THE TRIAL. (continued 9)

“The existence is official, and you understand, gentlemen, that its simple existence suffices, for the whole country is opposed to any discussion of this matter. Why? For no other reason than this,—that it has been told that there is a secret file. It has been told only that, and that has sufficed to close all mouths, eyes, and ears, so that nobody wishes to see or hear anything. Consequently, from the simple fact that the secret file is thus publicly confessed, it weighs on the consciences of the judges of 1894, it has weighed on the consciences of the judges of 1898, and here again, be it said in passing, is what we may call a verdict rendered in obedience to orders.

“But this is not enough, gentlemen. ‘Le Siècle,’ of January 14, 1898, published on its first page a very long article, with all possible developments, as to the existence of the secret document. The article has not been contradicted. Better still, there has been an interpellation in the chamber. M. Jaurès, on January 24, 1898, quoted the passage that I have just read from the Ravary report, and then commented upon it as follows:

Well, gentlemen, when such a doubt is raised, when such a question is put before the public conscience, I find it unworthy of all, to whatever party we may belong, unworthy of France herself, that this question should not be met by an explicit and decisive declaration. I ask the government: Yes or no, were the members of the council of war that passed upon the Dreyfus case confronted with documents tending to establish or confirm the guilt of the accused, which had not been communicated to the accused and his counsel?

“Now listen, gentlemen, to the reply of M. Jules Méline, president of the cabinet.

I answer you that we are unwilling to discuss this matter from the tribune, and that I am unwilling to serve your designs.

“Then, a few moments later, M. Méline added:

Only one word, gentlemen, to say that I have already answered those points in the remarks of M. Jaurès upon which it is permissible for the government to make answer. I refuse to follow him upon the ground where he has just placed himself, because the government, I repeat, has no right to discuss from the tribune a regularly-rendered verdict.

“Is that, gentlemen, the answer of a government careful of the public interest, having no mysterious infamy to conceal? ‘Refuse to discuss the case from the tribune,’ when, to quiet the anxiety of all, and perhaps to close my mouth and prevent me from standing at this bar, it would have been enough to say: ‘No, no secret documents were communicated.’

“I go farther, and declare that the president of the cabinet was bound to say this. He said, in the closing lines of his answer, that the verdict had been regularly rendered. Well, it is not true. It had not been regularly rendered. It had not been, because there had been a communication of secret documents. The president of the cabinet, as an honest man after his own fashion, was incapable of so violating the truth as to say that no such communication had been made.

“Then, gentlemen, we have the testimony of a man respected by all, M. Salle, who has appeared at this bar, and whose eloquent silence has been completed by the declarations of M. Demange. We have the interview of M. Demange in ‘Le Matin,’ which he has confirmed in this court. And we have, finally, and above all, the answer, or the silence, as you prefer, of General Mercier. The truth is that General Mercier, interpret his act as you please, is incapable, as a loyal soldier and an honest man, of dodging a responsibility by a lie. In doing what he has done,—and I frankly reprove his conduct,—he did what he thought he had a right to do, and even today I have no fear that he will retract or contradict. But it is well understood that the proof is complete, that the secret document was communicated. Then, gentlemen, we may ask ourselves what mean all the declarations of the president of the cabinet, of the minister of war, of the generals, and of the council of war of 1898, that Dreyfus was legally and justly convicted? I have tried to prove to you that it is not exact to say that he was justly convicted. As for the statement that he was legally convicted, it is a lie.

“And all this, gentlemen, is the work of General Mercier, for he takes everything upon himself. He has such confidence in his light that, fearing an acquittal when the council of war was about to begin its deliberations, he intervened with his personal authority, with his word and his documents,—at the very least with his word,—and thus he tore from the council the verdict which he may believe to be just, but which is none the less illegal, and consequently iniquitous. Is this, then, justice? And remember that the matter is especially serious, in view of the fact that the court was a military one. When declarations of the same sort are made here, I am not disturbed, because you are independent men. But reflect, then, what the word of a minister of war must mean to military judges, whatever their good faith. The superior pledges his word, and they take it. But what an abyss of iniquity! If, again, such things were to occur amid the storms of war, it would be a different thing. What then matters one man’s life, or a little more or less of justice? But these things took place in a state of peace, when the country was perfectly secure. Or, again, if our army were an army of mercenaries, soldiers only, accepting the responsibilities of the military trade, which in that case is only a trade, perhaps then I would bow. But this is a matter of the national army; a matter that concerns all the young men of the nation, who are liable to have to appear before a military tribunal; a matter that concerns your sons, gentlemen. [Murmurs of protest.] I should much like to know who interrupts.”

The Judge.—“Permit me; I am forced to repeat what I have already said at previous sessions,—if these manifestations continue, I shall be forced to clear the court-room. There must be no manifestation, either in favor of the accused or against them.”

M. Labori.—“Yes, gentlemen, your sons, innocent or guilty, are liable to be summoned before a military tribunal. You see that we introduce no venom into the debate. You see that the rights of the nation, the liberty of all, civilization itself, is at stake; and, if the country, when it shall know the truth and its full significance, does not revolt in indignation, I shall be unable to understand it.

“That, gentlemen, is why it is necessary that those who understand and measure the gravity of this affair should take the floor, why it is necessary that all men of good will, all true liberals, those who believe in the innocence of Dreyfus and those who do not, those who know and those who do not know, should unite in a sort of sacred phalanx to protest in the name of eternal morality; and that is what M. Zola has done.

“In spite of closed doors, gentlemen, and by the great mass of Frenchmen who could not know at what price the verdict had been secured, Dreyfus might have been forgotten. But there was a little fireside in mourning, where memory remained, and with memory hope. This fireside was that of the Dreyfus family, in regard to which so many calumnies have been spread; and, since this court refused to hear M. Lalance, let me read you what he has just said and published in the newspapers. I read from ‘Le Journal des Débats.’

The Dreyfus family consists of four brothers,—Jacques, Léon, Mathieu, and Alfred. They are closely united,—one soul in four bodies. In 1872 Alsatians were called upon to choose their nationality. Those who desired to remain Frenchmen had to make a declaration and leave the country. The three younger so chose, and left. The eldest, Jacques, who was past the age of military service, and who, moreover, had served during the war in the Legion of Alsace-Lorraine, did not so choose, and was declared a German. He sacrificed himself, in order to be able, without fear of expulsion, to manage the important manufacturing establishment which constituted the family estate. But he promised himself that, if he had any sons, they should all be Frenchmen. The German law, in fact, permits a father to take out a permit of emigration for a son who has reached the age of seventeen. This son loses his German nationality, and cannot reenter the country until he is forty-five years old. Jacques Dreyfus had six sons. In 1894 the two elder were preparing for the Polytechnic school and Saint Cyr. After the trial they had to go away; their career was broken. Two other brothers were in the Belfort school. They were driven out. What was the father to do, knowing that his young brother had been unjustly and illegally condemned? Was he to change his name, as other Dreyfuses have done? Should he abandon his projects, and resolve to have his sons serve in the German army for a year, that they might then reenter the paternal house, and live in a city where the family was respected, and where everybody pitied and esteemed it? Had he done that, no one would have thrown a stone at him. In 1895 and 1896 his third and fourth sons reached the age of seventeen. He said to them: ‘My children, you are now to leave your father’s house, never more to come back to it. Go to that country where your name is cursed and despised. It is your duty. Go.’ And finally, in 1897, the father left his house, his business, and all his friends, and went to establish himself at Belfort, the city of which they wanted to make a fortress. He demanded French naturalization for himself and his two younger sons.

“There you have a document to oppose to the floods of calumny and falsehood. In this family there were two members whose convictions could not be shaken, M. Mathieu Dreyfus and Mme. Dreyfus, whose fidelity is perhaps the most striking evidence of the innocence of her husband, for she, indeed, must know the truth. Mme. Dreyfus had lived beside this man; she knew his daily life; she saw his attitude throughout the trial; she knew the absence of proof; she knew what you yourselves know now, gentlemen. And she had seen the perseverance and firmness of her husband in ascending this Calvary; his courage at the moment of degradation; his attitude, always the same, even up to the present moment. I should like to read you many of his letters, but, to save time, I will read only two,—almost the latest. One is not exactly the next to the last, but the other is the last, and I think it is indispensable that you should hear this cry, always the same, as strong as ever, in spite of the prolongation of the torture. I read you a letter from the Iles du Salut, dated September 4, 1897.

Dear Lucie:

I have just received the July mail. You tell me again that you are certain of complete light. This certainly is in my soul. It is inspired by the rights that every man has to ask it, when he wants but one thing,—the truth. As long as I shall have the strength to live in a situation as inhuman as it is undeserved, I shall write you to animate you with my indomitable will. Moreover, the late letters that I have written you are my moral testament, so to speak. In these I spoke to you first of our affection; I confessed also my physical and mental deterioration; but I pointed out to you no less energetically your duty. The grandeur of soul that we have all shown should make us neither weak or vainglorious. On the contrary, it should ally itself to a determination to go on to the end, until all France shall know the truth and the whole truth. To be sure, sometimes the wound bleeds too freely, and the heart revolts. Sometimes, exhausted as I am, I sink under the heavy blows, and then I am but a poor human creature in agony and suffering. But my unconquered soul rises again, vibrating with grief, energy, and implacable will, in view of that which to us is the most precious thing in the world, our honor and that of our children. And I straighten up once more to utter to all the thrilling appeal of a man who asks only justice in order to kindle in you all the ardent fire that animates my soul, and that will be extinguished only with my life.

I live only on my fever, proud when I have passed through a long day of twenty-four hours. As for you, you have not to consider what they say or what they think. It is for you to do your duty inflexibly, and to insist no less inflexibly on your right, the right of justice and truth. If in this horrible affair there are other interests than ours, which we have never failed to recognize, there are also the imprescriptible rights of justice and truth. There is the duty of all to put an end to a situation so atrocious, so undeserved. Then I can wish for us both and for all only that this frightful, horrible, and unmerited martyrdom may come to an end.

What can I add to express again my profound affection for you, for our children, for your dear parents, for all our dear brothers and sisters, for all who suffer through this long and frightful martyrdom? It is useless to tell you in detail of myself and all my petty matters. I do it sometimes in spite of myself, for the heart has irresistible revolts. Bitterness rises to the lips when one sees everything that makes life noble and beautiful misunderstood. Certainly, if it were a question only of my own person, long ago would I have sought in the peace of the grave forgetfulness of what I have seen, of what I have heard, of what I continue to see every day. I have continued to live in order to sustain you all with my indomitable will; for it was no longer a question of my life, it was a question of my honor, of the honor of us all, of the lives of our children. I have endured everything without bending, without lowering my head; I repress every day my feelings of revolt, calling always for the truth, without weariness and without pride. I wish, nevertheless, for both of us, my poor friend, and for all, that our efforts may soon end, and that the day of justice may dawn at last for all who have been so long awaiting it. Every time that I write to you, I find it almost impossible to drop my pen, not because of what I have to say to you, but because thus I part with you again for so long a time, living only in your thought, in the thought of the children, in the thought of you all. Nevertheless, I conclude by embracing you as well as our dear children, your dear parents, and all our dear brothers and sisters, pressing you in my arms with all my strength, and repeating to you, with an energy that nothing can shake and as long as I shall retain a breath of life: Courage! courage and determination!

“In addition, I read to you some short extracts from the last letter, received at Paris, and dated December 25, 1897.

My dear Lucie:

More than ever I have tragic movements, in which my brain weakens. That is why I desire to write to you, not to speak to you of myself, but to give you again the counsel that I believe I owe to you. All through this month I have continued my numerous and warm appeals for you and for our children. I desire that this frightful martyrdom may come to an end, that we may at last emerge from the terrible nightmare in which we have so long been living. But what I cannot doubt, and what I have no right to doubt, is that all possible aid will be extended to you that this work of justice and reparation may be accomplished. In short, my darling, what I would like to say to you, in a supreme effort in which I wholly put aside my own person, is that you should maintain your right energetically, for it is frightful to see so many human beings suffer thus, and to think of our unhappy children growing up. But with this should be mingled no irritating question, no question of persons. I wish I could press you in my arms with all the strength of my love, and I beg you to embrace long and tenderly for me my dear and adored children, my dear parents, all my dear brothers and sisters, with a thousand kisses more.

“And beneath are these tragic words, which I must read to you, for they add to the horror:

Read in accordance with orders, the Chief of the Penitentiary Administration.

“It should have been added, ‘copied in accordance with orders,’ for of the authenticity of these letters you can have no doubt, since they are copied in the hand of an employee of the administration. The handwriting of Dreyfus himself does not reach his wife.

“I wish I could read you also, as I intended, a letter from M. Gabriel Monod, for it is an admirable psychological document, a testimonial of the respect in which the writer holds the Dreyfus family, an expert study of handwritings. But I must not detain you.

“It is absolutely necessary, however, that I should read to you an article from ‘Le Jour,’ our most implacable opponent, and an article from the pen of M. Paul de Cassagnac, who this morning in his paper does not exactly shower compliments upon us. ‘Le Jour’ and ‘L’Autorité’ were the instigators of the campaign that is now going on. The article from ‘Le Jour’ that I shall read to you appeared September 11, 1896, over the signature of Adolphe Possien.

Since the Dreyfus question has come up again, and since the discussion now begun can end only in a series of inquiries, we desire to contribute our share to the search for the causes that brought about the arrest and conviction of the prisoner of Devil’s Island. It is known that the doors were closed during the trial, and that during the preliminary incarceration nothing of what the prisoner did or said transpired. Furthermore, little was known of the motives that determined General Mercier to order the arrest of Dreyfus. It is known that the ex-captain was accused of having been in relations with a neighboring power, and of having delivered to it documents concerning the national defence. But what was the nature of these documents? No official communication has made that known; so that at the present hour it seems to be rather generally believed that it was a matter of the general mobilization time-table. Now, that is false, just as it is false in the last degree that the ex-captain was questioned by General de Boisdeffre or by General Gonse.

“I stop here to make an observation that I might have made elsewhere. It has been said in many places that Dreyfus denounced to the enemy the French officers who went on a mission to Germany. It has been said that he denounced Captain Degouy. Now, Captain Degouy’s brother, M. Paul Degouy, has come to this bar to say to me: ‘My brother is not with you in this matter. He is of those who believe that his superiors could not have taken the course that they have in the absence of striking proofs. Nevertheless, I authorize you to say, in my name and in the name of my brother, that never, and for all sorts of reasons which I need not develop, has Dreyfus been suspected of having denounced him.’ I add, in passing, that there have been many other lies told as false as this one, and, when we shall have contradicted them all, you will still find, three months or three years hence, people to tell you that Dreyfus denounced Captain Degouy, etc.

The only person who was ever in communication with Captain Dreyfus after his imprisonment was Major du Paty de Clam, who, after this, affair, was promoted to the office of lieutenant-colonel. The document on the strength of which Dreyfus was condemned is an unsigned bordereau, containing no information confidential in its significance. Furthermore, of the five experts to whom this document was submitted, only two, MM. Charavay and Bertillon, recognized the ex-officer’s handwriting, while three others, one of whom was M. Gobert, the expert of the Bank of France, did not recognize it.

“This is an error. There were three experts who recognized it, and two who did not.

It has been said that this document was found, torn up, in the waste-basket of a military attaché of a great neighboring power, from which it was taken by an agent in our pay. Later it was pretended that this was not the case at all. It has been said since that the document was found in the war department itself.

To be brief, thanks to the exaggerated discretion of the government, a double current of opinion set in regarding the Dreyfus case. In a matter as delicate as this, since his treason reawakened all the anti-Semitic passions, and since it was a reminder of the fact that another Jew, Cornelius Herz, had shown dishonor wherever he had passed, Dreyfus should have been tried as his counsel demanded. If this was impossible, at least it was necessary to avoid useless petty mysteries, and to declare frankly everything that was not compromising to the interests of the national defence. Thus acting, they would have avoided the discussions which, though put to sleep for a moment, were bound to reawaken. No honest man would then have been found to make an appeal of pity in favor of one who perhaps is not guilty. It is with the greatest impartiality that I have made an inquiry into the events that brought about the arrest of Dreyfus, and the events that followed, up to the time of his embarkation for Devil’s Island. I do not pretend to prove his innocence; my purpose is to establish that his guilt is not demonstrated.

“Let me ask, in passing, how the innocence of any man can be demonstrated, except by demonstrating that his guilt is not established. Is not innocence a negative thing? If you, gentlemen, were to ask me to prove that you are neither thieves or traitors, I should be quite incapable of it. All that I could say would be that there is no evidence against you, and that consequently it is impossible to demonstrate your guilt. Therefore all those who are shouting for proof are indulging in mere childish clamor.

“Now I read to you what M. de Cassagnac wrote on September 14, 1896:

Our confrère, “Le Jour,” pretends, not to prove the innocence of Dreyfus, but to show that his guilt is not demonstrated. This is already too much. Not that we reproach our confrère for pursuing such a demonstration, but that this demonstration is impossible. Like most of our fellow-citizens, we believe Dreyfus guilty, but, like our confrère, we are not sure of it. And, like our confrère also, we have the courage to say so, since we cannot be suspected of being favorable to the Jews, whom we combat here as persistently as we combat the Free Masons. The real question is: Can there be any doubt as to the guilt of Dreyfus? Now, thanks to the stupidity and the cowardice of the government of the republic, this question, far from being closed, remains perpetually open. Why? Because the government did not dare to conduct the trial in the open, so that public opinion might be settled.

Now, nothing is more contrary to justice than obscurity. It is only truth that has no fear of the blinding daylight. We are the implacable adversaries of every verdict rendered in the depths of a cave, whether it emanates from Sainte Vehme, from the King of the Mountain, or from the council of war. And we are so, because a verdict so rendered can never be revised.

But, you will tell me, those who declared Captain Dreyfus guilty were French officers, the incarnation of honor and of patriotism. It is true. Only, whatever my esteem and respect for French officers, I must point out that they are not more enlightened or more honorable than their brothers, cousins, and friends who, as jurors, distribute justice in the assize courts in the name of the French people. The very recent Cauvin case, and many others, have sadly demonstrated that error is a human thing, and that judicial errors are already much too frequent, now that the machinery of justice is illuminated by all possible torches. I add that it is only the publicity of a trial that makes a revision possible, and that there can be no revision of any trial of which we know nothing but the brutal result. That is shocking to good sense and equity, and my illustrious friend, the lawyer Demange, was absolutely right when he insisted on a public trial. Juries are often mistaken, and it is by no means proved that councils of war are fallible, especially as it is now said, and without contradiction, that Dreyfus was condemned on the strength of a document which but two out of five experts found to be in his handwriting. Moreover, we know the value and the weight of expert testimony regarding handwriting. Nothing is more uncertain, and sometimes more grotesque.

So that nobody in the world except the judges and the prosecuting attorney can know exactly why and on what Dreyfus was convicted. Unhappily, they are bound by professional secrecy, and so I do not see how our confrère, “Le Jour,” will be able to give any interest to its investigation.

Yes, traitors are abominable beings, who should be pitilessly shot like wild beasts; but, for the very reason that the punishment incurred is the more frightful and the more deserved, and carries with it no pity, it should not have been possible for the cowardice of the government with reference to Germany to have left us in a horrible doubt which authorizes us to ask ourselves sometimes if really there is not on Devil’s Island a human being undergoing in innocence a superhuman torture. Such doubt is a frightful thing, and it will continue, because publicity of trial furnishes the only basis for a revision. Now there is no revision. There is no appeal from a sentence wrapped in artificial and deliberate darkness.

“That is what M. de Cassagnac said, and, when he wrote it, he did not know what you have learned during the last fortnight. You see, then, the source of the campaign to which Colonel Picquart alluded in one of his letters to General Gonse. It is not the article in ‘L’Eclair,’ for those letters appeared before September 15. It is these articles that I have just read you; the Dreyfusian campaign, there you have it. The article in ‘L’Eclair,’ in which the name of Dreyfus was falsely written in full, was simply an infamy resorted to to stop that campaign.

“But, whatever the energy and the devotion of the men who undertook this work, it would have come to nothing, if in the staff which has played so prominent a part in the case there had not been found an admirable man,—a soldier, he too, like the others. He has been treated shamefully. Insults have been heaped upon him here which seem to me unworthy of the eminent soldiers whence they came. But the purity of his soul has enabled him to rise above interests, above mere esprit de corps, to the more elevated regions of the ideal and of humanity. I refer to Colonel Picquart. He has remained calm; he has remained silent. He has not violated the iron countersign which he, as a soldier, respects. But I know well that, from the broader and more general standpoint of humanity, he will come out of this case increased in stature. I must say a word to you, gentlemen, of his military antecedents and his life. He is now in command of the Fourth Algerian; he is forty-three years of age; at thirty-two he was in command of a battalion; he left the war school a breveted officer; he is a knight of the legion of honor; he was formerly a professor in the war school; he was chief of the third bureau of the staff office, then chief of the bureau of information, and, finally, in April, 1896, was made a lieutenant-colonel. And a fact that makes it vain for his superior officers to try to ruin him is that he was especially appointed, and is the youngest lieutenant-colonel in the French army. Moreover, gentlemen, Colonel Picquart was delegated by his superiors to follow the Dreyfus trial before the council of war of 1894. That will tell you whether he knows the case or not. He too,—at least, I imagine so,—believed in the guilt of Dreyfus. But after the departure of Dreyfus what has been picturesquely called the ‘flights’—that is, the disappearances, the departures, the thefts of documents—continued. Then, gentlemen, his suspicion was aroused.

“In May, 1896, or, at any rate, in the spring of 1896, he discovered the famous dispatch that has been mentioned here. Certain agents bring to the war department—and here, if I commit errors of detail, it will be due solely to the fact that complete explanations have not been given at this bar; if my errors should now provoke them, I should congratulate myself upon it, and accept the corrections,—certain agents bring to the war department cornucopias or packages containing fragments of papers, taken wherever documents coming from the enemy are liable to be found, papers some of which are without interest, but others of which are of value, mixed up by the agents, who take them en masse and deliver them to one of their superiors, who sorts them, in order to find out if there is anything of value among them. The important point is the origin of these packages. What gives them their value is their source, the fact that they are taken on territory where everything that is found, really or fictitiously, has a special value. Before Colonel Picquart became chief of the information service, as we have been given to understand, these packages were handed to Colonel Henry, then major, who, in turn, after sorting them, transmitted them, because he did not know foreign languages, to Captain Lauth, now major. When Colonel Picquart became chief of the bureau, he changed his method of procedure. He asked that these packages be given to him. It was his right. Colonel Sandherr died of general paralysis. He had already been a victim of it for sometime, when Colonel Picquart succeeded him. Colonel Picquart was chosen for this eminent post because they had the fullest confidence in him. And, if he took it upon himself to conduct the services a little more strictly than had been the custom, it was because he intended to give it the closest personal attention.

“You know, gentlemen, what happened in this special matter of the dispatch, addressed to Major Esterhazy. One day a package of documents was handed to Colonel Picquart, and, some days after, Colonel Picquart gave this dispatch to Major Lauth that he might reassemble the fifty-nine or sixty pieces into which it was torn. It was very natural that this document should be given to Major Lauth, for operations of this character were one of his duties.

“What was this dispatch, and what was its value? In itself—and this is a very important point—it had no value at all. Here is the text, with which you are as yet unfamiliar. The document was publicly read during the Esterhazy trial.

I await, first of all, an explanation more detailed than that which you gave me the other day regarding the question at issue. Consequently I beg you to give it to me in writing, in order that I may judge whether I should continue my relations with the R establishment or not.

“This little document, taken from the mails, is of value only on condition that its source is the same as that of the documents in the package of which I have just spoken, that source being a foreign embassy, an enemy’s territory. Coming from that source, the document at once takes on a special importance, for it shows that the embassy in question is in relations with the person to whom it is addressed.”

The Judge.—“Make no reference to that.”

M. Labori.—“Monsieur le Président, all this has been told at length in the newspapers.”

The Judge.—“It cannot be very useful in your argument.”

M. Labori.—“I do not see why we should not explain ourselves on a matter with which everybody is familiar, and which the jurors ought to understand, in order to be able to judge with a full knowledge of the cause. Therefore I resume my argument. The dispatch is valuable only because it awakened the suspicion of the chief of the service of information, who said to himself: the place whence this dispatch comes is in correspondence with Major Esterhazy. Then Colonel Picquart began an investigation, at first a moral investigation, as he has told you, the results of which he has made known to you; then an investigation of another order, an investigation concerning handwriting. At that moment was he thinking of the Dreyfus case? Not at all. That was buried. It had nothing to do with this new matter. He began his investigation concerning handwriting, because it is customary to do so, whenever any trace of spying is observed. Then he went to find M. Bertillon, who said to him: ‘This time the forgers have attained identity.’ And thus, gentlemen, Colonel Picquart was confronted with the undeniable resemblance between the bordereau and Major Esterhazy’s writing. He spoke to his superiors about the matter, and I have a right to say, in view of his correspondence with General Gonse, that they encouraged him. Since then, they have made him the object of the most odious attacks. But these attacks have a single source, which is enough to ruin them at their foundation. That source is the major whom the army prefers to him, whom the army opposes to him, to whom it extends ovations while Colonel Picquart is put in a fortress—Major Esterhazy.

“Do you ask for proof that he was the source of these attacks? ‘La Libre Parole’ published on November 15, 1897, an article entitled ‘The Conspiracy,’ in which no name was mentioned, but in which everything was related in advance, and in which the rôle of Colonel Picquart was presented by Major Esterhazy, the author of the article, as it was presented afterward without change by Major Ravary himself before the council of war of 1898. You certainly did not fail to notice that, when the question of the famous searches of Major Esterhazy’s premises, and the circumstances under which they were made, came up here, General de Pellieux, summoned here by us, was obliged to say: ‘But I accepted the story of Major Esterhazy.’ Consequently no investigation on this point, no verification, no contradiction of any sort. The accuser of Colonel Picquart, he whose word they take, is he whom Colonel Picquart denounced, whether wrongly or rightly, as a traitor. And, if we examine the matter closely, gentlemen, what remains of the attacks upon Colonel Picquart? I have already done justice to that concerning the pretended communication of the secret file to M. Leblois. I have shown you that here the contradictions were such that it is absolutely impossible to accept the fact as having occurred in November, 1896. Indeed, Colonel Picquart addressed himself to M. Leblois in 1897, and he did so because he was threatened, as you know. For in June, 1897, he received from Colonel Henry a letter which I may now qualify as a threatening letter. At that time Colonel Picquart, who was on a mission, precisely for what reason he did not know, returned to Paris, and sought the advice, not of the first lawyer that he met, but of a lawyer who had been his friend from childhood. And it was in the course of conversations with this lawyer that, too reserved, too prudent,—I say it to you very respectfully, Colonel Picquart,—he made known to M. Leblois the reasons why he was attacked, and placed in his hands the documents that constituted his defence—that is, not only the two letters from General Gonse which you know, and his two replies, but another and later correspondence, of which we are not yet in possession, Colonel Picquart being unwilling to give it up, because of his excessive reserve and discretion.

“And then M. Leblois does this thing,—some may blame him for it, but, for my part, I salute him,—agitated by what he had learned, and without Colonel Picquart’s consent, he went to M. Scheurer-Kestner, who was no other than the vice-president of the senate, and in whom he had the most absolute confidence, and said to him: ‘Here is what I have learned through certain special events and circumstances.’

“Now we come to the complaint of the searching of Major Esterhazy’s premises. The only thing done was this. A police agent presented himself twice at Major Esterhazy’s under a pretext of looking at an apartment to let. He brought back a visiting-card of no importance, which Colonel Picquart told him to return; and he noticed that a considerable quantity of papers had been burned in the chimney. Here, in the first place, it is necessary to notice that Major Esterhazy is detected in flagrant inaccuracies of statement. He had declared that his apartments had been robbed several times under extremely serious circumstances, which he related before the council of war. I wish to call your attention to what Major Esterhazy said in his public examination in January, 1898.”

M. Labori then read the Esterhazy examination, in which, in answer to General de Luxer, he spoke of the robberies, and attributed them to Mathieu Dreyfus.

“Well, at what time did these searches take place? It was when Colonel Picquart was in Paris,—that is, before November, 1896. Was there any question at that time of M. Mathieu Dreyfus, who did not make his denunciation until November, 1897, a year later? Was there then any question of suspicion attaching to Major Esterhazy? Nothing of the kind was spoken of. But we know that, when the bordereau appeared in ‘Le Matin’ on November 10, 1896, Major Esterhazy was seen in a condition of extraordinary excitement. Why did he consider himself in danger? How could he then attribute the searches made in 1896 to Mathieu Dreyfus? He adds: ‘I could not believe that a French officer could go to such excesses.’ I ask you, gentlemen, if robbers were to visit your houses, or had visited them before this trial, would you attribute the robberies to Mathieu Dreyfus? Certainly not. Consequently it must have escaped the president of the council of war when Major Esterhazy said: ‘The first time I attributed it to servants, but afterward I attributed it to Mathieu Dreyfus.’ I should have liked to press him on this point at this bar. You remember that I asked him if he had not been robbed, and what he had to say thereupon. He took refuge in a policy of silence, the value and the prudence of which you can now understand. And at any rate, the fact remains that the charges made against Colonel Picquart in the Ravary report are nothing but the exact and faithful reproduction of the accusations of Major Esterhazy. General de Pellieux himself was obliged to admit it.

“But how did Colonel Picquart act? They have told you that he acted without a warrant. Without a warrant? Why, he had a permanent warrant. It is like saying that the prefect of police, when he proceeds to certain operations made necessary by the public safety, acts without a warrant. Do not his very functions confer a warrant upon him?

“You know how Colonel Picquart’s superiors were made familiar with his investigations. You remember that I asked General de Pellieux if he considered that a chief of the information service could conduct it usefully without the right to resort to such measures. He answered: ‘No, absolutely no; but he must have a warrant.’ Well, gentlemen, the proof that Colonel Picquart acted in a regular manner is that in the months of October and November, 1896, everybody at the staff offices was aware of the situation, as the Ravary report shows. No one in the bureau of information, M. Ravary tells us, was unaware that, on Colonel Picquart’s orders, Major Esterhazy’s correspondence had been seized in the mails, and that for many months; nor was anyone unaware that he had employed an agent to search without a legal warrant the premises of the accused during his absence. Well, gentlemen, of two things one: either this was irregular, and in that case it was necessary there and then to criticise Colonel Picquart’s attitude, and not cover him with congratulations and kindly words in the correspondence that was then going on between him and General Gonse; or else it must be confessed that it was not until later, and from the necessities of the situation, that they perceived the irregularity of the steps which were then known to the superiors and approved by all. Here again, then, as soon as we look and discuss, there is nothing left.

“Now for the two points in the testimony of Major Lauth that require an answer. You remember that Major Lauth explained to you that Colonel Picquart at a certain moment asked him if he recognized the handwriting of the dispatch. Well, gentlemen, that is not denied. I have explained to you that the dispatch gained importance only from its source. Obviously then, this importance was enhanced, if that evidence of its origin which consisted in its discovery in the packages brought by the agents was confirmed by the further discovery of an identity between the writing of the dispatch and that of a certain person. One of the witnesses here has explained that generally it is not the chief of the information service, who, in spying cases, is summoned as a witness before the council of war, but one of his subordinates. Thus, in 1894, if I am well informed, Colonel Sandherr did not testify, but one of his subordinates. And it is very probable, that, if the prosecution had continued in the way in which Colonel Picquart expected, Major Lauth would have been called upon to testify. So Colonel Picquart asked Major Lauth whether he knows the writing or not. Major Lauth answered: ‘No.’ And there the matter rested, very naturally. Consequently, there is nothing here of which we have to take note. There remains but one question, upon which it may be said that two officers are squarely in contradiction,—the question of the post-office stamps, which, it is said, Colonel Picquart desired to have placed upon the dispatch. Exactly, what does Major Lauth say? He says that Colonel Picquart said to him: ‘Do you think the post-office would put a stamp on this?’ Now, were those words uttered, gentlemen? For my part, I consider Major Lauth a very honest man, and, consequently I cannot consider his statement unworthy of belief. But what I know well is that, if these words were really spoken—and they may well not have been, because sometimes, when one has a certain idea, this idea, especially in its later developments, makes one hear things that he really did not hear, and that were never said [Murmurs of protest]. I am not addressing people who do not understand that here I am explaining mental operations with which everybody is familiar, and that I do not go at all outside the bounds of probability. But, admitting that these words were uttered, it is sufficient for me to say that, even then, they have absolutely no significance.

“We come now to the correspondence with General Gonse, which shows that Colonel Picquart, in all his proceedings, was followed, authorized, and encouraged by his superiors. You recall the constant interest that General Gonse has taken in this trial. The purpose of that interest was to make it known that he was familiar with the operations of Colonel Picquart in the Esterhazy case, but that he has steadily refused to examine and consider the Dreyfus case. I asked General Gonse how he explained this passage in his first letter:

To the continuation of the inquiry from the standpoint of the handwritings there is the grave objection that it compels us to take new people into our confidence under bad conditions, and it seems to me better to wait until we are more firmly settled in our opinions, before going further in this rather delicate path.

“The investigation, then, had been begun, and was now to be abandoned, not because it would yield uncertain results, but because it would necessitate the consultation of new experts and the taking of third persons into confidence. The meaning of this is that it was the bordereau that was in question; that the bordereau had left its closet; that consequently the Dreyfus case was open; and that it was with full knowledge of this that General Gonse encouraged Colonel Picquart, to whom he wrote in the most kindly terms: ‘I shake your hand most affectionately, my dear Picquart.’ And then, gentlemen, you remember that admirable letter from Colonel Picquart, in which he seems to have foreseen all the unfortunate events of which this country is now a victim.

I believe that I have done all that was necessary to give ourselves the opportunity of initiative. If too much time is lost, that initiative will be taken by others, which, to say nothing of higher considerations, will not leave us in a pleasant position.... There will be a sad and useless crisis, which we could avoid by doing justice in season.

“And General Gonse replies:

At the point at which you have arrived in your investigation there is no question, of course, of avoiding the light, but we must ascertain what course should be taken in order to arrive at a manifestation of the truth.

“Consequently, you see, the light is not to be stopped. General Gonse says in so many words that there is no question of avoiding it. Now, what do these letters prove? In the presence of reasonable men like yourselves, it is not necessary to ask things to prove more than they do prove, but it is necessary to ask them to prove all that they prove. I will not say that General Gonse was then convinced of the guilt of Esterhazy and the innocence of Dreyfus, but I say that the Dreyfus case was open, that the Esterhazy case seemed to him to be inseparably connected with the Dreyfus case because of the handwritings, and that he was much disturbed, and felt that it was necessary to get at the light, which, moreover, could not be prevented. In short, gentlemen, this correspondence proves three things of equally great importance: (1) that there was never any confession serious enough to convince honorable people; (2) that the secret file is of no value so far as its bearing on Dreyfus is concerned, for otherwise General Gonse would not have said to Colonel Picquart: ‘Prudence, prudence,’ adding. ‘You are not lacking in that virtue, so my mind is easy,’ for, if there had been a secret file containing a document overwhelming to Dreyfus, General Gonse would have said to Colonel Picquart: ‘My dear friend, you are mad; so don’t disturb yourself; you know that we have the proof’; (3) that Colonel Picquart acted with the knowledge and encouragement of his superiors.

“Well, gentlemen, what was it that changed all this? What dealt the terrible blow that dragged this country so far from the truth, and into the storms by which it is now shaken? Was it the ridiculous documents that reached the war department on the eve of the Castelin interpellation? I have done justice to those. And I add that, in such a case, they would have shown them to Colonel Picquart first of all, saying: ‘My dear Picquart, you see that it is necessary to stop.’ Then it was not those documents that produced the change of mind. But I know what did produce it. It was the Castelin interpellation, and nothing else. I have called your attention to the beginning of the campaign by ‘Le Jour’ and ‘L’Autorité.’ Well, those for whom the Dreyfus case is a matter not to be touched, for whom a revision would involve too heavy responsibilities to be accepted without resistance, all these said to themselves: ‘Ah! there is going to be an interpellation; the country is going to be stirred up; the mouths of the traitor’s friends must be closed.’

“For a moment, gentlemen, it was the intention of the war department to let the light shine. But, when the interpellation was announced, it failed in courage. That is the truth. And so, when M. Castelin asked for information concerning the pretended escape of the traitor and the campaign that was beginning, General Billot ascended the tribune and pronounced for the first time these words, which were the beginning of the events which you are now witnessing.

Gentlemen, the question submitted to the chamber by the honorable M. Castelin is serious. It concerns the justice of the country and the security of the State. This sad affair two years ago was the subject of a verdict brought about by one of my predecessors in the war department. Justice was then done. The examination, the trial, and the verdict took place in conformity with the rules of military procedure. The council of war, regularly constituted, deliberated regularly, and, in full knowledge of the cause, rendered a unanimous verdict. The council of revision unanimously rejected the appeal. The thing, then, is judged, and it is allowable for no one to question it. Since the conviction, all precautions have been taken to prevent any attempt at escape. But the higher reasons which in 1894 necessitated a closing of the doors have lost nothing of their gravity. So the government appeals to the patriotism of the chamber for the avoidance of a discussion which may prevent many embarrassments, and, at any rate, for a closing of the discussion as soon as possible.

“Well, gentlemen, note this reply of General Billot. It is the heart of the question, and it is here that begins the fault, or, if you prefer, the error, of the government. It is easy to accuse law-abiding citizens of inciting odious campaigns in their country; but, if we go back to the sources, it is easy to see where the responsibility lies, and here I have put my finger upon it. We are told confidently of the wrong done by the defenders of the traitor in not demanding either a revision or a nullification of the verdict of 1894. Nullification? Why, it is the business of the minister of justice to demand that. Listen to article 441 of the code of criminal examination, applicable in military matters.

When, upon the exhibition of a formal order given to him by the minister of justice, the prosecuting attorney before the court of appeals shall denounce in the criminal branch of that court judicial acts, decrees, or verdicts contrary to the law, these acts, decrees, or verdicts may be annulled, and the police officials or the judge prosecuted, if there is occasion, in the manner provided in Chapter 3 of Title 4 of the present book.

“Well, the secret document, gentlemen, was known in September, 1896. The article in ‘L’Eclair’ appeared September 15; the Castellin interpellation was heard on November 16; a petition from Mme. Dreyfus was laid before the chamber, and is still unanswered, as is also a letter from M. Demange to the president of the chamber on the same subject. Now, what was the government’s duty when this question first arose? Unquestionably to deny the secret document from the tribune, if it had not been communicated; and, if it had been, to declare that the procedure was in contempt of all law, and should lead to the nullification of the verdict. That is what a free government would have done.

“Now I wish to say a word of the difficulty of procuring the documents mentioned in the bordereau, upon which so much stress has been laid in order to exculpate Major Esterhazy. I will not dwell on the Madagascar note, which was of February, 1894, and not of August, as has been said, and which consequently was not the important note of which General Gonse spoke. I wish to emphasize only one point, because it is the only one which, in the absence of the questions that I was not permitted to ask, has not been made perfectly clear by the confrontations of the witnesses, and which yet has a considerable significance. General de Pellieux spoke to you of the piece 120 and its hydraulic check. I believe it is the first item mentioned in the bordereau. This check, said General Gonse, is important. I asked him at what date it figured in the military regulations, and at what date the official regulation had been known to the army. General Gonse answered that he was unable to give information on that point. Well, gentlemen, the truth is this. The official regulations concerning siege pieces were put on sale at the house of Berger-Lebrault & Co., military book-sellers, and they bear the date—do not smile, gentlemen, remembering that the bordereau was written in 1894,—they bear the date 1889. On page 21 you will find mention of the hydraulic check. ‘The purpose of the hydraulic check,’ it says, ‘is to limit the recoil of the piece.’ In 1895 a new check was adopted for the piece 120, and this new check, as appears from the official regulations bearing date of 1895, is not known as a hydraulic check, but as the hydro-pneumatic check. Either the author of the bordereau, speculating on the innocence of foreigners, sent them in 1894 a note on the hydraulic check of the piece 120, which had been a public matter since 1889, and then really it is not worth while to say that Major Esterhazy could not have procured it; or else he sent them in 1894 a note on the hydro-pneumatic check, and then—there is no doubt about it,—he could not have been an artilleryman.

“You have been spoken to also concerning the troupes de couverture. Well, there are cards on sale in the most official manner, which appear annually, and which show in the clearest way the distribution of the troops of the entire French army for the current year. I do not know at all what the author of the bordereau sent, and General Gonse knows no better than I do. When he sends a document like the firing manual, he is very careful to say that it is a document difficult to procure, and he says it in a French that seems a little singular to one who remembers the French that Dreyfus writes in his letters. But, when he gives notes, he says nothing. So I infer that these notes are without interest and without importance.

“Furthermore, the impossibilities were no less great for Dreyfus. For instance, it is impossible that a staff officer should speak of the firing manual in the way in which it is spoken of in the bordereau. They say the writer must have been an artilleryman. Well, that is not my opinion, for all the officers will tell you that there is not one of them who would refuse to lend his manual to an officer of infantry, especially if the request were made by a superior officer. General Mercier himself, in an interview, has declared that the documents have not the importance that is attributed to them; and it is true that they have not, for a firing manual that is new in April or in August is no longer new in November or December. The foreign military attachés see these things at the grand manœuvres, and get all the information that they want.”

After reviewing rapidly the testimony of the experts, the charges against Esterhazy, his letters to Mme. de Boulancy, and his sorry reputation in the army, M. Labori concluded his argument as follows:

“I desire to place myself, gentlemen, exclusively on the ground chosen by the minister of war, and on that ground we find that in 1894, the charge against Dreyfus being about to fall to the ground for want of proof, a man who was not a dictator, but simply an ephemeral cabinet minister in a democracy where the law alone is sovereign, dared to take it upon himself to judge one of his officers and hand him over to a court-martial, not for trial, but for a veritable execution. We find that, since then, nothing has been left undone in order to cover up this illegality. We find that men interested in deceiving themselves have heaped inexact declarations upon incomplete declarations. We find that all the power of the government has been employed in enveloping the affair in darkness, even compelling the members of the council of war, whatever their loyalty, to give to the trial which they conducted the appearance of a judicial farce.

“Well, all this, gentlemen, was bound to fill sincere men with indignation, and the letter of M. Emile Zola was nothing but the cry of the public conscience. He has rallied around him the grandest and most illustrious men in France. Do not be embarrassed, gentlemen, by the sophism with which they try to blind you, in telling you that the honor of the army is at stake. It is not at stake. It does not follow that the entire army is involved, because some have shown too much zeal and haste, and others too much credulity; because there has been a serious forgetfulness of right, on the part of one, or of several; What is really of interest to the French army, gentlemen, is that it should not be burdened in history by an irreparable iniquity.

“Gentlemen of the jury, by your verdict of acquittal set an example of firmness. You feel unmistakably that this man is the honor of France. Zola struck, France strikes herself. And, in conclusion, I have but one word to say. Let your verdict signify several things: first, ‘Long live the army!’ I too cry ‘Long live the army!’ but also ‘Long live the republic!’ and ‘Long live France!’ That is, gentlemen, ‘Long live the right! Long live the eternal ideal!’”

Speech of M. Georges Clemenceau.

M. Labori was followed by M. Georges Clemenceau, representing the gérant of “L’Aurore.” He spoke as follows:

“Gentlemen of the jury, we are nearing the end of this exciting trial. After the magnificent summing-up of the young orator, whom we all have applauded, I have no demonstration to add, and I should reproach myself for keeping you here longer, were it not absolutely necessary. M. Labori has told you the story of a great tragedy. Far away a man is in confinement who perhaps is the worst criminal conceivable, and who perhaps is a martyr, a victim of human fallibility. All the powers that are established to secure justice M. Labori has pictured to you in combination against justice. And he has appealed to you for the revision of a great trial. Yes, it is a great drama that has been developed in your presence. You, the judges, have seen the actors appear at this bar, and, after you shall have judged, you, in turn, will be judged by the public opinion of France. It was to obtain the verdict of that public opinion that M. Emile Zola voluntarily committed the act that brings him before you. After having reviewed with M. Zola all the phases of this drama, there remains still one thing to be done,—to try to free our minds from all impressions, and to inquire what we have thought and felt in order to determine our judgment.

“To that end, gentlemen, would it not be well first to go back to the state of mind in which all Frenchmen, without exception, were when ex-Captain Dreyfus was convicted unanimously by a council of war. And, if you will permit me, I will begin my brief explanations by reading an article of mine with which I am confronted today, and which I wrote on the morrow of the conviction of Dreyfus. It seems to me that at that time all Frenchmen must have thought as I did, and, when I shall have shown that, I will inquire how a minority of Frenchmen have arrived at a different opinion. Here, gentlemen, is what I wrote on the day after the conviction of Dreyfus. The article is entitled ‘The Traitor.’

Unanimously a council of war has declared Captain Alfred Dreyfus guilty of treason. The crime is so frightful that there has been an effort to entertain doubt to the very last moment. That a man brought up in the religion of the flag, a soldier honored with the protection of the secrets of the national defence, should betray,—frightful word,—should deliver to the foreigner all that can help him in his preparations for a new invasion,—that seemed impossible. How could a man be found to do such a thing? How can a human being so disgrace himself that he can expect only to be spat upon by those whom he has served? Such a man must have no relatives, no wife, no child, no love of anything, no tie of humanity, or even of animality,—for the animal in the herd instinctively defends his own. He must have been an unclean soul, an abject heart. Nobody wanted to believe it. Every chance for doubt was eagerly seized. Then they caviled; they calculated all the chances of error; they constructed romances on the bits of information that reached the public ear. They wanted complete light. They protested in advance against closed doors.

In such trials, it must be admitted, publicity, with the comments that it involves, is liable to aggravate the evil that treason does. The liberty to say everything, undeterred by any consideration of public order, may even be of advantage to the defence.

“You see, gentlemen, that I then recognized that there are circumstances when closed doors may be necessary. I have not changed my opinion. I said that closed doors might even be favorable to the defence, for then the defence would have the liberty to say everything; but on one condition,—that all the documents should be submitted to it. You know that that condition was not fulfilled. I continue.

Consequently those who had most earnestly called for a public trial accepted without protest the statement of the president of the council of war that there are interests higher than all personal interests.

The trial lasted four days. The accused was defended by one of the first lawyers at the Paris bar. By the unanimous decision of his judges, Alfred Dreyfus has been sentenced to the maximum penalty. Such a decree is not rendered without a poignant examination of conscience, and, if any doubt could have remained for the benefit of the accused, we should surely have found a trace of it in the sentence. But the judge has said: Death! But for Article 5 of the constitution of 1848, which abolished the death penalty for political offences, Dreyfus would be shot tomorrow.

Here a formidable question arises.

Can the crime of Dreyfus be likened to a political crime? I answer boldly, No. Men entertaining different conceptions of the interests of the common country may struggle with all their might for a monarchy or for a republic, for despotism or for liberty; they may struggle against each other; they may kill each other; but they are not to be confounded with the public enemy who betrays the very thing that each of them pretends to defend. How is it that jurists have been able to establish an identity between two acts which contradict each other? I do not know, and I do not congratulate them on their discovery.

Undoubtedly I am as firmly opposed as ever to the death penalty. But the public can never be made to understand why, a few weeks ago, an unfortunate boy of twenty was shot for having thrown a button from his cloak at the head of the president of the council of war, whereas the traitor Dreyfus soon will start for L’Ile Nou, where the garden of Candide awaits him. Yesterday, at Bordeaux, the soldier Brevert appeared before the council of war of la Gironde for having broken certain articles in the barracks. At the trial he threw his cap at the representative of the government. Death. And for the man who helps the enemy to invade his country, who summons the Bavarians of Bazeilles to fresh massacres, who paves the way for incendiaries, and land-stealers, and executioners of the country, a peaceful life given up to the joys of cocoanut-tree cultivation. There is nothing so revolting.

Truly, I wish that the death penalty might disappear from our codes. But who does not understand that the military code will of necessity be its last asylum? As long as armies shall exist, it probably will be difficult to govern them otherwise than by a law of violence. But, if, in the scale of punishments, the death penalty is the last degree, it seems to me that it must be reserved for the greatest crime, which, without any doubt, is treason. To kill a dazed unfortunate who insults his judges is madness when we allow a tranquil life to the traitor. Since unfortunately there are beings who are capable of treason, this crime must be made to appear in the eyes of all as the most execrable that can be committed. Unhappily, in our present state of mind, the sinister incident which has so deeply stirred opinion is for many but a pretext for declamation. It is so convenient to put the trumpet to the mouth and assume the attitudes of a disheveled patriot, while having treasures of indulgence for generals who indulge openly in anti-patriotic language. We were not capable of shooting Bazaine. A marshal of France who had the highest duties toward the army of which he was the commander-in-chief pardoned the traitor, and relieved him of the penalty of degradation, after which they allowed him to escape. What excuse had he,—an army commander who had betrayed his army to the enemy? Strange patriotism that permitted this scandal. No less strange the tolerance that recently protected the abominable language used by another army commander in talking to two reporters.

Alfred Dreyfus is a traitor, and I offer no soldier the insult of putting him on a level with this wretch. But what weakness in regard to the high officer; and what severity toward a mere act of insolence before the council of war. Strike the traitor, but let the discipline be equal for all. To tolerate disorder in high places would end in the same result as treason. The privilege of some causes the revolt of others. That the army may be united and strong, there must be one law for all. That was formerly one of the promises of the republic. We await its realization.

“Gentlemen, I told you just now that I believe that I then expressed the sentiments which animated all Frenchmen; and yet, when today they confront me with this article, I pretend that it contains my complete justification. What! We are to be suspected of desiring to outrage the army, when, on the day when it declared its verdict, we showed confidence in its justice? Yes, a council of war unanimously decided that a man was guilty of treason. How could Frenchmen, on the day of the verdict, knowing nothing of the facts, doubt that the council had done its duty?

“But, after the long, laborious, and luminous argument of M. Labori, have we not occasion to ask whether, since the day when I wrote this article, serious events have not occurred? These events M. Labori had put before you. He has discussed them, and it now seems to me impossible that your minds should not be flooded with a light almost complete. For, gentlemen, I confess that my ambition, since French opinion was unanimous on the day of the verdict, is that French opinion may be unanimous also in admitting that the most honest judges may have been mistaken, seeing that they are men.

“Yes, gentlemen, many events have taken place since 1894. Did we then know the bordereau? Did we know the secret document of ‘L’Eclair’? Did I know of them when I wrote the article that I have just read? Did I know that a secret document had been communicated to the judges in the council-chamber? I do not know, gentlemen, whether M. Labori has sufficiently insisted on this idea, but it is of a nature to so strike the opinion of all men, without exception, that I ask myself how we can help arriving at a unanimous opinion concerning it.

“You are told that a document was communicated in the council-chamber. Do you realize what that means? It means that we judge a man, condemn him, brand him, dishonor his name forever, that of his wife, that of his children, that of his father, the names of all whom he loves, on the strength of a document that has not been shown to him. Gentlemen, who among you would not revolt at the thought of being condemned under such conditions? Who among you would not cry out to us to ask justice, if, dragged before the courts of his country after a mere pretence at examination, after a purely formal trial, his honor and his life were to be passed upon by judges assembled in his absence to condemn him on the strength of a document with which he had not been made acquainted? Is there one of us that would willingly submit to such a verdict? If that is true, gentlemen, I say that it devolves upon all of us to see that such a trial should be reviewed. I do not care to consider at this moment whether or not there are any reasons for presuming innocence. I have listened to M. Labori’s argument, and I do not conceal from you the fact that I am now inclined to think that there are strong reasons for believing Dreyfus innocent. I cannot affirm it absolutely; I have not the authority. And you, gentlemen, have not to pronounce upon the innocence of Dreyfus. All that you say is that there has been a verdict which was not rendered legally. In this case, in truth, form is of more importance than substance. When the right of a single individual is injured, the right of all is in peril,—the right of the nation itself. We love our country. That love no one monopolizes. But our country is not simply the territory on which we live. It is the home of right and justice, to which all men are attached, however different their opinions, be they friends or enemies. It is the common hearth of all, a guarantee of security, of equal justice for all. You cannot conceive of country without justice. The governors who represent it, the judges, the soldiers, however loyal they may be, are liable to err, and the whole question here is whether in this instance they have committed an error.

“When I wrote the article which I have read to you, I knew nothing of the secret document first spoken of by ‘L’Eclair.’ I was unacquainted with the bordereau reproduced by ‘Le Matin’; I had not heard the testimony of M. Salle, or its confirmation by M. Demange; I had been furnished no key to the reticence of General Mercier; I had not been informed of the prejudices of Colonel Sandherr against the Jews. [Murmurs of protest.] I am surprised to hear these protests. I have no desire to say anything that can wound anybody. A man came to this bar who, I regret to say, left the court-room amid the silence of all. I wish that he had been hailed with our unanimous applause. I refer to M. Lalance, former protesting deputy in the reichstag, who carried into the German assembly the protests of French patriotism. He came here to tell us that Colonel Sandherr, whom I never had the honor to know, and against whom I have absolutely nothing to say, had prejudices against the Jews,—prejudices which he shares with a very great number of very honest people. Therefore I have no intention of outraging Colonel Sandherr. I simply cite the testimony of a witness.”

The Judge.—“M. Clemenceau, will you turn toward the jury?”

M. Clemenceau.—“I beg you to excuse me, Monsieur le Président; I do so willingly. M. Lalance told us that in Alsace patriotic Jews voted for the protesting bishops, which honors them. He told us that at a military manifestation—at Bussang, I believe—a Jew wept, and that Colonel Sandherr, on his attention being called to it, remarked: ‘I distrust those tears.’ Now, it was Colonel Sandherr who prepared the Dreyfus trial.

“I had no knowledge of the accusation against Major Esterhazy founded on this frightful similarity of handwriting; I had no knowledge of the indictment of Dreyfus; I did not know of the discovery by Colonel Picquart of a dispatch found in the basket where the bordereau was found, torn as the bordereau was torn, without a stamp as the bordereau was without a stamp, and which yet was deemed of no force against Major Esterhazy, while against Dreyfus so much was made of the bordereau. And yet, gentlemen, this dispatch contains the name of Major Esterhazy in full.

“I had no knowledge of the first investigation made by General de Pellieux, which was concluded without any expert examination of handwritings, General de Pellieux alleging that M. Mathieu Dreyfus offered no proofs, although the only proof possible was to be looked for in the expert examination of handwritings. I had no knowledge of the examination conducted by Major Ravary. I did not know that Colonel Picquart had insisted in vain that an inquiry should be opened with a view to ascertaining who conveyed to ‘L’Eclair’ the information concerning the secret document. I did not know that Colonel Picquart had asked an investigation concerning the Speranza and Blanche forgeries, and that this investigation was refused, so that he was finally obliged to carry the matter into the civil courts. I did not know, and I could not know, that the proceeding instigated against a man accused of treason by the chief of the bureau of information was going to be turned into a proceeding against this chief of the bureau of information. I could not foresee that a man of the importance of General de Pellieux would come to tell us that the closing of the doors was useless. I could not suppose that the archives of the minister of war were so kept that the retention of a file of documents by M. Teyssonnière could pass unnoticed. I did not know that men would be struck on the threshold of this palace for shouting ‘Long live the republic!’ And there were many other things of which I was unaware. How could I have divined that a secret document, the document which they did not dare to show to M. Demange, the document that General Billot refused to show to his old friend, M. Scheurer-Kestner, could be stolen from the most secret drawer of the minister of war, and carried about Paris in the hands of a veiled lady, finally falling into the hands of a man suspected of treason? How could I have believed that a man suspected of treason, or even any man whomsoever, you, or I, or anybody, could present himself with impunity at the war offices, in possession of a secret document of which the chief of the bureau of information was supposed to have sole care? And, finally, how could I believe, when they tell us that we insult the army, that I should witness here the extension of a welcome to the only man who, beyond the possibility of dispute, has insulted France and the army, Major Esterhazy? It matters little that he denies a letter whose authenticity will be proved later. I take those which he admits. They are sufficient, and they prove beyond a doubt that Major Esterhazy, who still wears the uniform—I know not why—is an abominable insulter of France and of the army. I could not suspect that I should hear, as he left this court-room, cries of ‘Long live Esterhazy!’ and ‘Long live the army!’ Shall I offend honorable officers here present, if I say to them that it is high time to distinguish the army from Major Esterhazy?

“M. Labori just now shouted: ‘Long live the army!’ Why should we not shout: ‘Long live the army!’ when three-fourths of us here, lawyers or not, are soldiers. Yes, Long live the army! but by what aberration of mind, when a man speaks of the French army as Major Esterhazy has spoken of it, do the people dare to associate the two cries: ‘Long live Esterhazy!’ and ‘Long live the army!’

“But, gentlemen, we have seen a still more unexpected spectacle. Two eminent commanders of the French army, General de Pellieux and General de Boisdeffre, have come here, and, perhaps without fully realizing what it means, have used threatening language. The attorney-general, in his summing-up, recalling the fact that M. Zola had said that the council of war had condemned in obedience to orders, asked: ‘Where are the orders? Show us the orders.’ Well, I show them to you, Monsieur Attorney-General. They have come to this bar in uniform, and have said: ‘I order you to convict M. Emile Zola.’ And I do not suppose that M. Emile Zola thought for a moment that some one appeared before the council of war and said to the judges: I order you to condemn Dreyfus. I order you to acquit Esterhazy. There are different ways of saying a thing, and the state of mind of the speaker, and the state of mind of those to whom he speaks, create circumstances that must be taken into consideration. General de Pellieux, addressing the jurors directly, said to them; ‘Gentlemen, the crime—’ he did not say the word, but that was certainly what he meant,—‘the crime of M. Emile Zola consists in taking away from the soldiers their confidence in their commanders.’ Assuming an approaching war, he said to you: ‘Without this confidence we lead your children to butchery.’ What directer threat could they have used? And the next day General de Boisdeffre stood at this bar, and told you that, if you ventured to acquit M. Emile Zola, he would not remain at the head of the staff. That manifestation was anti-military in the first degree, for you did not appoint General de Boisdeffre, and it is not for you to receive his resignation. General de Boisdeffre is a commander, but a subordinate commander. We know nothing of his military capacities; until we know more, we are bound to assume them to be good, and we have not to decide his fate. That is a matter between him and the minister of war, or parliament. Thus, to prove that no orders were given to the council of war, they have publicly dictated orders to this jury.

“Well, since the first suspicions to which the publication of the bordereau gave rise, since the secret document spoken of by ‘L’Eclair,’ since the indictments, and down to these last manifestations of the staff, have you not seen the light continually increasing regarding the Dreyfus case? For my part, as I told you, I at first thought Dreyfus guilty, a priori, without knowing anything about it; and I have nothing to eliminate from the expressions of my article. I even confess to you that I was much slower to harbor doubt than certain men who are not to be suspected of not loving the army. Articles from the pen of M. Paul de Cassagnac, written in 1896, have been read to you, which more than hint that the verdict needs revision. M. de Cassagnac wrote several articles; I read them; they did not convince me; I remained silent; and not until the very late events, not until the day when I went to see M. Scheurer-Kestner, will you find a line from me in reference to the Dreyfus case.

“I went to see M. Scheurer-Kestner under circumstances which I have publicly related. Although he is an old friend of mine, I was absolutely ignorant of the fact that he was taking an interest in the Dreyfus case. He had never said a word to me about it. When I learned through the newspapers that he was in possession of special information concerning it, and that he believed in the innocence of Dreyfus, I went to see him. He did not mention the name of Major Esterhazy; he showed me handwritings. I am not an expert, and these writings did not convince me at once. I said so the next day in my newspaper, and I continued to believe that Dreyfus was a traitor. I did more. I asked ‘L’Aurore’ to insert extracts from articles that had appeared in ‘L’Intransigeant’ containing arguments against Dreyfus. I said: ‘The truth must be known. Let us not hesitate to give the arguments for and against.’ You see, then, that I was slow in making up my mind. I should have only to show you the sequence of my articles to convince you that I long resisted the idea that Dreyfus could be innocent. But how was it possible to resist always, when the light was growing brighter every day, and when all the powers established for the doing of justice were combining to deny justice?

“Gentlemen, I know that it has been said that this is a Jewish movement, and that many who do not say it think it. Well, what are the facts appearing from the testimony given at this bar as to the origin of the movement in favor of, Dreyfus? I do not refer to his family, which believes in his innocence, and which naturally would move heaven and earth to prove it. But who were the first, outside of the Dreyfus family, to give body to this thought? Gentlemen, you know that it was in the army that doubt was given birth. It was Colonel Picquart, whom I did not know until I saw him here, and who seems to me worthy of all respect, and for whom I am glad to testify my sincere affection,—it was Colonel Picquart who designated Major Esterhazy. It was Colonel Picquart who first conceived doubt.”

M. Zola.—“And he is an anti-Semite.”

M. Clemenceau.—“M. Zola tells me that he is an anti-Semite. I did not know it, and it does not matter. It was Colonel Picquart who submitted his doubts to his superior, General Gonse, and it is out of the scruples of those two men, expressed in the letters with which you are now familiar, that the whole matter which brings us here today has grown.

“Now, gentlemen, what is the question before us? For my part, I consider it at once most simple and most complex. Most simple, for it is a question of legality, a question whether the law which is the guarantee of all of us, the law which protects us against the temptations of judges, the law which protects us against exterior passions, the law which safeguards all of us from the highest to the lowest,—it is a question whether the guarantees which this law furnishes have been observed in the case of Dreyfus. No, they have not. And that is all I want to know. I do not examine the presumptions of innocence, which are enormous, especially now that the present trial has shed full light upon them. I consider only the question of legality. And, the question being so simple, why has it aroused so many passions against it? It is because justice, while undoubtedly the most beautiful ideal to sing and to celebrate, is also the most difficult to realize.

“The social organization is theoretically admirable. The people send to parliament men whose mission it is to represent their will. This will is formulated under the forms of law. The judges apply it, the police execute it. But it comes about that men invested with public power suffer themselves, because they are men, because they are weak, to be abused by the idea that they are more or less necessary men. Having some power, they want more. They confuse their own interests, individually and as a body, with the general interest, and, when it is pointed out to them that they have made an error, their first impulse is to resist en masse. Their entire profession is at stake.

“May I be permitted this respectful criticism? They say to us: ‘You insult the army.’ No, we do not insult the army. The army exists only through the law. We desire it to be great through the law, for we have duties toward it. But it has duties toward us, and there must be an understanding between military and civil society on the very ground of law and justice. Gentlemen, France for twenty-five years has been carrying on a double enterprise, which seems contradictory. We are a vanquished nation,—gloriously vanquished, it is true, but vanquished none the less,—and it has been our thought to re-establish the power of France. That is a matter of necessity. It must be, because there is no civil law, there is no means of doing right and justice, if we are not, in the first place, masters in our own house. And our second thought has been that of ridding ourselves of all personal despotisms, of every vestige of oligarchy, and founding in our own country a democracy of liberty and justice.

“Then the question arose whether these two views are not contradictory. The principle of civil society is right, liberty, justice. The principle of military society is discipline, countersign, obedience. And, as each is led by the consciousness of the utility of his function to try to encroach upon his neighbor, military society, which has force at its disposal, tends to encroach on civil authority, and to look upon civil society sometimes from a somewhat lofty standpoint. It is a wrong. Soldiers have no raison d’être except as defenders of the principle which civil society represents. A reconciliation between these two institutions is necessary. The professional army no longer exists. The universal army, the army of all, must be penetrated with the ideas of all, with the universal ideas of right, since it is made up of the universality of citizens. If, absorbed by the thought of defence, which is of the first legitimacy, civil society were to rush into military servitude, we should still have a soil to defend, it is true; but the moral country would be lost, because, abandoning the ideas of justice and liberty, we should have abandoned all that has been done hitherto in this world by the glory and renown of France. These two societies must come to an understanding. Military society must enjoy all its rights, in order to do all its duties. Civil society, conscious of its duties toward the country and the army, must maintain its rights inflexibly, not only in the higher interest of the principle which it represents, but to insure a maximum of efficiency in the military institution. Yes, indeed, the army must be strong, but, as the abnegation of some and the absolute command of others are destined to fuse in one immense effort of life and death for the defence of the territory, it is necessary that civil society, by the superiority of its principle, should preserve its full power of control.

“Gentlemen, you belong to the army. At what moment will the army be most admirable? At the moment when, running to the frontier, it will have all our heart and all our hope. Suppose that a hundred thousand Frenchmen fall in the first battles. Ninety thousand of these will be men who today are not wearing the uniform, and only ten thousand of them will be men who call themselves soldiers. Will these men lie in two heaps? Will it be said that there is one honor belonging to the ten thousand military men, and another belonging to the ninety thousand civilians? No. There is but one honor for all, the honor that consists in the fulfillment of the supreme duty, total duty toward the country. Then let us not abuse a word which no longer has the significance that it had in the days of professional armies. The honor of the army today is the honor of all. The army has but one honor,—that it is potent for the national defence, that in peace it is always respectful of the law.

“General de Pellieux asked us for confidence the other day. And, while he spoke, I reflected that, during the twenty-five years of the empire, we had full confidence in the commanders of the army. We never criticised them, we never controlled them. The men whom I saw start were full of confidence. You know to what disasters they ran. M. Zola has been reproached for having written ‘La Débâcle.’ Alas! gentlemen,—and I say it very low,—if he wrote it, it was because before him there had been men of war to organize it and to bring it about. It is a return of that that is to be avoided, and patriotism does not consist in admiring, whether or no, everything that is done in the army, but in submitting the army to the discipline of the law. When General de Boisdeffre came to this bar, after General de Pellieux, to use toward this jury language that was threatening, he revealed to you what must have taken place before the council of war, and from what we have seen of the trial in the open day we may judge of the trial behind closed doors. The language of General Billot at the tribune was clear enough. It was the equivalent of an order; and did not Colonel Picquart say, to explain the insufficiency of the Ravary report: ‘General de Pellieux had concluded that there was no ground for a prosecution; Major Ravary could not do otherwise than come to the conclusion of his superior?’ It is not necessary to conclude therefrom that the generals have wilfully failed in their duty. Nothing more than their own words is necessary to show us how, without intending it, without realizing it, they have stepped aside from the clear path of right and justice. General de Boisdeffre would have proved it superabundantly, if that had been necessary. He was asked for the proof, or, rather, he was not asked for it, for we were not allowed to ask it, but at the bottom of our hearts we wanted it revealed. If he had brought a decisive proof that would have compelled everybody to bow, for my part, I swear to you, I would have left this court-room with a sense of relief. But what sort of proof did they bring us? A document later by two years than the Dreyfus verdict. What sort of justice is it, gentlemen, that discovers proofs of a just verdict two years after the verdict was rendered, and which produces, as convincing, documents that were never submitted to the accused? That is the philosophy of these closed doors. Behind them everything was known, even the secret documents, known to all except to him whom these documents were to condemn. They hide from us documents the revelation of which they say would be harmful to the national defence, and these documents, which they refuse to M. Scheurer-Kestner and to the chamber, traverse the highways in Major Esterhazy’s pocket. M. Méline, to whom Jaurès said: ‘Yes or no, did you communicate secret documents?’ replied to him: ‘We will answer you elsewhere.’ Elsewhere is here, and here they have not answered us, for I cannot consider as an answer the assertion that two years after the verdict they discovered a proof against the prisoner. M. Labori has told you that this document is a forgery. I tell you that, even if it is true, it is the first duty of all of us to see that this document is submitted to Dreyfus, whether he is a traitor or not,—to Dreyfus and to his lawyer; and, if you say that, because he is a Jew, he is not to be tried as others are tried, I tell you that the day will come when you will be similarly treated because you are a Protestant or a Freethinker. This is a denial of the French idea born of the Revolution, the idea of liberty for all, the idea of tolerance for all, the idea of equality of guarantees, equality of rights, equality of justice. If you once condemn a man without the forms of justice, some day the forms of justice will be abrogated by others to your harm. How justly the historians have cried out against the abominable law of the 22d of Prairial, made by Robespierre to rid himself of his enemies! All thinkers have handed over to the execration of mankind this abominable law that abolished the right of defence. It is odious, it is infamous; but at least it allowed the prisoner to know the charge against him. Why do you not do as much, you in times which are not of revolutionary violence, in peace, in tranquillity, when all the machinery of the public powers is operating freely? Yes, we condemn a man, a French officer, for he is a French officer, and not of the least distinguished, belonging to a family which has given proofs of patriotism. I do not know the Dreyfus family. I only reproduce the testimony of M. Lalance, which M. Labori has read to you.

“Even if Dreyfus is a traitor, I do not see what interest we can have in refusing to honor people who are not responsible for the crime committed, and who have given manifest proofs of love for the French country. I cannot suffer the error of one to become a burden on all. If Dreyfus is guilty, let him be punished as severely as you will. You have my article, in which I say that I ask no pity for him. But, if he has brothers, children, parents, who have behaved themselves as good Frenchmen, I hold it a point of honor to do them justice. It is the misfortune of the times, in which all passions are furiously unchained, that we will not listen to the voice of reason; that we insult each other, that we accuse each other. You have even seen here officers who are old comrades, who tomorrow will vie with each other in deeds of valor and self-sacrifice, if the country is threatened,—you have seen them accuse each other, defy each other, and exchange retorts as if they were sword-thrusts. Tomorrow Colonel Picquart will cross swords with a companion in arms whom at the bottom of his heart perhaps he loves. And we, who do not wear the uniform, who are Frenchmen all the same, and who intend also that France shall be effectively defended, what do we do? A few of us assert that perhaps a judicial error has been committed. Then goes up a great cry from the crowd: ‘Traitor! Scoundrel! Renegade! Agent of the Jews!’ And these are Frenchmen, gentlemen, who think to serve France by pointing her out as a den of people who sell themselves; these are Frenchmen, to whom it never occurs to suppose that their fellow-citizens are capable of French generosity. They hurl insults, they betray hatred, and it is thus that they pretend to serve the country.