answered him, gentlemen, by a succession of witnesses. We should have seen at this bar M. Clisson, who, in ‘Le Figaro,’ on the day after the degradation, told a story in which, though he had received the confidences of M. Lebrun-Renault, he did not say a word of any confession. His story would have been confirmed by M. Dumont and M. Fontbrune; and finally we should have called to the stand various other persons, notably the baron de Vaux and Mme. Chapelon. I speak of Mme. Chapelon, because in her case no sort of doubt is possible. She gave an interview to ‘L’Aurore,’ which appeared in that journal on January 25, 1898. That interview concludes thus:

“Do you assert that Captain Lebrun-Renault has always declared that ex-Captain Dreyfus made him no confession?”

“I assert it on my honor.”

And solemnly Mme. Chapelon added, as we took our departure: ‘I swear it.’

“Would Mme. Chapelon have come here to maintain her declaration under oath? There is reason to doubt it, since she afterward went to the office of ‘L’Aurore’ to declare that she was anxious, that threats had been made to her, and that, yielding to these threats, she would not testify. Here, indeed, is the account given by M. Philippe Dubois, which I read from ‘Le Temps’ of February 12, 1898.

M. Dubois was summoned regarding the pretended confessions of Dreyfus. The judge having refused to put to Major Forzinetti the question relating to the confessions, M. Labori abandoned the hearing of all the witnesses who were to testify on this point. M. Dubois says that he desired to tell the court that a certain Mme. Chapelon, whose husband was intimately connected with M. Lebrun-Renault, had declared to one of his collaborators on ‘L’Aurore’ that, not once only, but a hundred times, Captain Lebrun-Renault had said to his associates that he never had received any important confidence from the ex-captain. “L’Aurore” having reproduced these declarations, M. Dubois received a visit from Mme. Chapelon, who expressed a fear that she might lose her situation, and that her son might not obtain the scholarship at Chaptal which he was seeking. Mme. Chapelon was taken into the office of M. Clemenceau. In his presence and in the presence of M. Gohier, she confirmed the remarks that had been attributed to her by “L’Aurore,” and again expressed her fears, adding that, to save her situation, she would refuse to speak before the assize court.

“If Mme. Chapelon had not come, we should have heard MM. Dubois and Gohier, in whose presence she made her declaration. Since then, an incident has occurred between Major Forzinetti and Captain Lebrun-Renault, of which you undoubtedly know through the newspapers, and which seems to me sufficiently serious to make it indispensable that I recall it to you. The story is told in ‘Le Temps’ of February 12, 1898, in the following language:

M. Dubois, one of the editors of “L’Aurore,” who was summoned as a witness in the Zola trial, relates an incident that occurred yesterday afternoon in the witnesses’ corridor between Major Forzinetti and Captain Lebrun-Renault. “During the last recess,” says M. Dubois, “Captain Lebrun-Renault was walking up and down the room, when, in my presence, Major Forzinetti approached him and said:

‘A newspaper pretends that you have declared to a deputy, whose name I do not remember, that you have never said anything regarding Dreyfus. Now, you know very well that, when, six months ago, I asked you a precise question, you told me that Dreyfus had never made any confession to you.’

“Visibly embarrassed, Captain Lebrun-Renault sought to evade the question, but Major Forzinetti followed him up.

“‘Come, let me refresh your memory. You even added that you had been very much annoyed by this matter, and that, in consequence of the newspaper stories, you had been summoned before the minister of war, and then before the president of the republic.’

“As Captain Lebrun-Renault still did not answer, but tried to escape, Major Forzinetti seized his cloak, and shouted:

“‘If you used the language that is attributed to you, you are an infamous liar.’

“The witnesses of this scene intervened. General Gonse, who was present, said to M. Forzinetti:

“‘In these things we get too much excited. Come, Major, calm yourself.’

“And that was all. Captain Lebrun-Renault went into the room assigned to the witnesses for the prosecution, and General Gonse shook hands with the former superintendent of Cherche-Midi.”

This morning we asked Major Forzinetti ...

“And it is because of this concluding paragraph that I read the extract.

This morning we asked Major Forzinetti if the story in “L’Aurore” was true. “Absolutely,” he answered. “I add that there is no trace of any confession on the part of Dreyfus in the report addressed, according to custom, by the captain to his corps commander, concerning his mission as a chief of escort, entrusted to him on the day of degradation. If there is any report from Captain Lebrun-Renault in which such confessions are mentioned, it was made afterward.”

“That, gentlemen, is the point that I desired to establish. If any confessions exist, or, rather, any record of pretended confessions, this record was made long afterward. But we may judge of this matter, not by the declarations of any witnesses whatsoever, but by the attitude of the government, and by that of the prime minister himself. You remember, gentlemen, that a few weeks ago certain members of the Left invited the government to publish these confessions. Whereupon the government published this singular note, officially communicated to the newspapers.

Several journals ask the minister of war to publish the declarations made to Captain Lebrun-Renault by Dreyfus on the day of the execution of the sentence of the council of war. Were the government to publish these, it would call in question, and seem to throw doubt upon, the authority of the thing judged. We are in a position to know, moreover, that the government thinks it has no right to make such a communication, for reasons analogous to those which determined the council of 1894 to order closed doors.

“This note, gentlemen, was followed by an interpellation. M. Godefroy Cavaignac insisted that the government should communicate the document, and the attitude taken by the president is very interesting. Answering M. Cavaignac, M. Méline said:

We are asked the reasons why the government thinks that it may not publish the declaration of Captain Lebrun-Renault, received on the day of the execution of the Dreyfus trial. I admit—and everyone knows it—that there is such a declaration. It seems to me that the note of L’Agence Havas, concerning which M. Cavaignac questions me, said so with sufficient clearness. The first reason why the government thinks that it should not repeat this declaration from the tribune is that the chamber, the parliament, the government, have so far steadily refused—and rightly, in my view—to discuss the matter. From the first we have declared that this affair was of a judicial nature ...

“And when an affair is of a judicial nature, you know the pretence that they make is that it is of a political nature, and that considerations of national defence do not allow the bringing out of the light.

From the first we have declared that this affair was of a judicial nature, and must preserve this character; that the public powers, in handing it over to parliamentary discussion, would completely change its nature, and effect a veritable confusion of powers. Yet to such a discussion M. Cavaignac invites us today. He has proved it by trying to enter into the substance of the matter, and by reading certain pamphlets relating to the case. It is not to be doubted that, if the declaration of Captain Lebrun-Renault were read from the tribune, it would be discussed, for, everything is discussed in this case. The discussion once opened, you could not stop it, and we should soon be involved in a debate concerning the question of revision. The tendency would be to encourage the belief that, without this document, the verdict could not stand. Now we have always proclaimed,—and we repeat it,—that the verdict is sufficient unto itself. It is the legal truth. Nobody has a right to discuss it. This said, I give the last reasons, which are but supplementary to the others, for they are not needed. We consider that the publication would involve serious embarrassments, and the same reasons that determined the judges to order closed doors forbid us to publish this document, the significance of which, however, I do not wish to exaggerate.

“Well, gentlemen, I ask you if we can be content with such reasons. What is, then, this excessive respect for form? The thing judged, the thing judged, even illegally judged? Would they thus appeal to form, if, by a word, by a decisive document, they could close the mouths of those whom they accuse of agitating the public by a pernicious campaign? The government, gentlemen, is not bound to respect the thing judged. It is its duty, when it can, to quiet the public conscience. Then, if M. Lebrun-Renault’s declaration has any value, what is the meaning of the government’s reserve? The truth is that it has no value, and I shall tell you why.

“I do not look at the matter solely from the standpoint of the evidence that M. Lebrun-Renault would have given, and of the contradictions with which we should have met him. I take the ground that the attitude of Dreyfus throughout is a protest against these pretended confessions. And here pardon me for reading once more. My longest quotations come in this first part of the argument; and, when we shall have finished with them, we shall go on faster; but they are indispensable to enable you to travel this long road, step by step, as it has been travelled by all who have arrived at our opinion.

“There is a scene, gentlemen, which it is necessary for you to review,—the degradation. I know none of more grandeur, none that, from a moral point of view, could have greater influence in a trial like this. Again from ‘L’Autorité’ I borrow the story,—a journal that entertains a hostility towards Dreyfus that amounts to hatred. I might read you also ‘La Libre Parole’s’ version; it is almost the same thing. If you listen as judges, you will see how things can be distorted by prejudice and passion. You will see how this man’s proclamations of his innocence, which tell me that he is innocent, are received as indications of cynicism, and are met by a clamor of wrath and hatred. I want you to see that, gentlemen; and do not forget that I read the story as told by an enemy.

The School clock strikes the first stroke of the hour of nine. General Darras lifts his sword and utters the command, repeated from company to company: “Carry arms!”

The troops execute the movement. Absolute silence follows. Hearts cease to beat, and all eyes are directed toward the right-hand corner of the square, where Dreyfus has been confined in a small building. Soon a little group appears. It consists of Alfred Dreyfus, surrounded by four artillerymen, accompanied by a lieutenant of the republican guard. Between the forms of the artillerymen may be seen very clearly the gilt stripes and glittering sword of the captain, and one may distinguish at a distance the black sword-knot at the hilt of the sword. Dreyfus walks with a firm step.

“See how erect the scoundrel is,” they say.

The group starts toward General Darras, in front of whom is the clerk of the council of war, M. Vallecalle. A clamor goes up from the crowd.

But the group stops. Again there is silence, this time tragic. The cannoneers accompanying Dreyfus step back a little; the condemned man appears, detached from the group. The clerk salutes the general in military fashion, and, turning to Dreyfus, reads in a very distinct voice the sentence condemning him to exile and imprisonment in a fortified spot, and to military degradation. Then the clerk turns to the general again, and makes the military salute. Dreyfus has listened in silence. Then is heard the voice of General Darras, and, although there is a touch of emotion in it, this phrase is distinctly heard:

“Dreyfus, you are unworthy to bear arms. In the name of the French people, we degrade you.”

Then Dreyfus is seen to raise both his arms, and, holding his head high, cry in a loud voice, in which there is not the slightest trace of tremor:

“I am innocent. I swear that I am innocent. Long live France!”

“Death to him!” is the immense shout that goes up from the crowd. But immediately the noise subsides. The adjutant entrusted with the sad mission of taking off his stripes has laid hand upon Dreyfus, and already the first stripes, which had been loosened in advance, have been torn off by him and thrown upon the ground. Again Dreyfus protests against his condemnation, and his cries reach the crowd very distinctly.

“On the head of my wife and the heads of my children I swear that I am innocent. I swear it. Long live France!”

Meanwhile the adjutant has very swiftly torn the bands from his cap, the stripes from his sleeves, the buttons from his dolman, the numbers from his collar, and from his pantaloons the red band which the condemned man has worn since he entered the Polytechnic school. There remains the sword. The adjutant draws it, and breaks it across his knee. A snapping sound, and the two pieces lie with the rest upon the ground. Then the sword-belt is detached, and the scabbard falls in its turn.

It is finished. These seconds have seemed a century. Never was there an impression of acuter anguish. And again, clear, without sign of emotion, the voice of the condemned man rises: “You degrade an innocent man.”

Now he has to pass before his former comrades and subordinates. For any other it would have been a frightful torture.

“You are listening to his enemies, gentlemen of the jury.

Dreyfus, however, does not seem embarrassed. He strides over what were the insignia of his office, which two gendarmes will presently pick up, and places himself before the four cannoneers, who lead him before General Darras. The little group, with the two officers of the republican guard at the head, starts toward the band placed before the prison vehicle, and begins to march along the line of troops, at a distance of about a yard. Still Dreyfus walks with head erect. The public shout “Death to him!” Soon he nears the railing; the crowd has a better view of him; the shouts increase. Thousands of lungs call for the death of the wretch, who shouts again: “I am innocent. Long live France!” The crowd does not understand, but it has seen Dreyfus turn toward it and shout. A storm of hisses answers him; then a clamor that traverses the vast court-yard like a tempest. “Death to him! Death to him!” And outside there is a terrible swaying of the dark mass, and the agents have the greatest difficulty in preventing the people from rushing upon the Military School and taking the place by storm, in order to do swifter and more rational justice to the infamy of Dreyfus.

Dreyfus continues his march. He reaches the group of journalists.

“You will say to entire France,” he says, “that I am innocent.”

“Silence, wretch!” answer some, while others shout: “Coward! Traitor! Judas!”

Under the insult the abject personage straightens up. He casts at us a glance of ferocious hatred.

“You have no right to insult me.”

A clear voice comes from the group, answering:

“You know well that you are not innocent.”

“Long live France! Dirty Jew!” they shout again, and Dreyfus goes on his way.

His garments have a pitiful look. In place of the stripes hang long bits of thread, and the cap has lost its shape. Dreyfus straightens up again, but he has now passed only half the line of troops, and it is evident that the continual shouts of the crowd and the various incidents of the parade are beginning to tell upon him. Though the head of the wretch is turned insolently toward the troops, whom he seems to defy, his legs are beginning to weaken, and his gait seems heavier. The group makes slow progress. Now it passes before the “Blues.” The tour of the square is finished. Dreyfus is handed over to the two gendarmes who picked up his stripes and the remnants of his sword. They put him in the prison vehicle. The coachman whips up his horses and the wagon starts off, surrounded by a detachment of republican guards, preceded by two with drawn revolvers. The parade has lasted just ten minutes.

After the parade Dreyfus was taken to the anthropometric department. The operation of measuring lasted another ten minutes. From beginning to end the condemned man was perfectly calm, and maintained an absolute silence. Then several photographs were taken, after which he was returned to his cell, where he again protested his innocence.

“Such, gentlemen, was the attitude of Dreyfus. You are to judge of it for yourselves. It is tragic to reread such a recital after an interval of three years, and under the present dramatic circumstances, but it was necessary for you to hear it. And after the degradation? After and before, rather? Let me read you the letters that he wrote to the minister of war and to his counsel.

Monsieur le Ministre:

I have received by your orders the visit of Major du Paty de Clam, to whom I have again declared that I am innocent, and have never been guilty of the slightest imprudence. I am condemned. I have no pardon to ask. But, in the name of my honor, which, I hope, will one day be restored, it is my duty to beg you to continue your investigations. After I am gone, let the search go on. That is the only favor that I ask.

“And here is the letter that he wrote to M. Demange on the eve of his degradation:

January 3, 1895.

Dear Master:

I have just been notified that tomorrow I must undergo the most terrible affront that can be administered to a soldier. I was expecting it; I had prepared myself for it; yet the blow is terrible. In spite of everything, I hoped up to the last moment that some providential chance would lead to the discovery of the person really guilty. I shall march to this frightful torture worse than death, with head high, without blushing. To say that my heart will not be frightfully tortured when they tear from me the insignia of the honor that I have gained by the sweat of my brow would be to lie. I would have preferred death a thousand times. But you dear master, have pointed out to me my duty, and I cannot fail in it, whatever the tortures that await me. You have taught me to hope. You have persuaded me that an innocent man cannot remain forever condemned. You have given me faith. Thank you again, dear master, for all that you have done for an innocent man.

Tomorrow I shall be transferred to La Santé. My happiness would be great if you could come there to give me the consolation of your warm and eloquent voice, and revive my broken heart. I rely always on you, and on all my family, to unravel this frightful mystery. Wherever I go, your memory will follow me. It will be the star from which I shall expect my happiness,—that is, my full and entire rehabilitation. Accept, dear master, the expression of my respectful sympathy.

A. Dreyfus.

P. S.—I just learn that the degradation will not take place until Saturday. I send this letter just the same.

“And then this second letter, written also to M. Demange, a few hours after the degradation:

Prison de la Santé, Saturday.

Dear Master:

I have kept the promise that I had made you. An innocent man, I have faced the most frightful martyrdom that can be inflicted upon a soldier. I have felt the contempt of the crowd around me. I have suffered the most terrible torture imaginable. How much happier I should have been in the grave! There all would have been over; nothing would have reached my ears; there would have been perfect calmness, and all my sufferings would have been forgotten.

But, alas! duty forbade, as you so clearly showed me. I am forced to live, forced to undergo martyrdom for long weeks yet, in order to arrive at a discovery of the truth, at the rehabilitation of my name. Alas! when will it all be over? When shall I be happy again? I rely on you, dear master. I tremble yet at the thought of all that I have endured today, of all the sufferings that still await me. Sustain me, dear master, with your warm and eloquent words. Bring this martyrdom to an end. Let them send me as soon as possible to my place of exile, where I shall wait patiently, in company with my wife.

“You see, gentlemen, that he hoped for the company of his wife.

Let the light be shed on this mournful affair, and let my honor be restored. For the present, that is the only favor that I ask. If doubts are entertained, if any believe in my innocence, I ask but one thing,—the society of my wife; then I will wait till all who love me have found a solution of this dreadful mystery. But let it be done as quickly as possible, for my strength is nearing its end. It is really too tragic, too cruel, to be innocent, and yet to be convicted of a crime so terrible.

Pardon this disconnected style. In my physical and moral depression, I am not in full possession of my ideas. My heart has bled too much today. For God’s sake, then, dear master, let my unmerited torture be abridged. Meantime you will seek, and it is my firm conviction that you will find. Believe me always your devoted and unfortunate

A. Dreyfus.

“Well, gentlemen, for all men who have hearts, these letters have greater weight than all the declarations of a M. Lebrun-Renault.

“There is in the law an article of which there has been no mention here,—Article 377 of the code of criminal examination. It provides that in capital cases (and is not this of the nature of a capital case, when they condemn a man to an exile so absolute that his wife cannot even see his handwriting?)—it provides that those who are condemned to death can have until the last moment to make confession. The article says. ‘If the condemned man wishes to make a declaration, it shall be received by one of the judges at the place of execution, in the presence of a clerk.’

“Well, why were not such forms observed, if the confessions were to have a value?”

The Judge.—“M. Labori, you know that this article applies only to those who are condemned to death.”

M. Labori.—“Agreed, Monsieur le Président. I have not finished, and I am glad of your interruption, for you will see that I have an answer. It is certain, at any rate, that the law has made such a provision in capital cases, because people condemned to death are the only ones who cannot come back. As for others, their confessions cannot be used against them, unless they have been submitted to them and signed. To these the question can always be put: ‘Do you admit that you have made confessions?’ Put this question to Dreyfus, and you will see what reply he will make. He will be asked this question during the revision that is sure to come, and we shall hear his answer.

“There has been no case, gentlemen, where greater efforts were made to obtain confessions from an accused man,—a new proof that they had no evidence against him, for, when evidence is overwhelming, confessions are not solicited. But, when the evidence against a man is made up of things as ridiculous as the scene of the dictation from the bordereau, they will go to the point of fraud to extract a confession. I say that, if they had had the good fortune to obtain serious confessions, they would not have failed to get the prisoner’s signature thereto. I have in my hands some fragments of the examination to which Dreyfus was submitted at the last hour before the prosecution. Well, gentlemen, listen; and listen also any jurists, any magistrates, who may be here. On October 29, 1894, Major du Paty de Clam appeared in Dreyfus’s cell, and asked him these questions.

“Do you admit that what you have just written strangely resembles the writing of the bordereau?”

Captain Dreyfus.—“Yes, there are similarities in the details; but, as a whole, there is no resemblance. I declare that I never wrote it. I now understand very well how this document could have given rise to the suspicions of which I am the object. But on this subject I should like to be heard by the minister of war.”

“On October 30 Major du Paty de Clam appeared again.

“You asked, during your last examination, to be heard by the minister of war, in order that you might propose to him that you be sent away for a year, no matter where, under the eye of the police, while a thorough investigation should be carried on in the war department.”

Captain Dreyfus.—“Yes.”

Major du Paty de Clam.—“I show you the reports of experts who declare that the incriminated document is in your hand. What have you to answer?”

Captain Dreyfus.—“I again declare that I never wrote it.”

“And now, gentlemen, pay all your attention to this:

Major du Paty de Clam.—“The minister is ready to receive you, if you have anything to say in the direction of confession.”

Captain Dreyfus.—“I tell you again that I am innocent, and that I have nothing to confess. It is impossible for me within the four walls of a prison to arrive at an explanation of this frightful enigma. But, if I may be allowed to work with the police, all my fortune and all my life shall be devoted to the unravelling of this mystery.”

“Well, that is what they did to get confessions. I say boldly that they went to the point of fraud, for they said to this man, after reminding him of his last words: ‘You ask to be sent away under police supervision; you wish to explain yourself to the minister; he will receive you if you confess.’ That meant: ‘Perhaps he will comply with your request.’ It was a trap. Dreyfus met it by repeating his declaration: ‘I will not confess; I have nothing to confess, though I should not see the minister.’ And this is the man against whom they would produce today confessions said to have been received by Captain Lebrun-Renault,—confessions whose exactness I dispute. The president of the cabinet is a prudent man, when he says that these confessions, if published, would be debated, because everything is debated in this affair,—and, I add, because everything in this affair is debatable. Of such material is the edifice constructed that we have to bear on our shoulders,—an edifice of hypocrisy on the part of those highest in place, who are the most guilty. Let them remember that, in history, the most humiliating name on the pillory is that of Pontius Pilate.”

The usual hour of adjournment having arrived, the conclusion of M. Labori’s argument was postponed until the following day.

Fifteenth Day—February 23.

The Judge.—“M. Labori, you have the floor to continue your argument.”

M. Labori.—“I have shown you the value of all the lies scattered through the trial. I have endeavored also to establish the value of the famous secret document. Before entering into the heart of the discussion, it remains for me to speak to you of the pretended proofs—absolute this time, they declare—of which General de Pellieux and General de Boisdeffre have spoken at one of the later sessions. No more importance attaches to this proof than to the rest, as I shall prove to you irrefutably, though I have not the document before my eyes. I would not have complained of General de Pellieux’s sensational declaration, if I had been permitted, not to answer him, but to question the witnesses. But I was not permitted, and that is the saddest incident of this trial,—an incident which threatened for a moment to turn aside the course of the trial by a species of moral violence practised upon the defence. We asked ourselves what we should do, and then we said to ourselves that, whatever might happen, it was necessary to go to the end,—sadly, but courageously. If we could have asked General de Pellieux and General de Boisdeffre to explain themselves more in detail, the proof of the emptiness of their statements would have been made on the spot. We should have asked the original of the pretended documents. Now I am going to prove to you that, while one of the two documents, the visiting-card, is authentic, the note that accompanied it is a forgery.

“What are these two documents? There is, first, the visiting-card of a military attaché;—I will name him, if I am obliged to;—it is authentic. It makes a rendezvous with another military attaché. Only, at the bottom of this visiting-card, there is a borrowed name,—no matter what; call it Claude, if you like,—whereas the visiting-card is that of M. de X——. We will say that the rendezvous is signed ‘Claude’; then, beside this card, there is a note, which says: ‘We have nothing in common with this Jew.’ Or perhaps this: ‘There is to be an interpellation concerning the Dreyfus case. It is always understood, of course, that, even vis-à-vis of our governments, we have never had dealings with this Jewry,’ signed ‘Claude,’ like the card.

“It is in a counterfeited handwriting, a note not authenticated in any way, the card being a puerile device for lending an appearance of truth to the note. But, gentlemen, I ask you: Is it likely, is it possible, that two military attachés would feel any necessity of recommending to each other the policy of silence concerning this matter? Why? Who is going to question them? To whom must they render accounts? Have not their governments known the whole truth about this matter ever since 1894? A propos of what do they thus write in 1896? And why add to this anonymous note a card, and an authentic card, upon which an insignificant rendezvous is made? It was not difficult to procure such a card. You can pick up the card of a military attaché—or of an ambassador, for that matter—anywhere. Would it not have been an easy matter for a police spy to procure it? Among the police spies there are sometimes sharpers. Policemen, you know, are not the finest flower of humanity. I refer, not to their chiefs, but to the subordinates who necessarily make a trade of treason. Do you not suppose that, when a public trouble like this comes up, they are too glad to find an opportunity of making money out of anybody? There are police spies—and, if the department of foreign affairs wants more complete information, I will furnish it,—there are police spies who imitate, who forge, the handwriting of military attachés. What has the forger done? He has placed upon the card of the military attaché the false signature ‘Claude,’ and then, imitating the writing or not imitating it, he has affixed the name ‘Claude’ to the anonymous paper. That, gentlemen, is the whole swindle.

“Is it likely that military attachés would write on such a question, after the famous history of the bordereau, which is said to have been found in a waste-basket in 1894? Whether it was so found or not, it was a warning to military attachés.

“And at what moment is this said to have been written? In November, 1896, on the return from the grand manœuvres which they attended,—a time, when, as the entire diplomatic world knows, the three military attachés of the Triple Alliance were seeing one another every day, to come to a common agreement upon the reports to be sent by each to his government.

“Was not Colonel Picquart,—from whom I do not get these facts—was not Colonel Picquart justified, then, in saying at this bar, not that his superiors had committed a forgery, not that they had dishonestly made use of a forgery, but that the document to which they appealed in good faith is a forgery?

“If these documents had had any value, do you believe that Colonel Picquart would have been sent on a mission in November, 1896? Do you believe that the minister of war and the president of the cabinet would have been silent regarding them, when the country was so profoundly stirred? If they had done so, gentlemen, and if the document was a serious one, they would have been the greatest of wretches. They would have allowed the anguish to continue, when they might have put a stop to it. They did not do so, because the document was not serious; because, shrewd political men as they are, accustomed to deal with forgeries and intrigues, they gauged its significance at once. This brave General de Pellieux has acted in good faith in the matter, but he was mistaken.

“The attorney-general forces us to plead here, in order to secure our acquittal, that the verdict of the council of war was rendered in obedience to orders. I will come to that. But right here let me ask what General de Pellieux and General de Boisdeffre, with the countenance of the court, and with the best faith in the world, have asked of you here, if not a verdict in obedience to orders? What was their mission in this court, if not to repeat the coup of the secret document? I use the familiar word, because there is none that better expresses my thought.

“And now, gentlemen, that the ground is cleared, let us come back to the basis of the accusation, the bordereau, the letter of 1894. In the first place, I must point out that the charge was incomplete, because the origin of the document was not established. You have heard all the experts say that expert examination in handwriting signifies nothing in itself; it is to be considered only in connection with the full knowledge of the facts in a given case. Well, gentlemen, what is more important in a trial of this character than to know the source of such a paper as the bordereau, to know where it was seized? Is not such knowledge indispensable, in order to enable the accused to establish, perhaps, that the bordereau, seized where it was, could not have emanated from him, because he had been in no sort of relations with the persons on whose premises it was found, and in no way connected with the place where it was found? A man is not to be confronted with a document, unless it be said to him: ‘This document comes from such a spot; it was addressed to such a person, with whom you are in relations.’ Otherwise, a terrible blunder may be committed, as all the experts have told you. Now listen to the report of Major d’Ormescheville.

The basis of the accusation against Captain Dreyfus is a letter-missive written on onion-skin paper, not signed or dated, which is in the file, and which establishes the fact that confidential military documents have been delivered to an agent of a foreign power. General Gonse, sub-chief of general staff, into whose hands this letter came, delivered it on October 15 last to Major du Paty de Clam, delegated October 14, 1894, by the minister of war, as a judicial officer of police to conduct an examination concerning Captain Dreyfus. General Gonse declared to the aforesaid judicial officer of police that the letter had been addressed to a foreign power, and that it had reached his hands, but that, by the formal orders of the minister of war, ...

“Remember that this minister of war was General Mercier.

But that, by the formal orders of the minister of war, he was prevented from saying by what means the document had come into his possession.

“I know what the answer will be. It will be the eternal pretext of national security. But how was that concerned in view of the fact that the doors were closed? I say to the audacious apostles of the raison d’Etat, which might have had its justification under Louis XIV or under Napoleon, but which has no justification today,—I answer to these archaic apostles of an idea henceforth destroyed: If you invoke the raison d’Etat, invoke it to the end, but do not try people. If, General Mercier, you were sure of the guilt of the traitor, and if you felt sufficient firmness of heart to assume the responsibility of prosecution under conditions so lamentable, it was not even necessary to carry out the prosecution. You should have struck this man on your own responsibility, ruined him definitively, plunged him into I know not what abyss or what dungeon, that he might never more have been heard of; but you should not have given us the spectacle of a lamentable and audacious judicial comedy.

“But let us go on, gentlemen. The question, here, then, is one of writing, pure and simple; that is the charge. Since then, a fact of great importance has come to light; writing identical with that of the bordereau has been discovered. We will not ask at this moment in whose hand this document has been written? The very subtle distinction of the experts has not escaped you. The writing of a document may be the writing of a certain person, and yet the document may not be of this person’s hand, because it may be forged or traced. There may be room for discussion as to whether the bordereau was forged, as to whether it was traced, but there is no room for discussion as to the identity of handwritings, and the proof is that Major Esterhazy admitted it from the first day, even before he was denounced. And it is an interesting fact in this case that, on the eve of every new development, from whatever direction, Major Esterhazy foretold it, and, even before the documents were published, he announced a plot woven by a certain Colonel X or Y, which was intended to ruin him, and in the course of which would be produced a writing frightfully like his own. Then, gentlemen, there is no doubt. I do not say that the bordereau is of the hand of Major Esterhazy. I will come to that later. I say the writing of the bordereau, is the writing of Major Esterhazy. Well, confining myself to that for the moment, there is a contradiction between this and the conclusions of the experts in 1894. We know very well that, if the bordereau is in a handwriting identical with that of Major Esterhazy, it is not the writing of Dreyfus. The hypothesis of a tracing by Dreyfus is inadmissible. If Dreyfus has imitated any handwriting, it is, M. Bertillon tells us, his own. Never has it been supposed that he imitated Major Esterhazy’s handwriting, and, if he had done so, it would have been with some design. And then, being accused, he would have denounced Major Esterhazy, or made it known, by some more or less ingenious method, that the writing was that of Major Esterhazy. Gentlemen, I am going now to make a remark which, so far as I know, has not been made before, and which seems to me to be of considerable interest. I read first from the report of the examination of 1894.

Every interrogatory to which the accused was submitted before the judicial officer of police is full of the persistent denials and protests of Captain Dreyfus regarding the crime charged. At first Captain Dreyfus said that he seemed to recognize vaguely in the incriminated document the writing of an officer employed in the staff offices. Later he withdrew this allegation, which, moreover, was bound to fall of itself, in view of the complete dissimilarity between the writing of the officer mentioned and that of the incriminated document.

“Consequently you see that it occurred to Dreyfus, crushed under the weight of this undecipherable enigma, to say: ‘The bordereau is not my work, but the writing resembles certain other handwritings.’ He designated some one. This some one was not the author of the bordereau. He did not designate Major Esterhazy. Now, if he had traced the handwriting of Major Esterhazy, he would have attributed to Major Esterhazy the authorship of the document. But he said nothing of the kind. Consequently, whatever may be the truth as to the hand that traced the bordereau, and as to the circumstances under which it was traced, one thing is certain,—that, given the handwriting of Major Esterhazy, the bordereau cannot be in the handwriting of Dreyfus, and that it could not have been traced by Dreyfus, since it has never been pretended that Dreyfus traced any handwriting but his own. So, concerning the bordereau, I am perfectly easy. Whatever its source, it did not come from Dreyfus.

“The council of war of 1894, which was not acquainted with Major Esterhazy’s handwriting, and to which it had not been submitted, did not have before it those elements of information that we have today. It had nothing before it but a simple question of handwriting; and you understand what I mean by those words, since I have shown you that they knew nothing of the bordereau,—that its origin had not been revealed to the judges. Well, never would any court have condemned a man on this handwriting alone.

“I have among my documents some very interesting and curious ones. First, a treatise on handwriting by M. Bertillon. It had been my intention, before I realized that my argument would assume such proportions, to read you the whole of this treatise, but, desiring to spare your time, I will read only the beginning.

When our criminologists are questioned regarding the way in which expert testimony is generally conducted in France, they either avoid the question, or take refuge in generalities. If you only knew, they say, how unimportant the matter is, and how little belief we have in the pretended science of the handwriting experts. This scepticism, however, does not prevent them from obeying the instructions of the law to take and follow the advice of appointed experts. Among the members of the bar this insufficiency of belief becomes atheism, and there is no end to the jokes and legends which you will hear at the Palace regarding the handwriting experts, who, if we may believe the lawyers, know less about their specialty than the first-comer. Let us add, moreover, that with the exception of the recent aid supplied by photography and the microscope, the art of the expert does not seem to have taken a forward step since Raveneau, the expert of the time of Louis XIV. Consequently it is not astonishing if public opinion, in spite of its proneness to allow itself to be imposed upon by specialists of all sorts, shares the incredulity concerning handwriting which has been consecrated by centuries.

And yet the comparison of handwritings, considered as one of the elements of proof by writing,—first of proofs according to the code,—cannot be systematically set aside. Expert examination of handwriting is a decisive weapon in the hands of the defence, where the presumption of innocence carries with it the right of acquittal, but, in the hands of the prosecution, where nothing less than certainty will suffice, it constitutes only an indispensable precaution, one of those numerous verifications to which every thesis must be submitted.

“I should like, gentlemen, to read the whole article. It appeared in ‘La Revue Scientifique’ of December 18, 1897, and I assure you that it had seemed to me of great value from the standpoint of my discussion, before I had witnessed these confrontations of experts, which, as a living picture, are more powerful than any reading. I had brought also an article by M. des Houx,—I have told you that I would borrow weapons only from our enemies,—an article entitled ‘The Graphologists,’ which is often read in the assize court, and which sums up in a delightfully humorous way some of the characteristics of the experts. This article, too, I should have liked to read you in full, but let this amusing bit suffice.

Once an expert was discussing before the presiding judge Bérard des Glasjeux the similarity in writing between an anonymous document and other documents introduced for comparison.

“The writing of the anonymous documents,” said he, “in no way resembles that of the other documents, but in one corner of the paper there is a marginal note in pencil. This is clearly in the hand of the accused. There is no doubt about it.”

“Then,” said the judge, “I am the forger. I am the author of the marginal note.”

The Attorney-General.—“What expert was it who said that?”

M. Labori.—“Mon Dieu, Monsieur Attorney-General, his name is not given. But the anecdote is famous. My confrère, M. Hild, who had a case here some time ago, cited it as a classic, and I add that it was welcomed as a classic by the honorable organ of the public ministry.”

The Attorney-General.—“It was one of yours. Then keep him.”

M. Labori.—“One of ours? Let us say, then, that one expert is as good as another; that is all I ask. For my part, I have no need for any of these experts, and I assure you that, in a trial of this character, it is always a joy to provoke any remark whatever from an adversary, especially when it is his habit to be as sparing of his words as you are.

“To continue, gentlemen. I say, then, that, having nothing but this writing to go upon, conviction was impossible, especially as there were two of the five experts who did not attribute the writing to Dreyfus; and I may add that the first expert consulted, who was no other than he who is considered of the highest authority in his science, M. Gobert, expert of the Bank of France, declared, when the bordereau was submitted to him, that it was not in the handwriting of Dreyfus, whereupon the accusers, instead of seeking another traitor, sought another expert, and found him.

“Then, things presenting themselves as they did, acquittal was about to follow, because the members of the council of war, though susceptible of being influenced by the words of a superior, could not, as honest men, convict upon such evidence. Then, gentlemen, there intervened this fact, of which we have already spoken, but which now must be recalled and stated more precisely,—this fact which in itself alone would justify any wrath in a good citizen and the revolt of any conscience,—the fact that, outside of the trial, without the knowledge of the accused or his counsel, and by a violation of one of the most elementary and sacred rules, a document, or documents, as you please, was placed under the eyes of the members of the council. Supposing that they were not so placed,—though they were, as I shall show you,—even had a man’s word guaranteed the existence of such documents before the president of the council of war, who is bound to believe the words of his superior,—even such a declaration would have been enough to secure a conviction illegally and irregularly.

“But the documents were communicated, gentlemen. The fact is established. Let us summarize the proofs.

“In the first place, there is the article that appeared in ‘L’Eclair’ September 15, 1896, which was reproduced everywhere and never contradicted. Then there was a pamphlet spread by thousands of copies, written by Bernard Lazare, in answer to the article, and this pamphlet also has never been contradicted. Several times, and especially on January 9, 1897, ‘L’Echo de Paris’ has spoken, not only of a secret document, but of a secret file of documents, concerning which it has given details, saying that it was called the B file, in contrast to the A file, or judicial file. Then there is the Ravary report, in which this passage occurs:

One evening, when Lieutenant-Colonel Henry, on returning to Paris, suddenly entered M. Picquart’s office, he found M. Leblois, the lawyer, who paid the colonel long and frequent visits, sitting near the desk and searching with him the secret file. A photograph bearing the words ‘That scoundrel D——’ had been taken from the file and spread upon the desk.