The first day’s proceedings began with the entrance of
the presiding judge, M. Delegorgue, the other members of
the court being Councillors Lault and Bousquet. Attorney-General
Van Cassel appeared for the prosecution, M.
Fernand Labori for M. Zola, and M. Albert Clemenceau,
assisted by his brother, M. Georges Clemenceau, for M.
Perrenx, the gérant of “L’Aurore.” The court-room of the
assize court of the Seine was crowded to its utmost capacity;
wherefore the judge, on taking his seat, addressed those
present as follows:
“I notify the public that we shall not begin until all are
seated. I likewise warn the public that every sort of manifestation,
whether for or against the accused, is formally
forbidden, and that at the first sign of disorder I shall order
the court-room cleared. Please consider this said once for
all, for I shall not repeat it.”
The usual dialogue then ensued between the judge and
M. Zola.
“Your name?”
“Emile Zola.”
“Your profession?”
“Man of letters.”
“Your age?”
“Fifty-eight years.”
“Your residence?”
“21 bis, Rue de Bruxelles.”
The drawing of the jury was then proceeded with. Three
challenges were used by the prosecution, and seven by the
defence, the jurors finally selected being as follows:
Foreman, Auguste Dutrieux, merchant; Auguste
Leblond, roof-builder; Pierre Emery, merchant; Bernier,
molder in copper; Edouard Gressin, clerk; Bouvier, proprietor;
Albert Chevanier, wine merchant; Nigon, leather-dresser;
Charles Fouquet, seedsman; Joseph Moureire,
wire-drawer; Charles Huet, market-gardener; Brunot,
linen-draper. Supplementary jurors: Antoine Jourde,
tradesman; Alfred Boucreux, butcher.
Then began the reading of the documents in the case by
the clerk, the only one of interest being the complaint of
Gen. Billot. Referring to M. Zola’s letter, the complainant
declared:
This article contains a series of insults and slanders directed against
two ministers of war, general officers, and army officers of all grades
under their orders. Chiefs and subordinates are above such outrages,
and the opinion of parliament, of the country, and of the army has
already placed them beyond reach of attack. Though the minister of
war does not consider it his duty to lodge a complaint for the persons
above referred to, any more than for the council of war which rendered
the verdict of 1894, the authority of which must remain intact, we cannot
admit any suspicion of the independence of military justice or any
accusation that it rendered on January 11 in obedience to orders an iniquitous
sentence and committed a judicial error in knowingly acquitting
a guilty man. Consequently I have the honor to lodge a complaint
against the gérant of “L’Aurore” and M. Emile Zola on account of the
defamation directed against the first council of war of the military government
of Paris, which at its sessions of January 10 and 11, 1898,
declared the acquittal of Major Esterhazy.
After the reading of the documents, Attorney-General
Van Cassel took the floor to make what he described as “a
statement of the case,” speaking as follows:
“The minister of war has taken notice, in his complaint,
of the imputation cast by M. Emile Zola upon the first
council of war of having acquitted Major Esterhazy in
obedience to orders. The summons could not go beyond the
terms of the complaint. It is natural that every complainant
should circumscribe the grievances for which he
demands reparation. Otherwise it would be too easy for the
accused to turn the discussion from its proper course, and
create a diversion for the audience, which is the great art in
the assize court. A single question is submitted to you,
gentlemen of the jury: Did the first council of war act in
obedience to orders in acquitting Major Esterhazy? The
other imputation contained in M. Zola’s article the minister
of war holds in contempt. Nevertheless the accused assert
the right to discuss all the allegations contained in the article.
Their avowed plan is to make you judges of the legality
of the sentence passed upon Dreyfus. We shall not
permit it. I warn them that any attempt on their part to
provoke a sort of indirect revision of the Dreyfus case
would be illegal and futile. No one has a right to indirectly
call in question the thing judged. Our legislation, in its
desire to avoid judicial error, has laid down rules for revision.
These rules were broadened by the law of 1895. This
law was passed prior to the trial of Dreyfus. Why have
the accused not availed themselves of it? Why have they
not attempted revision by the legal methods? They have
not done so. They have tried to secure the conviction of a
second officer on account of the crime of which Dreyfus was
convicted. They have failed in their undertaking. Since
then no new fact has been produced; no unknown document
of such a nature as to establish the innocence of the condemned
has been revealed to justice. In the absence of
material wherewith to secure a legal revision, they wish—I
use the words of M. Emile Zola—to provoke a revolutionary
revision. The court will not lend itself to this manœuvre.
Respect for the thing judged requires that the discussion be
circumscribed to the single matter of which the minister of
war takes notice in his complaint. Therefore no evidence
can be admitted here except such as tends to prove the
charges relating to the pretended iniquity committed in
obedience to orders in 1898 by the military judges of Major
Esterhazy. Accusations foreign to this special matter must
remain outside of the discussion. I ask, then, that the
accused may not be authorized to attempt proof thereof,
either by documents or by testimony. The charges preferred
by them against the officers, the witnesses, the
experts, the members of the council of war of 1894, which
convicted Dreyfus, have no connection with the defamation
of the council of war of 1898.”
To this contention M. Labori made the following reply:
“I am not much astonished, gentlemen, at the difficulties
which M. Zola meets in this affair, and I expect that this
incident, which is the first, will not be the last. We
expected that they would offer to you and impose upon us
a restricted discussion. Such was the desire of the minister
of war, and it was his right. It will be ours, at a certain
moment, to ask what could have been the underlying
reasons for the exercise of this right under the circumstances
in which the minister of war has made use of it. However
that may be, it was his right, and I do not deny it. But,
gentlemen, I do not believe that the form of the complaint
within which he confines himself involves the consequences
which he has hoped for.”
Reading then all the charges made at the end of M.
Zola’s letter, M. Labori continued:
“You know, gentlemen, what was the reply. It began
on the day when, after five days and five nights of deliberation
and uncertainty, the minister of war preferred this
complaint, the bearing of which you now know, and it continues
today in the motions which the attorney-general now
makes in the name of the complainant and in his own name.
Do you think that that is going to strangle the discussion?
Absurd! It is as if one should place himself in the middle
of a torrent to prevent it from flowing. The discussion is
open. If they wanted to stifle it, they need not have prosecuted
either Perrenx or Zola. They had the right to refrain;
and, in fact, public opinion, to which, gentlemen, I shall
speak,—public opinion, which is not enlightened, and which,
admirable in generosity and in faith, but blind, most faithfully
supports the ruling powers,—public opinion perhaps
would have given its sanction to such a course. But they
have chosen to prosecute M. Zola. Being accused, he will
defend himself. Are they, then, serious when they say to
us today that the three paragraphs cited from this letter of
two thousand lines have nothing to do with the intention of
M. Zola on the one hand, or, on the other, with the article as
a whole and the other charges contained in it? Can the
court accept that? Between the three matters taken notice
of by the minister of war and the sum total of the matters
which I have read to the court there is a connection not only
close, but indivisible. In the first place, gentlemen, Major
Esterhazy was prosecuted for the same crime of treason for
which Captain Dreyfus had been prosecuted. The document
of the trial was the bordereau; the bordereau concerning
which the first experts testified; the bordereau concerning
which, at the second trial, experts testified again. And it is
not strange to read that the experts of both trials, not being
the same, feel no desire to meet at this bar in contradiction
of each other in a discussion where the light is to be complete.
But it is certain that the document in question, and
which was the object of discussion in the Esterhazy trial and
in the Dreyfus trial, is the bordereau. The two crimes were
the same. M. Mathieu Dreyfus had denounced Major
Esterhazy. If Major Esterhazy had been condemned, the
setting aside of the verdict against Captain Dreyfus would
have followed as a matter of necessity. Major Esterhazy
was acquitted. The question remains open, and we are to
deal with it. The question takes the form of a dilemma.
Either we are to be prevented from offering any proof, and
in that case we shall see; or, on the contrary, we are to be
permitted to examine the situation of Captain Dreyfus as
well as that of Major Esterhazy, since both are closely
connected, and it would not be possible for us to prove here
the guilt of Major Esterhazy and his acquittal in obedience
to orders, if we had not the right to prove at the same time
the innocence of Captain Dreyfus. To say nothing of the
fact, gentlemen, that the minister of war, in drawing up his
complaint, perhaps not perceiving this dangerous detail,
allowed a little paragraph to slip in, in which it was said
that the second council of war covered the illegality to
which the first had committed itself. Now, gentlemen, how
are we to demonstrate that they have covered an illegality,
unless we are allowed to demonstrate first that an illegality
has been committed? Unless, indeed, they mean—and I
confess that that would seem to me a really curious preliminary
to this discussion—to acknowledge that the illegality
has been committed, and that it is recognized in the face of
France and the civilized world. If not, then on this point as
on others we must be permitted the opportunity of proof.
You know, gentlemen, what the authorities say. It is a
matter of doctrine and of law that, outside of the matters set
forth in the summons, it is permissible to prove matters
connected with them by close and indivisible ties. I have
shown you that the matters which it is our right to prove
are closely bound up with the other matters of which we
likewise offer proof. It remains only to say a single word in
answer to a last objection of the attorney-general,—the thing
judged. The thing judged! What will be left of it, gentlemen,
if we succeed in showing that it has been irregularly
and illegally judged, this thing, in which public opinion
has such faith that it considers as public malefactors those
who dream for a second of doubting it, even though they
have declared that they are ready to furnish the proof?
Citizens respect this thing judged. It is their right and
their duty to respect it. But only, I repeat, because they
believe it to have been regularly and legally judged.
Where there is no right, there is no legality, no justice, no
thing judged, Mr. Attorney-General, and let us say no more
of exceptions.”
In reinforcement of the position of M. Labori, M. Albert
Clemenceau then addressed the court:
“I wish to speak simply of two points made by the
attorney-general. He has told us that his hands are tied by
the minister of war, that he is unable to broaden the discussion,
and that it must take the form that the minister of war
desires. We suspected it, but I believe that it will be
interesting to the jury to know that, if he had desired a
general discussion, the minister of war perhaps would have
done as all French citizens do when they believe themselves
injured,—namely, would have lodged a complaint with the
attorney-general. The attorney-general is supposed to know
something about law. He would have read M. Zola’s article,
and it is probable that he would have had us indicted on
grounds much more numerous than those which this complaint
specifically alleges. So much for the first point. The
second is this. The attorney-general, who knows the meaning
of words, began his observations by saying: ‘Gentlemen,
I am going to make a statement of the case’; but he
made an argument, and he finished in a way of which the
jury had had no warning, asking the court to limit the
discussion which we desire to carry on at this bar.”
M. Labori then submitted a formal motion that the court
authorize the introduction of evidence on all the matters
referred to in M. Zola’s letter.
Before the court had passed upon this motion, the three
experts in handwriting, Couard, Belhomme, and Varinard,
intervened through their counsel, M. Cabanes, asking that,
in view of the fact that they had prosecuted M. Zola and
“L’Aurore” in the police courts, no introduction of their
names into the case now on trial should be permitted.
The Judge.—“The purpose of this motion is to enable the
experts, in case it is granted, to prosecute M. Zola in the
assize court for outrages upon witnesses because of their
testimony before the council of war.”
M. Albert Clemenceau.—“We accept any discussion before
the assize court.”
M. Labori.—“If that is the motive of the intervention
of the experts, I ask the court to suspend judgment on the
motion, until that point in the discussion is reached which
concerns the experts and their testimony. And, if it is a
matter of reserving to these gentlemen a special right, which
will end, I imagine, in one facility more for the production
of the explanations that we have to furnish, we can only
congratulate ourselves in so far as we are concerned. I
speak in the name of M. Zola and M. Perrenx.”
M. Zola.—“Complete light!”
M. Clemenceau.—“Whatever motions may be made in
this court, and from whatsoever persons they may come, if
their object is to bring about a public discussion in the assize
court, we second them. In fact, I do not care even to
know whether these motions are well founded in law; you
warn us that their tendency would be to bring us here again
on another charge; we accept every sort of discussion before
the assize court.”
Without passing upon the motion of M. Cabanes, the
court then rendered an adverse decision on M. Labori’s motion
for the introduction of evidence concerning all the
charges preferred by M. Zola, claiming that they were not
indivisibly connected with the matter on trial.
The time having arrived for the calling of the witnesses,
the court announced that it had received letters from several
of them, in explanation of their absence.
The Judge.—“I have a letter from the keeper of the seals,
saying that the minister of war, General Billot, has not
been authorized to respond to the summons. M. Labori and
M. Clemenceau, do you forego this witness’s evidence?”
M. Labori.—“In regard to him we make a reservation.”
The Judge.—“Here is a letter from General Gonse. He
asks to be heard among the first, because of his service.”
M. Labori.—“We shall be able to hear General Gonse
among the first. It was our intention to do so. But, in
spite of our great desire to hear him, we cannot take his personal
convenience into consideration.”
The Attorney-General.—“Nor his service?”
M. Labori.—“Nor his service.”
The Judge.—“Here is a letter from Major d’Ormescheville,
declaring that, having been the reporter for the council
of war, he does not believe it his duty to respond to the
summons.”
M. Labori.—“I make a reservation, as in the case of General
Billot.”
The Judge.—“Here is a letter from M. Gibert, cited as a
witness by M. Zola. ‘I have left Havre, and have retired to.... In
view of the gravity of my condition, it is
impossible for me to come to testify in person, and I have
just sent what I have to say to M. Labori.’”
M. Labori.—“I have not yet received it.”
The Judge.—“Then you make a reservation?”
M. Labori.—“Yes.”
The Judge.—“Here is a letter from M. Casimir-Perier, in
which he says: ‘I am unable to enlighten justice on any
matter that has occurred since my resignation of the presidency
of the republic. I add that, if I were questioned
concerning matters which occurred when I held the presidency,
personal responsibilities would impose silence upon
me. Out of deference for the court, I am ready to appear
before it, if it deems it necessary that I repeat this declaration
verbally.’”
M. Labori.—“I make a reservation in regard to M. Casimir-Perier.”
The Judge.—“Here is a letter from Lieutenant-Colonel du
Paty de Clam. He says: ‘In the Dreyfus case I performed
the functions of an officer of judicial police. My only part
in the Esterhazy trial was to testify behind closed doors, and
in the matter of this testimony I am bound to professional
secrecy. Under these circumstances I have the honor to
pray you to excuse me from appearing in court, where I
should be unable to furnish any information concerning the
matters mentioned in the summons.’”
M. Labori.—“M. Zola and M. Perrenx deem Lieutenant-Colonel
du Paty de Clam a witness of the highest importance,
not only in matters relating to the Dreyfus trial, but
in matters relating to the Esterhazy trial. Furthermore, the
testimony of Lieutenant-Colonel du Paty de Clam is necessary,
because it bears upon the good faith of the accused, for,
if certain information that has come to M. Zola, and the production
of which he will call for before this court, is to be believed,
Lieutenant-Colonel du Paty de Clam has been mixed
up in matters which concerned Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart,
certain of which are very curious. Furthermore, a complaint
has been lodged against Lieutenant-Colonel du Paty
de Clam, the consideration of which has been entrusted to
Examining Magistrate Bertulus. For all these reasons the
testimony of Lieutenant-Colonel du Paty de Clam is indispensable.
We cannot produce here certain evidence that
concerns him, unless he is called to explain himself in person.
And under these circumstances I believe it my duty to
make formal motion that all legal means be employed to
make Lieutenant-Colonel du Paty de Clam come here and
testify concerning his relations with the de Comminges
family, concerning the scene with the mysterious lady in
1892, and concerning the telegrams signed ‘Speranza’ and
‘Blanche,’ addressed to Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart at
Tunis.”
The Attorney-General.—“M. du Paty de Clam declares in
his letter, like all the members of the council of war, the
hearing of whom has been abandoned because it was evident
that it could not be exacted, that professional secrecy prevents
him from giving any information whatever. Consequently
there is no reason for rejecting his excuse. But M.
Labori points out that Lieutenant-Colonel du Paty de Clam
was interested as a witness in an examination not yet
finished, but opened on the complaint of Lieutenant-Colonel
Picquart. The reply to this is manifest and direct. There
can be no confusion here between M. Zola and the gérant of
‘L’Aurore’ on the one hand, and Colonel Picquart on the
other. The latter has lodged a complaint which is being
regularly examined, and it is for him alone to intervene if
he sees fit. But his proceeding is the proceeding of a third
party, so far as these defendants are concerned. From no
point of view, then, do the arguments that have just been
presented seem to me well founded.”
M. Labori.—“Will the court permit me to indicate the
matters concerning which M. Zola desires to hear Lieutenant-Colonel
du Paty de Clam, and the connection between them
and the verdict of January 11? In 1892 Lieutenant-Colonel
du Paty de Clam, who had not then risen to his present office,
was in very close relations with the de Comminges
family, whose society Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart also frequented.
Mlle. Blanche de Comminges and her brother,
Captain de Comminges, have been summoned here as
witnesses.”
The Judge.—“I regret to inform you that Mlle. de Comminges
is sick, and that she has sent a doctor’s certificate.”
M. Labori.—“We hope that she will be well again within
forty-eight hours. There are many sick people in this case.
We shall have something to say concerning the things that
are happening in this matter to prevent witnesses from coming,
and we shall expose all intimidations and threats.
Mlle. de Comminges knew Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart and
Lieutenant-Colonel du Paty de Clam. At the beginning of
the campaign in relation to Major Esterhazy, Lieutenant-Colonel
Picquart received at Tunis two singular dispatches.
One of them read: ‘All is discovered. Speranza.’ The
court will remember that this is a signature which has been
met already in the Esterhazy trial. The other dispatch said
in substance: ‘It is known that Georges (that is the name of
Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart) is the author of the telegram.
All is discovered. Blanche.’ By Blanche was meant Mlle.
Blanche de Comminges, and that this was understood by the
military authorities is proved by the fact that they demanded
of Mlle. Blanche de Comminges certain specimens
of her handwriting. She protested, and lodged a complaint,
as did Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart. These dispatches,
then, were forgeries. It would be interesting to find out
who the forgers are. Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart attributes
one of them to the police agent, Souffrain, and we
have summoned him. We hope that he will come, and then
we shall have an explanation. As for the other telegram,
we are curious to know how there could have started from
certain circles which must be in touch either with the
minister of war or with Major Esterhazy a dispatch signed
Blanche which Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart was expected to
consider as coming from Mlle. Blanche de Comminges. We
should like to hear Lieutenant-Colonel du Paty de Clam
concerning these matters, and others of an earlier date in
which he has been mixed up, and which relate exclusively
and very closely to Major Esterhazy. They happened in
1892, and we shall have need also of the testimony of Mlle.
de Comminges on the same subject.”
The Judge.—“There is no question here of Mlle. de
Comminges. The question is of Lieutenant-Colonel du Paty
de Clam.”
M. Labori.—“But it is Lieutenant-Colonel du Paty de
Clam whom these matters concern. He was induced at a
certain moment, on the intervention of one of his most eminent
superiors, General Davout, to restore to the de Comminges
family certain correspondence. I cannot be more
precise on this point, and the court understands why; but
the matter is in the hands of the prefect of police. One day
Lieutenant-Colonel du Paty de Clam said that a certain
letter belonging to this correspondence was not in his hands,
and that he could not give it up directly, because it had
fallen into the hands of a woman, but that it was not very
difficult to see her, and that the only thing necessary was to
hand her a 500-franc bill in exchange for the letter. Then,
it seems, on the demand of Lieutenant-Colonel du Paty de
Clam, a meeting was appointed at the cours la Reine, at
the very spot to which came the singular veiled lady of
Major Esterhazy. There, in the presence of witnesses,
Lieutenant-Colonel du Paty de Clam entered into conversation
with the veiled lady, with whom he remained a long
time, and to whom he pretended to have given a 500-franc
bill, which, however, no one had sent to him. Then he
brought back the letter to transmit it anew to the de Comminges
family. These are facts concerning which I can say
nothing more, in presence of the interested parties. I can
furnish only indications.”
The Judge.—“But I do not see the relation between what
you have just said and the matter for which your client is
prosecuted.”
M. Labori.—“You shall see. M. Zola does not hesitate
to think that the veiled lady, far from being in relations
with Colonel Picquart, as they have not feared to state
in official reports, and as Major Esterhazy loudly and
audaciously charges, belongs to the circle of certain members
of the staff, or to the circle of Major Esterhazy himself.
Now, concerning this veiled lady we shall have to have explanations.
For how can you expect us to prove that a
guilty man has been acquitted in obedience to orders, if we
do not begin by proving that he is guilty, and by establishing
consequently the various circumstances which could
culminate in his guilt? Under these circumstances it is for
us to examine in detail, in order to get complete light, points
that in no way concern the national defence, which has been
abused. It is our indisputable right to seek light on Major
Esterhazy’s means of defence, which have been welcomed in
another place with a facility that they will not meet at the
hands of this jury.”
M. Albert Clemenceau.—“At the trial of Major Esterhazy,
and in the course of his examination, reference was made to
the veiled lady, and this mysterious person was taken so
seriously that the president of the council of war asked the
accused if he could not give some indications concerning this
lady, who had given him the mysterious rendezvous. I conclude
therefrom that in the Esterhazy trial, with which we
are necessarily concerned, the veiled lady was in question,
and that therefore all that concerns her is well within our
case. Again, Major du Paty de Clam, in his letter, says that
he cannot come here to testify, because he was a judicial
officer of police in the first examination. The court perhaps
remembers that in this very place, in the case known as the
Prado case, they heard Examining Magistrate Guillot, who
came to testify concerning facts that took place in his private
office. The presiding judge was a Paris magistrate. Now,
what was done in the Prado case can be done in this case,
and I do not see that the fact that Major du Paty de Clam
played a part in another inquiry is a reason why we should
not hear him here.”
M. Labori.—“Another thing. This is the first time that I
have known witnesses to be judged according to the utility
of their evidence. M. du Paty de Clam is not sick, nor is he
detained, so far as I know, by the duties of his military
office. He does not know upon what points he is to be examined,
or what we shall ask him. It is his duty to appear
in this case. We have to question him as well on matters of
fact as on matters of morals pertaining exclusively to the
Esterhazy case, and not at all to the Dreyfus case. Under
these circumstances it is indispensable that M. du Paty de
Clam should appear at this bar. If we question him upon
points in regard to which he can take shelter behind professional
secrecy, he will take such shelter, and will not
answer. And even then it will be our right to make a
motion before the court, asking whether, as a matter of law,
M. du Paty de Clam can cut himself off behind professional
secrecy. M. du Paty de Clam refers to closed doors. Well,
if closed doors are necessary in this assize court, we will
have them. With a jury, closed doors have no terrors for
us. But we shall ask no questions concerning the national
defence. None are involved in this affair.”
M. Zola.—“None.”
M. Labori.—“They have put forward the plea of the
nation’s defence. But that is a jest.”
The Attorney-General.—“The defence of the nation a
jest?”
M. Labori.—“Ah! really, that is not worthy of you, Mr.
Attorney-General. I do not accept that. No, no! I will
suffer no one, not even you, to suspect my patriotism. No!
I repeat, gentlemen of the jury, if there is any question here
that concerns the national defence, we shall not approach it.
If closed doors are necessary, let the doors be closed; we
are willing. But we will not permit them to say, in placing
us at the mercy of all calumnies and all insults, that we are
paid men, when, in fact, in a trial like this, we are fighting
a battle in which we risk our life and honor. We will allow
no one to say that we are triflers, and that contempt is the
most that we deserve. It will be seen later whether we
deserve it.”
The Judge.—“I have a letter from Mme. de Boulancy in
which she says: ‘I am kept in bed by an affection of the
heart, which gives me much pain just now. I enclose the
certificate of my doctor, M. de Basse, 4, Rue de Berlin. I
beg to refer you to my evidence before M. Bertulus.’”
M. Labori.—“We must hear Mme. de Boulancy. She
cannot lapse into a state of perpetual silence simply because
she testified before M. Bertulus. From the standpoint of
authenticity Major Esterhazy’s letters belong to this discussion.
Major Esterhazy, realizing how terrible a blow the
letter in which he styled himself a Uhlan would be to him,
in spite of his numerous protectors, has denied its genuineness;
now, it is genuine, it is, I declare it! And, if Mme.
de Boulancy were here, we would prove it. In the presence
of all these obstacles, I have the right, in the name of
my client, who, I am sure, will approve me” ...
M. Zola.—“Certainly.”
M. Labori.—“... and it is my duty, to tell the whole.
Mme. de Boulancy has other letters” ...
M. Zola.—“That is absolutely true.”
M. Labori.—“... which are authentic and still more
serious. For weeks she has been the object of all sorts of
threats. Major Esterhazy visits her house daily, with the
support and protection of the police, who do not prevent
him. And Major Esterhazy threatens her with death, if she
gives up the letters. Mme. de Boulancy has also in her
hands telegrams from Major Esterhazy of a later date, in
which he begs her to give him the letters, and this is a fact
known to more than one witness. For instance, there is M.
Tysse. We shall be told directly that he will not come
because, it seems, the Crédit Lyonnais threatens him with
discharge if he comes, and promises to pay his fine if he
does not come. We submit these facts to the jurors, and we
ask them whether it is M. Zola, or the minister of war by his
complaint and his limitations, who is creating in France a
situation which, whatever may be said, is really
revolutionary.”
M. Albert Clemenceau.—“It was not until this morning
that Mme. de Boulancy became afflicted with heart trouble,
but for two days we have known that she would not come,
and that, in the fear that the court will send an expert
physician to examine her, she will remain in bed all day. I
must add that Mme. de Boulancy has informed the court
that she lives in the Rue de Berlin. I beg the court to send
either a doctor or a sheriff’s officer to that address. He will
not find Mme. de Boulancy there.”
The Judge.—“She lives in the Boulevard des Batignolles,
No. 22.”
M. Zola.—“She is not there either.”
M. Albert Clemenceau.—“You will not find Mme. de
Boulancy at 22, Boulevard des Batignolles. I have the
honor to offer a motion drawn up forty-eight hours ago, in
which we foresaw that Mme. de Boulancy would be afflicted
with heart trouble, and here, according to the terms of her
letter, she is suffering with an affection of the heart. We
were not mistaken.”
M. Clemenceau then offered a formal motion that,
whereas Mme. de Boulancy had declared on several occasions
that she possessed letters from Major Esterhazy no less
insulting to the French army than those already known, and
that she would produce them in the assize court, and whereas
it was known to the defence that Mme. de Boulancy had
recently received three dispatches from Major Esterhazy
demanding a return of these letters, and threatening her
with death if she should produce them in court, and
whereas, because of these threats, Mme. de Boulancy had
moved, concealing her new address, a physician be sent to
examine her physical condition, and that a police officer be
sent to seize the letters and dispatches referred to, wherever
he might find them.
The Judge.—“M. Lebrun-Renault writes: ‘I am summoned
only because of the special service that I performed
January 5, 1895, at the parade in which Captain Dreyfus was
disgraced. I can report what took place in the course of this
service only to my hierarchical chiefs, and that is what I did.
It is for them to make such use of my report as may seem to
them proper. As for me, outside of them, I am bound to
silence by my professional duty. Wherefore it is impossible
for me to testify before the jurors. Under these circumstances
I shall not respond.’”
M. Labori then offered a motion that, whereas there had
been for some weeks a question in the press and at the
tribune of the chamber of deputies of pretended confessions
made by ex-Captain Dreyfus to Captain Lebrun-Renault on
the day of the former’s degradation, the court order the
hearing, first, of M. Lebrun-Renault, who will be asked to
state whether he received the confession from Dreyfus and
under what conditions, whether he reported the confession
officially and under what circumstances, and whether he has
spoken to various persons concerning them, and especially to
M. Forzinetti, the baron de Vaux, M. P..., M. Fontbrune,
and M. Dumont, and, second, of any other witness
who can be usefully questioned concerning these matters.
The judge then read the following letter from Major
Ravary:
My presence at the trial would be absolutely useless. I abstain, then,
from appearing.
Ravary.
M. Labori.—“Major Ravary was the first to establish
officially, in a report that has been read publicly, the existence
of what is known as the secret documents in the
Dreyfus case. This is a point wholly pertinent to the discussion,
since M. Zola and his fellow-defendant are authorized
to prove that an illegality was committed in 1894 and
covered in 1898. Therefore it is indispensable that M.
Ravary be heard, and I shall have the honor to make a
motion to that effect.”
The Judge.—“I have received a letter from General Mercier,
in which he says that the prosecution of M. Zola deals
only with the Esterhazy verdict, with which he had nothing
do. He says that he has received from General Billot an
authorization not to appear.”
M. Labori.—“I am greatly surprised that General Mercier,
like so many others, should constitute himself judge
of the question whether it is incumbent upon him to appear
before the court. The minister of war may confine his complaint
within limits, but he has no right as complainant to
pursue the shocking and monstrous course of interposing an
obstacle, not juridical, but material to the facts that we
wish to establish. General Mercier is a witness of the first
importance. Perhaps he will read tomorrow in the newspapers
what has occurred at this first hearing, which is given
in the presence, not of fifteen hundred persons simply, but
of all France. M. Zola declares that in 1894 General
Mercier, then minister of war, constituting himself judge in
a council of war, did, after the hearing was over, outside of
the discussion, without the knowledge of the accused, without
examination of the accused upon the matter, and without
even submitting it to his counsel, communicate to the
council of war a secret document, and a document, for that
matter, of no significance. If that is not true, let General
Mercier come here tomorrow and say so. If it is true, I
have no further use for him.”
The judge then announced that Major Rivals and the
court clerk, Vallecalle, had notified him that they would not
appear.
M. Labori.—“The complainant is represented here by the
attorney-general. We should like him to inform us whether
the minister of war has given to all these witnesses, as to
General Mercier, an authorization which to them would have
been more than an authorization,—that is, an order. If the
attorney-general does not know, I would like him to put the
question to the minister of war between now and tomorrow,
in order to give us an answer.”
M. Zola.—“In short, we should like to know whether
these persons have received orders from Billot, or are acting
on their own initiative.”
M. Labori.—“Have they been ordered not to come? If so,
let it be stated frankly, and the court tomorrow will pass
upon our motion, which possibly will ask for a postponement
of the case, in order that it may be judged when we
are in full possession of the facts.”
M. Albert Clemenceau.—“The president of the republic
refused to sign the decree of the minister of justice
summoning M. Billot; then M. Billot authorized General
Mercier not to appear in the assize court. Knowing the
beginning of the story, we are interested in knowing the
sequel, and I ask the attorney-general to inform us at the
next hearing if the other officers, of a lower grade than
that of General Mercier, have likewise been authorized by
their superiors not to appear in court. If so, I may be
permitted to express my astonishment that there has not
been found a person in all this hierarchy to understand that
there is one thing which is above the minister of war,—namely,
justice. We thought so until today.”
The court then presented the refusals of Colonel Maurel,
president of the council of war of 1894, M. Autant, architect,
and M. Eichmann, who sat in the first council of war; and
the defence, as in the previous cases, insisted upon their
appearance.
The Judge.—“A letter from General de Boisdeffre reads as
follows: ‘I do not need to tell you that, out of respect to the
jury and deference to the court, I would willingly appear,
but I have been in no way connected with the Esterhazy
case, which was conducted entirely by the military government
of Paris. Outside of professional secrecy, therefore, I
could furnish no useful information.’”
M. Labori.—“All these witnesses seem to imagine that
they constitute a caste apart and independent, and that it is
permissible to them to rise above the law, above justice
itself, and personally constitute themselves judges of the
question whether they are useful or not as witnesses in a
trial. Consequently in the case of General de Boisdeffre,
as in the other cases, we insist and we protest.”
M. Albert Clemenceau.—“We are a little at sea. In the
letters read, some witnesses declare that they will not come
because they know certain facts, while others, like M. de
Boisdeffre, declare that they will not come because they
do not know any facts in this case. We do not know
which of these two observations is sound, but it is impossible
for both of them to be. It is interesting also to the
jurors to know that former cabinet ministers, who are
by no means the first comers, MM. Guérin and Trarieux,
former keepers of the seals, and M. Raymond Poincaré, former
minister of finance, have responded to the summons. It
is certain that they would have had nothing to fear, if they
had written to the court that they could not come. These
former cabinet ministers come; yet among the military officers
we cannot get a single witness. I believe it is well for
the jurors to remember that.”
The court announcing that ex-President Casimir-Perier
would appear, the defence withdrew its motion for his further
summons. But M. Labori then offered a formal motion
that MM. d’Ormescheville, Ravary, General Mercier, Patron,
Vallecalle, Maurel, Autant, Eichmann, de Boisdeffre,
and Captain de Comminges be forcibly constrained to appear.
And he submitted a further motion that Mlle.
Blanche de Comminges be constrained to appear, unless it
should be found that her illness was genuine, and that, in
the latter case, a commission should be appointed to visit
her and ask her the following questions:
(1) Is she aware that her name has been used in writing to Colonel
Picquart?
(2) How did she become aware of it?
(3) Did she not give the nickname “demigod” to Captain Lallement?
(4) Does she know whether this name was used in a telegram which is
said to have been a forgery?
(5) Had Colonel du Paty de Clam any reason for entertaining a revengeful
feeling toward her and her family?
(6) Is it not within her knowledge that he resorted in 1892 to very
serious manœuvres, notably the employment of anonymous letters?
(7) Was not this matter put in the hands of M. Lozé, prefect of police,
and did not General D—— have to intervene?
(8) Did not Colonel du Paty de Clam arrange, for the restitution of a
letter, a scene that took place at cours la Reine, in which a veiled lady
appeared?
After hearing these motions, the court adjourned for the
day.
The second day’s hearing began at half past twelve with
the announcement of the court that, before proceeding to the
hearing of the witnesses, there were new excuses to be read.
The first was from Major Esterhazy, who wrote as follows:
I have been accused by M. Mathieu Dreyfus of the crime of high
treason, and my judges have acquitted me by a unanimous decree of the
council of war. Today I receive, at the instance of a simple individual,
M. Emile Zola, a summons to appear as a witness in his trial in the
assize court. It is plain, on the other hand, that in this trial the object
of M. Zola is at the same time to revise by a revolutionary method the
decree of acquittal rendered in my favor, and to sully, by representing
them as criminals, the judges whom I respect. Such is the work in which
M. Emile Zola invites me to participate. Under such circumstances I
consider that I am not obliged to respond to M. Zola’s summons.
M. Labori.—“Major Esterhazy was present yesterday. It
does not become me to inquire what suggestions he obeys
today. I have not consulted M. Emile Zola, but I can say
this for myself: it was a feeling of high discretion that led
us to summon Major Esterhazy. He will not be here as an
accused person, since he has been acquitted, and we consider
his case a thing judged. But we have a right to the testimony
of Major Esterhazy for the purpose of proving M.
Zola’s good faith. Major Esterhazy refuses. So be it. I do
not insist. We will discuss his rôle without him.”
M. Albert Clemenceau.—“Pardon me. For my part, I do
not give up his testimony. I have some questions to put to
Major Esterhazy in the name of the gérant of ‘L’Aurore.’
I demand that he be summoned again, and, if need be, forced
to come.”
The next letter was from a widow Chapelon, who declared
herself afflicted with influenza.
M. Albert Clemenceau.—“Mme. Chapelon appeared at the
office of ‘L’Aurore’ a week ago; it was after she had been
notified. She asked that her name be struck from the list of
witnesses. She was asked why. She replied that she was
soliciting for her son a scholarship at Chaptal, and that, if
she were to testify, they would not give it to her. M. Perrenx
informed her that this was not a good reason, and that
she was required to come to the assize court and tell the
truth. She went away, slamming the doors, and saying:
‘If you force me to come, I will tell the opposite of the
truth.’ I insist that this witness shall come, and I demand
that, as in the case of Major Esterhazy, she be brought to
court after a second summons.”
The Judge.—“There is a doctor’s certificate.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I ask that an expert physician be sent
to her. The one who is to see Mme. de Boulancy can see
her too.”
The court then rendered its decision on the motions of the
day before, ordering that Dr. Socquet be sent to examine
Mme. de Boulancy, Mlle. Blanche de Comminges, M. Autant,
and the widow Chapelon, and that a second summons
be served upon Captain Lebrun-Renault, Lieutenant-Colonel
du Paty de Clam, Major d’Ormescheville, Major Ravary,
General Mercier, MM. Patron, Vallecalle, Maurel, Eichmann,
General de Boisdeffre, and Major Esterhazy, directing
them to appear on February 9.
The calling of the witnesses was then begun, the first to
take the stand being Mme. Lucie Dreyfus, wife of ex-Captain
Dreyfus.
M. Labori.—“I would like Mme. Dreyfus to have the
goodness to tell us what she thinks of M. Zola’s good faith,
and in this connection to make known to us under what
circumstances in 1894 she learned of her husband’s arrest,
and what was the attitude at that time of Colonel du Paty
de Clam, who was then only a major.”
The Judge.—“What has that to do with the case?”
M. Labori.—“It concerns M. Zola’s good faith.”
M. Zola.—“I ask to be allowed here the liberty that is
accorded thieves and murderers. They can defend themselves,
summon witnesses, and ask them questions; but
every day I am insulted in the street; they break my carriage
windows, they roll me in the mud, and an unclean
press treats me as a bandit. I have the right to prove my
good faith, my probity, my honor.”
The Judge.—“Do you know Article 52, of the law of
1881?”
M. Zola.—“I do not know the law, and at the present
moment I do not want to know it. I appeal to the probity
of the jurors. I make them judges of the situation in which
I am placed, and I entrust myself to them.”
The Judge.—“I remind you of the terms of the decree
rendered yesterday by the court, the provisions of Article 52
of the law of 1881, and the terms of your summons. Let us
not depart therefrom. Any question outside of these limits
will not be put by me. Let that be well understood. It is
useless to recur to the matter.”
M. Zola.—“I ask to be treated here as well as thieves and
murderers. All accused persons are entitled to prove their
probity, their good faith, and their honor.”
M. Labori.—“Will you permit me to point out the bearing
of my questions? M. Zola has made two assertions. He
has asserted that the council of war of 1894 convicted, in the
person of ex-Captain Dreyfus, an innocent man by illegal
methods.”
The Judge.—“He is not prosecuted for that.”
M. Labori.—“Pardon me, he is prosecuted for having said
that the second council of war knowingly acquitted a guilty
man by covering, in obedience to orders, the illegality committed
by the first.”
M. Zola.—“It is in the summons.”
M. Labori.—“M. Zola asks to prove this illegality, and
the elements out of which it grew, from the standpoint of his
good faith. This illegality is not confined to the moment of
the verdict of the council of war, but extends over the very
period of inquiry in which occurred facts of the highest
gravity which M. Zola asks to produce. If the court considers
that Mme. Dreyfus can not be heard on this point, I
shall be obliged to offer a motion.”
The Judge.—“Offer your motion. The question will not
be put by me.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I ask to make a simple observation,
addressed especially to the jurors. I am of the opinion that
the law must be complied with, whatever it may be. But I
beg you to remember, gentlemen of the jury, that M. Zola
has written an article which fills sixteen pages of the pamphlet
in my hands. Out of these sixteen pages the public
prosecutor, at the order of the minister of war, complains of
only fifteen lines, and, when we come to court, it transpires
that, in spite of a judicious selection of fifteen lines from
sixteen pages, the prosecution is still embarrassed by one of
these fifteen lines. They tell us in these fifteen lines there
are still six which must be put aside, because, were we to
leave them there, embarrassing evidence would be put in.”
The Judge.—“I repeat that no question will be put which
would be a means of arriving at the revision of a case
sovereignly judged.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Then the court will put no question
concerning good faith?”
The Judge.—“Concerning anything that relates to the
Dreyfus case. No. Offer your motions. I repeat that I
will not put the question.”
M. Labori.—“Will you permit me, Monsieur le Président,
in our common interest, to ask you, then, what practical
means you see by which we may ascertain the truth?”
The Judge.—“That does not concern me.”
M. Labori then made a formal motion that, whereas the
matters upon which the testimony of Mme. Dreyfus was
required bore directly upon the matters expressly set out in
the complaint, and especially upon the illegality charged,
and whereas the defendants maintained, in spite of the
court’s decree, the right to prove their good faith, and
whereas the refusal to hear the witnesses summoned would
constitute the highest violation of the defendants’ rights,
the court order the following questions to be put to Mme.
Dreyfus:
(1) What do you think of M. Zola’s good faith?
(2) What are the reasons that have led you to believe in his good
faith?
(3) Do you consider from what you know that the measures taken
against your husband were legal or illegal?
(4) Will you describe the first visit of Major du Paty de Clam at your
house? Who were present?
(5) Did not M. du Paty de Clam utter the grossest insults against
your husband?
(6) Did he not pretend to demonstrate his guilt geometrically and by
drawing concentric circles?
(7) Did he not speak of the Iron Mask?
(8) Did he not expressly forbid you to speak of the arrest to anyone
whomsoever, even to his family?
(9) After how long a time were you allowed the right to write to your
husband?
(10) After how long a time did you again see your husband?
(11) Did not M. du Paty de Clam say to you: “He denies, but I shall
succeed in making him spit out all that he has in his body”?
(12) Did not M. du Paty de Clam nevertheless lead you to hope that
perhaps there had been an error, and that up to November?
(13) Did not M. du Paty de Clam try, by the most irregular means,
and even by insidious means, to tear confessions from you throughout
the trial and after the verdict?
(14) What do you think of your husband’s character and morals?
What was the nature of your life with him after your marriage?
(15) Did not your husband steadily declare, during the trial and
after, that this whole matter was incomprehensible, and that he was the
victim of a conspiracy?
The reading of these questions being received with a
hostile manifestation from those present in the court-room,
M. Labori turned to the audience, and shouted: “If you
think you can prevent me from doing my duty, you are
mistaken. I am embarrassed only when I am applauded.
Let them howl! It is all one to me.”
The Attorney-General.—“I simply call attention to this,—that
these incidents are rehearsed before the audience, but
they are always the same, and that the jurors whom you
have just addressed will remember that you have for the
thing judged yesterday the same respect that you have for
the thing judged on a previous occasion. I said at the beginning
that a plan had been fixed upon; it is being carried out,
and you have just given us the formula: ‘I do not know
the law, and I do not want to know it.’ Well, we know it,
and we will see that it is respected, with the aid of the
jurors, in whom I have absolute confidence.”
M. Labori.—“M. Zola will answer in a moment, and it is
to assure him the means of doing so that I take the floor.”
The Judge.—“Take it once for all, and do not renew this
scene with each witness.”
M. Labori.—“Pardon me, I am much grieved if the line
of conduct which I follow is in any way inconvenient or disagreeable
to anyone whomsoever. But I know very well
that it is dictated to me by a conviction so profound and a
resolution so fixed that nothing, nothing, shall force me to
deviate from it by a line. That said, I answer the attorney-general
in a word. The attorney-general, who, after a firm
and energetic beginning, preserved a profound silence
throughout the last part of yesterday’s hearing” ...
The Attorney-General.—“To the point of self-denial.”
M. Labori.—“To the point of self-denial, ... rises
today to tell us that we are confronted with a fixed plan,
and that the same incidents, starting from the same preconceived
idea, are being rehearsed. Very well, but the
plan that we have fixed is the plan that leads to the light.
There is another plan which is being rehearsed at the other
side of the bar,—the plan which leads to obscurity and
darkness. Reference has been made to the thing judged.
We respect it. We respect the thing judged yesterday, but
between that and the other the difference is that the thing
judged yesterday was legally judged, and that the other was
judged illegally.”
M. Zola.—“Gentlemen of the jury, to you will I address
myself. I am not an orator, I am a writer; but unfortunately” ...
The Judge.—“You should address the court.”
M. Zola.—“I ask your pardon. I thought that I had
permission to address the jurors. But I will address myself
to you. What I have to say will be as well said. I am
a writer; I am not accustomed to public speaking; moreover,
I am an extremely nervous being, and am liable to use
words that ill express my thought. Undoubtedly I have
expressed it ill, since I have been misunderstood. I am
quoted as saying that I have placed myself above the law.
Did I say that?”
M. Labori.—“You said: ‘I have not to know the law at
this moment.’”
M. Zola.—“I meant to say, at any rate, that I do not
revolt against this grand idea of the law. I submit to it
completely, and from it I expect justice. I meant to say
that my revolt was against the processes that find expression
in all these quibbles raised against me, against the way in
which I am prosecuted, against the limitation of the complaint
to fifteen lines from my long letter of accusation; and
these things I declare unworthy of justice. I say that these
few lines are not to be taken and passed upon without regard
to all that I have said. A writing is consecutive; phrases
lead to phrases, ideas lead to ideas; and to fix upon a single
thing therein because it brings me under the law is, I say,
unworthy. That is what I say, and that is what I meant.
I do not place myself above the law, but I am above hypocritical
methods.”
M. Labori.—“Bravo!”
The Attorney-General.—“So, M. Labori, you give the
signal for these bravos?”
M. Labori.—“It is true, I said ‘Bravo;’ but frankly, it
was the cry of my conscience.”
M. Albert Clemenceau.—“There is one point beyond dispute,—that
we are authorized to prove that M. Zola has
accused the council of war of having committed an illegality.
Well, I ask you how it is possible for us to prove this, if we
do not begin by establishing that an illegality has been
committed.”
The court denied the motion of M. Labori, and the second
witness was called,—M. Leblois, a lawyer of the appellate
court.
The Judge.—“M. Labori, what question do you desire me
to put to the witness?”
M. Labori.—“Will you ask M. Leblois at what date and
under what circumstances he came into possession of the
facts now within his knowledge concerning the Esterhazy
case?”
The court interposing no objection, M. Leblois made the
following statement:
“I have been for many years the friend of Colonel
Picquart. We made all our studies together, and we have
remained faithful to this friendship. In 1890 Colonel
Picquart was made professor in the School of War, and
since then I have seen him more or less frequently. Then
he entered the war department, to which he had already
been attached for several years, and finally, about the
middle of 1895, if I am not mistaken, he was appointed
chief of the bureau of information. It would have been
natural at that time for him to consult me occasionally upon
the legal difficulties that he met, since I was his intimate
friend and had belonged to the magistracy for ten years.
Nevertheless he spoke to me of only two cases,—a case of
criminal procedure that was under way at Nancy, and a
batch of documents relating to carrier pigeons, which was
nothing but a collection of ministerial decrees upon that
question. When, on November 16, 1896, Colonel Picquart
was suddenly obliged to quit the war department, he had
never said a word to me, either of the Dreyfus case or of the
Esterhazy case, and I was absolutely unaware that he was
concerning himself with either of them. All who know
Colonel Picquart will not be astonished at this reserve.
“In June, 1897, I received a visit from Colonel Picquart,
who had come to pass a fortnight’s leave of absence in Paris.
On June 3, he had received at Sousse a threatening letter,
which had been written to him by one of his former subordinates,
and thus he found himself under the necessity of
consulting a lawyer. For purposes of his defence he made
known to me some of the facts in the cases of Dreyfus and
Esterhazy. I say, gentlemen, some of the facts, for Colonel
Picquart never revealed to me any military secret, in that
sense of the term secret in which it is employed in military
language. Colonel Picquart had become convinced of the
innocence of Captain Dreyfus, and he explained to me the
facts upon which his conviction rested. I had too much confidence
in his intelligence and honesty not to admit the
materiality of the facts that he made known to me, and from
them I came to the same conclusion that he had arrived at.
I was profoundly disturbed by what I had just learned, for I
not only deplored the possibility of so grave an error, and
the submission to undeserved torture of a man who seemed
to be innocent, but I was anxious lest such revelations
might agitate the country; and so I determined to exercise
the greatest prudence.
“First, I collected all the information that I could procure.
I consulted certain persons who had been familiar
with other facts, making my study more precise by reading
documents published in 1896. I gathered information as to
the Dreyfus family, and as to Captain Dreyfus, whom I did
not know, and finally I studied the various questions of law
to which the case might give rise. In the course of these
inquiries I learned that M. Scheurer-Kestner had been concerning
himself with the Dreyfus case for a year, and had
collected facts of some interest. About the same time I met
M. Scheurer-Kestner at a dinner, and an interview was arranged
between us for a subsequent day. When he found
that I was in possession of important information, he urged
me strongly to tell him more. He was so insistent, and
showed so keen anxiety, that I could not refrain from enlightening
him more completely. My original plan, the
only one that seemed possible to me, was to promptly put
the government in possession of the facts that I had learned
through Colonel Picquart. M. Scheurer-Kestner, vice-president
of the senate, seemed to me the best person that I could
find through whom to approach the government. For these
reasons I thought it my duty to yield to M. Scheurer-Kestner’s
solicitations, and I gave him the desired enlightenment.
Especially I spoke to him of letters that General
Gonse had written to Colonel Picquart. M. Scheurer-Kestner
begged me to show him these letters immediately, and
he accompanied me to my house to get them. From that
moment he was convinced of the innocence of Dreyfus, and
his conviction has never since been shaken. He will never
abandon the cause that he has undertaken.
“Meanwhile, the vacation season was approaching, and it
seemed very difficult to institute proceedings at that time.
It seemed to me that an affair of this sort should not be entered
upon, unless there was a possibility of pursuing it to
the end. Furthermore, M. Scheurer-Kestner deemed it
necessary to have in his hands certain material proofs which
both he and I lacked,—proofs in the shape of examples of
Major Esterhazy’s handwriting, which was supposed to be
identical with that of the bordereau. Nevertheless, I
thought it my duty to submit to M. Scheurer-Kestner at
that moment the idea of presenting to the keeper of the
seals a petition for the cancellation of the verdict of 1894,
because it seemed to me a settled fact that a secret document
had been communicated to the judges, and that consequently
the judgment was void. M. Scheurer-Kestner
thought that it was too early to take such a step in the
absence of material proofs. He made arrangements to get
examples of Major Esterhazy’s handwriting as soon as possible,
and toward the end of July started on his vacation. In
the course of the following months he succeeded in procuring
examples of Major Esterhazy’s handwriting, and, on
returning to Paris, he entered into communication with the
government. Concerning that, he will testify himself. For
my part, I have nothing more to say upon this point.
Nevertheless I add that, when M. Scheurer-Kestner made
his interpellation in the senate on November 7, 1897, it
seemed to him that this should be the end of his personal
participation in the matter. In fact, the declarations of the
government pointed to an honest and full investigation,
and it did not seem to M. Scheurer-Kestner that there was
any occasion for him to interfere in the working-up of a
criminal case. So about Christmas time he thought himself
entitled to take a few days’ rest, of which he was in
great need.
“At that moment I had been informed by Colonel Picquart
of the conspiracies against him,—conspiracies of extreme
gravity, the most serious and important point of
which is found in two telegrams addressed to him from
Paris on November 10, 1897, and reaching him at Sousse,
the first on November 11, the second on November 12 in the
morning. These telegrams were forgeries. It seemed plain
that they could not have been drawn up, except upon information
emanating from the bureau of information, and
this it would be easy to demonstrate; but Colonel Picquart
will demonstrate it better than I. As the jury and the
court will see, this was a new incident in an extremely serious
matter, since these telegrams were dated November 10,
1897. Nevertheless it was a conspiracy which had long
been in preparation, for in December, 1896, false letters had
been addressed to the minister of war signed with the same
name, ‘Speranza,’ that appeared at the foot of the two telegrams
of November 10, 1897. It seemed to me it was my
first duty to inform the government of this situation. But,
having with the government no easy and direct means of
communication, I asked M. Trarieux, senator and former
keeper of the seals, whom I had met several times at the
house of a friend, and who, moreover, had taken part in the
senate discussion of M. Scheurer-Kestner’s interpellation, to
give me the benefit of his sanction by acting as an intermediary
between myself and the government. He will tell you
what steps he took. For my part I could do but one thing,—lodge,
on behalf of my client, a complaint with the government
attorney, which complaint is under examination by
M. Bertulus, who has already taken the deposition of Mlle.
Blanche de Comminges.
“I said just now that Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart suddenly
left the war department on November 16, 1896, on the
eve of the Castelin interpellation in the chamber of deputies.
His friends were unaware of his departure, and I in
particular went several times, and during several weeks, to
see him, and failed to find him. One of his friends wrote to
the minister of war a letter which should be among the documents
in the hands of M. Bertulus, and which, at any rate,
constitutes one of the papers in the investigations made by
General de Pellieux and Major Ravary. This letter was insignificant,
but in it there was a brief allusion to a personage
who, in the salon of Mlle. de Comminges, had been
nicknamed the ‘demigod.’ The letter contained this sentence:
‘Every day the demigod asks Mme. the Countess
[that is Mlle. de Comminges] when he will be able to see the
good God.’ In this circle, where Colonel Picquart was very
popular, he was known as ‘the good God,’ and the name
‘demigod’ had been given to a certain Captain Lallement,
who was the orderly of General des Garet, commanding the
sixteenth army corps at Montpellier. This letter was intended
for Colonel Picquart, but reached him only after it
had been secretly opened and copied at the war department.
The following month there came to the bureau of information
a letter which was intercepted entirely, and of
which no knowledge came to Colonel Picquart. This letter
is surely the work of a forger. It is signed ‘Speranza.’
That was the beginning, in December, 1896, of the attempt
to compromise Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart. The existence
of the second letter was concealed for more than a year, and
he learned of it for the first time in the course of General
de Pellieux’s investigation. But it was made the basis of
all the conspiracies for the ruin of this officer. Be not astonished,
then, that last November, when this matter came
to public attention and enlisted the interest of parliament,
new conspiracies came to light. In the evening of November
10, 1897, two telegrams started from Paris together.
The first read thus: ‘Stop, demigod. Affair very serious.
Speranza.’ From this telegram it seemed that the demigod
must be a very important personage, probably a
political personality, perhaps M. Scheurer-Kestner. The
second telegram read: ‘We have proofs that the dispatch
was manufactured by Georges. Blanche.’ This second telegram,
which was evidently a part of the same conspiracy to
which the first belonged, tended to destroy the authenticity,
and consequently the force as evidence, of a certain dispatch
on which rested the investigation opened by Colonel
Picquart in the spring of 1896 concerning Major Esterhazy.
Thus they endeavored to represent Colonel Picquart as the
tool of a politician and the author of a forgery. I should
add that it is certain that Colonel Picquart was not acquainted
with M. Scheurer-Kestner, and that he had no
communication with him, direct or indirect. As for the
charge of forgery brought against Colonel Picquart, it has
been completely abandoned, for, although there were some
insinuations to that effect in Major Ravary’s report, Colonel
Picquart recently appeared before a council of inquiry, and
among the things with which he was reproached there was
not the slightest allusion to the possibility of a forgery in
the case of the document in question.”
The Judge.—“What do you know about it?”
M. Leblois.—“Monsieur le Président, I know it in the
most certain and natural way, because I was myself a witness
before the council of inquiry.”
The Judge.—“Were you there throughout the hearing?”
M. Leblois.—“No, but I have knowledge of the facts with
which the colonel was reproached.”
The Judge.—“You say that you have knowledge of them,
but you do not know them of your own knowledge, since
you were not there.”
M. Labori.—“Permit me to observe, Monsieur le Président,
that the witnesses should have the advantage of the
right to give their testimony without being interrupted,
according to the terms of Article 315 of the code of criminal
examination. I claim this right for M. Leblois. As to the
fact which he affirms, the question is not how he knows it,
but whether it is true.”
The Judge.—“Permit me, Maître Labori; I suppose that
the court is entitled to question witnesses.”
M. Labori.—“It is not entitled to interrupt them.”
The Judge.—“I did not interrupt M. Leblois. I asked
him for indications on a point which it is necessary to throw
light upon. I will continue to do so, rest assured.”
M. Labori.—“I do not pretend to discuss with you the
duties of the judge of the assize court. You know them
better than I do. I add that I am ready to render homage
to the great impartiality with which you endeavor to direct
the debate. But, on the other hand, this is a matter in
which it is impossible for us to part with the smallest particle
of our rights. They deprive us here of all the faculties
that they can deprive us of. We are here face to face with
testimony which is entitled to be heard; we ask that it shall
be heard freely and independently. Now, Article 315 of the
code of criminal examination authorizes witnesses to give
their testimony without interruption, without prejudice to
the right of the court to ask them, after their deposition,
whatsoever questions it sees fit.”
The Judge.—“That is what I have just done.”
M. Labori.—“The deposition of M. Leblois is not finished.
He was in the course of it when you interrupted him.”
The Judge.—“Pardon, M. Leblois had finished. I asked
him a question to throw light upon his deposition.”
M. Leblois.—“I will answer you in the clearest fashion.
In the first place, I declare that I know that Colonel Picquart
was asked but four questions. As to the source of
this knowledge, I do not think that I am bound to give it,
and for a good reason; I am Colonel Picquart’s lawyer.”
The Judge.—“You should have said so at the beginning.”
M. Leblois.—“I did say so.”
The Judge.—“I did not hear it.”
M. Leblois.—“I said just now that I was first introduced
to this affair in June, 1897, when Colonel Picquart came to
ask my aid and protection against written threats that he
had received on June 3 from one of his former subordinates.
It was for purposes of his defence that Colonel Picquart
related to me a portion of the facts, but not those concerning
military secrets, and it was for purposes of his defence that
he gave me General Gonse’s letters. I consider that you are
now reassured as to the source of my information.
“I add that nothing is easier than to establish materially
the proof of what I have just said, for information telegraphed
by a provincial agency on February 2, and not
contradicted since by any newspaper or otherwise, specifies
the points raised in the debate before the council of inquiry.
Furthermore, Colonel Picquart has received, in conformity
with military regulations, a clear notification of the questions
concerning which he was examined. In fact, if a single
question is to be put in a council of inquiry, the law requires
that the person to be questioned shall receive a notice of the
points on which the discussion will turn. Then Colonel
Picquart, being in possession of such notice, emanating from
the reporter in the case, is clearly in a position to prove
what I have just said.”
M. Albert Clemenceau.—“Permit me to ask a question.
Just now the witness said this second letter, which was a
forgery, was so drawn up as to prove that it emanated from
a personage familiar with the documents of the war offices.
But the witness did not explain this declaration. I should
like to ask him what there was in this letter that enables
him to make this declaration, and to say that it came from
the war offices.”
M. Leblois.—“I prefer not to give any explanations in
regard to this letter, for I should run a risk of altering the
version that you will soon hear from Colonel Picquart.
[Laughter.] I think there is some misunderstanding. I said
that the text of the two telegrams was a certain proof that
they emanated from a man familiar with all the secrets of
the war department, but I can say that only of the telegrams,
because I have seen them and am in possession of their text.
I cannot speak so certainly of a letter which I have not seen,
and concerning which I have only information.”
M. Labori.—“From the standpoint of the conspiracies to
which M. Leblois has referred, what was the bearing of the
false letter intercepted in the war offices?”
M. Leblois.—“I said just now that I considered this false
letter signed ‘Speranza’ another stone on which to erect,
little by little, the edifice of the conspiracies against Colonel
Picquart. Regarding the two telegrams, must I give
details?”
The Judge [hastily].—“No.”
M. Labori.—“Monsieur le Président, we are very desirous
that he should.”
The Judge [sadly].—“Since the defence demands it,
speak.”
M. Leblois.—“The following telegram: ‘We have proofs
that the dispatch was manufactured by Georges. Blanche,’
suggests to me this reflection: Who, outside of the war
department, could then know that an inquiry was in
progress concerning Major Esterhazy, and especially that the
basis of this inquiry was a dispatch? That was an absolute
secret. The two telegrams of which I have spoken were not
the only elements of this complicated plot against Colonel
Picquart. There were many other telegrams sent by third
parties. For instance, an individual sent from Paris a telegram
signed ‘Baron Keller’ and addressed to a pretended
Baroness Keller at Sousse. All these telegrams were
intended to compromise Colonel Picquart. The two which
I have cited are the only ones that reached him, but they are
only the centre of a very complicated network. He referred
to all of this in an article in ‘La Libre Parole’ of November
16, 1897.”
M. Labori.—“M. Leblois has told us that Colonel Picquart
left the war department November 16, 1896. Could he tell
us what was the attitude of his superiors, and especially of
General Gonse, toward him at that time? Did Colonel
Picquart go in disgrace, and how has he been treated since,
up to the time of his recall to Paris, under circumstances
with which the jurors must be familiar, at the beginning of
the Esterhazy inquiry?”
M. Leblois.—“Colonel Picquart’s superiors behaved
toward him in the most kindly manner throughout his inquiry
concerning Major Esterhazy,—an inquiry which began
toward the end of spring and continued until September.
According to Colonel Picquart, it was not until the moment
had come for a decision in this matter that a difference of
opinion was revealed between his superiors and himself.
This difference did not assume an acute form at first. In
the beginning it was simply an exchange of opposite views,
such as often takes place between inferiors and superiors.
The solution of the matter, clearly stated in a letter from
Colonel Picquart bearing date of September 5, 1896, remained
in suspense until November, 1896. At that moment things
were growing worse under influences which I do not exactly
know myself. Perhaps the government, upon the question
being laid before it, decided that there was no occasion to
review the Dreyfus case. I know nothing about it; I can
only form hypotheses. Answering M. Labori’s question, I
will say this: when Colonel Picquart left the war department,
they gave him not the slightest hint that he was sent
away in disgrace. On the contrary, they represented to him
as a favor the rather vague mission with which he was entrusted.
They said to him: ‘You are to go away for a few
days. You will go to Nancy, to do certain things.’ When
once he was at Nancy, they said to him: ‘Go elsewhere.’
Thus from day to day they gave him new orders, continually
prolonging his mission; and the colonel, who had left Paris
without extra clothing, was told, when he asked permission
to return to get his linen, that his mission was too important
to warrant a diversion of even a few hours; and they
sent him to Besançon. Thus, without suspecting the fate
that was in store for him, he was sent along the frontier,
and then to Algeria and Tunis, where, in March, 1897, he
was made lieutenant-colonel of the Fourth Sharpshooters.
They pretended that he was given this appointment as a
favor. General Gonse told him positively, in a letter, that
the regiment was a very select one, and that he should consider
himself fortunate in belonging to it. The general’s
letters are full of expressions of sympathy.”
M. Labori.—“M. Leblois referred just now to a threatening
letter which intervened at a certain moment, and which
apparently modified the state of mind prevailing in the
office of the minister of war. Could he tell us when this
letter was addressed to Colonel Picquart, from whom it
came, and in what spirit it was conceived?”
M. Leblois.—“I have already said that this letter was
dated June 3, 1897. It came from Lieutenant-Colonel Henry,
who had been Colonel Picquart’s subordinate, and it was
couched in terms almost insulting.”
M. Albert Clemenceau.—“The witness has said that at
the same time when Colonel Picquart’s letters were being
seized in the war department he was suffered to receive
forged telegrams, and that at the same time also General
Gonse, sub-chief of the general staff, acted in a very kindly
manner toward him. I ask him if these three matters were
really contemporaneous.”
M. Leblois.—“The reply is simple enough. You must
distinguish between two utterly distinct orders of events,—the
events at the end of 1896, which was the time of Colonel
Picquart’s departure, and the events at the end of 1897. I
know of only one letter intercepted at the bureau of information
in 1896,—namely, the letter signed ‘Speranza.’ It
was at that time that General Gonse showed the greatest
sympathy for Colonel Picquart. Coming to the conspiracy
of 1897, it is my opinion that letters were then intercepted,
but I prefer that the testimony on this point should come
from Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Yet the witness said just now that
they sent a letter to Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart after
having opened it.”
M. Leblois.—“That was in 1896. It was in December of
that year that the Speranza letter was sent.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Then my question was appropriate.
All these things happened at the same time.”
M. Labori.—“Does M. Leblois know of certain facts in
the relations that prevailed in 1892 between M. du Paty de
Clam and the de Comminges family that offer a singular
analogy with the participation of the veiled lady in the
Esterhazy case?”
M. Leblois.—“The comte de Comminges received in 1892
a certain number of very serious anonymous letters. He
had reason to suspect that they were written by Colonel du
Paty de Clam, who was then only a major. He consulted
the prefect of police, M. Lozé, who, if I have been correctly
informed, answered: ‘It is du Paty de Clam.’”
The Judge.—“But you know nothing about it; this information
is second-hand.”
M. Labori.—“But the sequel is interesting.”
M. Leblois.—“Thereupon the comte de Comminges went
to General Davout, and asked him to insist that these conspiracies
should cease. General Davout sent for Major du
Paty de Clam, and, as a result, the anonymous letters
stopped entirely. But there remained a letter in the hands
of Major du Paty de Clam, and the comte de Comminges
insisted upon its restitution. General Davout helped him
to bring this about, if I am correctly informed. But, however
that may be, Major du Paty de Clam restored the letter
under the following circumstances. He said that this letter
had fallen into the hands of a woman, and that she would
not part with it unless the sum of 500 francs was paid to
her. So he convoked certain members of the family on the
bank of the Seine, near the Jardin de Paris, at ten o’clock
in the evening. There came a woman, carrying an umbrella,
whom Major du Paty de Clam approached. After conversing
with her a few minutes, he came back, saying: ‘I have
just handed this woman an envelope containing a 500-franc
bill. In exchange, she has given me the letter that you
desire, in another envelope. Here it is.’ They opened the
envelope, and, to be sure, found the letter. It is evident
that there was something very strange about all this,—something
useless, to say the least.”
The Judge.—“But what relation has all this to the charge
against the defendants?”
M. Labori.—“I am ready to explain at once. It is our
contention that the veiled lady, far from being in relations
with, or in the circle of, Colonel Picquart, as has been
insinuated, was in relations with certain members of the war
department, and that those who have aided Major Esterhazy
in his campaign may well have been in relation with certain
members of the war department. That is the bearing of the
question.”
The Judge.—“At what time did the events in connection
with this letter occur?”
M. Leblois.—“In the spring of 1892, and, if I am not mistaken,
the restitution took place on Good Friday of that
year.”
The next witness was M. Scheurer-Kestner.
M. Labori.—“Monsieur le Président, will you ask M.
Scheurer-Kestner under what circumstances he was led to
concern himself with the facts which revealed to him that
the authorship of the bordereau, attributed in 1894 to
Captain Dreyfus, was really to be attributed to Major Esterhazy,
and what steps he took in the matter afterwards?”
The Judge.—“Monsieur Attorney-General!”
The Attorney-General.—“It is always the same question.”
M. Labori.—“It is always the same question, and I understand
why you are always ready to welcome it in the same
manner.”
The Judge.—“M. Scheurer-Kestner, you are to tell us of
Major Esterhazy, but I beg you not to say anything of the
Dreyfus case, concerning which we will not hear a word.
Tell us of the Esterhazy case, but not of the Dreyfus case.”
M. Scheurer-Kestner.—“I note what you say, Monsieur le
Président. Last July I learned that, at the office of the
general staff, in the bureau of information, in September,
1896, Colonel Picquart, who was then a major and the chief
of this bureau, had discovered, in the course of investigations
undertaken à propos of other matters, but relating to Major
Esterhazy, that there had been a mistake in 1894 in attributing
the bordereau to M. Alfred Dreyfus. I learned at the
same time that, as soon as Colonel Picquart had made his
discovery, he made haste to consult M. Bertillon, who had
been one of the experts consulted in 1894, and who, without
any hesitation, had attributed the bordereau to Alfred
Dreyfus. Colonel Picquart, showing him the bordereau and
Major Esterhazy’s handwriting, but without telling him
whose handwriting it was, asked him what he thought of it,
and M. Bertillon said to him: ‘Ah! the forgers have succeeded.
It is no similarity; it is identity.’ Colonel Picquart
came back with this reply, and asked his chief to
continue an investigation in this direction. He proposed to
General Gonse, among others, to submit the documents to a
new expert examination, and General Gonse dissuaded him.
There is in existence a correspondence which was then
exchanged between General Gonse and Colonel Picquart. I
took pains to become acquainted with this correspondence,
for it was of great value to me, being of a nature to settle my
opinion. The correspondence being communicated to me, I
was convinced by reading it that General Gonse accepted the
opinion of Colonel Picquart, who was paving the way for a
revision of the trial. It seems to me indispensable, in order
to enlighten the jurors, that I should read this correspondence
to them.”
The Judge.—“No, that is not possible.”
M. Labori.—“We must have the light, and I consider it
indispensable that these letters should be put in evidence.”
The Judge.—“The law requires that witnesses shall testify
without the aid of any document. However, if the attorney-general
is not opposed to it, I shall not oppose it.”
The Attorney-General.—“General Gonse and Lieutenant-Colonel
Picquart have been summoned. They will testify
concerning the letters, if they see fit.”
M. Labori.—“I suggest that M. Scheurer-Kestner be
authorized to hand the letters to the court.”
The Attorney-General.—“It is not possible. The government
should have been notified of them at the proper time.”
M. Labori.—“M. Zola could not do so, as he did not then
have the letters in his possession; but he called upon the
attorney-general, as the representative of the complainant,
to put these letters in evidence, thereby complying as far as
possible with Article 52 of the law of 1881; therefore I have
the honor to offer a motion” ...
The Judge.—“Oh!”
M. Labori.—“Oh! Monsieur le Président, if you knew
how much pain it gives me, as a man of the world, to thus
make you suffer.”
The Judge.—“Permit me to tell you, before you offer your
motion, that it is impossible. Article 52 of the law concerning
the press does not permit the production of documents
not previously announced.”
M. Albert Clemenceau.—“The law obliges us to announce
documents. We ought to have announced the letters of
General Gonse. Why did we not do so? It is well that the
jurors should know. We did not do so, because these letters
have already been produced at one hearing,—the hearing of
the council of war,—and under the following circumstances.
Colonel Picquart was asked: ‘Have you General Gonse’s
letters?’ He answered: ‘They are in my pocket.’ The
president of the council of war then asked: ‘Will you give
them to me?’ Colonel Picquart handed him the letters.
The president of the council of war took them and placed
them with the documents of the case, without having them
read. So that, in order to conform to the law, we had to
give notice of letters which had been confiscated, as it were,
by a president of the council of war,—letters which were not
at our disposal, and which only the attorney-general could
produce.”
The Judge.—“Offer your motion. But, after all, if M.
Schemer-Kestner, instead of reading them, wishes to say
what they contain, he may do so.”
M. Labori.—“Very well; so be it.”
M. Scheurer-Kestner.—“I greatly regret that I cannot
read these letters. I regret it from the standpoint of the
manifestation of truth. I considered this reading indispensable,
but I see that it is forbidden. Since, however, I am
authorized to say what they contain, I will do so in a manner
necessarily incomplete, but sufficient perhaps to enlighten
the jurors.”
M. Scheurer-Kestner then repeated the substance of the
letters, but, as the full text of the letters was printed in
“L’Aurore” of the following day, February 9, they are
given here in place of the description of them made to the
jury by M. Scheurer-Kestner, although legally the full text
of the letters forms no part of the evidence placed before the
jury.
Cormeilles-en-Parisis (Seine-et-Oise),
September 7, 1896.
My dear Picquart:
I have received your letter of the 5th, and, after reflecting upon all
that you say. I hasten to tell you that it seems to me useful to proceed in
this matter with great prudence, distrusting first impressions. The thing
necessary now is to determine the nature of the documents.[1] How could
they have been copied? What requests for information have been preferred
by third parties? You may say that in this order of ideas it is
rather difficult to reach a result without making some stir. I admit it.
But in my opinion it is the best way of making sure progress. To the
continuation of the inquiry from the standpoint of the handwritings[2]
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. I return September 15, and we can better discuss
an affair of this nature in conversation. But my feeling is that it
is necessary to proceed with extreme prudence. I shake your hand most
affectionately, my dear Picquart. Devotedly yours,
A. Gonse.
Paris, September 8, 1896.
My General:
I have read your letter carefully, and I shall scrupulously follow your
instructions, but I believe it my duty to say this to you. Numerous
indications, and a serious fact of which I shall speak to you on your
return, show me that the time is near at hand when people who have the
conviction that there has been an error in this matter are going to make
a great effort and create a great scandal. 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.
I must add that the people to whom I refer do not seem to be as
well informed as we are,[3] and that in my opinion they will make a mess
of it, creating a scandal and a great uproar without furnishing light.
There will be a sad and useless crisis, which we could avoid by doing
justice in season. Be good enough, etc.,
Picquart.
Cormeilles-en-Parisis (Seine-et-Oise),
September 10, 1896.
My dear Picquart:
I acknowledge receipt of your letter of the 8th, after having given it
careful consideration. In spite of the disturbing fact stated therein, I
persist in my first feeling. I believe that it is necessary to act in the
most circumspect manner. 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. This granted, it is necessary to avoid all
false manœuvres, and especially to guard against irreparable steps. It
seems to me necessary to arrive silently, and in the order of ideas that I
have pointed out to you, at as complete a certainty as possible before
compromising anything. I know very well that the problem is a difficult
one, and may be full of unexpected elements. But it is precisely for
this reason that it is necessary to proceed with prudence. You are not
lacking in that virtue; so my mind is easy. Remember that the difficulties
are great, and that wise tactics, weighing in advance all possibilities,
are indispensable. I have occasion to write to General de Boisdeffre;
I say to him a few words of the same tenor as this letter. Prudence!
Prudence! That is the word that you must keep steadily before
your eyes. I return on the morning of the 15th. Come to see me at my
office early, after you have been through your mail. I shake your hand
most affectionately, my dear Picquart. Yours devotedly,
Gonse.
Paris, September 14, 1896.
My General:
September 7 I had the honor to direct your attention to the scandal
that certain people were threatening to precipitate, and I permitted myself
to say to you that, in my opinion, if we do not take the initiative, we
shall have much trouble on our hands. The article from “L’Eclair”
which you will find enclosed confirms me unhappily in my opinion. I
shall try to find out who has succeeded so well in preparing the bomb.
But I believe it my duty to affirm once more that it is necessary to act
without delay. If we wait longer, we shall be run over, and imprisoned
in an inextricable situation, where it will be impossible for us to establish
the real truth. Be good enough, etc.,
Picquart.
M. Scheurer-Kestner, after repeating the substance of the
foregoing letters, continued his testimony as follows:
“Such, gentlemen, is the résumé that I have been able to
make from memory of these fine letters, which honor their
author, both as a soldier and as a man. After reading them,
I was convinced that there had been an error. I saw that
General Gonse, Colonel Picquart’s superior, shared his
ideas, and looked upon revision as a possibility. What had
I to do? My first duty was to inform the minister of war,
and show him the documents which proved that the handwriting
of the bordereau was the handwriting of Major
Esterhazy, and not that of Captain Dreyfus. That was what
I did. I had a long conversation with General Billot, and
showed him the documents that I possessed, though I did
not speak at that time of the correspondence between
General Gonse and Colonel Picquart, thinking it better not
to do so. But I was not slow in offering this correspondence
to the government, and naturally I was authorized to keep a
copy of it. Unhappily new events had taken place, and the
government perhaps had changed its attitude; I do not
know; in any case, my offer was refused. It seemed to me
that the honor of the government, of the republic, of democracy,
and of the army required that the initiative in such a
reparation should come from above, and not from below.
“Then what happened? The day after my visit to the
minister of war, in which I spoke to him of the documents
and showed them to him (that was October 31),—on the day
after, November 1, though it had been agreed between us
that our conversation should be secret, that it should not be
noised abroad, that there should be no mention of it, what
did I see in the newspapers inspired, so I was told, by the
minister of war,—my visit to the minister related with false
comments. It was said that I had shown nothing, that I
had refused to give the minister of war proof of the innocence
of Dreyfus, when, in fact, I had been with him three
hours, begging him to make the proof public, and offering to
cry it from the house-tops. He either would not, or could
not, do it. He confined himself to saying: ‘He is guilty.’
‘Prove to me that he is guilty,’ I said. ‘I cannot prove it to
you.’ That was General Billot’s answer when I had brought
important documents, and when my heart was full of all that
I knew through the reading of the letters of which I had just
spoken. That is how I came to my present conviction, and
that is the way in which I gained courage to take up a cause
which is a cause of humanity, truth, and justice.”
M. Labori.—“M. Scheurer-Kestner has told us of his conversation
with General Billot. Will he now be good enough
to tell us if he has interviewed the prime minister?”
M. Scheurer-Kestner.—“I had several interviews with the
prime minister in the early days of November. To him I
told all that I knew, all that I had learned. I offered to him
the letters that passed between General Gonse and Colonel
Picquart, for to him I could speak of what had happened at
the bureau of information.”
M. Labori.—“Whence and under what circumstances
came M. Mathieu Dreyfus’s denunciation of Major Esterhazy?
Did not M. Mathieu Dreyfus have a conversation
with you in which he revealed to you the name of Major
Esterhazy,—a name which had come to his knowledge by a
path wholly different from that by which it had come to
your ears?”
M. Scheurer-Kestner.—“I had not uttered the name of
Major Esterhazy in the presence of a single private individual.
I had mentioned it only to the government when, on
November 12, I received a message from M. Mathieu Dreyfus,
asking me to receive him at my house. I had no relations
with him; he had never been at my house; I had
never seen him; I was not acquainted with him. He came,
and this is the story that he told. A certain M. de Castro,
whom he did not know, was walking on the boulevards, at
the time when they were selling the placards which contained
the proof of treason,—placards which bore portraits
on both sides, and in the middle a fac-simile of the bordereau.
M. de Castro, who is a foreigner, and who theretofore
had not been much interested in this matter, bought one
of these placards simply to pass away the time, and, as soon
as he had it in his hands,—I make use of a word which he
used himself when he told me the story later,—he was dazed.
‘I went home,’ he said, ‘took out the package of letters
from Esterhazy that I had in my desk,—thirty or forty
of them,—and made sure that I was not mistaken. The
bordereau was really in his writing.’ M. de Castro hurried
to the house of M. Mathieu Dreyfus, and it was after this
visit that M. Mathieu Dreyfus came to me in the evening to
say this: ‘You must know the author of the bordereau. It
is said that you have been occupying yourself with this
matter for a long time, with an earnestness really feverish,
and that you are searching for information everywhere.
Then you must know whom they have substituted, or tried
to substitute, for M. Alfred Dreyfus as the author of the
bordereau, since I know that you are convinced, from the
examination of handwritings, that Alfred Dreyfus is not the
author of it.’ And, as I refused to give him the name, he
said: ‘Well, if I speak the name, and if the name that I
speak has come under your eyes in your investigations, will
you tell me so?’ I answered: ‘In that case I shall consider
myself unbound, and will say yes.’ Then M. Mathieu
Dreyfus spoke the name of Major Esterhazy, and I said to
him: ‘Under the circumstances in which you find yourself, it
is your duty to state this immediately to the minister of
war.’ For at that moment, thanks to the newspapers, a
certain number of superior officers were under suspicion, and
I was very glad that, under the circumstances in which this
fact appeared, these superior officers would be placed out of
the question. Thus it was that M. Mathieu Dreyfus pointed
out Major Esterhazy to the minister of war as the author of
the bordereau.”
M. Zola.—“I beg M. Scheurer-Kestner to give us further
details regarding his interview with General Billot, in order
to emphasize a thing which I consider of great importance.
You know, Monsieur le Président, that they accuse us, and
that they accuse me personally, of having been the cause of
the frightful crisis that is now dividing the country. They
say that we have produced this great trouble which is disturbing
business and inflaming hearts. Well, I should like
it to be clearly established that General Billot was warned
by M. Scheurer-Kestner of what would take place. I would
like M. Scheurer-Kestner to say that he is an old friend of
General Billot, that he addresses him with the utmost familiarity,
that he almost wept in his arms, and that he begged
him, in the name of France, to take the matter up. I would
like him to say that.”
M. Scheurer-Kestner.—“The conversation that I had with
General Billot, who has been my friend for twenty-five years,
was a long one. Yes, I begged him to give his best attention
to this matter, which otherwise was likely to become
extremely serious. ‘It is incumbent upon you,’ I said to
him, ‘to take the first steps, make a personal investigation;
do not trust the matter to anyone. There are bundles of
documents in certain offices. Send for them. Use no intermediary.
Make an earnest investigation. If you will
promise to make this earnest personal investigation. I pledge
myself to maintain silence until I shall know the result.’
As I left, General Billot asked me to say nothing to anyone.
I agreed, but on one condition. ‘Two hours,’ I said, ‘are
all that is necessary for this investigation. I give you a
fortnight, and during that fortnight I will not take a step.’
Now, during that fortnight I was dragged in the mud, pronounced
a dishonest man, treated as a wretch, covered with
insults, and called a German and a Prussian.”
M. Zola.—“As they call me an Italian.”
M. Scheurer-Kestner—“It was during that fortnight that I
wrote to General Billot: ‘We have made a truce, but I did
not think that this truce would turn against me, thanks to
the people who are about you, and whom you either cause to
act or suffer to act.’ I even pointed out to him the names of
officers who had been indicated to me as the bearers of the
articles to the newspapers. I told him that I did not
guarantee the accuracy of this information, but I asked him
to inquire into the matter. He pretended that he would
make this inquiry, and that, after it, he would report to me.
The fortnight passed, and I am still without news, without
reply. That is the truth.”
M. Zola.—“Without news, with insults.”
The next witness was M. Casimir-Perier, ex-president of
the republic.
The Judge.—“You are M. Casimir-Perier, former president
of the republic. Of course you are neither the relative
or an ally of the accused, and they are not in your service.
Will you raise your right hand?”
M. Casimir-Perier.—“Monsieur le Président, before
taking the oath, I ask your permission to reiterate the declaration
that I made yesterday in writing.”
The Judge.—“Yes, but, before making your declaration,
it is necessary to take the oath.”
M. Casimir-Perier.—“I cannot tell the whole truth; it is
my duty not to tell it.”
M. Labori.—“When M. Casimir-Perier was president of
the republic, did he know, prior to the arrest of a staff
officer, that this officer was suspected of treason, and did he
know the charges against him?”
The Judge.—“The question will not be put.”
M. Labori.—“Did M. Casimir-Perier know at any time
that there was a secret document in the war department
relating either to the Dreyfus case or to the Esterhazy
case?”
The Judge.—“Let the Dreyfus case alone; let us have
nothing to say about it. Can you answer, M. Casimir-Perier,
in regard to the Esterhazy case?”
M. Casimir-Perier.—“I did not know, while I was president
of the republic, that there were any Esterhazy papers.”
M. Labori.—“Was M. Casimir-Perier aware that at a
certain moment a secret document was laid before the
council of war in the Dreyfus case, outside of the proceedings
of the trial and without the knowledge of the accused?”
The Judge.—“The question will not be put.”
M. Zola.—“Is it understood, then, that no attention is to
be paid to the word ‘illegality’ contained in the sentence
complained of? You do not take that into consideration?
Then why was it included in the summons?”
The Judge.—“On that point the court has rendered a
decree.”
M. Zola.—“As a man, I bow to that decree, but my
reason does not bow. I do not comprehend your limitation
of the defence to certain matters indicated in the complaint,
in the light of your refusal to hear evidence regarding this
word ‘illegality’ that also appears therein.”
The Judge.—“There can be no testimony against the thing
judged. That was repeated in today’s decree.”
M. Labori.—“We offer no testimony against the authority
of the thing judged.”
The Judge.—“It is the same thing.”
M. Labori.—“No, no.”
The Judge.—“You maintain that in the Dreyfus case
there was illegality.”
M. Labori.—“Yes.”
The Judge.—“Then it is the same thing. It is useless to
insist.”
M. Zola.—“But the Esterhazy case is also a thing judged.”
The Judge.—“But you are prosecuted on that matter.”
M. Zola.—“But we are also prosecuted on the other.”
The Judge.—“Not the least in the world.”
M. Zola.—“Then there are differences in the thing
judged?”
The Judge.—“The question will not be put. It is useless
to debate it.”
M. Labori.—“No, it is not useless. Useless, perhaps, so
far as obtaining a decision in our favor is concerned; but
not useless from the standpoint of our cause, for everybody
judges us, and the jurors follow these discussions with
interest. But, as you say that discussion is useless, I shall
have the honor to offer a motion, and await a decree of the
court. I do not wish to detain M. Casimir-Perier longer, so
I shall ask you, Monsieur le Président, on the ground of
morality and good faith,—and I hope that no decree of the
court will be needed to give us satisfaction on this point,—to
ask M. Casimir-Perier the following question: If a secret
document had been produced in any trial whatever, before
any jurisdiction whatever, and if in this way an adverse
verdict had been obtained, what would M. Casimir-Perier,—who
will not, I am sure, in order to answer me, take refuge
behind any sort of professional secrecy, since the question
here is one of right and public morality, on which such men
as Daguesseau have given an opinion before him,—what
would M. Casimir-Perier think of it?”
The Judge.—“Allow me to tell you that it is useless to
try to arrive by indirect questions at the same result. I
will not put the question.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I think the court does not clearly
understand my confrère’s question, which is this: If M.
Casimir-Perier were to learn tomorrow that a person had
been condemned on a document that had not been shown to
him, what would be his opinion? It is a question of good
faith. The high position that M. Casimir-Perier has occupied
justifies us in asking his opinion.”
The Judge.—“It is not a fact; it is an opinion.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Then the court refuses to ask this
question?”
The Judge.—“It is not a proper question to ask.”
M. Labori.—“Well, on this question, as on the others,
we shall offer a motion.”
M. Clemenceau.—“One word more. When M. Casimir-Perier
took the stand, he began to testify before making
oath, saying: ‘I believe that it is my duty not to tell the
whole truth.’”
The Judge.—“That is not at all what M. Casimir-Perier
said. He declared that he did not believe it his duty to
speak.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I demand that the question be put to
the witness.”
M. Casimir-Perier.—“I had in view the formula of the
oath, which requires the telling of the whole truth, and I
desired to point out that I could not tell the truth entire,
having in view, in saying so, my declaration of yesterday,
and, moreover, knowing no facts relating to the case before
the court, besides considering that concerning other matters
silence is imposed upon me by my duty and my constitutional
responsibility.”
M. Labori.—“I ask pardon of M. Casimir-Perier for keeping
him longer, but I cannot allow him to go until my
motion has been passed upon.”
M. Casimir-Perier.—“I am a simple citizen, and at the
service of the courts of my country.”
M. Labori.—“M. Casimir-Perier sets an illustrious
example, when others have to be forced by legal measures
to appear in the assize court.”
The Judge.—“You offer a motion, but you know what
the opinion of the court is. It will be the same decree
again.”
M. Labori.—“Well, it will be only the easier to render
it.”
The witness-chair was then taken by M. de Castro, who
testified as follows:
“At the time in question I was a banker and broker near
the Paris Bourse, and I had had occasion to do some business
for Major Esterhazy. He was in regular correspondence
with the house, and I was very familiar with his writing,—so
familiar, indeed, that in the morning, when I
opened my mail, I knew the major’s writing before opening
his letter. Toward the end of last October I was on the
boulevard when a street-fakir passed by me, selling a fac-simile
of the famous bordereau attributed to Dreyfus. I
was struck by the writing. It looked to me like a letter
from Major Esterhazy. I returned to my house much perturbed
in mind. The next day I went with my brother-in-law
to find some of Major Esterhazy’s letters. I compared
them with the fac-simile, and found a perfect similarity,—in
fact, a striking identity. I spoke to some friends of this
strange coincidence, and they advised me to carry a few
letters to M. Scheurer-Kestner, who was concerning himself
with the Dreyfus case. Meantime these friends probably
spoke to M. Mathieu Dreyfus, who came one day to ask me
to show him these letters. I offered him some of them, but
he refused them, saying: ‘I advise you to go yourself to M.
Scheurer-Kestner, and show them to him.’ So I went one
morning, and said to him: ‘I come to lay before you some
very curious types. You will see for yourself the similarity
between the handwriting of these letters and the famous
bordereau.’ M. Scheurer-Kestner took the letters, and
looked at them for some time; then he went to a bureau,
and came back, saying: ‘Here are some letters probably
written by the same hand.’ and, indeed, I recognized Major
Esterhazy’s writing.”
M. Labori.—“At that time had Major Esterhazy’s name
been spoken as that of the possible author of the bordereau?
Did M. de Castro suspect that M. Esterhazy was already
under suspicion?”
M. de Castro.—“No.”
M. Labori.—“Did M. de Castro receive threatening
letters?”
M. de Castro.—“No; no letters. I received one day a
telegram. If the court desires, I will produce it.”
The Judge.—“No, but what did it say?”
M. de Castro.—“It contained this threat: ‘If you have
given in evidence the letters which “Paris” designates by
the initials d. d. c., you will pay dear for this infamy.’”
The Judge.—“Did this handwriting resemble that of
Major Esterhazy?”
M. de. Castro.—“No, there was nothing to indicate the
origin of the dispatch. It was not signed, and the writing
was quite different from that of Major Esterhazy.”
The witness was then allowed to step down, and the court
adjourned for the day.
The third day’s proceedings began with a statement of the
judge that, in refusing to hear Mme. Dreyfus the day before,
concerning M. Zola’s good faith, he had supposed that
the question to be put to her concerned M. Zola’s good faith
in the matter of the Dreyfus case. Therefore the court desired
the defence to specify whether the question concerned
M. Zola’s good faith in the matter of the Dreyfus case, or
his good faith in the matter of the Esterhazy case.
M. Labori.—“I do not understand. M. Zola has committed
an act which is considered criminal. We maintain
that it is an act of good faith, and we ask the witness what
she thinks of M. Zola’s good faith. As to the Dreyfus case
and the Esterhazy case, they are connected only indirectly
with the Zola case.”
The Judge.—“There is no Zola case. I can question
Mme. Dreyfus on the good faith of M. Zola only so far as
the Esterhazy case is concerned.”
M. Labori.—“The court will act according to its understanding.
It is the sovereign judge. But we are the
sovereign judges in the matter of the questions that we wish
to put, and to us the question of good faith is indivisible.
A man who commits an act commits it either in good or in
bad faith, and we have not to inquire whether his faith is
good concerning this point or that point. I do not know
what Mme. Dreyfus will answer, but I ask that she be questioned
in a general way as to the good faith of M. Zola in
writing his letter.”
The Judge.—“There must be no confusion here, no
arriving by indirect methods at that which the decree of the
court has forbidden.”
M. Labori.—“I allow no one to say that I pursue indirect
methods. I have neither the face or the attitude or the
voice of a man who does things indirectly, and, if there are
any indirect methods used here, I leave the entire responsibility—I
do not say to the attorney-general—but to the
complainant, the minister of war. I insist that the question
shall be put as I framed it, and, if the court refuses, I
shall offer a motion.”
The Judge.—“I will question Mme. Dreyfus concerning
only the second council of war that tried the Esterhazy
case.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I am informed that witnesses are
present in the court-room, though the trial is now in progress.
It seems that General de Boisdeffre, General
Mercier” ...
The Judge.—“The trial is not in progress.”
M. Clemenceau.—“It is essential that the witnesses
should not be present at any part of the trial before their
deposition” ...
The Judge.—“The day’s debate has not begun.”
Nevertheless the military officers, who formed a group in
the middle of the room, were then excluded, and Dr.
Socquet, the expert physician who had been sent to examine
the health of those witnesses who had pleaded illness, took
the stand.
He reported that M. Autant had been seized on the previous
Sunday with an attack of renal colic, but had now recovered,
and was in the witnesses’ room. As to Mme.
de Boulancy, he said that her case offered all the symptoms
of angina pectoris, and that, considering her condition, her
appearance in court would be attended by serious danger.
M. Clemenceau.—“I gather from the doctor’s testimony
that it is materially possible for Mme. de Boulancy to come
to this bar, but that the doctor thinks that the excitement
would be bad for her. I ask him, then, supposing that this
question had been put to him; ‘Do you believe that Mme.
de Boulancy could appear before the examining magistrate
in the presence of Major Esterhazy?’ would he have thought
that that excitement would be bad for her?”
Dr. Socquet.—“I cannot answer. It is evident that the
surroundings in the assize court are different from those in
the office of an examining magistrate.”
Being questioned as to Mlle. de Comminges, he said that
her physician, Dr. Florent, told him that she was the victim
of a nervous affection, and had heart trouble so clearly defined
that she was liable to fainting-spells on entering a
room the temperature of which was a little above the
ordinary.
M. Clemenceau.—“The jurors will note that these two
ladies, Mlle. de Comminges and Mme. de Boulancy, were at
their residences, and that their own physicians were
present.”
Dr. Socquet.—“No, their physicians were not present.”
M. Clemenceau.—“The expert just said that the physician
of Mlle. de Comminges told him a certain thing.”
Dr. Socquet.—“That was in his certificate.”
These preliminaries over, the witness-stand was taken by
General de Boisdeffre.
M. Labori.—“Will General de Boisdeffre tell us first what
the document was that Major Esterhazy brought to the minister
of war some time before his appearance before the
council of war?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“That document relates to the
Dreyfus case; consequently I cannot speak of it without
violating the decree of the court and my professional
secrecy.”
M. Labori.—“I am glad to learn that it relates to the
Dreyfus case, but Major Esterhazy made use of it as a means
of defence, and described it by an interesting phrase which
General de Boisdeffre no doubt has heard,—‘the liberating
document.’ Moreover, the minister of war gave Major Esterhazy
a receipt for it; therefore it concerns exclusively the
case of Major Esterhazy. So I ask General de Boisdeffre
what the liberating document is.”
General de Boisdeffre.—“Professional secrecy does not
permit me to answer.”
M. Labori.—“Professional secrecy can be invoked only by
persons capable of receiving confidences because of their profession.
Where there is no profession that involves such
confidences, there is no secrecy. General de Boisdeffre has
received no confidences, and, if he has, we do not ask him
to betray them. As chief of staff of the army, he has acted
as an official, and, if he invokes any secrecy, it can be only
that which seems to have been devised in many respects especially
for the necessities of this case, and which is called
the secret of State. When the secret of State is invoked by
a government, we are at liberty to ask if there is a reason to
recognize it. That question will arise when the members of
the Dupuy cabinet shall come to the stand. When it is invoked
by a former president of the republic, we bow with
deference, because the president of the republic is irresponsible.
But General de Boisdeffre is a responsible official.
Respect for the army is never shown to a person, but to a
symbol or an ideal, and it is based on the confidence that we
have in those who represent it, and on their ability to
answer at any moment for all their acts before the justice of
the country, represented here by twelve jurors who are
France, and to whom everybody owes explanations.
General de Boisdeffre is in the presence of justice. He can
escape by no appeal to secrecy. Therefore I ask the court to
put my question again.”
General de Boisdeffre.—“I have the profoundest respect
for the justice of my country. Perhaps I do not know how
to make the legal distinctions that have just been pointed
out, but I consider the secret of State a professional secret.
That is my reply.”
The Judge.—“Let us pass to another order of ideas.”
M. Labori.—“I pass not to another order of ideas, but to
another order of questions. Can General de Boisdeffre tell
us anything about the veiled lady?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“I know absolutely nothing about
the veiled lady, and have not heard her spoken of except by
the newspapers.”
M. Labori.—“It is not only the newspapers that have
spoken of her; she was a means of defence employed by
Major Esterhazy before the council of war in the public part
of the trial. I should like to know whether either the minister
of war or General de Boisdeffre ordered any investigation
concerning her.”
General de Boisdeffre.—“We did all that we could to find
out who the veiled lady was, but we found out nothing.”
M. Labori.—“Does General de Boisdeffre declare that he
does not know at all whence the veiled lady came, or with
whom she was connected, or, on the contrary, does he know
that she had some sort of relations with Colonel Picquart?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“I know nothing about it.”
M. Labori.—“Can General de Boisdeffre tell us how the
liberating document got away from the war department?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“I know nothing about that,
either.”
M. Labori.—“But the general must have made an
inquiry.”
General de Boisdeffre.—“Yes, but I arrived only at uncertain
results, which, being doubtful, I cannot state here,
for they are simple presumptions concerning people that
may be entirely innocent.”
M. Labori.—“Yet Major Ravary insinuates in his report
that the document may have reached the veiled lady through
indiscretions on the part of Colonel Picquart. Does General
de Boisdeffre accept the responsibility for such
insinuations?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“I have been in no way mixed up
in the Esterhazy case. I know nothing of what was done in
the examination, and have kept quite aloof from the whole
matter.”
M. Labori.—“Can General de Boisdeffre tell us what
charges are made against Colonel Picquart?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“They are of two kinds. There
are some which have not yet taken on a definite character.
There are others relating to his professional service, and
which have been absolutely proved. The best proof is that
certain letters appear in the newspapers of this morning
which were the property of their writer, and which were
written for the service.”
M. Labori.—“And are there other reprehensible points?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“Yes; the attention of the council
of inquiry was called to them, and, the doings of that body
being absolutely secret, I can make no explanation concerning
them.”
M. Labori.—“Does General de Boisdeffre know that
Colonel Picquart was sent on a mission in November, 1896,
and can he tell us why he was so sent?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“He was sent upon an order of
the minister of war.”
M. Labori.—“Which is also secret, evidently.”
General de Boisdeffre.—“The object of the mission was
secret.”
M. Labori.—“Exactly. Was Colonel Picquart sent away
in disgrace?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“I cannot say of any officer sent
upon a mission that he was sent away in disgrace.”
M. Labori.—“Oh! everything that comes from a general’s
mouth does not necessarily concern the national defence.
General de Boisdeffre must tell us whether Colonel Picquart
was sent away in disgrace or not.”
General de Boisdeffre.—“Colonel Picquart was in a state
of mind that did not permit him to attend to his duties satisfactorily.
He was absorbed by a single idea. The minister
of war thought it wise to send him on a mission that would
restore him to his normal state of mind.”
M. Labori.—“Will General de Boisdeffre tell us what idea
it was that obsessed Colonel Picquart’s mind?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“I do not believe that I can
answer that question, because I must not answer concerning
the case” ...
Here the witness hesitated.
M. Labori.—“Concerning what case?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“The case of Dreyfus.”
M. Labori.—“And why must not the witness go into the
Dreyfus case?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“Because a decree of the court,
which I have read in the newspapers, separates the two
cases.”
M. Labori.—“Does not General de Boisdeffre know that
Major Esterhazy has been prosecuted and examined concerning
the bordereau attributed to Dreyfus in 1894?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“Major Esterhazy was examined
behind closed doors. Consequently it is not for me to know
what took place behind closed doors.”
M. Labori.—“I believe that General de Boisdeffre is mistaken,
for I was present at the public part of that trial. I
imagine that General de Boisdeffre, having so many secrets
to keep, confuses those concerning which he is obliged to
keep silence with those concerning which he need not keep
silence. At any rate, he cannot dispute that the bordereau
has been in question, for it has been discussed by the newspapers
for the last fortnight. I ask him to tell us, since I
well understand that it was the question of the innocence of
Dreyfus that obsessed the mind of Colonel Picquart, what
Colonel Picquart did in relation to the Esterhazy case.”
General de Boisdeffre.—“He made known his doubts concerning
Major Esterhazy’s situation. We told him to do
everything to illuminate the matter, and to settle the doubts
that preoccupied him. He could find no document that sustained
his doubts to our satisfaction, and we could only
invite him to abstain and not continue his researches.”
M. Labori.—“I note here, for the benefit of the jurors,
that at the time when General de Boisdeffre, chief of staff of
the army, learned that Colonel Picquart was obsessed by
this case which he will not name, he invited him to confirm
his doubts. It results therefrom that at that time it did not
seem impossible to General de Boisdeffre that Major Esterhazy
was the author of the crime for which Dreyfus had
been condemned.”
General de Boisdeffre.—“My words are incorrectly interpreted.
The guilt of Captain Dreyfus has always been to
me a thing absolutely certain, and my conviction is absolute
regarding it. I do not say more, because I wish to touch
this matter as little as possible. Consequently, when
another officer was pointed out to me as guilty of such a
crime, it was my duty to order an investigation. My doubts
concerned the guilt of Major Esterhazy, and not the guilt of
Captain Dreyfus.”
M. Labori.—“Is General de Boisdeffre’s belief in the
guilt of Dreyfus based on the facts of 1894, or on facts of
earlier or later date?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“It is based on the facts and the
trial of 1894, the outcome of which is beyond discussion.
There have been other facts, subsequent and prior, which
have,—I do not say confirmed, for my conviction needed no
confirmation,—but which have assisted my certainty most
decidedly.”
M. Labori.—“What is the source of the communications
made to certain newspapers, seeming to come from the war
offices?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“To my knowledge, they do not
emanate from the war offices.”
M. Labori.—“Has General de Boisdeffre investigated the
matter?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“I have made an investigation,
and questioned the officers.”
The Judge.—“And you are certain that these communications
do not emanate from them?”
General de Boisdeffre.—“I take their word. There is
only one case,—a communication from Major Pauffin de
Saint-Moret to M. Rochefort. That communication was
made by this officer’s initiative. For it I punished him
with thirty days’ confinement, and by suppressing his application
for the cross of the legion of honor. It will be seen,
then, that he is very far from the fifth stripe which, it has
been said, he was on the point of obtaining. He yielded to
an impulse of his heart, but he is an excellent officer and a
very worthy fellow.”
M. Clemenceau.—“It results from the testimony of the
witness that the liberating document is a secret document
which was at the war department. It was stolen from the
war department by some unknown person and given to a
veiled lady. This veiled lady carried it about Paris, and
one evening gave it to Major Esterhazy. He brought it
back to the chief of staff, and the importance of the document
is such that the chief of staff, when asked concerning
its nature, says: ‘I consider that here my professional
secrecy is one with the secret of State.’ Upon which I
observe, gentlemen of the jury, that secrets of State are ill-kept
at the war department. And that is simply what I
wished to say.”
General de Boisdeffre.—“My staff officers, several of
whom have been so violently attacked, are worthy people
who do their whole duty. They have at heart nothing but
the interest of the country.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I have never attacked the staff officers.
They are very honest, and I am persuaded that they do not
take documents. I desire simply to note a fact, and against
a fact there is no possible struggle. I note it again. A
secret document has been taken from the war department
and carried about by Major Esterhazy and by a veiled lady.
That is what I said; nothing more, nothing less.”
M. Labori then offered a formal motion that, whereas professional
secrecy can be invoked only by those who have
received a confidence in some sense forced and constrained,
and who have received it in a professional capacity, the
court rule that General de Boisdeffre cannot be relieved of
the duty of answering the questions put to him, on the
ground of professional secrecy.
The court suspended its decision, and General Gonse was
called to the witness-stand.
M. Labori.—“What was the document emanating from the
war department that was carried from the war offices and
given to Major Esterhazy for his protection, by the veiled
lady?”
General Gonse.—“I cannot answer as to that.”
M. Labori.—“Why did Major Esterhazy call that document
the liberating document?”
General Gonse.—“I cannot answer.”
M. Labori.—“Do you know the veiled lady?”
General Gonse.—“No.”
M. Labori.—“Did you make an inquiry in order to discover
her?”
General Gonse.—“I cannot answer these questions. They
are traps.”
M. Labori.—“Ah! my general, they are traps? You permit
yourself to say the defence is laying traps for you?
Those are words that are not familiar here. I wait for the
attorney-general to rise and enforce respect for the defence.”
The attorney-general made no response, but half turned
his back, whereupon the president of the bar, M. Ployer,
amid great tumult on the part of the audience, advanced to
the middle of the court-room. In the absence of any
response from the attorney-general, M. Labori, addressing
General Gonse in a loud voice, said: “In the name of the
entire bar” ...
But the clamor that arose prevented him from finishing
his sentence, and was so great that the judge ordered the
guards to clear the court-room. The order was executed,
and the session was suspended. When the session was
resumed half an hour later, with the president of the bar
standing at the bar beside General Gonse, Attorney-General
Van Cassel rose, and said:
“The word uttered by General Gonse certainly exceeded
his thought. This is proved by the deference with which he
has put himself at the disposition of justice. If I did not
intervene at an earlier moment, it was because I am not in
the habit of responding to a summons; but the bar is
familiar with my sentiments.”
M. Ployer.—“I thank the attorney-general for his words.
I hope that General Gonse will spontaneously give us the
satisfaction demanded by the entire profession and its
chief.”
General Gonse.—“It is true that under the influence of
excitement my words exceeded my thought. It was not my
intention to attack the bar.”
M. Labori.—“In my name, and in the name of the entire
bar, I accept the explanations of General Gonse. I regret
but one thing,—that the president of the bar deprived me of
the pleasure of being the first to accept General Gonse’s
frank apology. I was not personally hit, and now the
defence is not hit either. The incident is closed.”
General Gonse then resumed his testimony, speaking as
follows in regard to his correspondence with Colonel
Picquart:
“When Colonel Picquart came to me in the country in
August, 1896, to tell me that he was on the track of a traitor,
I told him to pursue his investigations and get at the light.
He informed me that Major Esterhazy had had confidential
documents copied, and had tried to question artillery officers.
I told him that it was necessary, first of all, to distinguish
between the Esterhazy case and the Dreyfus case, as the
latter was not to be reconsidered. The letters that I wrote
to him had but one object,—to find out whether Major Esterhazy
was guilty or not. Colonel Picquart wanted him
arrested. To this I was opposed. I awaited sufficient
proofs. I am astonished that Colonel Picquart has made
use of my letters, but I declare that I never dreamed of a
reconsideration of the Dreyfus case.”
General Gonse was succeeded at the witness-stand by
Major Lauth, Colonel Picquart’s subordinate in the bureau
of information.
M. Labori.—“Is it true, as Major Ravary declares in his
report on the Esterhazy case, that Colonel Picquart kept for
a month a card-telegram addressed to Major Esterhazy,
instead of immediately communicating it to Major Lauth?”
Major Lauth.—“Not quite. Colonel Picquart kept the
card only a week. Then he asked me to photograph it, and
remove all evidence of tear. He also insisted that I should
certify to the handwriting. ‘Never in my life,’ said I; ‘this
writing is utterly unknown to me.’ Colonel Picquart tried
to make me say that it came from a personage whom I cannot
designate, but from whom we had more than twenty
letters. I refused. At that time it did not occur to me that
Colonel Picquart wanted to make me an accomplice in a
forgery. Nevertheless there was an animated scene between
us, and some of our remarks were heard by my comrades
through the partition.”
M. Labori.—“And now your interpretation is different?”
Major Lauth.—“It is certain that Colonel Picquart
wanted me to certify a handwriting that I did not know.”
M. Labori.—“None the less you remained Colonel Picquart’s
friend?”
Major Lauth.—“I was under his orders.”
M. Labori.—“You have dined at his house?”
Major Lauth.—“And he has dined at mine. I could not
turn my back on him for a thing like that.”
M. Labori.—“When did you photograph Major Esterhazy’s
handwriting?”
Major Lauth.—“In May, 1896. Colonel Picquart had me
photograph his correspondence, concealing certain passages.
I still have the plates. After Colonel Picquart’s departure
from the bureau of information, the report spread that he
had made suspicious assertions regarding several officers.
He persisted in carrying on an investigation concerning
Major Esterhazy. He also wrote us in complaint of our
hostility toward him. ‘When,’ he asked, ‘is this campaign
of mystery and falsehood to end?’ He was answered that
the mystery was now cleared up, and that, as to the falsehood,
the future would show who had lied.”
The stand was then taken by Adjutant Gribelin, keeper of
the archives in the bureau of information.
M. Labori.—“What do you know of the interviews that
M. Leblois had with Colonel Picquart at the war
department?”
M. Gribelin.—“I saw M. Leblois in Colonel Picquart’s
office several times after hours. The lamp was lighted. One
evening I saw them both with files before them. One of
these files related to carrier pigeons. The other was a secret
file in an envelope, bearing the initial of Colonel Henry, put
there so that the envelope could not be opened without his
knowledge.”
M. Labori.—“Was that the only file that Colonel Henry
had so stamped?”
M. Gribelin.—“Yes.”
M. Labori.—“What was this secret file?”
M. Gribelin.—“I do not know.”
M. Labori.—“Who was the chief at that time,—Colonel
Henry, then major, or Colonel Picquart?”
M. Gribelin.—“Colonel Picquart.”
M. Labori then demanded that M. Gribelin be confronted
with M. Leblois. Accordingly the latter advanced to the bar.
“It is true,” said he, “that I visited Colonel Picquart.
The rest of M. Gribelin’s testimony I absolutely deny.”
M. Gribelin.—“I swear that I have told the truth.”
M. Leblois.—“And so do I. M. Gribelin already stands
convicted of a material inaccuracy. At the Esterhazy investigation
he declared that my visits dated back to August,
1896. I showed that at that time I was absent from Paris.
Now he says that this visit took place in the autumn. It is
very convenient to change dates. Major Henry made the
same inexact assertion.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Where are these declarations?”
M. Leblois.—“They are in the file of the council of
inquiry which met to judge Colonel Picquart.”
M. Labori.—“I ask that they be sent for.”
Attorney-General Van Cassel.—“That is not possible.
The file does not belong to me. I can no more bring it here
than I could bring the Dreyfus file. It is for the accused to
gather their proofs before making their charges.”
M. Labori.—“You know very well that the minister of
war abuses the right of silence, in order to put the light
under a bushel. If it were easy to get at the light, we
should have gotten at it long ago.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Here are two witnesses who contradict
each other. Then one of the two lies. Perjury has been
committed on this witness-stand. Justice is entitled to
know which of the two is guilty. If it refuses to aid us, it
will be clear that it is afraid of the light.”
M. Labori offered a motion that the court order the production
of the file. The motion was opposed by the attorney-general,
and the court suspended its decision. Whereupon
General Mercier, former minister of war, and now in command
of the fourth army corps, at Mans, was called to the
witness-chair.
Being asked by M. Labori if he was acquainted with the
document known as the liberating document, he answered in
the negative.
M. Labori.—“That document contains a postscript beginning
with the words: ‘That scoundrel D——.’ Are you
familiar with this document?”
General Mercier.—“No.”
M. Labori.—“Was a secret document communicated to
the council of war in the Dreyfus case in 1894, outside of the
trial?”
The Judge.—“Can you answer the question?”
General Mercier.—“I believe that the Dreyfus case is not
in question here, and that there is a decree of the court forbidding
us to call it in question.”
M. Labori.—“Does General Mercier know of the publication
in September, 1896, of certain confidential information
belonging to the war department?”
General Mercier.—“I read in a newspaper at that time—I
believe it was ‘L’Eclair’—the communication of pretended
documents. I absolutely do not know whence this information
came. At any rate, I had nothing to do with it.”
M. Labori.—“General Mercier had then ceased to be minister
of war, so I cannot ask him if an inquiry was instituted.
I would have asked General Billot, if he had come. But can
General Mercier tell us whether in 1894 he made an inquiry
in regard to the indiscretions committed for the benefit of
certain newspapers, notably ‘La Libre Parole’ and
‘L’Eclair’?”
General Mercier.—“What was the date of the indiscretion
to which you refer?”
M. Labori.—“The arrest of Captain Dreyfus was
announced in ‘La Libre Parole’ of October 29, then in
‘L’Eclair’ on October 30 and 31. Then ‘La Libre Parole’
printed an article, declaring that, other newspapers, and
notably ‘L’Eclair,’ having spoken, there was no further
reason for keeping back the truth; and so this newspaper
told a long story. Many of its statements having been
shown to be true, I desire to know whether the minister of
war made an investigation as to the manner in which these
newspapers became possessed of them.”
General Mercier.—“I made no inquiry. These publications
were made outside of the war department, and, if you
ask my opinion, they were made against the wishes of the
war department.”
M. Labori.—“Could General Mercier tell me to whom he
attributes the publication?”
General Mercier.—“On October 29, 1894, Dreyfus had
already been arrested and imprisoned. Consequently his
family might know many things, and, since you ask me my
opinion, though it is based on no proof, I believe that the
information then given to the newspapers could have come
from the Dreyfus family.”
M. Labori.—“I asked General Mercier just now if a
secret document was communicated to the council of war in
1894.”
M. Clemenceau.—“The question was put by the court, and
the answer was made that there was a decree of the court
that prevented General Mercier from speaking. Consequently,
if General Mercier had not been moved by these
legal scruples, he would have spoken.”
The Judge.—“But I should have stopped him. We are
not a court of revision, but an assize court. Remember
that.”
M. Labori.—“Agreed, Monsieur le Président. Let us
note the reply already made by General Mercier, and let us
note that the court would not put the question, if General
Mercier had not answered spontaneously. M. Zola is prosecuted
for three paragraphs, in one of which he accuses the
second council of war of having covered an illegality in
obedience to orders. I say that we are entitled to prove this
illegality, unless the prosecution will admit that it has been
committed.”
The Judge.—“I point out to you that we are not a court of
revision, but an assize court.”
M. Labori.—“I answer: If in 1894 they had boasted, as
they have boasted since, of having communicated a secret
document, then that fact could have been used to secure a
revision. But this fact was not then known. It is only since
then that it has been openly repeated. General Mercier
himself will not say that this is not true, but he will say
that he cannot answer.”
General Mercier.—“Pardon me, I say that that is not
true.”
M. Labori.—“Does General Mercier say that it is not true
that a secret document was communicated, or does he say
that he has not repeated the fact to anyone whomsoever? I
ask him to leave no ambiguity in his reply.”
General Mercier.—“I have not to answer the first question,
but, as to the second, I say that it is not true.”
M. Labori.—“I desire to say to General Mercier that,
whatever I may have to express in my summing-up, I have
absolute confidence in his word.”
General Mercier.—“I thank you.”
M. Labori.—“If General Mercier were to say here a word
contrary to my thought on a point as serious as that of
which we have been speaking, I should be filled with frightful
anguish, because I should no longer understand anything
of what I have seen going on for months; and so I
shall keep silent, because I am confronted with a soldier
whose tact I may pass upon in my argument, but whose
honesty I respect.”
The Judge.—“Have you anything to add, General?”
General Mercier.—“I have not to come back to the
Dreyfus case, but, if I had to come back to it, it would be to
say, on my word as a soldier, that Dreyfus was a traitor who
was justly and legally condemned.”
The Judge.—“M. Labori, you have heard the declarations
of M. Mercier, the former minister of war. He has given
you all the explanations desired. He has even gone farther
than I desired.”
M. Labori.—“You are mistaken, Monsieur le Président.”
The Judge.—“No.”
M. Labori.—“You are mistaken so far as I am concerned.
General Mercier has not gone far enough. I will
not sit down until a certain matter has been cleared up. The
statement of General Mercier must be made clear, for here I
am in the centre of my case.”
The Judge.—“No, you are not in the centre of your case.
You are away from it. You are the lawyer of your client,
and you fill the rôle of the presiding judge. I point out to
you that you are encroaching on the Dreyfus case.”
M. Labori.—“The question is whether General Mercier,
who has uttered certain words, answered one question or
another. It is regrettable that General Mercier should come
here to say that a man has been legally condemned. It is
regrettable, because he cannot be examined as to the reasons
for his belief. As to his belief, I knew what it was, and I
knew very well that, if I were to ask him for it, he would
proclaim it loudly. So I am not surprised. But, when I
asked General Mercier: ‘Is it true that a secret document
was introduced into the Dreyfus case in 1894?’ he replied:
‘I will not answer’.”
The Judge.—“And he did well.”
M. Labori.—“Then I asked General Mercier: ‘Have you
anywhere said so?’ He interrupted me not to answer my
first question, but to say: ‘It is not true that I have so
stated.’ That does not interest me. It is the first point that
interests me, and on that, in spite of all incidents and all
emotions, General Mercier is dumb.”
The former minister of war then stepped down, and the
former minister of justice, M. Trarieux, took the stand.
His deposition was as follows:
“I did not follow the details of the Dreyfus trial of 1894.
But in 1895 and 1896 serious matters leaked out that much
disturbed my mind. The first concerned the existence of
secret documents that were said to have played a part.
Much more light has been thrown upon that matter since,
but I was profoundly agitated by what was said even then.
If other documents than those communicated to the accused
and his counsel had indeed been submitted to the judges and
had influenced their decisions, there was, at least in my
opinion, no State reason that could justify it. The first
principle and the essential basis of our penal law is that an
accused person cannot appear before justice without knowing
of what he is accused and concerning what he is to be called
upon for an explanation. Nevertheless, gentlemen, I was
not certain of the fact, and so I kept the secret to myself.
Afterward my trouble was increased by the reading of the
testimony of one of the experts in the Dreyfus case, which
chance had placed in my hands. Thus I became acquainted
with the document that determined the condemnation, and
the bordereau of which so much has been said. Resemblances
in the details of certain letters were pointed out; but a
serious observation was made, which I found later in the
indictment when the indictment was made public. It was
admitted that the bordereau showed important differences
from the documents with which it was compared. To explain
these differences, it was said that undoubtedly they were
intentional on the part of Dreyfus. I was much struck by
this remark. It was the observation of a moralist rather
than the affirmation of an expert; so I could reason with
these gentlemen. I asked myself if their explanations were
not in a certain measure—let us say in a large measure—shockingly
against the probabilities. I asked myself if it
was possible that a person, fearing that he might be compromised
by his handwriting, and wishing to disguise it, had
been so stupid as not to make it absolutely unrecognizable;
if it was possible, in short, that this condemned man would
have been so stupid, in spite of his intention to disarm suspicion,
as to leave apparent traces of similarity in the document.
I confess, gentlemen, I was infinitely more struck by
the dissimilarities that could not be explained than by
certain resemblances that are to be found in documents of
this sort. I kept my secret, gentlemen, but my agitation
increased. Serene persons about me asked: ‘Why do you
concern yourself with the matter?’ I could not help it.
It is the honor of a land of liberty to concern itself with
questions of justice, for, if a people wishes to be free, it must
first of all be just. It is justice that guarantees liberty to
all.
“But, after M. Scheurer-Kestner’s interpellation, I asked
him to relieve my conscience, and to tell me all that he knew.
His statements tore the veil from my eyes. He enabled me
to properly compare Esterhazy’s writing with that of the
bordereau. It was no longer a matter of dissimilarities to
explain; it was evidence itself; and I found no difference
that was astonishing. Since then I have repeated the comparison
many times, not for myself and alone, but with the
aid of friends. Never have I found a dissenting voice. All
who have been willing to examine have been impressed by
the same evidence, and I may say now, anticipating the
chronological order of facts, that later the experts themselves
who contributed to the preparation of the Esterhazy
case had to recognize in it a large measure, although they
concluded that the bordereau is not the material work of
Major Esterhazy. As everybody knows, they have affirmed
that the bordereau bears a striking resemblance to Major
Esterhazy’s writing. Only they set up the hypothesis that
this writing must be the work of a skilful forger. At any
rate, these conclusions, made by the experts as well as by
myself, absolutely overturned the conclusions of 1894. M.
Scheurer-Kestner placed in my hands the correspondence
between Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart and his superior,
General Gonse, adding a series of other letters—thirteen, if
I am not mistaken—that passed between the same persons
after the departure of Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart from the
war department. I have read them and reread them, and
have often reviewed them since in my mind. They left me
in no doubt, but I must declare in what measure they
enlightened me. I did not find in them certain proof that
General Gonse had arrived at a fixed decision to open a
revision of the Dreyfus case at a certain date, but I did
find in them indisputable proof that this officer admitted the
possibility of revision, and gave instructions for its preparation,
covering all the acts of Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart
with his entire approbation. General Gonse did not say to
his subordinate: ‘You are mistaken; you know it well;
you have a secret file in your hands.’ He did not say to
him: ‘Calm yourself; this is madness.’ No. He said: ‘Act
with prudence. No irreparable steps. Do not proceed recklessly.
The question is one of the highest gravity. You
must conduct all your negotiations with the greatest circumspection.’
Then, on the question of expert examination, he
added. ‘To submit the question to experts at this moment
is to mix up third parties with the examination of the affair,
under unfavorable conditions. I advise other steps.’ And
he indicated these. He called attention notably to the necessity
of ascertaining under what conditions the documents
enumerated in the bordereau could have been communicated
by the man who was suspected of being its author, and then
the letter finished with recommendations of prudence and
the expression of affectionate sentiments.
“M. Picquart’s reply laid down the question of revision
in terms as express as possible. It was not possible, indeed,
to speak in clearer and more prudent language. What did
General Gonse reply? His reply was formal. He said that,
in spite of the disturbing information contained in the letter,
he still advised most careful procedure. But he added
a declaration which to me is absolutely decisive concerning
his state of mind: ‘It is not a question, of course, of stopping
the light. It is a question of preparing the conditions
under which the truth may be manifested.’ That was the
language of a man who had not in his hands certain proof of
the treason of Dreyfus. It was the language of a man
whose conscience and heart were disturbed by the fears that
had already invaded the mind of Colonel Picquart, and that
with the latter had become absolute convictions.
“That settled the matter for me, and, when they talk of
proof of judicial error, I say that it is almost absolutely acquired.
Similarity of handwritings; proof that there was
no certain demonstration of the guilt of Dreyfus; demonstration
that our military officers were familiar with the
facts, and had given their approval to investigations,—all
these circumstances removed from my mind the last vestige
of doubt.
“General Gonse returned from Cormeilles-en-Parisis on
September 15, the day after the letter of the 14th written to
him by Colonel Picquart. The same day ‘L’Eclair’ published
an article in which it was said, I believe, that all veils
must be torn off. ‘L’Eclair’ published a document which
until then had remained a secret, and which, it said, had
been produced at the deliberations of the council of war
without the knowledge of Dreyfus or his counsel. This document,
said ‘L’Eclair,’ had determined the condemnation.
It was a letter exchanged between the military attachés of
two embassies, at the foot of which were these words: ‘That
animal D—— is really becoming too exacting.’ But
‘L’Eclair’ published it as follows: ‘That animal Dreyfus is
really becoming too exacting.’ This, M. Scheurer-Kestner
told me, was like a train of powder through the whole press.
A formidable movement of opinion rose against the few
persons who could still speak of what had happened in 1894.
The clear proof of guilt had been found. At last timid consciences
could hope; there was no longer anything to fear.
Dreyfus was really a traitor, since his relations with attachés
of a foreign embassy were confessed by a foreign attaché
himself.
“Gentlemen, who could have communicated this document?
A few days later another article was published in
‘Le Matin,’ which reproduced the bordereau and some bits
of the writing of Dreyfus. Violent discussions ensued.
There was a renewal of the report of attempts at escape.
The government was called on to keep careful guard, and an
interpellation was announced by deputy Castelin, who had
collected these various rumors and intended to ask the
government for an explanation as soon as the chamber
should reconvene. Then, gentlemen, came a radical change
in the dispositions of the minister of war. Not only was
Colonel Picquart requested to cool his ardor, but it was
deemed necessary to send him away from the war department.
It was announced that there would be no resistance
to M. Castelin’s interpellation. It was deemed impossible to
make head against such a storm. And so, on the 14th, two
days before the interpellation, Colonel Picquart was sent
away from the department on a mission, in the course of
which he finally reached Tunis. That is the explanation of
this sudden about-face.
“But who had communicated the document? Not Colonel
Picquart. That was impossible, for he was after a revision
of the Dreyfus case, and this communication was clearly
made by some one opposed to such revision. The communication
to ‘L’Eclair’ was not made out of kindness for Dreyfus;
it was a final blow at the condemned man, the last word
that was to arch his tomb. It could not have been Dreyfus’s
counsel, for his counsel did not know the document. It
could not have been the experts, for they had never had it
in their hands. No journalist could have obtained it, except
from some one in a position to be acquainted with it. The
persons in such a position were not numerous. There were
six, or eight, or ten, in the department who had it at their
disposal. There was certainly one of these, perhaps several,
whose interest it was to thwart Colonel Picquart, and who,
to this end committed this indiscretion, this criminal indiscretion,
for a crime had to be committed in order to communicate
the document under the circumstances in which it
was reproduced by the newspaper. This newspaper, in fact,
had printed the passage in the terms that I have just stated,
but it is now known that the document did not say ‘That
animal Dreyfus.’ It said ‘That animal D....’ It had
been necessary to alter the document in order to make it
more decisive. Evidently some one was bent on laying a
trap for Colonel Picquart, bent on threatening him in order
to make the production of his testimony impossible; some
one wanted to close his mouth, and threatened to ruin him
if he dared to speak. Colonel Picquart desired an investigation
to determine the author, or authors, of the plots against
him, and, indeed, if they had succeeded in discovering the
guilty party, the whole case might have been cleared up.
On December 18, 1897, I went to the minister of justice to
lay the facts before him, finding, moreover, that he was not
at all familiar with the situation. He promised to consult
the prime minister. On December 23 he notified me that the
prime minister had had an interview with the minister of
war, who had promised to send to Colonel Picquart for the
text of the dispatches, and compare them with the writing
of an officer whom Colonel Picquart suspected. He told me
that the minister of war had promised to examine these
writings himself, and that later he would let me know the
result. This he did on the 28th. The answer of the minister
of war was that he did not consider Colonel Picquart’s
suspicions well founded, and that he did not see sufficient
similarity in the handwritings to warrant suspicion. I have
not to inquire, gentlemen, whether he was mistaken; it is
too delicate a question to be examined by me. But it is
certain that, though the author of these documents could
not be designated with certainty, a crime had been three
times repeated in the Speranza letter of 1896 and in the two
dispatches of 1897. So I expected that a supplementary investigation
would be undertaken. But nothing of the
kind. There was silence for several days, and then in despair
Colonel Picquart decided to lodge with the public
prosecutor on January 4, 1898, a formal complaint that these
four documents were forged. Another week went by, and
nothing was done. Major Ravary continued to think that
these facts did not call for the examination solicited. Undoubtedly
they had not, in his eyes, the importance that
Colonel Picquart attached to them, and so on January 10,
six days later, the council of war met, and, before it, was
read the indictment with which you are familiar,—an indictment,
astounding to say, which made not the slightest
allusion to the facts which Colonel Picquart considered so
serious.
“It is certain—Major Esterhazy confesses it—that a document
was withdrawn from the war department,—the document
which he says was delivered to him by a veiled lady.
Who took away that document? What was done in the
course of investigation to find out who took it away?
Nothing. I pointed out to the minister of war that letters
and dispatches had been sent to Colonel Picquart in order to
close his mouth, telling him not to come back from Tunis,
and that his future would be destroyed, if he should come
back. Who sent these letters and dispatches? No attempt
has been made to find out.
“In conclusion, I have but a single word to say. After
my participation in this affair I desired to attend the hearing
before the council of war to see what would take place there.
I mingled with the public, and, not as former minister of
justice or as a senator, but as a simple citizen, I was present
at the trial. I was conscious from the first moment that I
was not witnessing an ordinary trial, but a trial like no
other. In the first place I heard read a declaration from
General Saussier that he had ordered this matter carried
before the council of war in order to clear up obscurities
which, in his opinion, could be cleared up only by an open
debate. By this I was somewhat reassured, for to have an
open debate was in itself a great deal. Now, gentlemen,
there immediately appeared a lawyer for Mme. Dreyfus and
her children, and another for the complainant. They asked
to be accepted as participants in the trial. I knew that
there were precedents for this, notably in the Kraemer case
at Lyons; Dalloz and other authors say that councils of war
can admit such participation. But in this case it was
denied. Then came the reading of the indictment. This
indictment was a plea for the accused, and a fierce attack
upon his accusers. As soon as the reporter opened his
mouth, it was apparent that he was not present as an
accuser, but as the foremost defender of the accused. Then
I asked myself: ‘Where, then, is the open debate called
for by General Saussier?’ Up to the moment when the
closing of the doors made it impossible for me to hear more
of the trial, I saw nothing but a semblance of an open debate.
And now, gentlemen, I have told you all that I know, all
that I have seen, all that I can say.”
At this point an adjournment was taken for the day.
The first witness at the fourth day’s hearing was to have
been Mme. Dreyfus, whom at first the court had refused to
hear on the question of Zola’s good faith, but whom, after
further reflection, it had decided to hear. Nevertheless
Mme. Dreyfus did not appear, M. Labori consenting to
excuse her in view of a letter which he had received from
her, and which read as follows:
Dear Master:
I answered to the call of my name at Tuesday’s hearing, in spite of my
great agitation. I made the effort because I hoped to express to the
court and the jury my deep gratitude to, and my admiration for, M. Zola,
who, obeying the voice of his conscience, has sacrificed himself for justice
and truth with a sublime disdain of the insults and threats which he has
drawn upon himself. I hoped also to declare my absolute faith in my
husband’s innocence,—an innocence which, I am convinced, will be established
before long,—and also my sincere gratitude to you, dear
master, who display so much courage and talent to secure the triumph of
the truth. The anguish of these three days, added to all that I have
suffered for three years, has put me in a condition in which I could not
endure a fresh trial. Permit me, then, to absent myself from the court
and accept, I beg of you, the expression of my most distinguished
sentiments.
L. Dreyfus.
February 10, 1898.
M. Trarieux was recalled to the witness-stand.
M. Labori.—“Will M. Trarieux tell us what he knows
about the way in which Colonel Picquart’s mission was
executed?”
The Judge.—“In other words, you ask M. Trarieux if he
is familiar with the mission entrusted to Colonel Picquart.”
M. Labori.—“I do not ask the object of the mission. I
simply wish to know if the circumstances surrounding it are
familiar to the witness, in which case I should like to have
him tell us what they were.”
The Judge.—“General de Boisdeffre told us yesterday
that it was a secret mission.”
M. Labori.—“I do not ask the witness the object of the
mission. It is secret, like everything else in this case, but
those in a position to know the details of the mission know
that their declarations would compromise no higher interest.
It is a secret, because it is a secret; there is no other
reason.”
The Judge.—“It may involve secrets concerning the
national defence. That is why I will put no question on the
point.”
M. Labori.—“It is so said, I know, but I should like to
find out whether M. Trarieux is familiar with the circumstances
under which Colonel Picquart was asked to undertake
his mission, and whether there was anything extraordinary
about these circumstances.”
The Judge.—“Witness, you understand the question. I
will ask you to say what you think it is your duty to say.”
M. Trarieux.—“I saw nothing in General Gonse’s letters
in the nature of a secret concerning the national defence.
All that I can say is that I got an impression from the letters
that Colonel Picquart was in most affectionate and cordial
relations with his superiors, and seemed to command their
entire confidence. The reading of this correspondence gave
me the idea—though this is but an interpretation—that
Colonel Picquart was sent away from Paris for a certain
reason. At first he was sent to the east; then to the south.
Frequently new orders came to him, taking him ever a little
farther from Paris, and finally he had to cross the Mediterranean
and go to Algeria and Tunis. These letters gave me
the impression that, after having sent him away from Paris
on the eve of the Castelin interpellation, they were determined
that he should not come back.”
M. Labori.—“Could M. Trarieux tell us whether, while he
was minister of justice, he received a visit from a lawyer
especially interested in the matters in question here?”
M. Trarieux.—“I suppose you refer to the visit of M.
Demange?”
M. Labori.—“Yes.”
The Judge.—“Is this in relation to the Dreyfus case?”
M. Labori.—“It is in relation to a document involved in
the Dreyfus trial.”
The Judge.—“I ask you to say nothing about it.”
M. Labori.—“Yesterday General Mercier thought it his
duty to refer to the Dreyfus case in words which, like all
those that come from a certain direction here, are incomplete.
They were received with very violent manifestations,
but I have not been able to obtain anything additional, because
it is an understood thing here that in this matter anyone
can say anything that will injure us, but no one has a
right to say anything that can help us.”
The Judge.—“Pardon me, M. Labori, I believe that I preside
here with all the independence desirable. If I prevent
M. Trarieux from speaking of the Dreyfus case, it is because
there has been a decree of the court. You remind me of
what General Mercier said yesterday. Permit me to add
that, if the general said it, it was because I did not have
time to stop him. He spoke too quickly; otherwise I would
have prevented him. You ask questions that violate the
decree which we have rendered.”
M. Labori.—“I shall ask all the questions that I think
useful to my offence, whatever your opinion of them may
be. You will pass upon them, Monsieur le Président,—and
the court with you, for you are not the sole master,—as
you see fit.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I think that the court misunderstands.
None of us intend to violate its decrees. What we wish to
point out is that, in spite of you, Monsieur le Président,—you
yourself have said it,—General Mercier made a certain
declaration yesterday. We desired to bring out today either
a contradiction or a confirmation of the words uttered by
General Mercier, and, by virtue of a decree of the court, you
say to us: ‘That is not possible.’ The jurors will observe
that for a court of justice this is a singular situation. The
charge may be made, but it may not be contradicted.”
M. Trarieux.—“The charge, whether against M. Scheurer-Kestner
or against M. Mathieu Dreyfus, that they are responsible
for the existing agitation and disorder is quite
erroneous and ill-founded. In fact, there are two ways of
obtaining the revision of a judicial error, and Article 443 of
the code of criminal examination defines them. The first is
this: once a condemnation has been pronounced, if it be
discovered that the facts on which this condemnation rest
were committed by some other person than the person condemned,
this other person may be prosecuted, and, if a condemnation
is secured, this condemnation being contradictory
of the previous condemnation of an innocent man, a revision
of the judicial error becomes imperative. Thus these two
condemnations necessarily bring about, ipso facto, a revision
of the trial. The second method is provided by a law passed
by the present legislature on June 6, 1895, under the
government to which I had the honor to belong. It provides
that, if, after a condemnation, a new fact be discovered
which was unknown at the time of the condemnation, and
which is of a nature to establish the innocence of the party
condemned, the matter may be laid before the minister of
justice to induce him to procure a revision of the case. The
minister of justice is asked to lay the matter before the court
of appeals, which is judge in such a matter. Now, it is indisputable
that M. Mathieu Dreyfus took the first method,
for, by preferring a formal complaint against Major Esterhazy,
he hoped to secure a condemnation of him, the immediate
consequence of which would have been a revision of his
brother’s case. The question is whether he would not have
done better to take the second method. It seems to be the
opinion that he should have applied to the minister of justice
and asked him to lay the matter before the court. I think
that this is a mistaken opinion. Suppose, instead of
making the complaint against Major Esterhazy, M. Mathieu
Dreyfus had applied to the minister of justice for a revision,
what new fact could he have pointed out to induce the
minister of justice to lay the matter before the court of
appeals? There was only one,—the similarity of Major
Esterhazy’s handwriting to that of the bordereau attributed
by the verdict of 1894 to Captain Dreyfus. If this had been
pointed out to the minister of justice, it would have been
necessary to draw the immediate conclusion that the author
of this handwriting, M. Esterhazy, was the guilty party. It
would have been impossible to lay the demand for revision
before the court of appeals prior to a decision upon this
question after a confrontation with M. Esterhazy. No
revision of the judicial error of which Dreyfus was the
victim could have been ordered, until it had been established
in the presence of the party directly interested, M. Esterhazy,
that this error was committed by him, or that it was
the result of his crime, and that he was the author of the
bordereau unjustly attributed to Dreyfus. Therefore the
minister of justice would have had to prosecute M. Esterhazy.
But this he could not have done himself, for the
simple reason that M. Esterhazy, being a soldier, is responsible
only to the military courts, and consequently the
minister of justice would have had to hand the matter over
to the minister of war, who would have been charged with
the prosecution. If, then, M. Mathieu Dreyfus had chosen
the method of appealing to the minister of justice, not only
would nothing have been gained, but time would have been
lost, for the same result would have been reached by a circuitous
route.”
A group of witnesses was then called, consisting of M.
Forzinetti, M. Lebrun-Renault, and others who had heard M.
Lebrun-Renault declare that Dreyfus had never made a confession
to him. But, the court declining to hear any of
them, on the ground that their testimony concerned the
Dreyfus case, they were all obliged to retire.
Dr. Socquet was then recalled to the stand.
M. Clemenceau.—“I forgot to ask Dr. Socquet whether he
found Mme. de Boulancy at No. 22, Boulevard des
Batignolles.”
Dr. Socquet.—“No.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Will he tell the court how he succeeded
in finding her, since that was the only address that he
knew?”
Dr. Socquet.—“Through the letter handed to me by Monsieur
le Président. He gave me a doctor’s certificate establishing
her sickness, which was accompanied by a letter that
gave the address.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I remind the court of an incident that
occurred at the last hearing. I informed the court that Mme.
de Boulancy did not live in the Boulevard des Batignolles,
and the court answered: ‘She does live there, for the doctor’s
certificate designates that address.’ Therefore I am at
a loss to understand. Does Monsieur le Président recall the
incident?”
The Judge.—“Perfectly. I am looking for the address in
the letter.”
Dr. Socquet.—“It is on the third page.”
M. Zola.—“From whom is this letter?”
The judge then read the letter from Mme. de Boulancy
which he had read at a previous hearing, but including this
time the following sentence, which before he had omitted: “I
am with my family, at No. 54, Avenue de Neuilly.”
M. Clemenceau.—“The court will remember that this
information had not been previously furnished me. Therefore
I have no further occasion to ask the doctor how he
found Mme. de Boulancy, but I should like to ask him
another question.”
M. Zola.—“Reference to the stenographic report will show
that Mme. de Boulancy’s present address was not given at
the hearing.”
The Judge.—“That is a matter of no importance.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I make a reservation, and pass on. In
the course of Dr. Socquet’s visit to Mme. de Boulancy was
there any conversation between them about matters other
than his sickness?”
Dr. Socquet [after some hesitation].—“Yes, we talked of
something else.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Something that did not concern her
health?”
Dr. Socquet.—“Yes.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Did Dr. Socquet ask Mme. de Boulancy
the following question: ‘Is it true that you have other
letters from Major Esterhazy than those that have been published?’”
Dr. Socquet.—“No.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Did the witness say to Mme. de Boulancy:
‘Is it true that you have three telegrams from Major
Esterhazy?’”
Dr. Socquet.—“No.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Did Mme. de Boulancy declare spontaneously:
‘I have letters from Major Esterhazy which are
much more serious than those that have been published?’
And did she also declare, of her own initiative: ‘It has been
incorrectly stated that I had three telegrams from Major
Esterhazy; I have only two’?”
Dr. Socquet.—“No.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Was the name Esterhazy uttered at all
in the course of the conversation?”
Dr. Socquet [after reflection].—“Yes.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Under what circumstances was this
name uttered, and by whom?”
Dr. Socquet.—“By Mme. de Boulancy.”
M. Clemenceau.—“As Mme. de Boulancy would not have
uttered this word singly, will the witness tell us what other
words she added?”
The Judge.—“I call M. Clemenceau’s attention to the fact
that he is entering into the domain of a private conversation.”
M. Clemenceau.—“The defence attaches the greatest importance
to the testimony of Mme. de Boulancy and to the
production of the letters which are still in her possession, as
well as of the two telegrams which she also possesses.
Under these circumstances we shall do all that we possibly
can, and shall talk as long as the court does not prevent us,
to secure the appearance of Mme. de Boulancy that she may
enlighten this court and this jury regarding Major Esterhazy’s
letters. I ask the witness what other words Mme. de
Boulancy added to the word Esterhazy.”
Dr. Socquet.—“I am entirely ready to answer, but it is a
matter outside of the mission that the court entrusted to me.
Still, if it be not inappropriate, I will say that, when I
examined Mme. de Boulancy, she talked to me of sundry
matters,—among others of the way in which she had reached
her present condition, and the annoyance that she felt. I let
her talk, for I wanted to form an opinion as to the state of
her health. She spoke of Major Esterhazy’s letters, and told
me that she had complained at the office of the public prosecutor,
who was looking into her charge, that a person had
abused her letters. She said that she had entrusted these
letters to a person who had found them interesting, and who
had used them in a way of which she did not learn until
later. She told me especially that this person had entrusted
them to ‘Le Figaro,’ and that, an hour after he brought them
back, M. Hadamard, sub-chief of police, came to seize them.
She added that all these letters were from Major Esterhazy.
That is all that she said to me on that subject.”
M. Clemenceau.—“By ‘all these letters’ did she mean
those published by ‘Le Figaro,’ or the other letters that she
had in her possession, or had deposited with one of her
lawyers?”
Dr. Socquet.—“She said: ‘All his letters.’ Six letters,
plus a seventh, which contains the word ‘Uhlans.’”
M. Clemenceau.—“Did she say that they were genuine?”
Dr. Socquet.—“That is what she said. I did not question
her. I allowed her to talk, seeing no objection to it.”
M. Socquet then stepped down, and M. du Paty de Clam
took his place.
“Monsieur le Président,” said he, “I am called here to
testify concerning the Esterhazy case. I am ready to answer
all questions, except those that involve professional secrecy.
But it is with deep sadness that I call attention to the fact
that matters of my private life have been raised here. It
does not embarrass me personally, for I have always behaved
as a gallant man should. I have the esteem of my superiors,
and that is enough for me. But I can not admit that it is
allowable to reflect upon the honor of a young girl who has
always been respected. I ask the court, in the name of
French honor, to eliminate such questions from the discussion,
and I will answer all others.”
The Judge.—“But here there has been no question” ...
M. Labori.—“I have referred here to but one woman,
Mlle. Blanche de Comminges. It seems to be the opinion of
the newspapers that I insinuated, or meant to say, that there
had been between Mlle. de Comminges and Colonel du Paty
de Clam private relations susceptible of an annoying interpretation.
Nothing of the kind has been in my thoughts.
Mlle. Blanche de Comminges is a young girl of fifty-five
years; she is a friend of Colonel Picquart; her name has been
used in telegrams which Colonel Picquart considers forgeries,
and in regard to which he has complained. It is only of
this that I have spoken. Now I come to different questions.
In the first place, was M. du Paty de Clam ever acquainted
with the father of Mlle. de Comminges?”
M. du Paty de Clam.—“Yes.”
M. Labori.—“Did he have a correspondence with one or
more members of his family?”
M. du Paty de Clam.—“It is on this point, Monsieur le
Président, that I ask permission to keep silent. I can reveal
nothing. This concerns the honor of a family, the memory
of a dead person, and I will not do it. It is private ground.
It is my domain, and no one has a right to infringe upon it.
It has no relation with the Esterhazy case, and I will say
nothing about it.”
The Judge.—“You understand the answer?”
M. Labori.—“Yes, Monsieur le Président, I understand
the answer, and I understand also that, though you consider
it good, I do not.”
The Judge.—“Exactly.”
M. Labori.—“I do not, and I will tell you why, if you will
permit me.”
The Judge.—“Go ahead.”
M. Labori.—“I never before saw an assize court like this.
All means are sought here to prevent the light from being
thrown on any point.”
The Judge.—“These are your witnesses.”
M. Labori.—“Pardon me, these are not our witnesses;
they are witnesses. M. du Paty de Clam is called because
we wanted a complete investigation, and, whenever we put a
question, in the absence of a good reason why it should not
be answered, we are offered two bad ones. When there has
been a consideration of the matter behind closed doors, they
say: ‘We will not answer, because this occurred behind
closed doors.’ I say this to the jurors: Are you not as
worthy to keep a secret as French military officers? If
closed doors are necessary, let the doors be closed. We do
not distrust you. Then they appeal to professional secrecy.
When that will not do, they invoke secrets of State.
And when they can invoke neither professional secrecy or
secrets of State or closed doors, they invoke private secrets.
Consequently I have no further questions to put to M. du
Paty de Clam.”
The next witness was Colonel Henry.
M. Labori.—“Will Colonel Henry tell us how far the facts
related in Major Ravary’s report are correct, and what documents
Colonel Picquart took from the files? Will Colonel
Henry tell us whether that report described correctly the
scene that took place in his presence in Colonel Picquart’s
private office between M. Leblois and Colonel Picquart, and
what that scene really was?”
Colonel Henry.—“I was absent when the file was taken by
Colonel Picquart. I was on leave of absence, in August or
September, 1896. Colonel Picquart asked M. Gribelin for
the file, and he gave it to him.”
The Judge.—“M. Gribelin made the same answer.”
Colonel Henry.—“M. Gribelin, the keeper of the archives,
to whom I had given the key of my closet,” ...
M. Labori.—“Thus it results from the testimony of the
witness” ...
The Judge.—“M. Gribelin was under Colonel Picquart’s
orders.”
M. Labori.—“But what was Colonel Henry’s position?”
Colonel Henry.—“Major.”
M. Labori.—“Under whose orders?”
Colonel Henry.—“Under the orders of Colonel Picquart.”
M. Labori.—“The chief of the service was M. Picquart.
Consequently, if I rightly understand, Colonel Picquart, who
was at the head of the service, asked M. Gribelin, who was
under his orders, like Major Henry himself, to give him, by
opening the closet with the key,—that is, under the most
natural conditions,—a file that was a part of Colonel
Picquart’s service. Is that it?”
Colonel Henry.—“Exactly. If I had been present, I
would have pointed out to Colonel Picquart that my instructions,
given me by Colonel Sandherr, were to give this file to
nobody, except in the presence of the sub-chief of staff, the
chief of staff, and myself.”
The Judge.—“It was Colonel Sandherr who gave those
orders. He is dead, I believe.”
Colonel Henry.—“He was sick and unconscious.”
M. Labori.—“Under these circumstances Colonel Sandherr
had been replaced by Colonel Picquart. Does Colonel
Henry invoke against Colonel Picquart, then his chief,
instructions given him by a previous chief? Will Colonel
Henry tell us who succeeded Colonel Picquart in the war
offices?”
Colonel Henry.—“Colonel Picquart’s successor is General
Gonse, sub-chief of staff, for it was to General Gonse that
Colonel Picquart handed over his service when in November,
1897, he started on a mission.”
M. Labori.—“Who is now in the service under General
Gonse’s orders?”
Colonel Henry.—“I am.”
M. Labori.—“Thank you.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Did not Colonel Henry confer concerning
a certain matter directly with M. Leblois? I ask no
details.”
Colonel Henry.—“You refer to the Bouleau affair? One
day there was,—that is to say, I talked to Colonel Picquart
in presence of M. Leblois. Colonel Picquart said: ‘When we
are embarrassed concerning any question of spying, you can
refer to M. Leblois, who is a lawyer, and will be able’” ...
M. Clemenceau.—“When you wanted to send an envelope
containing no matter what to another office, and did not
want this envelope to be opened, had you not a method of
assuring yourself that it would not be opened? Was it not
your habit to place your signature on envelopes that you did
not wish to be opened?”
Colonel Henry.—“No.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Was it not the habit of the witness to
do that?”
Colonel Henry.—“No.”
The Judge.—“But one of the witnesses yesterday said
that it was?”
M. Labori.—“Pardon me. Permit me to interrupt to ask
that the question be put as we frame it. I protest; there
has been already too much said. I ask that the question be
thus put: Did Colonel Henry once do this?”
Colonel Henry then admitted that he placed his signature
on the secret file. The witness was then confronted with M.
Leblois, whom Colonel Henry said that he had never seen,
except in Colonel Picquart’s presence.
M. Leblois.—“I had a long discussion with Colonel Henry
concerning a matter that had been under examination in the
office of the public prosecutor at Nancy.”
The Judge.—“In the absence of Colonel Picquart?”
Colonel Henry.—“We talked once in the presence of
Colonel Picquart. The latter said to me: ‘When we shall
have need of additional information concerning some matter
of spying, here is M. Leblois, who will be able to lend us his
aid.’ Well, I have never conferred with M. Leblois.”
M. Leblois.—“This conference lasted several hours in your
own private office. You admitted it before the council of
war.”
The next witness was M. de la Batut, who testified as follows:
“At the time of which I speak Lieutenant du Paty de
Clam was giving a course of instruction to the conditional
volunteers of a year. When the conditional volunteers came
to the regiment, they were given, as a subject of historical
composition, ‘The Wars of the First Empire.’ I wrote such
a composition as I was able to from my recollections of the
matter, and I finished by saying that it was to be hoped
that henceforth intelligence, and not cannons, would govern
the world. The next day the lieutenant-colonel sent for
me, and said: ‘You are from the south; you shall have a
fortnight in prison.’ I answered: ‘My colonel, I am not
exactly from the south, I am from Dordogne.’ ‘Yes, yes,
you are from the south. You shall have a fortnight in
prison for your composition.’ And I was taken to prison.
The colonel, who was absent, returned the next morning,
and, probably finding my punishment excessive, hastened to
relieve me of it.”
M. Clemenceau.—“After he had thus relieved you, was
the punishment replaced by another of a more general
character?”
M. de la Batut.—“Yes; the colonel said to me: ‘I relieve
you of your punishment, because it was a little too severe,
and you have not yet the military spirit. But you and all
your comrades will get no leave of absence for a month.’”
Then the following witnesses were successively called and
dismissed, because their testimony was to relate to the
Dreyfus case: Major Besson d’Ormescheville, M. Maurel, M.
Vallecalle, M. Eichmann, M. Gallet, and M. Roche. Then
came Major Ravary.
M. Labori.—“I find the following in Major Ravary’s report:
‘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.’”
M. Ravary.—“There is an error. It is a secret file, not
the secret file.”
M. Labori.—“I ask first not what this file contained, since
it is secret, but to what it related?”
M. Ravary.—“I do not exactly understand. A witness
said that there was a document spread between M. Leblois
and Colonel Picquart. I know nothing more.”
M. Labori.—“Unless it is understood that there is always
to be some method of evasion, I insist on a reply from M.
Ravary. Here we are squarely in the Esterhazy matter.
We have Major Ravary’s report. He was the official reporter.
It is not possible that he accepted testimony that
has been contradicted here by the evidence of M. Gribelin
and M. Henry. It is not possible that M. Ravary accepted
evidence without pressing the witnesses. It is not possible
that a matter so serious as a secret file should have been
referred to in a report read to the council of war without resulting
in an examination of its contents. I do not ask what
its contents were, but to what it related. If the witness
cannot answer, I shall infer that judicial examinations before
a council of war are carried on as we have never seen
them carried on in trials in which we take part.”
M. Ravary—“I protest that all our examinations are carried
on with the greatest honesty and conscientiousness.
As to the document of which M. Labori speaks, it did not interest
me, and for this reason. I had an accused man before
me, Major Esterhazy. I was to seek proof either of his innocence
or of his guilt, and this document had nothing to do
with Major Esterhazy.”
M. Labori.—“This document was a part of the Esterhazy
file. I ask the court to ask M. Ravary, who conducted the
examination, what this document was.”
M. Ravary.—“As to that, I am completely ignorant.”
M. Labori.—“That is enough; I am satisfied.”
M. Clemenceau.—“The witness said in his report that
there was a file of documents open on Colonel Picquart’s
desk. I should like to know if he maintains that declaration.”
M. Ravary—“It was so stated in the testimony of either
Colonel Henry or M. Gribelin.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I remind the court that M. Gribelin
said that there was a file of documents in an envelope.
Colonel Henry said the same thing, and so I ask the court to
recall M. Gribelin.”
M. Ravary.—“I said either M. Gribelin or Colonel
Henry.”
M. Gribelin, being recalled testified as follows: “What I
said was that the documents were contained in a yellow envelope;
they were not scattered; I even specified, in my
written deposition, that they were not searching the documents.”
M. Ravary.—“My report is a sincere expression of the file
of documents. Let the file be called for.”
M. Clemenceau.—“M. Gribelin says that the file was in an
envelope.”
M. Ravary.—“The envelope was cut lengthwise.”
M. Clemenceau.—“The documents were in an envelope,
and the side of the envelope was cut; so it was impossible to
know what was in the envelope.”
M. Ravary.—“But there was not one visit simply; there
were several. M. Leblois has been seen several times at the
office of Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart.”
The Judge.—“We know it.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Let us not depart from the question.
M. Gribelin says that on the day that he entered there was a
file of documents on the desk relating to carrier pigeons,—documents
in an envelope.”
The Judge.—“Exactly.”
M. Clemenceau.—“The report says that there was an open
file of documents from which had been taken a document
containing these words, ‘That scoundrel D....’”
M. Ravary.—“But I wrote that in my report on the
strength, not of M. Gribelin’s testimony, but of the testimony
of another. Send for the Esterhazy file, and you will
see.”
M. Labori.—“But we ask nothing better.”
M. Ravary.—“That does not concern me. My conduct
was that of an honest man; that is all.”
The next witness to take the stand was General de Pellieux.
“I feel,” he began, “that it is necessary that the
whole truth should be known, and I shall tell it.”
M. Clemenceau.—“We shall remember this promise.”
General de Pellieux.—“On the 14th of last November, M.
Mathieu Dreyfus lodged with the minister of war a complaint
against Major Esterhazy. He formally accused him
of being the author of the bordereau that had led to the
condemnation of his brother, basing his accusation upon an
absolute similarity of handwriting. On the 16th I received
from the military governor of Paris an order to make a
military investigation. I was instructed to give M. Mathieu
Dreyfus an opportunity of proving his charge. I sent for
him. He brought me no proof of any sort,—nothing but
allegations. In reality, my investigation was virtually over,
but, in view of the public feeling that the charge had
created, I felt that I could not stop. I received from M.
Scheurer-Kestner the names of M. Leblois and Colonel Picquart.
M. Leblois came. He had a file of documents,
composed of letters, fac-similes of Major Esterhazy’s
writing, a telegram in characters similar to those used in
print, which had been addressed to M. Scheurer-Kestner,
and of which I do not recall the terms, and fourteen letters
from General Gonse. He showed me these fourteen letters,
and I read them. I read likewise the drafts of the letters
addressed by Colonel Picquart to M. Leblois. The latter
told me that he had been long in relationship with Colonel
Picquart, and had often been to see him at the war department,
and he gave me a history of his relations with Colonel
Picquart. These relations, then, are admitted. M. Leblois
has been at the office of the minister of war, and he has in
his hands letters from Colonel Picquart. For some days
there has been talk of the communication of a secret file.
It is admitted that Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart placed
General Gonse’s letters in the hands of M. Leblois. It is
admitted that he said to M. Leblois, who repeated it to M.
Scheurer-Kestner, that a file in a war office contained a document
formally accusing Major Esterhazy of treason. Here
I will point out that, in my opinion, there is nothing more
secret, nothing more sacred, in the world than an examination
begun against an officer for the crime of treason. There
is nothing in the world so sacred as a man’s honor, as long
as he remains unconvicted of the crime with which he is
charged. Well, Colonel Picquart told M. Leblois that in the
office of the minister of war there was a file containing a
document that formally accused Major Esterhazy of treason.
I defy anyone to contradict me. There you have communication
of a secret file, proved and patent.
“Now I can explain General Gonse’s letters. They do
not relate to the Dreyfus case, but solely to the Esterhazy
case. General Gonse recommends his subordinate to act
with the greatest prudence. He tells him that he does not
wish to stop him in his inquiries,—naturally, for they never
stop an inquiry, once it is begun,—but at the same time he
cautions him against taking irreparable steps, such a step as
the immediate arrest of Colonel Esterhazy would have been.
I reported to the military governor of Paris that there was
no proof against Major Esterhazy, but that Colonel Picquart
had made a serious blunder from a military standpoint. As
a result of this first report, it appeared that there had been
some confusion, and that it was the intention of the minister
that my investigation should be a judicial one. The governor
did not so understand it, nor did I.
“I immediately began a new investigation, with a clerk,
and acting as a magistrate. I summoned the accused, and
confronted him with the charges against him. But first I
had a search made of Colonel Picquart’s premises. Because
of this search I have been bitterly attacked. Let me say
that it was my absolute right, given me by the code of
military justice as a judicial officer of police. Moreover,
it was my duty. This search had been demanded of me,
and I could not refuse without being suspected of an indisposition
to get at the truth. So I instituted a regular search
through M. Aymard, a police commissioner connected with
the government of Paris. The results of the search were
brought to me under seal, and I broke the seal in presence
of Colonel Picquart. Of the documents taken I kept but a
single letter, to which I will refer directly. All of the other
letters I returned to Colonel Picquart, after a cursory glance
at them. There were numerous letters from his mother,
which I have perfectly respected, and numerous letters from
Mlle. Blanche de Comminges, one of which was the only
document that I retained as being possibly of interest.
Then I summoned the various witnesses whom I had seen in
my first investigation, and examined them on two points.
First, concerning the bordereau. M. Mathieu Dreyfus
had accused Major Esterhazy of being the author of the
bordereau. About this bordereau much has been said.
Few people have seen it; I believe that it would be easy to
count them. But many have seen fac-similes, and I, who
have seen it, must say that these fac-similes singularly resemble
forgeries, and that to pretend to base an expert
opinion of handwriting on fac-similes that have appeared in
the newspapers is, it seems to me, to go a long way.
Nothing less resembles the newspaper fac-simile than the
original bordereau; consequently all the expert testimony
made so lightly is of no value.
“I listened to Major Esterhazy’s defence concerning the
bordereau. As it is well known, I will not repeat it. He
tried to demonstrate that it would have been impossible for
him to produce the documents of which the bordereau
speaks. The council of war has judged that matter, and I
will not insist. But in the course of Colonel Picquart’s
examination an incident occurred. He spoke to me of the
document of which M. Leblois and M. Scheurer-Kestner
had spoken to me, a card-telegram which, according to
Colonel Picquart, was of the same origin as the bordereau.
This document was torn,—had been torn and pasted together.
It contained writing which seemed to prove, according
to Colonel Picquart, that Major Esterhazy was in suspicious
relations with an agent of a foreign power. The first
thing to be done was to establish the genuineness of this
document, Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart being the only one
who had any knowledge of it. It was very certain that this
card-telegram had not been sent to the person for whom it
was intended, and consequently had not reached him. That
in itself was sufficient to invalidate the authenticity of the
document; it had not been deposited in the post-office, and
bore no post-office stamp. In examining other witnesses, I
spoke of this document, and learned that attempts had been
made to give it the appearance of authenticity that it lacked.
It was desired to have it so photographed as to cause all
traces of tear to disappear, that it might be said: ‘It was
torn afterwards; when it came, it was intact.’ An effort
was made also to have a post-office stamp placed upon it, in
order that it could be said that it had been seized in the
mails. To me this document had no appearance of genuineness.
I am astonished that Colonel Picquart, chief of the
bureau of information of a great power,—we have not yet
fallen to the level of the republic of Andorra or of St.
Marin,—an officer who ought to be intelligent, should be
naive enough to believe that a military attaché of a great
foreign power would have corresponded with one of its
agents by a card-telegram. A card-telegram left with a
janitor, and liable to be opened by a janitor, or any other
servant,—is it thus that they would have corresponded with
Esterhazy? I confess that I did not believe it. I said to
Colonel Picquart: ‘You have sought other proofs against
Esterhazy; what means have you employed of finding them?’
And I come now to a very serious matter. He confessed
that for months, without the order or the authorization of
his superiors, General Gonse and General de Boisdeffre, he
had been seizing in the mails all of Esterhazy’s correspondence.
For eight months he opened that officer’s letters,
and was obliged to admit that he had found nothing. He
admitted that without orders he had had that officer’s
premises searched, overturning his furniture, disarranging
his wife’s effects, and ransacking the apartments; and proof
exists—at first he admitted it—that a piece of furniture was
forced open, and, being unable to lock it again, they had a
key made for that purpose, so that today, instead of two
keys for this piece of furniture, there are three. It seemed
to me that this was proof of inadmissible manœuvres, and I
confess that, when a council of war acquitted Esterhazy, I
was not astonished. Of my participation in that acquittal I
am proud. I succeeded in showing that there were not two
traitors among the officers, but only one, and that he had
been justly condemned. General de Boisdeffre and General
Mercier were allowed to say a word of Dreyfus; I ask to be
similarly authorized.”
The judge refused to allow the request.
M. Clemenceau.—“Just now I heard the witness say that
there is nothing more serious than to communicate documents
accusing officers of treason, especially when these
documents were secretly filed in the office of the minister of
war. I ask him, then, for his opinion concerning the following
facts: a secret document was taken from the office of
the minister of war, carried about Paris by a veiled lady,
and handed by this veiled lady to Major Esterhazy, who
brought it back to the office of the minister of war, and,
strange to say, the minister of war gave him a receipt for it.
I would like to know the opinion of General de Pellieux on
the withdrawal of this first document.”
General de Pellieux.—“I have no opinion to express.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Ah! very well.”
General de Pellieux.—“What opinion do you expect me
to express?”
The Judge.—“Were you familiar, in the Esterhazy case,
with the communication of secret documents by Colonel
Picquart to M. Leblois?”
M. Clemenceau.—“That is not what we are talking about.
It is agreed that, when General de Pellieux learns that a
document accusing Major Esterhazy is communicated to a
third party, he is indignant. It is established, on the other
hand, that, when a document accusing another officer is
carried about Paris, he has no opinion. General de Pellieux
has said that he caused a search to be made of M. Picquart’s
premises. May I point out to him that M. Picquart was a
witness, and ask him also why he did not cause a search to
be made of the premises of M. Esterhazy, who was the party
accused?”
General de Pellieux.—“It was absolutely useless to search
the premises of Major Esterhazy, as that had been done during
eight months by Colonel Picquart.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Eighteen months had elapsed between
what General de Pellieux calls the searches of Major Esterhazy’s
premises by M. Picquart and the Esterhazy investigation.
I repeat: How did it happen to occur to General de
Pellieux to search the premises of a witness, and not the
premises of the accused?”
General de Pellieux.—“I did not cause a search to be
made of Major Esterhazy’s premises, because I was a judicia
officer of police and did not deem it necessary.”
General de Pellieux then stepped down, and the defence
offered the testimony of MM. Dupuy, Guérin, and Poincaré
concerning the secret document, which testimony the court
declined to hear for the usual reasons, and the hearing of
which M. Labori insisted on by the usual motions. Then the
stand was taken by M. Thévenet, former minister of justice.
Being asked what he thought of the good faith of M. Zola
in writing the article, “I Accuse,” he said:
“I am absolutely convinced that M. Zola acted in good
faith, and these are my reasons. In the Esterhazy case there
was an astonishing gap, which I consider very important.
The examination had shown that Major Esterhazy had
received from a veiled lady on several occasions the copy of a
secret document which existed in the office of the minister of
war, and which demonstrated, it was said, the guilt of Dreyfus.
Well, I say very frankly to the jury that what struck
me in this military examination was that this matter of
extreme importance was not thoroughly looked into. If the
veiled lady really existed, why did they not search for her
with much activity and patience, and why was not this
important matter gone into thoroughly? I am astonished—and
in parliament I am not alone in this astonishment—that
the military authorities dropped this matter without a fundamental
examination. If a secret document of this character
had been taken from the office of the minister of war, a
secret document on which everybody’s eyes were fixed, and
which was securely locked in a closet, it was for the interest
of the national defence that serious measures should be taken
to avoid other leaks of this sort, for other secret documents
might be similarly embezzled by this woman, or by some one
in her confidence. Moreover, it would have been easy to
make such an investigation. This woman had arranged
meetings in somewhat strange spots; she had been taken
there in cabs on two occasions, if my memory serves me; and
Paris cabmen never exhibit a failure of memory when the
courts call on them for testimony. Hence the cabman, and
perhaps the woman, could easily have been found. At any
rate, a serious investigation should have been made to find
out how the document was taken.
“If the veiled lady is a legendary character,—which is
possible, for I believe that in this case there are many
legends,—the question was no less serious. For then the
problem arises: how could a secret document, from the office
of the minister of war, showing the guilt of Captain Dreyfus,
have been communicated to Major Esterhazy, when it had
not been communicated to Captain Dreyfus, whom this document
accused? I can understand that M. Zola’s conscience
has been troubled. And it is not only his that has been
troubled. I can understand how M. Zola could arrive at the
belief that the second council of war, inexactly informed by
an inadequate examination, had perhaps misjudged.”
M. Thévenet was then asked by M. Labori what he
thought of M. Zola’s good faith in writing that sentence in
his letter to President Faure in which he accused the second
council of war of having covered the illegality of the first
council of war, in obedience to orders, by committing in its
turn the crime of knowingly acquitting a guilty person.
The witness answered:
“It is said that neither Dreyfus or his council were made
aware of a secret document, which nevertheless had been
communicated to the members of the council of war that
condemned Dreyfus. Well, gentlemen, I am astonished that
this question, which has been under discussion so long, has
not been settled already. It is, in my opinion, not simply
the only question involved in this trial, but the capital
question of this entire discussion. It should have been met
at the beginning, and it seemed to me—I ask your pardon
for this allusion—that it was possible to answer it very
frankly by a yes or a no. I have read the reports of the
trial, and I have been surprised that this question, which
has been asked, if I am not mistaken, has been met by
silence. It has been put to honorable generals who were able
to answer, but who considered themselves bound by professional
secrecy. I say, gentlemen, that here we touch a
question which is not simply a point of law, but a much
higher principle,—that of the liberty of defence, the imprescriptible
right which every accused man has of knowing on
what evidence he is accused. Is it true, yes or no, that the
first council of war considered documents that were not made
known to M. Demange or to Captain Dreyfus? That can be
answered by a yes or a no. They make no answer. What
does that mean? If they had answered yes, the court of
appeals would have passed upon it. Would that have established
the innocence of Dreyfus? Not at all. He would
have come again before the council of war, before military
authority itself, and military authority, after examining the
documents and submitting them to Dreyfus and his counsel,
would have decided whether Dreyfus was guilty. But in
that case Dreyfus would have had a chance to defend himself
against documents that he had been permitted to read. Perhaps
there would have been a second conviction. I do not
know. But the trial would have been complete, the law
would have been respected, and the liberty of defence—human
dignity, I should say—would have been safeguarded. I
declare, for my part, that, if the minister of war had come
here to give his word of honor that no communication had
been made to the council of war which judged Dreyfus, I
should have bowed before his word. But let him give it.
This it is that disturbs public opinion, and prolongs, and
perhaps will perpetuate, this trial, which is an evil for
everybody and an evil for the country.”
M. Zola.—“Surely.”
M. Thévenet.—“I say that this no should be spoken with
a loud voice. But they are silent. What are we to believe?
What are we to think? In what country are we living?
Where are we? Is there a magistrate among those who
listen to me, is there any of my confrères, any person whatsoever,
anyone among you, gentlemen of the jury, who can
understand that we should be left in uncertainty on this important
point whether Dreyfus, yes or no, was acquainted
with the documents that proved his guilt, and, if not, why
they were not shown to him, why they were not shown to
his counsel, that confrère whom we all respect, bound to
professional secrecy as well as the generals, and who is certainly
as patriotic as anybody. That is what I have to say.
And I finish with one word: I say that, for the reasons that
I have indicated, perhaps at too great length, the good faith
of M. Zola is on a level with his talent, and I consider that
glorious.”
M. Thévenet was succeeded on the witness-stand by M.
Salle, an aged member of the Paris bar, who was said to
have received from a member of the council of war a confession
that a secret document was communicated to it.
M. Labori.—“Does M. Salle know any fact of interest to
the defence of M. Zola?”
The Judge.—“That is not a question. In relation to
what?”
M. Labori.—“In relation to the affair of M. Zola.”
The Judge.—“That is not a question, either. I will not
put such a question as that. Does it relate to the Dreyfus
case or to the Esterhazy case?”
M. Labori.—“Permit me, Monsieur le Président, in spite
of all my respect for you, to say that I do not understand
this distinction. For this there are two reasons. The first
is that, as I said yesterday, the only case in litigation here is
the case of M. Zola. The second is—and it is upon this especially
that I insist—that General Mercier, General de Pellieux,
General Gonse, and others like them, come here,
speaking of the decrees of justice with which they are
familiar, sheltering themselves behind their privilege to
avoid speaking, and nevertheless, one after another, with
the same vagueness and the same uncertainty, throwing
their word into the balance, convinced that, thanks to the
love which this country has for itself, their word, as soldiers,
will be sufficient, and need not be supported by any
reason. We do not stop them. They have the right to say,
one after another: ‘Dreyfus is guilty.’ They speak out
thus, in spite of the decrees of the court, and no one blames
them, for it is impossible to speak of the Esterhazy case
without speaking of the Dreyfus case. For this reason, as
for others, being given that there is a thing judged, as in
the Esterhazy case, I see but one explanation of the gag
that is placed in our mouths—namely, that they do not
dare to speak of the Dreyfus case, which it is impossible to
separate from the Esterhazy case. I ask that the liberty to
speak be given to all the witnesses on all points that do not
concern the national defence, and I ask especially that, when
I put a question as discreet, as reserved, as moderate, as
that which I put to M. Salle, face to face with a witness in
possession of a secret which I know they do not want him to
tell,—I ask that the question be put, or else I protest
against the obscurity that is being thickened a little more
every day because of fear of the light.”
The Judge.—“You can protest as much as you like. I
have told you that I would put no question to the witness on
this point. I repeat it, and so it will be to the end of the
trial. [To the witness.] Have you anything to say in relation
to the Esterhazy case?”
M. Salle.—“Concerning the Esterhazy case I have nothing
to say.”
The Judge.—“Of the Dreyfus case let us say nothing.”
M. Labori.—“But, Monsieur le Président, I do not wish
to speak of the Dreyfus case.”
The Judge.—“Pardon me, you wish to speak of it
indirectly.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Will Monsieur le Président allow me
to put the following question? Was the witness told by one
of the members of the council of war of 1894 that a secret
document was communicated to the judges in the council-chamber,—a document which had been communicated
neither to the accused or to his counsel?”
The Judge.—“I have told you that that question would
not be put.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Then I ask a legal declaration to that
effect from the court.”
The Judge.—“The court grants you a legal declaration of
anything you like.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Oh! Monsieur le Président, it seems to
me that you are going a little fast. My question to the
witness involves the principal point in this case. The court
will not put it. Under these circumstances I must offer a
motion asking acknowledgment that in the presence of the
accusation against M. Zola” ...
The Judge.—“The accusation concerning the Esterhazy
case.”
M. Labori.—“I did not say that. I asked the court to
put to M. Salle the following question: Does M. Salle know
of a serious fact concerning the accusation against M. Zola
that may be useful to him from the standpoint of morality
and good faith?”
The Judge [to the witness].—“Do you know of anything
in the Esterhazy case which” ...
M. Labori.—“I ask that the question be put in the terms
in which I framed it.”
The Judge.—“You have no right to ask indirect questions
in order to reach an end which you should not reach.”
M. Labori.—“Monsieur le Président, I use no indirect
methods.”
The Judge.—“I ask your pardon.”
M. Labori.—“I accept no observations which imply that I
desire to reach an end by indirect means.”
The Judge.—“You know the summons; you know the
court’s decree. Let us not go outside of that.”
M. Labori.—“I do not go outside of it. And let me tell
you, Monsieur le Président, since you blame me personally
here, that I am convinced that, if you came here desirous of
the light, but not knowing the light, knowing nothing of
this affair, you would not know what I expect of this man;
and therefore, when you refuse to put the question that I
have just asked you to put, I say that you foresee the reply
that would be made; I say that you make this a tendency
trial, and I do not accept it.”
The Judge.—“I repeat that I will put only such questions
as concern the Esterhazy case, and none that concern the
Dreyfus case.”
M. Labori.—“I make no reference to the Dreyfus case.
Here we come to the culminating point of this trial.
Monsieur le Président, I ask your permission to offer a
motion, in order to secure a decision from the court regarding
the putting of the question which I ask the court to
put.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I think it important to give due weight
to this fact,—that, a witness being on the stand, the defence
rises and says: ‘We maintain that this witness knows from
the lips of a member of the council of war that a secret document
was communicated,’ and that, confronted with this
affirmation, upon which we insist, the court declares that the
question shall not be put. We make the jury judge. Let
the witness contradict us with a word. Monsieur le Président
will not have time to stop him.”
The Judge.—“Monsieur, do not answer.”
M. Clemenceau then offered his motion in legal form, and
the court at once rendered a decree sustaining the president,
and refusing to put the question, whereupon the court
adjourned for the day.
At the beginning of the session the judge recalled General
de Pellieux to the stand.
The Judge.—“Did not Colonel Picquart admit in your
presence the authenticity of a letter of November 27, 1896,
written in Spanish and signed ‘J’?”
General de Pellieux.—“I had only a copy of that letter.
It began thus: ‘At last the great work is finished, and
Cagliostro has become Robert Houdin. Every day the
demigod asks if he cannot see you.’”
The Judge.—“Did not this word ‘demigod’ occur in one
of the dispatches sent to Colonel Picquart at Sousse in
November, 1897?”
General de Pellieux.—“Yes, and the expression occurs
again in a letter signed ‘Bianca,’ addressed to Colonel Picquart
by Mlle. de Comminges.”
The Judge.—“Did Colonel Picquart accuse Major Esterhazy
directly of the two forgeries signed ‘Blanche’ and
‘Speranza,’ or did he accuse two other persons before accusing
the major?”
General de Pellieux.—“In his first testimony Colonel
Picquart accused Major Esterhazy. It was in later testimony
that he altered his first charge, and said that the
forgeries were committed by Major Esterhazy’s friends or by
others.”
The Judge.—“Did he abandon his declaration later?”
General de Pellieux.—“He did not abandon his accusation
of others, but he ceased to accuse Major Esterhazy, and,
when I confronted him with the certainty that I had
acquired, by an investigation at the office of the prefect of
police, that the first telegram was from Souffrain, he said:
‘Souffrain is an agent of Esterhazy.’”
The Attorney-General.—“From whom was the letter
signed ‘J,’ seized on the premises of Colonel Picquart?”
General de Pellieux.—“From M. Germain Ducasse, secretary
of Mlle. Blanche de Comminges; and I think it would be
a good idea to hear M. Germain Ducasse as a witness, but
under certain conditions,—that is, to bring him here without
allowing him to previously communicate with any other
witness. He lives at 13, Avenue de la Motte-Piquet. Everything
about this case seems to me strange. The minister of
war has preferred a precise charge against M. Zola. M. Zola
has accused the council of war of 1898 of acquitting a guilty
person in obedience to orders. So far nothing has been said
of this question.”
M. Clemenceau.—“It is the court that is conducting this
trial.”
General de Pellieux.—“I ask permission to say a word of
the way in which the case was presented before the council of
war. The council of war, I may also say, did not have to
judge an accused person. In military justice such a thing is
possible. I mean that it did not have to judge a person
formally accused. In Major Esterhazy’s case the reporter
and the government commissioner had recommended an
order that there was no ground for prosecution. Consequently
he appeared before the council of war equipped with
this recommendation. The governor of Paris, General
Saussier, my regretted chief, who has been my main stay
throughout this affair, and who is as familiar with it as I
am (perhaps we are the only two persons thoroughly
familiar with it), did not wish to issue the order recommended.
In this he differed from many authorities superior
to his own. He desired the case to be carried through to the
end. It was his wish that Major Esterhazy should be judged
by his peers, by military justice, and he gave the order that
he be put on trial. He gave it in order that both sides
might be heard. I regretted that this trial was not public.
I asked that it might be, but the government demanded
closed doors. The best proof that the council of war was
independent is that it refused closed doors, judging that it
was for the public interest that light should be thrown upon
the matter, at least partially, even though it were not possible
to discuss the entire case in the open day. Can it be
said that a council of war which, against the advice of the
government, did not declare the doors closed was criminal?
This council was made up of seven brave officers who have
shed their blood on the field of battle while others were I
know not where.”
M. Zola.—“There are different ways of serving France.”
The Judge.—“Oh! no phrases. You can only ask questions.
What questions do you wish to put to the general?”
M. Zola.—“I ask General de Pellieux if he does not think
that there are different ways of serving France. One may
serve it by the sword and by the pen. General de Pellieux
has undoubtedly won great victories; I have won mine. By
my works the French language has been spread through the
world. I have my victories. I leave to posterity the name
of General de Pellieux and that of Emile Zola. It will
choose.”
General de Pellieux.—“Monsieur le Président, I will not
answer.”
M. Labori.—“Did not M. Leblois hand to General de
Pellieux, in the name of M. Scheurer-Kestner, two letters
from Major Esterhazy, and a dispatch written in characters
similar to those used in printing, which bore these words:
‘Picquart is a rascal?’”
General de Pellieux.—“Those documents are on file with
the other documents pertaining to the investigation.”
M. Labori.—“It is unfortunate that we cannot obtain
these documents. Did not this dispatch show an astonishing
resemblance to the dispatch that Major Esterhazy pretends to
have received from the veiled lady?”
General de Pellieux.—“These two telegrams resemble
each other as all documents written in the characters of print
resemble each other.”
M. Labori.—“Did you take no pains to see the dispatch
sent to Major Esterhazy by the veiled lady?”
General de Pellieux.—“No.”
M. Labori.—“Did not M. Leblois ask you to have an
expert examination of the two telegrams at the time?”
General de Pellieux.—“The matter was never mentioned.”
M. Labori.—“In the dispatch addressed to Colonel Picquart,
was not that officer’s name written without a c?”
General de Pellieux.—“Yes, he called my attention to it.”
M. Labori.—“Was not this peculiarity found also in the
telegram signed ‘Speranza’ and addressed to Colonel Picquart
at Sousse?”
General de Pellieux.—“Yes.”
M. Labori.—“And in an insulting letter addressed by
Major Esterhazy to Colonel Picquart was not the name again
written without a c?”
General de Pellieux.—“I do not know that letter.”
M. Labori.—“In the last interview that M. Leblois had
with General de Pellieux on November 29 did not General
de Pellieux say to M. Leblois that he could not order an
expert examination of the bordereau, because the bordereau
had been attributed to Dreyfus by the verdict of 1894, and
that to so order would be a reconsideration of the thing
judged?”
General de Pellieux.—“Certainly.”
M. Labori.—“Did not M. Leblois attempt to refute this
argument, which was abandoned by the minister of war himself
when, after M. Scheurer-Kestner’s interpellation of
December 17, he transferred the bordereau to the Ravary
papers for expert examination?”
General de Pellieux.—“Yes. I will even add a detail. I
did not think that I had the right, as a judicial officer of
police, to subject the bordereau to a new expert examination.
It was my personal opinion that to do that would be
to reopen the Dreyfus case. I was not alone in this opinion,
for, when I received the order, which I executed, to lay the
bordereau before the minister of war and submit it to expert
examination, I was confronted with a strike of experts.
That is a rather rare thing. The experts for whom I sent
refused to make the examination, basing themselves on the
ground that I had taken, and saying that to make a new
examination of the bordereau was to question the thing
judged. There are five experts in the same court. Three of
them had been concerned in the Dreyfus case. I sent for the
other two. They refused to come. I immediately reported
the matter, because I desired to close my inquiry as soon as
possible, because I felt that the public was getting
impatient, and because I was to make only a preliminary
investigation. So it was on the order of the minister of
justice to the experts that the examination was made.
Major Ravary ordered it.”
M. Labori.—“Was not General de Pellieux present at the
second session of the council of war held on Tuesday, January
11, 1898?”
General de Pellieux.—“I was present at all the sessions of
the council of war as a delegate of the governor.”
M. Labori.—“Did not the general wear civilian dress?”
General de Pellieux.—“Yes.”
M. Labori.—“Did he not sit behind General de Luxer,
president of the council?”
General de Pellieux.—“Yes.”
M. Labori.—“Did he not intervene several times in the
course of the testimony of M. Leblois?”
General de Pellieux.—“I asked the permission of the
president, of the public minister, and of the defence, to put
some questions to M. Leblois. This authorization was
granted. I think that I had the right to do so as a
magistrate.”
M. Labori.—“Did not General de Pellieux take the floor
spontaneously to correct an error of fact that had just been
committed by General de Luxer?”
General de Pellieux.—“I never took the floor without
asking permission of the defence, of the public minister, and
of the president.”
M. Labori.—“Did he not take the floor to correct an error
of fact that had just been committed by General de Luxer?”
General de Pellieux.—“I do not know to what you
refer.”
M. Labori.—“The general must know, and cannot fail to
remember, whether at a certain moment, in the course of the
testimony of M. Leblois, he intervened to correct an error of
fact committed by the president.”
General de Pellieux.—“I confess that I cannot
remember.”
M. Labori.—“Did not the witness take the floor spontaneously
to ask of M. Tézenas if he had no opposition to
make to the continuation of M. Leblois’s testimony, and in
these words: ‘You suffer him to speak?’”
General de Pellieux.—“Never.”
M. Labori.—“Did not M. Leblois ask a question of such a
character as to necessitate some supplementary
information?”
General de Pellieux.—“I will not answer. This was behind
closed doors. You know very well that anything that
happens behind closed doors cannot be revealed.”
The Judge.—“The general says it was behind closed
doors.”
M. Labori.—“I ask nothing in general of a secret or confidential
character. Furthermore, closed doors are possible
in an assize court as well as in a council of war, and twelve
French citizens can keep a secret as well as twelve officers.
Consequently you are quite at liberty to make the witness
answer. What I am after is to show that General de Pellieux
intervened in the trial before the council of war. I do
not ask him concerning what he intervened; I ask him
whether he intervened. I insist that the question be put.”
The Judge.—“Offer your motion.”
M. Clemenceau.—“It seems to me that the general has
been answering my confrère concerning matters that happened
behind closed doors. Never did the general, so far
as I know, intervene before the council of war as long as the
session was public. His intervention, about which he has
been talking for the last fifteen minutes, took place behind
closed doors. I ask the court, then, where the dividing line
is to be drawn, and who shall say whether it is permissible
to speak of things that happened behind closed doors to a
certain limit, of which the witness shall be sole judge, and
at which the witness may declare: ‘I will say no more.’”
The Judge.—“How do you expect the court to know, except
by the witness, that the thing happened behind closed
doors? [To the witness.] Does the question asked you relate
to an incident that happened behind closed doors?”
General de Pellieux.—“I have been asked questions relating
to personal intervention. That does not concern
closed doors. Closed doors applies to things asked of the
witnesses, but not to an individual’s attitude during closed
doors.”
M. Labori.—“Permit me, Monsieur le Président, to repeat
the question before asking you to put it again. Here are
two questions belonging to the same order of ideas: first,
did not M. Leblois offer an observation of such a nature as to
bring out supplementary information?”
The Judge.—“You hear the first question?”
General de Pellieux.—“I will not answer, for it is a matter
of closed doors.”
M. Labori.—“Second, was not General de Luxer then
disposed to lay the question regularly before the council of
war, and had he not already risen to propose to the judges
that they retire to the council-chamber for deliberation?”
General de Pellieux.—“No.”
M. Labori.—“Did not General de Pellieux intervene
spontaneously, saying that that was useless?”
General de Pellieux.—“No, I had nothing to say to the
president.”
M. Labori.—“I have finished on that point.”
M. Clemenceau.—“We are far away from the question
that I put. I come back to it. General de Pellieux has admitted
that his intervention took place behind closed doors
during the time for which the president of the council had
declared closed doors.”
General de Pellieux.—“I do not deny it.”
M. Clemenceau.—“It is established by two successive
answers made by General de Pellieux that he has answered
questions of M. Labori relating to things that happened
behind closed doors.”
The Judge.—“No, nothing concerning what happened
behind closed doors.”
General de Pellieux.—“I said nothing at all relating to
the case.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Did the intervention of General de
Pellieux take place behind closed doors?”
General de Pellieux.—“Yes.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I conclude. Since the intervention of
General de Pellieux took place behind closed doors, and
since he has already testified concerning this intervention,
and since M. Labori’s question refers to other facts concerning
this same intervention, I am entitled to say that
General de Pellieux, whenever it does not embarrass him,
explains himself concerning the proceeding behind closed
doors, but” ...
The Judge.—“The general has never answered on this
point.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I no longer understand you.”
The Judge.—“It is I who do not understand you.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Then I will begin again. I say that
General de Pellieux made answer to M. Labori, who asked
him questions concerning matters that took place behind
closed doors. Then, when M. Labori asked him another
question about matters that also took place behind closed
doors, General de Pellieux said: ‘I will not answer the
question, because I have no right to speak of anything that
took place behind closed doors.’ Therefore I establish a
fact,—the fact at which I desired to arrive,—that General de
Pellieux has constituted himself a judge of what he can,
and what he cannot, say about matters that take place behind
closed doors. He began by answering M. Labori concerning
matters that took place behind closed doors, saying:
‘I consider that I can do so.’ Then at a certain moment he
makes himself sole judge, and says: ‘From now on I cannot
answer you.’ That is what I wanted to show. The witness
has remembered things that took place behind closed doors,
and then, when, for one reason or another, he thought that
he ought not to go further, he stopped.”
The Judge.—“Is that all?”
M Clemenceau.—“Yes.”
After General de Pellieux, the court recalled General
Gonse, and asked him: “Who are the lawyers of the
minister of war?”
General Gonse.—“MM. Nivart and Danet.”
The Judge.—“Can a lawyer representing the minister
enter the offices?”
General Gonse.—“No.”
The Judge.—“With whom must he correspond?”
General Gonse.—“With the controller.”
The Judge.—“Had Colonel Picquart been authorized to
receive a lawyer in his office?”
General Gonse.—“Certainly not.”
The Judge.—“Are there questions of spying concerning
which lawyers are consulted?”
General Gonse.—“None. Concerning these questions we
apply directly to the military prosecuting officer, when it
concerns a soldier, and to the government prosecuting
officer, when it concerns a civilian.”
The Judge.—“What do you think of Adjutant Gribelin?”
General Gonse.—“All that is good. He is a servant
beyond compare, of absolute discretion, knowing all the
secrets of our offices, and in whom I have the greatest confidence.
I add that he is as modest as he is intelligent.”
The court then called Adjutant Gribelin, the keeper of
the archives.
The Judge.—“What I am going to ask you is of the
highest importance. Did Colonel Picquart really ask you
to have a postal stamp placed on the Esterhazy dispatch?”
Adjutant Gribelin.—“Yes, he asked me if I could not
have a postal stamp put on that document. I swear that it
is true.”
Adjutant Gribelin then stepped down, and the court
called Major Lauth.
The Judge.—“Did Colonel Picquart ask you to cause
every trace of tear to disappear from the photograph of the
dispatch that he was to make?”
Major Lauth.—“Yes. He wanted to make the staff
believe that he had intercepted the document in the mails.
I remember that I said to him: ‘But, if you cause these
tears to disappear, you will take away all value from the
document, which should be kept in the condition in which it
was brought to you.’ To which he answered: ‘You will be
there to certify that this document is really in the handwriting
of such a person.’ I answered him so loudly that
my protest was heard through the partition: ‘Never in my
life. I do not know this handwriting. It is a counterfeited
handwriting.’”
The witness-chair was then taken by Lieutenant-Colonel
Picquart. Being asked his residence by the court, he
answered: “Mont-Valérien.”
M. Labori.—“Will Colonel Picquart tell us what he
knows of the Esterhazy case, of the investigation that he
made, and of the circumstances that accompanied or
followed his departure from the war department?”
Colonel Picquart.—“In the beginning of May, 1896, the
fragments of a letter-telegram fell into my hands. These
fragments were pasted together by an officer in my service,
Major Lauth, who was then a captain. When he had done
this, he brought me this card-telegram, which was addressed
to Major Esterhazy. I do not remember the exact language
of its contents, but everything seemed to indicate that
between Major Esterhazy and the writer of the card there
were relations which seemed to me suspicious. Before submitting
this card to my superiors, it not being a proof
against Major Esterhazy, but simply a presumption considering
the place whence it came, I had to make inquiries
regarding it. I applied to an officer who knew Major
Esterhazy, and who had been in the same regiment with
him. I need not dwell on the nature of the information
that was furnished to me, but it was not favorable to Major
Esterhazy, and it led me to continue my investigations as to
his manner of life and general conduct. The result was not
favorable to him. Major Esterhazy was always short of
money, and was continually meeting with many little difficulties;
and there was this strange thing about him,—that,
while far from occupying himself exclusively with his profession,
he nevertheless manifested a great curiosity about
documents relating to matters purely confidential and
having a peculiarly military interest. My inquiry having
reached that point, I considered myself authorized to say to
my superiors that there was reason to seriously suspect an
officer of the French army. My superiors told me to continue.
There is one thing that we generally do in dealing
with a person whose behavior seems suspicious. We take
a specimen of his writing, and compare it with documents
in our possession. As a result of this comparison, our suspicions
may be confirmed or may be weakened.
“So I began to look into Major Esterhazy’s handwriting,
and, contrary to what has been often said, especially in a
letter written to me by Major Esterhazy, I carried on my
investigation by perfectly regular methods. With the consent
of my superiors I went to the colonel of the regiment to
which Major Esterhazy belonged, and asked him for specimens
of Major Esterhazy’s handwriting. He gave them to
me in the form of letters relating to the military service.
As soon as I had these letters in my hands, I was much
astonished at the resemblance between the handwriting and
that of the famous bordereau, of which so much has been
said. But, not being an expert in handwriting, I had no
right to trust to my individual impressions. That is why
I had these documents photographed, concealing, as has
been said, in a deposition which I have read in the newspapers,
such words as ‘My Colonel,’ or else the signature,
or any other indications that might identify the writer;
and I showed the photographs thus obtained to two persons
thoroughly qualified in the matter, one of whom was M.
Bertillon and the other Major du Paty de Clam. M. Bertillon,
as soon as I showed him the photograph, said: ‘It is
the handwriting of the bordereau.’ I said to him: ‘Do
not be in a hurry. Take this specimen, and examine it at
your leisure.’ He replied: ‘No, it is useless. That is the
handwriting of the bordereau. Where did you get it?’
‘I cannot tell you.’ ‘Well, is it of an earlier date?’ ‘No,’
I answered, ‘it is of a later date.’ ‘Then,’ said M. Bertillon,
in these exact words, ‘the Jews have had some one practising
for a year to get the handwriting of the bordereau, and
they have succeeded perfectly; that is plain.’ The second
person to whom I showed a sample of the handwriting was
Colonel du Paty, then major. I let him have it but a few
minutes,—five minutes, I think,—and then he said to me:
‘It is the handwriting of M. Mathieu Dreyfus.’ To explain
this I must tell you that Colonel du Paty pretended that, in
order to write the bordereau, Alfred Dreyfus had made a
mixture of his own handwriting with that of his brother.
The pointer was a valuable one for me.
“There was still another thing that drew my attention to
Major Esterhazy. An agent had told an officer in my
service,—I do not know whether it was a superior officer or
the head of a battalion,—let us say, a superior officer, about
fifty years of age,—that he had furnished such and such
documents to a foreign power. Now, these were the very
documents spoken of to me by the comrade to whom I
applied upon my discovery of the card-telegram.
“Now, I come to a period when I was entrusted by
General Gonse with the task of inquiring whether the documents
referred to in the bordereau could have been copied
for the benefit of Major Esterhazy. I knew that Major
Esterhazy had not a few of the documents which he procured
copied at home. I had been told to apply to the
secretaries whom he had employed, in order to try to find
out from them whether he had really copied these documents.
It was a very serious matter. I confess that at that
moment I considered my task almost finished. I said to
myself: here is a card-telegram which has put me on the
track of the major. It is not a document upon which he
could be convicted, but it is a pointer. Then we have the
testimony of an agent. This, too, is not so tremendous, but
yet it reveals an astonishing coincidence. This agent says:
‘Here is a man who furnishes such or such a thing;’ and,
on the other hand, here is a man who says to me: ‘This
officer asks for such a thing.’ And, finally, there was a
resemblance of handwritings, which to me was important.
And there is another thing to be added to the long list. I
do not wish to speak more precisely, or to further unveil
the secret. But Major Ravary, in his report, speaking of
me, says: ‘The belief of this officer seemed completely
established when he had reported that a document on file
with the other secret papers applied to Esterhazy rather
than to Dreyfus.’ Well, that is true. On examining the
secret documents, as has been said by Major Henry, I saw
that one of them applied, not to Dreyfus, as has been said,
but clearly to Esterhazy. Following the orders of General
Gonse, I tried to find out whether Major Esterhazy’s secretaries
had copied documents referred to in the bordereau or
included among those designated by the agent of whom I
have just spoken. I did not continue long in this direction.
I saw that it was impossible to divulge the thing without
departing from the discretion within which I confined
myself, whatever may be said, and I stopped. I questioned
but one person, a certain Mulot, who appeared as a witness
before the council of war, and who told me that he had been
ordered to copy into books certain insignificant things,
among which, in my opinion, the firing manual was not included.
“Then there happened a thing which caused me a little
embarrassment in my operations,—the article in ‘L’Eclair.’
At that time I was absolutely convinced that Esterhazy was
the author of the bordereau. Well, when the article
appeared in ‘L’Eclair,’ I said to myself: here is a man who
is going to admit what he has written; and I confess that
that obscured matters not a little. I knew perfectly well
that the article in ‘L’Eclair’ did not come from me. On the
other hand, at the office of the minister of war, without saying
anything very precise, the general manner seemed to
give the idea that it came, not from me, but from my surroundings.
I protested vigorously, and asked in writing
that an investigation be made to find out who communicated
this document to ‘L’Eclair.’ The investigation was not
made.
“Later a second incident happened, which was to me even
more disagreeable. The publication in ‘Le Matin’ of the
fac-simile of the bordereau. A thing that especially struck
me in the publication of this fac-simile, which has also been
attributed to me, was the omission of the few lines written
by Dreyfus under the dictation of Colonel du Paty de Clam.
These lines, to be sure, appeared in print, but the writing
was not reproduced, and I believe that, if it had been, it
would have made an unfavorable impression regarding those
who were desirous of attributing the bordereau to Dreyfus.
“In short, these various incidents had produced a certain
embarrassment, and I saw clearly that I would do well not
to continue. Meantime came the announcement of the
Castelin interpellation. I received an order to start on a
mission the night before this interpellation,—that is, November
16, 1896. I should say that after the publication of
the bordereau by ‘Le Matin,’ or about that time, Esterhazy
came to Paris, where his attitude was extraordinary. I
believe that some one saw him the day after the publication
running through the streets like a madman, in a pouring
rain. The witness is here, and will be heard. They would
not hear him at the inquiries. Before the Castelin interpellation
M. Weil, a friend of Esterhazy, received an anonymous
letter, telling him that he and his friend were going to
be denounced as accomplices of Dreyfus. It appears that
Esterhazy received an anonymous letter to that effect, but I
cannot certify to the fact so far as M. Weil is concerned. I
will not amplify concerning the various and ever-changing
phases of my mission. Leaving Paris November 16, I
reached Tunis January 13 by way of the Alps and many
other places. Until then, my relations with my superiors
had been perfectly cordial. I received letters from General
Gonse, in which he always shook my hand very affectionately.
I must speak of one thing that happened while I was
absent, and which I did not know of until General de
Pellieux’s investigation. I believe that I shall be clearer if
I speak of it now. After I had left Paris, I received information
from General de Pellieux that my mail was being
opened in my former office. As I could not tell anyone
where I was going, I had left word at home that all my
letters should be addressed to the war department. Consequently
all my mail passed through the department, and
General de Pellieux told me that all my letters were opened.
I confess to my shame that I did not perceive that they had
been opened.
“Now I pass to the time that I spent in Tunis. And I
come at once to the month of June. Since the beginning of
the year I had received a certain number of letters that said:
‘But, when I go to the war offices, they always tell me that
you are on a mission, and that you will soon return.’ I concluded
that they were not telling the truth to these worthy
people, and I pinned to one of these letters a note,—rather
sharp, I confess,—which I addressed to Major Henry in
returning him the letter. This note read nearly as follows:
‘I wish that it might be said once for all to the persons who
inquire for me that I have been relieved of this service. I
have no reason to be ashamed of that, but I am ashamed of
the lies with which my departure has been surrounded.
Enough of mystery.’ That was written May 18. Early in
June I received from the major, who previously had been
my subordinate, a letter which I have here, in which he
says that, after investigation, it is possible to explain the
word ‘mystery’ by the following facts: (1) opening of a
correspondence for reasons foreign to the service, and which
nobody has ever understood,—this is an allusion to the
seizure of Major Esterhazy’s correspondence; (2) attempt to
suborn two officers of the service, to induce them to say that
a document classified in the service was in the handwriting
of a certain person,—I must say at once that these two
officers have been transformed into one, and I do not know
what has become of the second; (3) opening of a secret file
of papers, followed by indiscretions prompted by motives
foreign to the service.
“In the way in which these things were explained I saw at
once insinuations, accusations, something extremely serious.
I suspected that conspiracies were on foot. I even said to
one of my superiors that this letter would not have been
written, if there had not been something behind it. I
answered directly that I had received the letter of May 31,
and that I formally protested against its insinuations, and
against the way in which the facts were stated. And then,
not being at ease, for I did not know where all this was
going to take me,—it was to take me to Gabès and to the
frontier of Tripoli,—I thought it my duty to take precautions
for my safety. I started for Paris, took counsel
first of some military personages, and then went to M.
Leblois, who was my friend, and for the first time, showing
him this letter, I told him that I had been mixed up in the
Dreyfus and Esterhazy cases. I told him so much about
the first two paragraphs of this letter as was necessary for
my defence, but I said nothing to him of the third paragraph,
which seemed to me to relate to secret matters. At
the same time, both as a deposit and that they might serve
later for my defence, I gave to M. Leblois a certain number
of letters from General Gonse,—I believe that there were
fourteen in all, two of which have been published lately in
the newspapers against my will,—together with my replies
and some letters relating to my mission. I had previously
destroyed such of these letters as related to matters of the
secret service, especially a letter in cipher concerning
sundry small matters. I left it entirely with M. Leblois as
to the time when he should intervene, and as to the use that
he should make of the documents that I placed in his hand.
He has acted as seemed best to him, and I approve of his
course.
“Then I went back to Sousse, and heard nothing more of
these matters, until it was made known in the press that M.
Scheurer-Kestner was concerning himself with the Dreyfus
question. At that time I was en route for the south. I had
already started, when I was summoned to Tunis, where they
asked me questions which at first seemed to me rather
singular. They asked me in the first place if I had not allowed
a secret document to be stolen by a woman. It was
very easy for me to answer that I had never carried any documents
away from my offices, and that there was no sort of
possibility of a woman’s taking from me a document of this
sort. Then a very curious thing happened. I received almost
the same day, first, a letter from Major Esterhazy,
second, a telegram signed ‘Speranza,’ and, third, a telegram
signed ‘Blanche.’ Major Esterhazy’s letter said in substance:
‘I have received lately a letter in which you are
formally accused of having bribed sub-officers to procure for
you my handwriting. I have verified the statement and
found it to be true.’ I do not know how he verified it.
Nothing was said about it at the investigations. He said
also: ‘You have withdrawn documents from your service to
constitute evidence against me. The fact of the collection of
such evidence is established. I have a piece of it in my possession
at the present moment.’ At the same time I received
a telegram signed ‘Speranza,’ saying: ‘Stop, demigod, all is
discovered; matter very serious.’ What seemed to me very
serious was not the investigation, but the fact that Major
Esterhazy wrote my name without a c, and that the letter
was addressed to Tunis. I made a connection between these
two things in my mind. Now, the telegram signed
‘Blanche’ was not at all of the same sort. In the first place,
the spelling of my name was correct, then my garrison,
Sousse, was clearly indicated, and, finally, the writer was
certainly familiar with my inquiries concerning Esterhazy,
for the telegram read: ‘We have proofs that the dispatch
was manufactured by Georges.’ It immediately occurred to
me that the dispatch referred to was the Esterhazy dispatch.
The whole was signed ‘Blanche.’ With these three documents
in my hands, I did not hesitate a moment. I telegraphed
to Tunis for authorization to go and see the general.
I carried him a copy of the three documents, with a letter
from the minister of war, saying to him: ‘I have just received
these three documents. They come from Major Esterhazy,
or from some one connected with him. I ask an investigation.’
A fact that struck me later—for the light has
come to me only gradually—was the reference of ‘La Libre
Parole’ to this matter in very clear terms on November 15,
16, and 17, though these two telegrams and this letter did
not reach me until November 10 or 11. Now to telegraph to
the general, to go to Tunis, and to write to the minister of
war took me until Monday, so that the letters could not have
reached Paris before Friday. They were able, then, to publish
in Paris on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday what did
not take place at Tunis until Friday. On reaching Paris, I
had been obliged to give my word of honor that I would see
nobody before seeing General de Pellieux. I had no right
to see M. Leblois until after General de Pellieux’s investigation.
On coming before General de Pellieux, I was informed
by him that he was going to hear me concerning the Esterhazy
case. And he did hear me concerning it for an entire
afternoon. I said to him what I have just said here. The
session was a stormy one. There were two others, but at
those there was scarcely any mention of Major Esterhazy.
At the last two sessions I was obliged to defend myself almost
all the time, although simply a witness. The first session
was devoted to the examination of documents that had
been seized upon my premises at the time of the search.
This search astonished me somewhat at the time. Later I
understood it. It had been made in consequence of another
anonymous letter addressed to General de Pellieux, in which
he was told that, by searching a servant’s room at No. 3,
Rue Yvon-Villarceau, he would find some interesting things
relating to the matter in hand. I suppose that it was difficult
for them to conceive that an officer could have charge,
for seven years in succession, of very confidential things, and
have secrets at his disposal, and yet not have on his
premises a single note relating to his service. There was
nothing there. I never took to my home a single note relating
either to the service of information as I conducted it
in the war department at the time when I took my departure,
or to the service that I have performed since.
They found nothing to seize, except some letters from relatives
and friends. And they kept only a letter from Mlle.
de Comminges, which was signed ‘Blanche,’ like the famous
telegram. I believe that this letter is still in General de
Pellieux’s collection of documents. I do not know where
General de Pellieux got his information concerning what
they call the moral elements of my case, but I must say that
this information surprised me. General de Pellieux told me
to my great astonishment that I concerned myself with hypnotism,
with occultism, with turning-tables, and that I was
nervously diseased. I do not know what all that means; I
never saw a table turn in my life.
“I come now to Major Ravary’s investigation. To Major
Ravary I repeated what I had said to General de Pellieux.
With him, too, I had three sessions. But he seemed like a
man who was trying to find out what I had done, and was
very little concerned about what Major Esterhazy had done.
I told him that there were moral proofs in abundance, and I
gave him some pointers. At the time when I left Tunis,
where, in spite of the reports that had already been spread,
there were people thoroughly in sympathy with me, several
persons came to see me, notably Colonel Dubuche, who was
about to retire from the service, and who sent me this message:
‘I know Major Esterhazy; in 1892, at Sfax, there was
an affair of malversation which was to take him before a
council of inquiry, if not before a council of war.’ Major
Sainte-Chapelle, who brought me this communication, added
that another important witness was M. Giquel, a retired
commander of squadrons, then resident at Sfax. Well,
these gentlemen told me that, thanks to the great forbearance
of the military authorities and his supplications,
Major Esterhazy, or, rather, Captain Esterhazy, as he was
then, had escaped the council of inquiry and the council of
war. Again, General Laroche’s son, who is at Tunis,
holding a government office, told me that Major Esterhazy
had been under the surveillance of his father, when the
latter was in command of the sub-division of Constantine.
Finally, Major Esterhazy was well known in the province of
Constantine, and not favorably. I told Major Ravary that
these things were said to me of Major Esterhazy. The first
time, he answered me. That was very well. When, later, I
repeated it, he made the same answer; but this piece of
moral evidence did not appear in this report. They always
said to me: ‘Oh! Esterhazy! why, we know him better
than you do,’ and still nothing was said in the report. As I
had seen in a previous investigation that much stress was
laid upon moral proofs, I concluded that such proofs must
have a certain importance.
“Major Ravary seemed to me very little inclined to summon
witnesses whom I designated to him as persons who
could give valuable information. I had designated M. Weil.
M. Ravary took note of my suggestion the first time, and
then a second; and finally I said to him: ‘I absolutely
desire that this witness be summoned.’ He was summoned.
I had also pointed out to Major Ravary the things on which
it was necessary to lay stress. I told him that he should see
the persons who had copied documents for Major Esterhazy,
that he should ascertain from what officers Esterhazy had
procured information, that he should find out what Esterhazy’s
financial situation was in 1893 and 1894,—in short,
that he should do all that there was to do and all that has
not been done. On the other hand, Major Ravary strongly
insisted on the various matters with which I was reproached,—the
matter of causing the disappearance of tears from the
photographs of the card-telegram, and of having endeavored
to make one of my officers say that such a document was in
such a handwriting, etc. They placed enormous weight
upon these things, and also upon the episode of the lady
who had lived in my house. I looked upon this as a sort of
hors d’œuvre from the standpoint of the Esterhazy
investigation.
“I was reproached with having kept the fragments of the
Esterhazy dispatch in my closet for a long time. When
Colonel Sandherr was at the head of the service, he had
gradually let this branch of the work fall into the hands of
Major Henry and Captain Lauth. It was the rule then that
Major Henry, who received the documents, should sort them
out and hand them to Captain Lauth, and it was only when
this task was finished that they were given to the chief of
the service. When I assumed charge of the service, desiring
to know things for myself, I ordered that all documents be
given to me first, and later I handed them to Captain Lauth.
That seems a small matter, but unquestionably it changed
the habits of these gentlemen, and caused them some annoyance.
When the accusations against me began, they recalled
this matter, and found it singular that I did not do as my
predecessor did, but, instead, put documents into my closet,
that I might afterwards hand them myself to the officer
designated to look into them. Another reproach against me
was that of having carefully effaced all evidence of tear from
the photographs that had been made of this card-telegram.
There were two reasons for that, the first of which is the less
important. A document of this sort, when it is cut into
little bits, becomes much clearer when the tears no longer
show. It can be read more easily. The second reason is
this. If the document had circulated in the office of the
minister of war with the tears as they originally were, it
would have been said: ‘It is a torn paper.’ Well, there had
been very serious indiscretions concerning the Dreyfus
bordereau, and their origin was known a little too well. I
was determined, having a very great responsibility in the
matter, that those who had no need to know the origin of
this document, and under whose eyes the photograph might
pass, should have no indication of the manner in which this
document reached me. The principal thing in the courts is
the original, the card itself; the photograph goes with a
collection of papers, first to the minister of war, then to the
chief of staff, etc., but the document itself, especially a document
as fragile as a telegram torn into I know not how
many pieces, remains at a given spot. It is shown to two or
three persons at most, and, if there is a trial, it is produced.
Those are the reasons that led me to so carefully efface
the tears from the card-telegram. They ask me why; they
make it a cause of reproach; but for what reason I do not
see, since the famous bordereau was subjected to the same
operation. It has been said to me: ‘But after?’ After, it
was too late. I had a little foresight, and that excited mistrust,—I
don’t know why. Then they reproached me with
having tried to make an officer say that this was the handwriting
of a certain person. That occurrence was simply
this: I was examining this document with Captain Lauth.
The captain said to me: ‘But this document has no sign of
authenticity. It ought to have a date, a post-office stamp.’
Thereupon I said to him: ‘But you can testify whence it
comes; you know the handwriting very well.’ He answered:
‘Oh! no, never; I do not know this handwriting.’ Note
that it happened exactly like that. There was not one word
more or less. And I believe that Captain Lauth’s testimony
could not be different from mine from that point of view. He
attached no suspicious character to my question, as is proved
by the fact that we have remained on the best of terms. He
has received me at his table, which is not a usual thing
between an inferior and a superior. Now, if I had tried to
suborn him, and to impose upon him an opinion that was not
his own, the action would not have permitted us to remain in
friendly relations. Later, when things were coming to a
head, they gathered up all these little matters, and made use
of them.
“There is another thing which shows very clearly how
these little matters can be used. One need only read the
report of M. D’Ormescheville to see how the massing of
insignificant things may lead to grave accusations. Never
in my life did I have any intention of getting a postal stamp
placed upon this document.
“In the Ravary report there is another important thing.
It is said that Major Henry, entering my office, found me
en tête-à-tête with M. Leblois, having between us a collection
of secret documents, from which we had taken a photograph
document upon which was written: ‘That scoundrel D——.’
Already General de Pellieux had spoken to me of that, but
he had said that it was Gribelin who had seen me. He said
nothing to me of Major Henry. I said to him: ‘Never did
I have that collection of documents in my hands while
Leblois was in my office.’ Moreover, I thought that it was
at the time of M. Leblois’s vacation, but I did not know at
what time he returned. I went to M. Leblois to get these two
dates, and I reported them to General de Pellieux. If I am
not mistaken, Gribelin placed this interview in the month of
October. At the council of war, when this charge was
brought against me, I asked to be confronted with Colonel
Henry, and he maintained that he had seen us together,
with these secret documents between us. I asked him to fix
the date. He said: ‘That must have been on my return
from leave, in the beginning of October.’ Major Henry certainly
did not know that M. Leblois left Paris August 5, and
returned November 7. Nor did he know that I had asked
M. Gribelin for this collection of documents the latter part of
August, and handed it to General Gonse personally early in
November. Unfortunately I do not know the exact date,
but it was one of the first days of November. Gribelin, too,
showed a rather short memory, for he has pretended under
other circumstances that this collection of documents was
found in my closet after my departure. Now, General
Gonse has very frankly stated that I gave him this collection
of documents several days before my departure. My departure
took place on November 16. I left my service November
14, M. Leblois came back to Paris November 7, which was a
Saturday, and the 8th was a Sunday; then this discovery
must have been made between the 9th and the 14th, and yet
during that time I had not the documents in my possession,
having given them to General Gonse.
“Another thing has occurred to me. General de Pellieux
showed me the photograph bearing the words: ‘That
scoundrel D——.’ This photograph is anything but clear;
one is obliged to look very closely into it to see anything at
all. Now, I ask if a person entering a room can identify
such a document at once, and see on it the words: ‘That
scoundrel D——?’ Finally, if I had any interest in showing
this document to M. Leblois, it seems to me extraordinary
that, considering the limited dimensions of this file of papers,
and considering the fact that I had it at my disposal for two
months, I did not pass it to M. Leblois. But it seems that,
having these documents before me, I left the door open
while I was with M. Leblois, and chose that moment for the
very serious act of communicating a document to a person
not qualified to have knowledge of it. At any rate, I testify
absolutely that never did I show a file of secret papers to
M. Leblois, absolutely never, and that I never spoke to him
of any such file.
“Now there are other matters to which I must refer. I
read the testimony given yesterday by General de Pellieux,
and in it I found things that astonished me. In my second
interview with the general he said to me: ‘You have caused
Esterhazy’s premises to be searched.’ I did wrong in accepting
his statement. I did not cause Major Esterhazy’s
premises to be searched, and I wish now to explain very
clearly what actually took place. After the publication of
the article that appeared in ‘L’Eclair,’ which had given
Esterhazy warning that the bordereau was known, one of my
superiors suggested a search. I confess that I did not think
it an opportune moment for a search, it seeming to me that
the search should have been made previously. Esterhazy
having been warned, he had undoubtedly removed all evidence
from his premises. Yet, desirous of doing what was
asked of me, I spoke of the matter to the officer who was
watching Esterhazy. I said to him: ‘This is what they ask
me to do, but I believe that a search would prove fruitless.’
He answered: ‘He has gone to Rouen, but I do not know
whether he has moved his effects.’ I think the officer told
me that there was a sign indicating that the apartment was
to let. He went to see the apartment, and brought back as
proof a visiting-card, on which a few words were written.
He told me that much paper had been burned in the
chimney, and that was all. I returned the card to him, and
told him to put it back in the place from which he took it.
When General de Pellieux questioned me concerning this
matter, he told me that the house had been ransacked, and
false keys had been made, and that this was proved by the
discovery of a key in excess of the usual number. I did not
know then where he had obtained this information, but at
the hearing before the council of war I found out. The
information was given by Esterhazy; so that the statements
made yesterday by General de Pellieux are almost exactly
the statements of Esterhazy. He says that the search was
continued at intervals during eight months. Before the
council of war Esterhazy said that it lasted I know not how
much longer. If it lasted, it was not my fault, because I was
not in Paris. The event of which I have just spoken
occurred toward the end of October. If anything happened
afterward, I am not responsible for it. As to the correspondence,
General Pellieux said that for eight months I intercepted
Esterhazy’s letters in the mails. The card-telegram
was written in May. I did not begin my investigations until
early in July. Esterhazy left Paris the latter part of August
to attend the military manœuvres, and did not return until
late in October or early in November. I do not find eight
months between July and the middle of August.”
At this point, Colonel Picquart having finished his deposition,
the court interrupted the proceedings to render a decree
granting M. Clemenceau’s motion that a magistrate be sent
to examine Mme. de Boulancy, and appointing for that duty
M. Bertulus, who was General de Pellieux’s consulting
magistrate during his investigation. The examination of
Colonel Picquart was then resumed.
M. Labori.—“Was not Colonel Picquart present as a
delegate from the minister of war at the trial of a case of
spying, or, to be precise, at the Dreyfus trial? For this is a
question of fact that does not touch the thing judged.”
Colonel Picquart.—“I prefer not to answer.”
M. Labori.—“Is there in the war department a file of
documents that makes Major Esterhazy’s guilt
inadmissible?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I do not know, but I do not think so.”
M. Labori.—“When Colonel Picquart was thinking of
inquiring whether M. Esterhazy was not the author of the
bordereau, did any of his superiors at any time say to him:
‘Stop; there are certain proofs that Major Esterhazy cannot
be the author of the bordereau?’”
Colonel Picquart.—“No, that was never said to me.”
M. Labori.—“To what does M. Picquart attribute the
numerous and complex machinations of which he has been
the victim?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I shall be able to answer that more
definitely, when M. Bertulus’s examination has been finished.
At present I believe that the purpose of these machinations
was to prevent Esterhazy’s guilt from being shown.”
M. Labori.—“Does the witness think that Major Esterhazy
took part in these machinations, directly or indirectly?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Yes.”
The Judge.—“You simply think so?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I think so.”
M. Labori.—“Does the witness think that these machinations
were the work of Major Esterhazy alone, or does he
think that Major Esterhazy had accomplices?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I believe that he had accomplices.”
M. Labori.—“Accomplices in the war offices?”
Colonel Picquart.—“There was certainly an accomplice
who was familiar with what was going on in the war offices.
First, there is the card-telegram signed ‘Blanche.’ Then
there is the letter signed ‘Speranza,’ which could have been
written only by a person familiar with the letter that had
been opened and copied, the original of which had then been
forwarded to me in November, 1896. I asked Major Ravary,
on several occasions, to make an investigation, and to hear
Souffrain, who, according to information given to me by
General de Pellieux, was the author of the ‘Speranza’ telegrams.
Major Ravary always refused, on the ground that
there was no reason for such an investigation.”
M. Labori.—“Was the mission on which Colonel Picquart
was sent an important one?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I will not permit myself to judge my
superiors on that matter, but it does not seem to me that it
was indispensable to send someone on it.”
M. Labori.—“Did Colonel Picquart always clearly understand
the purpose of his mission?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I tried very hard to understand it.”
M. Labori.—“Will Colonel Picquart explain what he
meant by saying that his mission was to end at Gabès?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I said this,—that at the beginning of
the Dreyfus matter I received an order to go to the frontier
of Tripoli. General Leclerc told me that he would not allow
me to go farther than Gabès.”
M. Labori.—“Is the place to which Colonel Picquart was
sent a dangerous place?”
Colonel Picquart.—“It is not one of the safest.”
M. Labori.—“Is not the police agent with whom Colonel
Picquart was in relations concerning the Esterhazy dispatch
the one through whom the bordereau, reached the minister of
war?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Yes.”
M. Labori.—“Consequently, when occasion arose for discussion
of the origin of the bordereau, did not this origin
seem more than suspicious from the very fact that it came
through this police agent?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Certainly.”
M. Labori.—“How happens it, then, that the serious
character of this origin is now disputed?”
Colonel Picquart.—“The serious character of the origin is
not disputed; the origin itself is denied.”
M. Labori.—“Does Colonel Picquart declare, on his soul
and conscience, that the document really originated as he
has said?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Absolutely.”
M. Labori.—“If, then, Colonel Picquart were not telling
the truth, he would be guilty of falsehood, and even of
perjury?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Exactly.”
M. Labori.—“It follows, Monsieur le Président, that, if
Colonel Picquart is not prosecuted on this charge, it is
because the question is not disputed. Has Colonel Picquart
so far been the object of any prosecution on this charge?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Not that I know of.”
M. Labori.—“Colonel Picquart has told us that he
gathered information unfavorable to Esterhazy. Will he go
a little more into details?”
Colonel Picquart.—“The facts gathered were various in
character. First, there were facts relating to his pecuniary
situation. Major Esterhazy was concerned in money transactions
that were rather shady. I cannot go into details;
the examination must show all that. Then there was a
matter of unpaid house-rent at Courbevoie, which was not
very clear either.”
The Judge.—“That has no relation” ...
M. Labori.—“I insist on the smallest details.”
Colonel Picquart.—“He was one of the directors of an
English financial company,—a thing utterly forbidden to
French officers. I called Major Ravary’s attention to this,
and he said to me: ‘Oh! in England that matter is not
attended by the same inconveniences, because in France one
may be thrown into bankruptcy, whereas in England one
cannot be.’ I did not very clearly understand.”
M. Labori.—“I do not know whether the witness will be
able to reply to the question that I shall now put. Is
Colonel Picquart aware that Major Esterhazy was the subject
of favorable notes that were read to the council of war?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I saw certain of these notes in the
newspapers. I read them even prior to the council of war,
and I was greatly astonished, because all documents relating
to the personnel are essentially confidential. There is
another thing that astonished me. There has been reference
here to citations. Well, I know that General Guerrier,
Major Esterhazy’s superior at Rouen, struck from that
officer’s record of services a citation that appeared there
unwarrantably. General Guerrier is ready to testify to it.”
M. Labori.—“Among Colonel Picquart’s charges against
Major Esterhazy was there one that a document belonging to
the secret files applied to Esterhazy more than to anybody
else, or, rather, than to a certain other person?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Certainly.”
M. Labori.—“What is this secret file?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Oh! those matters are entirely
secret. I should very much like to answer, but I consider
that I cannot do so without being released from the obligation
of professional secrecy by the minister of war. If he
will release me, I will speak; otherwise, not.”
M. Labori.—“Did Colonel Picquart ever see the original
of the bordereau?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I think so. I certainly have seen the
photographic reproductions which were in circulation.”
M. Labori.—“In circulation where? In the war offices?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Yes.”
M. Labori.—“Then there were official reproductions?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Certainly.”
M. Labori.—“Were these photographs placed in the hands
of experts?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I think so, but cannot say so positively.
I was not then connected with the service.”
M. Labori.—“Does Colonel Picquart consider that the
bordereau published by ‘Le Matin’ November 10, 1896,
differs essentially from the authentic original?”
Colonel Picquart.—“It differs so little from it that it was
asked who could have committed the indiscretion.”
M. Labori.—“Into how many fragments was the Esterhazy
dispatch torn?”
Colonel Picquart—“I cannot say, but there were many.
There were little bits no larger than one’s finger-nail.”
M. Labori.—“Was Colonel Picquart able to rearrange the
pieces?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Yes.”
M. Labori.—“And from what did Colonel Picquart desire
to remove the traces of pasting?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Why, from the photograph.”
M. Labori.—“Would it have been possible to remove such
traces from the original?”
Colonel Picquart.—“There was never any question of
removing them from the original. The original has never
been altered. Once pasted, it was not thereafter touched.”
M. Labori.—“In the charges made against Colonel Picquart
are there any relating to events that occurred later
than 1896?”
Colonel Picquart.—“No.”
M. Labori.—“Were not all the doings of Colonel Picquart
known to all his superiors?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Absolutely.”
M. Labori.—“Why, then, had they not taken in 1896 the
attitude that they have taken since?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I do not know.”
M. Labori.—“In a case as serious as that of Major Esterhazy,
at a time when the chief of the bureau of information
was investigating a serious charge of treason, was not the
arrest of Major Esterhazy almost necessary, in order to get at
the truth?”
Colonel Picquart.—“That was my opinion, but it did not
prevail. My superiors thought otherwise.”
M. Labori.—“But, without arresting an officer, is it not
possible to watch him so that he can have no chance of doing
things still more reprehensible and concealing his tracks?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Certainly. There was enough
against Esterhazy to send him to a fortress.”
M. Labori.—“In occupying yourself with the Esterhazy
case, were you obeying your conscience?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Absolutely.”
M. Labori.—“Did you feel that you were endangering
your military career and your interests?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Yes.”
M. Labori.—“And yet you continued?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Yes, but my superiors did not
absolutely oppose me. I felt that I was not in entire harmony
with them, but they did not tell me to stop. Otherwise
I would have done my duty as an officer, and would
have stopped; or, rather, I do not know exactly what I
would have done at that time. But—yes, I would have
stopped.”
M. Labori.—“Did Colonel Picquart never receive a formal
order to stop?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Never.”
M. Labori.—“In Colonel Picquart’s eyes which was the
more damaging evidence against Major Esterhazy, the bordereau
or the dispatch?”
Colonel Picquart.—“The bordereau.”
M. Labori.—“Did Colonel Picquart make it known to
General Gonse?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Yes.”
M. Labori.—“How, then, could General Gonse say that it
was necessary to distinguish the Dreyfus case from the
Esterhazy case?”
Colonel Picquart.—“That he said that is true. He said
that confusion of the two cases should be avoided so far as
possible; that the Esterhazy case should be continued, but
that the Dreyfus case should not be mixed up with it.”
M. Labori.—“But, if Major Esterhazy had been recognized
as the author of the bordereau, would not the charge against
Dreyfus have fallen necessarily?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Yes; that is why I never understood
the attempt to separate them.”
The Judge.—“Do you remember having sent for M.
Leblois to call on you at your office?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Yes.”
The Judge.—“Do you remember the date?”
Colonel Picquart.—“He came in the spring of 1896 concerning
two matters,—the Boulot case and a carrier-pigeon
case, about which I should like to say a word.”
The Judge.—“I was going to ask you. What is this
carrier-pigeon file of documents? Is it not a secret file?”
Colonel Picquart.—“There are two. One file is in a pasteboard
box, which contains nothing but newspaper articles
about pigeons. These matters are not secret, and it was
about these that I consulted M. Leblois. There is another
file which is absolutely secret, containing information with
which M. Leblois had no concern, and about which M.
Leblois could not have enlightened me. There has been
confusion lately concerning this matter. Recently I asked
for the carrier-pigeon file, and by chance the secret file was
brought.”
The Judge.—“You had by the side of this carrier-pigeon
file another file on which was the letter ‘H’ written with
blue pencil?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Your description designates the envelope
containing the secret file. That was never on my
table when M. Leblois was there, and there is a very simple
reason why. The file was in my possession only from the
latter part of August to the beginning of November, and M.
Leblois left Paris August 5, and did not return until November
7.”
The court here recalled M. Gribelin to confront him with
Colonel Picquart. M. Gribelin repeated his testimony as
follows:
“One evening in October, 1896, I went into Colonel Picquart’s
office to get leave of absence. He was sitting at his
table with the carrier-pigeon file at his right, and at his left
the file that I had handed to him between August 28 and September
5. The letter was contained in an envelope bearing
the mark of Major Henry, and it was by this that I recognized
it.”
The Judge.—“You saw no documents?”
M. Gribelin.—“No, the envelope was closed.”
Colonel Picquart.—“M. Gribelin is mistaken. I do not
believe that he intends to make a false statement, but either
his memory fails him or he has confused the files. I know
that M. Gribelin is a perfectly honest man.”
The Judge.—“I asked General Gonse concerning him
just now, and he spoke of him in the highest terms.”
Colonel Picquart.—“I do not believe him capable of an
infamy, but I believe him capable of an error.”
M. Gribelin.—“You can believe what I say; I saw it.”
Colonel Picquart.—“But I say that you did not see it.”
The Judge.—“M. Picquart, did you ask M. Gribelin at a
certain time if he could not get the post-office to stamp a letter,
which letter you did not otherwise indicate?”
Colonel Picquart.—“To stamp a letter?”
The Judge.—“To stamp a letter; not with the date of its
arrival, but with an earlier date.”
M. Gribelin.—“My colonel, let me refresh your memory.
You re-entered your office at two o’clock. You sent for me
and, as you were taking off your overcoat, you said: ‘Gribelin,
could you get the post-office to stamp a letter?’ You
did not add a word. You never spoke of the matter afterward.
But, on my honor as a soldier, that is the truth, and
you know that I never lie.”
Colonel Picquart.—“That I know, but I answer as follows.
It has very often happened that Gribelin and I have
talked of the way in which letters could be sent to spies.
Well, it is possible that one of these recollections is in his
mind. But I say that I have no recollection of it at all.”
The Judge.—“But did you not ask this information of
Major Lauth almost in the same terms?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I? Oh, never, never, never!”
The court recalled M. Lauth, who repeated his accusation
as follows:
“On the very day when Colonel Picquart spoke to me on
the subject of removing the traces of tear, he said to me:
‘Do you think that they would stamp this document at the
post-office?’ I answered him that they would not be very
obliging in such a matter, and that I did not think they
would do it.”
The Judge.—“You see, it is almost the same thing.”
Colonel Picquart.—“Does Major Lauth remember that, in
his written deposition regarding the proposition which he
declares that I made to him that he should say that the
handwriting of the dispatch was that of such or such a person,
he said: ‘This document has no authentic character;
it must have the stamp of the post-office.’”
M. Lauth.—“‘In order that it may have an authentic
character, it must have a stamp’; and I added: ‘It is a
handwriting that I do not know.’ Colonel Picquart never
asked me to certify to my recognition of the dispatch. He
said: ‘You will be there to verify that it is the handwriting
of such or such a person.’ That is what he said to me, and I
answered: ‘I never saw this handwriting, and cannot certify
that it is the handwriting of such or such a person.’”
General de Pellieux was recalled.
The Judge.—“Can General de Pellieux tell us anything of
the search of which he spoke yesterday?”
General de Pellieux.—“Colonel Picquart admitted to me
that an agent sent by him had entered the premises. Well,
I ask why he went into the apartment. I suppose that he
will say that he went there to rent it.”
Colonel Picquart.—“It seems to me that I have explained
that matter. The agent brought me only a card containing
a few words. I had him carry it back. I never got anything
else.”
The Judge.—“General, did you enter the apartment?”
General de Pellieux.—“No.”
The Judge.—“Then you do not know what state it was
in?”
General de Pellieux.—“No.”
The Judge.—“But yesterday you gave us details.”
General de Pellieux.—“Major Esterhazy says that a piece
of furniture was forced, and that traces of this still remain.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Then what General de Pellieux told us
he got from Major Esterhazy.”
Colonel Picquart admitted that one of his agents had
entered Esterhazy’s premises, which were to let.
The Judge.—“This agent had no legal warrant.”
Colonel Picquart.—“No, but he entered the apartment by
lawful means.”
M. Clemenceau.—“He did not enter as a robber.”
M. Labori.—“No equivocations. I ask General de Pellieux
whether he thinks it possible to ask the chief of the
bureau of information belonging to the French war department
to keep a watch on spies in the interest of the national
defence without giving him the right, if he is an honorable
officer above suspicion, to make an investigation?”
General de Pellieux.—“I think he has the right.”
M. Labori.—“The reply is satisfactory.”
General de Pellieux.—“But I add that I do not admit his
right to do so without a legal warrant.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I ask General de Pellieux, who knows
the law, and who can explain whether a search is legal, if
the search of Colonel Picquart’s premises was illegal.”
General de Pellieux.—“Show me that it is illegal.”
The Judge.—“Were you not a judicial officer of police?”
General de Pellieux.—“Yes, and had the right to make a
search. The military code will show it.”
M. Clemenceau.—“The military code declares that the
search, to be valid, must be made in the presence of the
interested party. If you had found a document of any
value, Colonel Picquart could have claimed that it had been
brought to his apartment in his absence.”
M. Labori.—“Besides, M. Picquart was not accused.
There was only one accused,—Major Esterhazy. He was
accused by the chief of the bureau of information to whom
this service had been entrusted because he was the most
worthy of it, and it was his premises that they searched.”
General de Pellieux.—“I am evidently ignorant regarding
procedure. At every step I took the advice of a magistrate,
M. Bertulus.”
M. Labori.—“Was it M. Bertulus who suggested to General
de Pellieux to search the house for smuggled matches?”
General de Pellieux.—“I gave a police commissioner a
search-warrant. If the police commissioner offered this pretext
in order to carry out his orders, he is responsible.”
M. Labori.—“Did General de Pellieux, when entrusted
with the duty of investigation, order Major Esterhazy to
observe absolute discretion, and stay at home instead of
exercising his liberty,—a liberty which he used in going
daily to the offices of ‘Le Jour,’ ‘La Libre Parole,’ and
other newspapers?”
General de Pellieux.—“I did, and in writing.”
M. Labori.—“How well, in the opinion of General de
Pellieux, were his orders obeyed by Major Esterhazy?”
General de Pellieux.—“I do not say that Major Esterhazy
fully obeyed my orders, but from the moment that he
received them the communications to the press became, I
observed, less numerous.”
Colonel Picquart.—“Can these gentlemen say that they
have seen a single letter on which I have caused a post-office
stamp to be placed?”
The Judge.—“It is not claimed that you have done that.
The claim simply is that you asked if it were possible to
have such a thing done.”
The court then recalled Major Ravary.
M. Labori.—“Why did M. Ravary, in his report, in which
he accumulated all arguments tending to depreciate Colonel
Picquart’s merit, omit the incident relating to the question
attributed to Colonel Picquart concerning the placing of
stamps on a letter or a dispatch?”
M. Ravary.—“There were an abundance of matters that I
could have cited in proof of irregularities on Colonel Picquart’s
part. I did not need to put all of them in my
report.”
M. Labori.—“Tell us what these irregularities were.”
M. Ravary.—“If I had desired to invoke Article 378, I
need not have said anything. I could have pleaded professional
secrecy.”
M. Clemenceau.—“But, since you did not invoke it, you
are at liberty to speak.”
M. Labori.—“I say that Major Ravary must either
observe professional secrecy, or not observe it. In saying
that there are many other charges, he does not observe professional
secrecy. I am not in favor of closed doors or professional
secrecy, but, since Major Ravary has already violated
professional secrecy, he may well tell us of the other
charges against Colonel Picquart.”
M. Ravary.—“Military justice does not proceed as yours
does.”
M. Clemenceau.—“There are not two justices. There is
only one—the true justice.”
M. Ravary.—“Our code is not the same.”
The Judge.—“Answer the question, if you see fit,”
M. Ravary.—“I refuse to answer.”
M. Labori.—“Under these circumstances there is nothing
left of all that M. Ravary has said.”
Colonel Picquart.—“I cannot allow this charge to rest
upon me. I ask M. Ravary to declare frankly what other
irregularities are laid at my door.”
M. Ravary.—“There are the two already referred to,—that
of which M. Gribelin has spoken, and which I did not
put in my report, and that which M. Lauth has described.”
Colonel Picquart.—“And, covering all that with an insinuation,
you were allowing it to be supposed that there were
many other things.”
M. Labori.—“M. Ravary covered that with professional
secrecy, and, when he no longer dared to appeal to professional
secrecy, he had nothing left to say.”
Colonel Picquart.—“And for three months that has been
going on.”
The court then adjourned for the day.
At the beginning of the sixth day’s proceedings Colonel
Picquart resumed the witness-stand, and asked permission to
make a declaration that would make clearer the spirit of his
testimony of the day before. This being granted, he said:
“I believe that the expression used by M. Zola when he
declared that the military judges had condemned in obedience
to orders went a little farther than he thought. What
happened, at least, as I believe, was this. General de Pellieux,
out of respect for the thing judged, thought it his
duty to keep the matter of the bordereau out of his investigation.
Major Ravary, whose investigation followed that of
General de Pellieux, was certainly influenced—perhaps
unconsciously—by the view of his superior. He even gave
me proof of this,—I can say it here, where many things
have been said already,—when, after I had said to him:
‘The witnesses will not be unearthed, until you have caused
Major Esterhazy to be arrested,’ he answered: ‘I cannot
have him arrested. My superiors have not thought it
proper to do so, and I do not see that anything has come
into my hands which should change their decision.’ The
judges belonging to the council of war found themselves confronted
with an examination which was, in my opinion,
incomplete. In view of the proofs laid before them, they
decided the matter according to their conscience, and to
show you the liberty of mind that presided over their deliberations
I declare here that one of them, toward the end of
the session, said this (and I admire his courage): ‘I see that
the person really accused here is Colonel Picquart. Therefore
I ask that he be called, in order that he may say to us
whatever he may deem necessary in addition to his
deposition.’”
M. Lauth was recalled, to be again confronted with
Colonel Picquart.
M. Labori.—“Supposing that a post-office stamp had been
placed upon the card-telegram, what, in Major Lauth’s view,
would have been the use of it?”
Major Lauth.—“It would have shown that the paper
reached its destination, whereas without such a stamp it
must necessarily have remained at its starting-point.”
M. Labori.—“Has not Colonel Picquart said, and has not
Major Lauth confirmed the statement, that it had been
shown that the origin of this dispatch was the origin of the
bordereau?”
Major Lauth.—“When I received it, I could not say that
the origin was not the same, for I received it at second-hand.”
M. Labori.—“Has it ever been pretended that this dispatch
was seized on Major Esterhazy’s premises?”
Major Lauth.—“No.”
M. Labori.—“That is sufficient for me. Then I would
like to know how the dispatch, having the same origin as
the bordereau, or as the fragments of paper mingled with
the dispatch, could have been considered as coming from
Major Esterhazy’s premises.”
Major Lauth.—“I do not understand you.”
M. Labori.—“I will explain. I asked Major Lauth what
would have been the use, in any point of view, of placing a
stamp on the dispatch. Major Lauth answered that the
stamp would have shown that the dispatch reached its
destination. Now, it is necessary that the jury should know
that it has never been said that the dispatch was written in
Major Esterhazy’s hand, and to know also that the writing
to the origin of which Major Lauth was asked to certify was
not the handwriting of Major Esterhazy. The dispatch was
addressed to Major Esterhazy. Now I am inquiring as to
the origin. Major Lauth says that the utility of the stamp
was to show that the dispatch reached Major Esterhazy’s
residence. Thereupon I ask: Was the bordereau, or the
papers contained in the package that contained the dispatch,
or the papers proceeding from the same source,—were any of
these considered as coming from Major Esterhazy’s
premises?”
Major Lauth.—“No.”
M. Labori.—“Then how does Major Lauth reconcile the
affirmation that the dispatch originated as Colonel Picquart
had said, with the declaration that it had been placed in the
cornucopia in which torn documents of this sort were
placed?”
Major Lauth.—“It is not for me to explain what Colonel
Picquart may have believed.”
M. Labori.—“All right. I take note of this declaration.
What, now, was the use of strips placed upon the photograph
to conceal traces of tear?”
Major Lauth.—“I did not say that I had placed strips in
such a way as to remove traces of writing. Whenever I
have had to make a photograph, Colonel Picquart has asked
me to cover up certain lines, or certain words with a line in
the middle. On each occasion I have made plates concealing
a part. He did not explain to me his purpose.”
M. Labori.—“I am much pleased with the answer, for it
brings out a point that had escaped me,—that M. Lauth did
not intend to say that there was anything singular in this
photographic treatment of the dispatch.”
Major Lauth.—“Pardon me, I say that I did not conceal
the text. I had to remove traces of tear, in order to give
the dispatch the appearance of a document absolutely new
and intact.”
M. Labori.—“Was Major Lauth ever asked to remove the
appearance of tear from the original?”
Major Lauth.—“Oh! that would not have been possible.”
M. Labori.—“The reply satisfies me. Was not the
bordereau also in bits?”
Major Lauth.—“Yes.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Into how many pieces was the dispatch
torn?”
Major Lauth.—“Perhaps sixty.”
M. Clemenceau.—“How large was the largest piece?”
Major Lauth.—“Perhaps one-twentieth of a square inch.”
M. Clemenceau.—“How were these pieces reassembled?”
Major Lauth.—“I have no explanations to furnish concerning
that matter.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Probably you misunderstand me. It
is a material fact that cannot concern the national defence.
I asked by what method the pieces of a document are reassembled
when they are found, as these were, in a
cornucopia.”
Major Lauth.—“The dispatch was pasted after I had had
the pieces arranged in their proper places. When Colonel
Picquart gave it to me, it was in the form of fragments of
paper mingled with many others.”
M. Clemenceau.—“When Colonel Picquart asked M.
Lauth, according to the latter’s testimony, if he could not
cause a post-office stamp to be put upon the dispatch, in
what condition was the dispatch?”
Major Lauth.—“The pieces had been reassembled.”
M. Clemenceau.—“By what process?”
Major Lauth.—“By the use of a transparent paper, cut in
very narrow strips that followed almost exactly the traces of
the tearing.”
M. Clemenceau.—“On which side of the dispatch were
these strips pasted?”
Major Lauth.—“On the addressed side.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Then will Major Lauth explain to us,
accepting the improbable supposition that he had complied
with Colonel Picquart’s desire, where he would have had the
post-office stamp placed?”
Major Lauth.—“In the first place, he did not ask me to
have the paper stamped. He said to me: ‘Do you think
that they would stamp it?’ It is not for me to inquire
what his purpose was.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I wanted to know how M. Lauth could
explain the alleged fact that Colonel Picquart asked to have
a post-office stamp placed upon this document by any third
party whomsoever, to give it authenticity, when, according
to M. Lauth’s testimony, there was no place on it where a
stamp could be put without putting it in part on the strips
of gummed paper?”
Major Lauth.—“I have no explanation to give.”
M. Clemenceau.—“If the dispatch comes from the cornucopia,
it is torn and not stamped. If it comes from the
post-office, it is stamped and not torn. When the chief of
staff shall call for the original, if it is shown to him torn
and stamped, because coming from the post, he will ask:
‘Why is it torn?’ Another hypothesis: Assuming the
dispatch to be torn and stamped, it can have but one origin.
It must come from Major Esterhazy’s premises, because,
stamped, it had been in the mails, and, torn, Major Esterhazy
must have torn it. Now, Major Lauth has just said
that it has never been pretended that the dispatch came
from Major Esterhazy’s premises.”
M. Labori.—“When you compared Major Esterhazy’s
handwriting with the bordereau, was the original of the
bordereau before you, or the photographs only?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Photographs only. The original of
the bordereau was in the Dreyfus file, sealed. That file has
been unsealed only twice, when General Gonse had occasion
to withdraw some papers from it.”
The Judge.—“Did the photographs conform absolutely
to the original?”
Colonel Picquart.—“They were used for the experts.”
Colonel Henry was then recalled, and re-examined as to
the interview which he claims to have surprised between M.
Leblois and Colonel Picquart in the latter’s office. Being
asked whether he saw the secret file and the document beginning
with the words: “That scoundrel D——,” he
answered:
“It was in October, I think. I have never been able to
fix the date precisely. All that I know is that there was an
open file in the room. The colonel was sitting on his left
leg, and at his left sat M. Leblois, and before them on the
desk were several files, among others the secret file which I
had so labelled, and on the back of which I had placed my
signature, or rather my initial, with blue pencil. I saw
the words: ‘secret file.’ The envelope was open, and the
document in question was outside of it. A few days later I
met General Gonse, who said to me: ‘How are things
going? What progress is Colonel Picquart making?’ I
answered: ‘Things are going rather slowly. Colonel Picquart
is still absorbed in his Esterhazy matter.’ ‘Ah! that
is bad, because the business of the office is suffering a little.’
‘And do the indiscretions continue?’ ‘Oh! the indiscretions
do not concern me.’ Whereupon I said: ‘In view of
the indiscretions, perhaps you would do well to take possession
of the secret file,—there was then only one in the
department,—for I saw it a few days ago on his desk, in the
presence of a third person.’ I did not name the person. I
believe that two or three days later the general took possession
of it. Whether he took it himself, or asked Colonel
Picquart to send it to him, I do not know.”
The court then recalled General Gonse, and asked him
whether the file was in disorder when it was returned to him.
General Gonse.—“Yes.”
The Judge.—“Colonel Picquart, what have you to say?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I repeat that I never had the file on
my table in the presence of M. Leblois, either open or closed.
Moreover, it seems a material impossibility that the thing
should have occurred as Colonel Henry says, if M. Leblois
proves that he returned to Paris November 7. Colonel
Henry has just told you that, a few days after witnessing
this scene, he spoke of it to General Gonse and advised him
to call for the file, and that General Gonse did so call a few
days later. Now, General Gonse has testified on previous
occasions that he asked me for the file a few days before my
departure.”
The Judge.—“You hear, Colonel Henry. Had you the
secret file?”
Colonel Henry.—“M. Leblois admitted it before the
council of war. He said: ‘In view of the precise declarations
of Colonel Henry, I certainly cannot contradict him.’
You can appeal to the members of the council of war.”
M. Leblois, being recalled, said:
“No, I did not admit it. This is what happened before
the council of war. Colonel Henry said simply that there
was a file on Colonel Picquart’s table. He said nothing of a
photograph, and specified no date, and I said to him:
‘Colonel, I believe that you are mistaken, but, as it is not my
habit to make a minute inventory of the documents that are
lying on the desks of people when I go to see them, I consider
that it is not for me, but rather for Colonel Picquart,
to say whether at any time whatsoever there was on his desk
an envelope bearing the words “secret file.”’ I said very
firmly to Colonel Henry: ‘I do not wish to contradict you,
not simply out of politeness, but because I consider that it is
for Colonel Picquart to contradict this statement, if it is
incorrect.’ But, if he had made a more precise statement,
and had said what he has just said,—that the file included a
photograph,—I would have contradicted him absolutely.”
Colonel Henry.—“I contradict M. Leblois absolutely.
This is what I said before the council of war: ‘Before these
gentlemen lay a secret file and a photographed document,
the document half out of the envelope and beginning with
these words, “That scoundrel D——”’”
The Judge.—“Did you see the document?”
Colonel Henry.—“Yes.”
M. Leblois.—“But the colonel has just admitted that he
said that the photograph was not out of the envelope.
Could Colonel Henry explain to us how he reconciles his
present evidence, M. Leblois and Colonel Picquart turning
their backs to the desk, with his evidence given at the
investigation and thus stated in Major Ravary’s report:
‘When Colonel Henry, on his return to Paris, entered
Colonel Picquart’s office, he saw M. Leblois, from whom the
colonel received long and frequent visits, sitting near the
desk and searching with him a secret file.’”
Colonel Henry.—“Searching ... searching?”
M. Labori.—“Either Colonel Henry does not tell the
truth, or else the truth is not told in Major Ravary’s
report.”
Colonel Henry [walking toward Labori].—“I will not
permit you to call my words in question. I will not permit
it.”
M. Labori.—“I say that there is a formal contradiction
between Major Ravary’s report and your evidence.”
Colonel Henry.—“That is not my affair.”
M. Labori.—“Possibly not, but it is mine.”
Colonel Henry.—“Ask an explanation of Major Ravary.”
M. Labori.—“At present I can seek an explanation only
from you, who are here.”
Colonel Henry.—“The expression ‘searching,’ if it is not
real, is at least figurative.”
M. Labori.—“What was the date of this visit?”
Colonel Henry.—“I said that it was in October. At any
rate, on my return from leave. I have always said October,
I think, and I cannot say anything else.”
M. Leblois.—“Variations as to facts, variations as to
dates. It is very difficult for a witness, with the best will
in the world, to follow his adversaries over ground so
shifting.”
Colonel Picquart.—“Did Colonel Henry enter my office by
the door opposite the desk, or by the little side door?”
Colonel Henry.—“By the main door.”
Colonel Picquart.—“About how far into the office did he
come?”
Colonel Henry.—“I could not say whether it was four
inches or a step.”
Colonel Picquart.—“But Colonel Henry was on the other
side of my desk; that is, on the side opposite to that where
I was sitting.”
Colonel Henry.—“Opposite you, and I perfectly saw the
document, for it was the place in which I stood that enabled
me to see the document and the file.”
Colonel Picquart.—“I shall ask to be shown the document.
General de Pellieux showed it to me in his office, and
at a distance. It is a very obscure photograph. I had to
put my nose into it in order to recognize this document,
which does not read Cette canaille de D ..., but Ce
canaille de D....”
Colonel Henry.—“I would know it at a distance of ten
steps. This is not to be disputed, especially when one is in
the habit of seeing a document, and I have seen this more
than once. I formally maintain my assertion, and I say
again: Colonel Picquart has lied.”
The Judge.—“You are in disaccord.”
M. Labori.—“Permit me. What, Monsieur le Président,
do I rightly understand? You say ‘in disaccord’! For
the second time an offence has been committed in this court.
A witness has been insulted by another witness, and the
only thing that you have to say is: ‘These witnesses are
not in accord.’ I take note of it.”
The Judge.—“You will take note of what you like.”
M. Labori.—“Since Colonel Picquart, being addressed as
he has just been addressed by Colonel Henry, hears no comment
but this: ‘You are in disaccord,’ I ask that he
explain himself unreservedly.”
Colonel Picquart.—“Gentlemen of the jury, you have
seen here men like Colonel Henry, Major Lauth, and the
keeper of the archives, Gribelin, make odious accusations
against me. You have heard the colonel tell me that I have
lied. You have heard Major Lauth make without proofs an
allegation as serious as that which he made yesterday,
saying that it was I, though he had not the proof, but that
it must have been I who placed the dispatch in the cornucopia.
Well, gentlemen of the jury, do you know why all
this is done? You will understand it when you learn that
the artisans of the previous affair, which is so intimately
connected with the Esterhazy affair,—those who acted conscientiously,
I think, believing that they had the truth on
their side,—when you learn that Colonel Henry and M.
Gribelin, aided by Colonel du Paty de Clam, under the
direction of General Gonse, received from the regretted
Colonel Sandherr (who was already afflicted with the serious
disease of which he afterward died), as a sort of testament,
at the time when he left the service, the duty of defending
against all attacks this affair which involved the honor of
the bureau, and which the bureau had pursued conscientiously,
believing that it was acting in accordance with the
truth. But I thought otherwise when I was at the head of
this service, and considered that there was a better way of
defending a cause than that of acting in blind faith. Consequently,
for months, insults have been heaped upon me by
newspapers paid for the spreading of slander and error.”
M. Zola.—“Exactly.”
Colonel Picquart.—“For months I have been in the most
horrible situation that an officer can occupy,—assailed in
my honor, and unable to defend myself. Tomorrow perhaps
I shall be driven from this army that I love, and to which I
have given twenty-five years of my life. That has not deterred
me, remembering, as I did, that it was my duty to
seek truth and justice. I have done it, thinking thereby to
render a greater service to the army. I considered that I
must do my duty as an honest man. That was what I had
to say.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Did I understand Colonel Henry to say
that, a few days after he saw the file on Colonel Picquart’s
desk, he spoke of the matter to General Gonse?”
Colonel Henry.—“Perhaps two or three days after; I do
not remember exactly.”
M. Clemenceau.—“How long after this conversation with
General Gonse did Colonel Picquart leave the bureau?”
Colonel Henry.—“A week, I think.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Summing up the matter, we shall have
the truth. The presence of M. Leblois at the war
department” ...
The Judge.—“You are not asking questions now.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I wish to bring out the truth.”
The Judge.—“You can bring it out in your argument.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I wish to bring it out now. If you do
not wish it, deprive me of the floor. I declare that I can
bring out the truth by the testimony of witnesses.”
The Judge.—“Ask questions.”
M. Clemenceau.—“No.”
The Judge.—“You will do what you like in your
argument.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Then take the floor away from me, and
I will be silent.”
The Judge.—“I take the floor away from you so far as
summing up is concerned. You can ask questions, if you
like.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I wish, by the testimony of two witnesses
who are in disaccord, to bring out the proof of the
truth.”
The Judge.—“Not now.”
M. Clemenceau.—“But” ...
The Judge.—“When you sum up.”
M. Clemenceau.—“My claim is that, in two words, I can
show which of these two officers has committed an involuntary
error.”
The Judge.—“Ask questions. You have not the floor for
arguing the matter.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Have I the floor for proving the truth?”
The Judge.—“I deprive you of the floor for argument.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I ask you this question, Monsieur
le Président. A point is in doubt between two officers of
the French army” ...
The Judge.—“You have not the floor for argument. You
can offer a motion; that is all.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Two officers have contradicted each
other. If you will accord me the floor, I will, in two
words” ...
The Judge.—“No. Offer a motion. I do not accord you
the floor.”
M. Clemenceau.—“And Article 319?”
The Judge.—“I know it.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Gentlemen of the jury, permit me to
read to you Article 319.”
The Judge.—“I know it.”
M. Clemenceau.—“It is to the jurors that I wish to read
it.”
The Judge.—“Read if you like, but you will read it to the
jurors, who have nothing to do with it.”
M. Clemenceau.—“The jurors have everything to do with
it. I take note of these words. I will not allow it to be
said in presence of the jury that it has nothing to do with
this matter. If Monsieur le Président adheres to those
words, I ask him to repeat them.”
The Judge.—“The jurors have nothing to do with the
direction of the trial.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I read Article 319, second part. ‘The
witness must not be interrupted. The accused or his counsel
may question him through the president after his disposition,
and say, as well against him as against his testimony,
anything that may be useful to the defence of the accused.’
Monsieur le Président, in conformity with the terms of this
article, I ask the floor to point out which of these two officers
is right.”
The Judge.—“But you will point it out in your
argument.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Monsieur le Président, I need to point
it out in the presence of these two officers, because, if I am
mistaken, one of the two will correct me.”
The Judge.—“Explain, then, the question that you are
going to put. I will put it.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Colonel Henry says: ‘I spoke to
General Gonse of what I saw in Colonel Picquart’s office,
three days after having seen M. Leblois in Colonel Picquart’s
office.’ Colonel Henry says also: ‘Colonel Picquart
left the service about a week after I spoke to General
Gonse.’ I point out to the witness—and this is the purpose
of my question—that in good arithmetic eight and
three make eleven, and that the visit of M. Leblois, as is established
undeniably, must have occurred between November
9, the date of M. Leblois’s return to Paris, and November
14, the date of Colonel Picquart’s departure from
the service,—a period of five days. Between five and eleven
days there is a difference of six days. I call Colonel
Henry’s attention to the error of six days, and I ask him
what he has to say about it.”
Colonel Henry.—“You understand that I do not specify
dates to a day. I have not spoken of dates.”
This finishing the confrontation of Colonel Picquart with
those who had contradicted him, the witness-stand was
taken by M. Demange, the counsel of Captain Dreyfus before
the council of war.
M. Labori.—“Will M. Demange tell us what he knows of
the Esterhazy case, and of any matters connected with it
that may be useful as throwing light upon M. Zola’s good
faith?”
The Judge.—“Speak only of the Esterhazy case; nothing
else.”
M. Demange.—“Exactly, Monsieur le Président. In the
latter part of October I learned through the newspapers that
M. Scheurer-Kestner had become convinced of the innocence
of Dreyfus, and was at work to secure his rehabilitation. I
wrote to M. Scheurer-Kestner, asking him to make known
publicly at the tribune or elsewhere his reasons for affirming
the innocence of Dreyfus. He did not answer, the reason of
his silence being, as I found out later, that my letter came
during the fortnight in which he had promised General Billot
to say nothing. Therefore I was much agitated in mind until
November 13 or 14, the day before M. Mathieu Dreyfus
denounced Captain Esterhazy as the author of the bordereau
before the minister of war. On that day M. Mathieu Dreyfus
came to my house in a state of great agitation, bringing
with him a sample of handwriting astonishingly like that of
the bordereau, and said to me: ‘M. Scheurer-Kestner says
that it is my duty to denounce as the author of the bordereau
M. Esterhazy, whose writing this is.’ Obeying a
feeling of prudence, I said to M. Mathieu Dreyfus; ‘Do
what M. Scheurer-Kestner has told you to do; but, first, I
advise you to ask him to declare publicly that he has designated
to the minister of war as the author of the bordereau
the person whom you are about to denounce; thus no one
will be able to question your good faith. And, since you
have only the handwriting, confine yourself to denouncing
M. Esterhazy as the author of the bordereau, and go no
farther.’ I was much excited, for I saw a chance for a revision
of the Dreyfus case. I had already resolved, moreover,
to address myself to the minister of justice, since I
had learned from M. Salle that there had been a violation of
the law. But I had not yet done so, for a reason that I may
point out. Before employing the legal course, and especially
that belonging to me by virtue of Article 441 of the
code of criminal examination,—that is, the nullification of
the sentence on the ground of violation of law,—I desired
the assistance of those who, wearing the robe as I do, are
anxious concerning the rights of defence. I awaited very
impatiently the Esterhazy trial. I was present at that portion
of it which was held in public, and even asked permission
to intervene that there might be a contradictor. The
permission was refused. But what especially interested me
was the testimony of the experts. It was here that I expected
to find the new fact necessary to the obtaining of a
revision in case of Esterhazy’s acquittal. Dreyfus having
been convicted only on the bordereau and on handwriting,
the expert testimony in the case of M. Esterhazy might
bring out elements that would permit me to say to the minister
of justice: ‘Here is the new fact.’ I knew from M.
Ravary’s report that the experts had concluded that the
writing was not M Esterhazy’s, but I did not know their
reasons. I got no satisfaction, because of the closing of the
doors, and thus this method of revision was cut off. There
remained then the method of nullification. But I could not
apply to the minister of justice, unless I was certain that
the door would open, should I knock. Now, the conditions
under which the Esterhazy trial took place had convinced
me that the government did not desire to throw light on the
Dreyfus case.
“What could I do? I could say to the minister of
justice: ‘I am morally certain that there has been a violation
of the law,’ but I could not give him legal proof. I had
to do, then, what is done in cases of this sort,—call on the
minister of justice for an investigation, in order to have my
assertion verified. I did not wish to take the step alone,
and at that moment I had not found the desired assistance,
either among lawyers or among those in political life. They
said to me: ‘Have a care: do not stir up this Dreyfus
matter now. It is too soon; we must wait.’ And I was
waiting at the time when M. Scheurer-Kestner brought his
facts to the knowledge of the public. It was necessary to
my purpose to have a government desirous of throwing full
light upon the matter, because, if there was to be a revision,
it should not take place behind closed doors. When seven
officers who are honesty itself have condemned a man
erroneously, public opinion cannot be convinced, unless
their error can be precisely pointed out. Well, I was convinced
that the government did not want the light, and so I
asked myself what I should do. Then were unchained the
passions which today are making such riot, preventing men
from giving further thought to the fate of my unfortunate
client. It is no longer a question of the Dreyfus case; it is
a question of the honor of the army; it is the struggle
between the Semites and the anti-Semites. But I, alas! am
concerned only with the interests of my client. Consequently,
I said to myself, we must await more peaceful times,
and I said the same to M. Mathieu Dreyfus and to Mme.
Dreyfus. The attorney-general has told you that recourse
had been had to revolutionary methods; but this reproach
cannot be addressed to M. Zola, because he had not the
power to use the legal methods. Only the Dreyfus family
could use those, and consequently it is the Dreyfus family
that is to be reproached, and, indirectly, myself. And I
might even tell you that, for a long time, and especially
since the speech of the attorney-general, I have been receiving
every morning letters signed and unsigned, the former
polite, the latter anything but polite, in which I am reproached
with having failed in my duty. I consider that I
have not failed. My duty has always been before my eyes,
and you may be certain that my conscience will never allow
me to shrink from it. But I believe that I acted very
prudently in advising M. Dreyfus to wait. And so it is
that the Esterhazy case, which had given me hope that I
could resort to the legal methods of securing a revision, has
made it impossible for me to use these methods, because it
has convinced me that the government does not want the
light.”
M. Labori.—“Will M. Demange tell us what he thinks of
this passage from Major Ravary’s report? ‘To sum up what
is left, a painful impression which will have an echo in all
hearts truly French. Of the actors in the cast some have
acted in the presence of the public, others have remained
behind the scenes; but all the methods employed had the
same end in view,—the revision of a judgment legally and
justly rendered.’”
M. Demange.—“Since I desired to apply to the minister
of justice for a nullification of the judgment, I could not
have considered it legally rendered.”
M. Labori.—“Why not?”
The Judge.—“The question will not be put.”
M. Labori.—“But it concerns the Esterhazy case.”
M. Demange.—“I told you a moment ago. I had learned
from M. Salle that there had been a violation of the law.
That is why I wanted to apply to the minister.”
M. Labori.—“What violation?”
The Judge.—“No, no, M. Demange; do not answer that.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Permit me to ask a question. Monsieur
le Président, I point out to you, in the first place, that
an incident which lasted a very long time, and in which
Colonel Henry figured, bore exclusively on the Dreyfus case;
taking advantage of this observation, I ask you to put to M.
Demange the following question. M. Demange has just told
us, and is forbidden further explanation by the court, that
he was certain that the verdict had not been legally rendered.
I ask him if he cannot tell us on what he bases this certainty,
and especially if he does not base it on the fact that a member
of the council of war so declared to M. Salle, who has so
declared to him.”
M. Demange.—“Why, yes, of course.”
The Judge.—“M. Demange, do not answer.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I ask you, Monsieur le Président, to
put the question.”
The Judge.—“No, no, I will not put the question.”
M. Labori.—“I have another question to ask M. Demange.
There appeared in ‘Le Matin’ a few days ago a three-column
interview, containing most interesting things, most of which,
to my personal knowledge, are perfectly true. Without
asking M. Demange if the interview took place at his house,
I ask him to say if the statements of the interview are true.”
M. Demange.—“In the first place, there was no interview.
I had received a letter from a professor of the university,
and a letter from two young licentiates who spoke in the
name of the students more than a month ago. These two
letters, which were signed, were very polite, and they
accused me of failing in my duty, saying: ‘You know, M.
Demange, that an illegality has been committed; why do
you not apply to the minister of justice?’ These letters said
that I was the cause of the appearance of M. Zola’s article.
They said that, if I had applied to the minister of justice,
none of this hubbub would have occurred. It is not a question,
then, of an interview. I answered the professor and
the young people, inviting them to come to see me. They
came, and I had a confidential talk with them. The professor
has respected my confidence, but the young people
have not followed his example.”
M. Labori.—“Does M. Demange know the reasons why M.
Leblois never entered into relations with the Dreyfus family
or with M. Demange?”
M. Demange.—“He never told me the reasons. I have
even reproached him for it. I told him that then we should
have been able to apply to the minister of justice.”
M. Labori.—“Did M. Demange see the bordereau that was
produced in the Esterhazy case?”
M. Demange.—“I believe I did.”
M. Labori.—“Did he see it in the original?”
M. Demange.—“Certainly.”
M. Labori.—“Has he seen the photographs of it?”
M. Demange.—“I have seen the original on file, and I had
in my possession, in the court-room, a photograph, which I
restored at the end of the trial.”
M. Labori.—“Is M. Demange familiar with the fac-simile
that was published in ‘Le Matin’?”
M. Demange.—“I should say so. As soon as I saw it, forgetting
that I had no longer the photograph in my hands, I
said to myself: ‘Very likely it will be charged that I gave
this to “Le Matin”.’”
M. Labori.—“Then there was a resemblance between this
fac-simile and the bordereau?”
M. Demange.—“A striking resemblance. You have not
the original, then?”
M. Labori.—“No, but we should very much like to have
it. Is M. Demange aware that General de Pellieux has
declared that between the fac-simile and the original there
is no resemblance? What does M. Demange think of that?”
M. Demange.—“I think that two honest men can differ in
opinion.”
The next witness called was M. Ranc, member of the
senate. He testified as follows:
“M. Zola’s good faith is complete and absolute. I know,
Monsieur le Président, that you would not allow me to
speak of the violation of the law and of the right of defence
committed in the trial of 1894 by the non-communication to
the defence of a secret document. I will simply say, then,
Monsieur le Président, that M. Zola was legitimately surprised
by the way in which the second trial was conducted,
by its mere pretence of an examination, or what seemed
such to many people, and which certainly was the merest
phantom of a contradictory discussion, since the complainant
was not represented, since there was no confrontation of
experts with experts, and since, after a reading of the indictment,
which was really a plea in favor of the accused,
they ordered closed doors so far as the testimony of Colonel
Picquart and the handwriting-experts was concerned. That
alone, in my judgment, is enough to explain and to justify
the feeling of generous indignation which prompted M.
Zola. He is after truth and justice, and what he has done
is, in my eyes, the act of a man of heart and great courage.”
M. Pierre Quillard, man of letters, who was present as a
disinterested spectator at the Esterhazy trial, succeeded M.
Ranc upon the witness-stand.
“As M. Zola is accused,” said he, “of having slandered
the members of the council of war, reproaching them with
having acquitted in obedience to orders, I believe that the
impressions of a disinterested spectator may be useful in
enlightening the religion of the jurors. We first listened to
the indictment drawn up by M. Ravary. I suppose that the
jurors are familiar with this document. It is indeed a remarkable
document, very remarkable for its touching admiration
of the eloquence of General Billot, and especially
for the quite unusual kindliness exhibited toward the
accused. And this kindliness seemed especially remarkable
to those of us who were already familiar with the indictment
of M. d’Ormescheville, seeing as we did that the same
matters which were made a ground of complaint against that
officer were cited in glorification of Major Esterhazy,—for
instance, the fact of being a polyglot, and the fact of interesting
himself in questions outside of his service. This indictment
was, in reality, an argument against one of the
witnesses, Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart. I felt at once that
the disposition of the military court was favorable to M.
Esterhazy. This impression was confirmed by the way in
which the examination was conducted, and by the attitude
of the court toward the witnesses. I do not wish to flatter
the civil magistracy, but I believe that, as a rule, the civil
magistrates study for themselves and in detail the documents
relating to the matters submitted to them. Not so at all
with the council of war, at least apparently. Every time
that a specific document was referred to, the president of the
council and the clerk had to appeal to M. Tézenas, M. Esterhazy’s
lawyer. We are willing to believe that some of the
documents cited were not of great importance, but here is an
incident which seems to me notable and characteristic. M.
Mathieu Dreyfus had declared in his testimony that in June,
1894, M. Esterhazy had written a letter in which he declared
himself to be in a situation so frightful that, to extricate
himself and his relatives, he perhaps would be obliged to
commit a crime. It seems to me that this was a document
of high importance in the case, but the president of the
council had forgotten it, and M. Tézenas had to be called on
to furnish the quotation. The document was handed to
General de Luxer, who, after looking at it for some time,
said: ‘There are four pages, it is very long;’ and then M.
Mathieu Dreyfus went up to the bench and pointed out the
specified phrase to the president. I was also very much
struck at the kindly way in which M. Esterhazy’s examination
was conducted. Whenever he suffered from lapse of
memory, he had only to say: ‘That is not important,’ in
order to cause his questioner to desist from pressing him.
When M. Scheurer-Kestner said in his testimony: ‘Being a
man, I may be mistaken,’ this expression of honesty was
welcomed with sneers by the persons opposite him. Then
closed doors were ordered, and, while one can understand
the necessity of secrecy so far as certain testimony is concerned,
no one has yet been able to see how the formation of
s and x concerns the national defence. They came there in
search of light, and I affirm that no attentive person went
away without a conviction that men in power, if they had not
given orders, had manifested a desire for a thickening of the
darkness, rather than for light.”
M. Labori.—“What does M. Quillard think of M. Zola’s
letter?”
M. Quillard.—“M. Zola belongs to a literary generation
absolutely different from my own, and generally men of
letters enjoying the public favor find in their immediate
successors the worst of adversaries and the most clear-seeing
of critics. We have not failed in this duty toward M. Zola,
and even I, while rendering a high homage to his admirable
work, which is an honor to French letters, have expressed
the keenest reserves in regard to him. Therefore it is not at
all as a faithful disciple that I come here, yet I am only the
freer to say how beautiful, generous, and heroic the attitude
of M. Zola seems to me. He might have kept silent; he
might have listened to the counsels of what Victor Hugo in
1871 called the complaisance of public anger. He knew that,
in writing the letter that he wrote, he was subjecting himself
in advance to all insults and all infamies. He knew that he
endangered not only his rest, but, as we now know, his life;
that he endangered his honor, since we have arrived, it
seems, at such a degree of social rottenness that no man can
express his opinion without being accused of venality.
Well, knowing the circumstances in which we live, and
knowing the ignominy of anti-Semitism, I find this act of
having spoken under these circumstances what he believed
to be the truth, and his opinion that above the thing judged
there was perhaps the thing true, to be worthy of an honest
man, and of more honor to M. Zola than many of his works.
So that I am happy to bring here the homage of my profound
and respectful admiration.”
Following M. Quillard came M. Jean Jaurès, a Socialist
member of the chamber of deputies, whose deposition follows:
“I was present at the public portion of the Esterhazy
trial, and it is because of that that I come to this bar to
declare, not only the complete good faith of M. Zola, but the
high moral and social value of his act. I consider that the
conduct of the Esterhazy trial justifies M. Zola’s most
vehement indignation. It justifies also the anxieties of those
who, profoundly respectful of the national honor, do not
wish the military power to rise superior to all control and all
law. I add that the weaknesses shown by parliament and
the government from the beginning of this affair have
obliged citizens to intervene, and, by their defence of liberty
and right, make up for the delinquencies of the responsible
powers. In the Esterhazy case three decisive facts have
especially struck me.
“In the first place, why were closed doors ordered for the
hearing of the handwriting-experts? Here was involved the
essential feature of the accusation. M. Esterhazy was
accused of having written the bordereau. Why, then, was it
necessary to discuss in the mystery and secrecy of closed
doors the experts’ testimony, which was to settle this question?
Closed doors which withdraw the discussion from
publicity, from the control of opinion so useful, not only to
the accused, but to his judges,—closed doors can be justified
only by superior reasons of national interest, and it is impossible
to pretend that there was any national interest whatever
in concealing from the country the expert testimony
relative to the authorship of the bordereau. The simple
reason for the closing of the doors was the existence of an
interest, which was not that of justice, in concealing the
contradictions between the conclusions of the experts who
testified at the trial of 1894 and the expert conclusions presented
in the Esterhazy trial. But there were not only these
contradictions to veil; there were other facts pointing to M.
Esterhazy’s authorship of the bordereau which it was of
importance to examine publicly. For my part, I know, and
can bring to this bar positive testimony, that Major Esterhazy
had made singularly disturbing declarations regarding
the bordereau. I know it, and I can appeal here to the
testimony of one of our honest confrères who will not contradict
me; and I am determined, neglecting all the secondary
proprieties which are not to be considered in this case, to
go straight to the truth, because I consider that it is the first
duty of every citizen, in this case in which obscurities have
been heaped up without limit, to bring every particle of
truth in his possession, that from all these particles the
definitive truth may later be established. Well, this is what
I heard M. Papillaud, an editor of ‘La Libre Parole,’ say
twice. He made this declaration to me once as we were
leaving the senate together after the interpellation made by
M. Scheurer-Kestner. He made it again publicly in presence
of a group that was forming in the Salle des Pas-Perdus of
the chamber, which is open to all comers, and where all
remarks are public. Well, M. Papillaud said to me, and to
many other persons, this:
“‘I believe profoundly in the guilt of Dreyfus. I believe
it, because it seems to me impossible that French officers,
having to judge another French officer, should have condemned
him in the absence of overwhelming evidence. I believe
it, because the power of the Jews, very great four years
ago, as it is today, would have torn Dreyfus from the hands
of justice, if there had been in his favor the slightest possibility
of salvation. The bordereau, moreover, is but an
accessory element in the case; but, so far as the bordereau
is concerned, it is my absolute conviction that it is the work
of Esterhazy, and this is why I think so. In the two
days that followed M. Mathieu Dreyfus’s letters of denunciation,
M. Esterhazy, who did not seem to have recovered
his self-possession completely, went often to the editorial
rooms. He came to the editorial rooms of “La Libre
Parole,” and there, in the presence of my comrades and myself,
he said: “Yes, there is between the handwriting of the
bordereau and my own a frightful resemblance, and when
‘Le Matin’ published the fac-simile, I felt that I was
lost.”’
“I point out to the jurors that the fac-simile was published
fifteen months, I believe, before the letter of accusation,
at a time when the name of Esterhazy had not been
mentioned in connection with this matter, and I leave them
to judge of the moral gravity of such a remark. The result,
if not the object, of hearing the expert testimony behind
closed doors was the concealment of all these indications.
“The second point that struck me was the attitude toward
Lieutenant-Colonel Picquart. The most violent charges
were made against him. He was accused of forgeries and of
all sorts of base and guilty manœuvres, and the accusations
were public. The report that embodied charges against him
was read publicly, and, when the time came for Lieutenant-Colonel
Picquart to defend himself, those who reproach M.
Zola with assailing the honor of the army deprived this officer,
thus publicly accused, of the opportunity of a public
defence. I say that this is a serious matter. Here, before
the jury, before this audience, all the charges against Colonel
Picquart have been produced, and I shall be careful—for
I have not the right, and it is not my affair—not to say a
word concerning the substance of these charges. But,
though he was accused in the presence of the country, in
the presence of the jurors, who are the legal conscience of
the country, he was allowed also to defend himself in the
presence of the country and in the presence of the jurors. I
ask the jurors who heard the charges of General de Pellieux
against Colonel Picquart what they would have thought, if,
after having given General de Pellieux the floor to crush
Colonel Picquart, they had refused Colonel Picquart the
right to defend himself publicly? Well, gentlemen, it was
that that happened in the Esterhazy trial. Let them not
plead again the necessity of the national defence, of national
secrecy, since here, without ever compromising the
national defence, and without the escape of a single terrible
secret, Colonel Picquart has been allowed to defend himself
publicly, as he was publicly attacked. It is precisely this
outrageous contrast between the publicity of an attack upon
a man and the closed doors ordered during his defence that
has caused consciences to revolt,—I speak not only of my
own, but of those of many independent men who are not in
public life, professors, my school-comrades, men who have
been absorbed throughout their lives in disinterested investigations,—and
that has determined them in great numbers
to throw off their reserve and their neutrality, and go down
into the streets in defence of the right. Well, M. Zola felt
as others felt, and no more than others have felt, the natural
and legitimate indignation which such methods excite.
“But, gentlemen, there was a third very disturbing fact in
the Esterhazy case,—namely, the absence of any serious investigation
regarding the history of the veiled lady and the
method by which the secret document was conveyed to M.
Esterhazy. Really, we must be strangely blasé regarding
certain things, or else arrogant affirmations must have the
power of entirely destroying our critical and thoughtful
disposition, if this fact does not agitate and trouble us.
There is a secret document. This document concerns the national
defence. It has, it seems, an international value. It
might plunge our country into diplomatic difficulties. It is
locked in the securest manner in the most secret and the
most carefully guarded closet of the most remote sanctuary
of the staff. And yet a photograph of this secret document
is conveyed by melodramatic processes, through a mysterious
woman, who transmits it to an officer previously notified,
and the military authority, guardian of the national secrecy,
guardian of the security of the country,—the military
authority does not even outline the beginning of an investigation
into the movements of this document. Really, it is
singular. And why has it not done so? Why? Because
the investigation would surely have shown that this photograph
of the secret document could not have been transmitted
to M. Esterhazy except by design of the staff, and for
two decisive reasons. The first is that, if the staff had not
known that this document was communicated to Major Esterhazy
by the staff itself; if there had not been an evident
connivance on the part of the general staff and of Major
Esterhazy,—then, when Major Esterhazy, responsible officer
of military discipline, presented himself at the war department
to return a secret document without explaining how it
came into his possession, the first care and the first duty of
the general staff would have been to arrest Major Esterhazy.
The second reason is that this document, I beg the jurors to
remember, could have had no interest for Esterhazy, unless
he knew that it came from the staff. In fact, of what was
he accused? He was accused of having written the bordereau.
Now, how could the possession of a document containing
these words: ‘That scoundrel D——,’ help Esterhazy
to show that he did not write the bordereau? This
secret document, thus passed to Esterhazy, could not have
been useful to him because of its contents. It could have
been useful to him only because of the source whence
it came to him. It could have been useful to him only as
informing him that the staff was watching over him, that
the staff was determined not to call the matter in question,
that the staff was arranging a new plan of campaign, that it
would not allow itself to be beaten, and that he, Esterhazy,
protected by his chiefs, should rest easy, should not lose
foot or head, should not be disturbed, should not make any
confession. Such was the only possible interest of the document
communicated to Esterhazy. It was not a cartridge
that the staff sent him, but a cordial on the eve of battle,—on
the eve, that is, of the trial.
“Thus it appears throughout the Esterhazy trial, in the
closed doors for the hearing of the expert testimony, in the
strangulation behind closed doors practised upon Colonel
Picquart, in the absence of all investigation as to the conveyance
of the secret document,—it appears everywhere that
the trial was conducted, not with a view to truth and justice,
but for the systematic justification of the military chiefs.
And then, gentlemen of the jury, the country has the more
right to be agitated and indignant, because they make use
of the noblest words to mislead it. There are no words
more beautiful, more grand, more sacred, than those of
country, national defence, national honor. But it is precisely
because these words are the holiest and the grandest
known to the tongues of men that they have no right to profane
them and to prostitute them in covering up tricks of
procedure. No, no! This profanation of the country was
enough to stir up all French souls and all upright consciences.
“And now why have citizens like Zola, and many others
with him, thrown themselves into the battle, uttering this
cry of their emotion and their conscience? Because the responsible
powers, consecrated to intrigue and to impotence,
did not act, did not come to the front. Was it not the first
duty of the legislators and the governors, from the hour
that the report was spread that a secret document had been
communicated to the judges in a criminal trial without
being communicated to the accused and to his counsel,—was
it not the first duty of the legislators and the governors
to find out whether this violation of republican law and of
human rights had been committed? And why did they not
do it? On this point we have endeavored to obtain from
the responsible government the declarations that it owed to
the country. This violation of law and of right has been
alluded to from the tribune of the senate. I have ventured
to put the question from the tribune of the chamber,
squarely asking the prime minister: ‘Yes or no, has a
document of interest to an accused person, capable of establishing
or confirming his guilt,—yes or no, has such a document
been communicated to the judges without being communicated
to the accused and to his counsel?’ and I have
been able to obtain no precise reply.
“They always take refuge in that equivocation, the legal
truth. Oh! yes, it is legal truth that a man is guilty when
he has been legally condemned, and it is also legal truth, it
seems, that this man is guilty and has been legally judged
when his appeal for revision has been rejected. But that
does not tell us whether the communication of a secret document,
outside of all legal guarantees,—a communication
unknown at the time of the appeal for revision,—has been
made or not. And to this question, put by the responsible
representatives of the country to the responsible government,
why have they steadily refused to make a clear reply?
I am mistaken. M. Méline, the prime minister, has answered
me: ‘I cannot reply without serving your designs.’
It seems that in the country of the Declaration of the Rights
of Man it is a design to affirm that a person may not be
judged on the strength of secret documents. But he said to
me (and his words are in ‘L’Officiel’): ‘You shall be
answered elsewhere.’ Elsewhere! I thought that it would
be in the assize court; and it is true that here, by surprise
as it were, the truth has finally come to light. But I do not
know that any of the responsible representatives of power
have come here any more than to parliament to answer the
question that the country has a right to put, and it is really
prodigious that a country which believes itself free cannot
know whether the law has been respected, either in the
palace where the law is made, or in the palace where it is
enforced.
“Everybody foresaw this violation. There were not four
deputies in the chamber who doubted it; why do they not
speak of it, and why do they not act? The other day, when
I put this decisive question very simply, I was sustained by
a little group of friends,—fifteen or twenty,—but in the
chamber as a whole there was a passive silence. Yet, when
I descended from the tribune into the lobbies, where the
parliamentary soul recovers its elasticity and its liberty,
deputies without number, of all groups and of all parties,
said to me: ‘You are right, but what a pity that this matter
was brought up a few months before the election!’ Well, I
believe that they are mistaken. I believe that, in spite of
all the passing fogs, in spite of all the insults and all the
threats,—I believe that this country is yet to have the light
and truth. But, if the truth is to be vanquished, it is better
to be vanquished with it, than to become an accomplice in
all these equivocations and humiliations.
“But, gentlemen, there has been not simply a violation
of the law. This violation has taken place in particularly
aggravating circumstances. Not only has a minister of war
communicated a secret document under illegal conditions,
but he has not even taken what I will call human precautions
against error. He has not even consulted the cabinet.
“I have heard M. Charles Dupuy, I have heard M. Delcassé,—and
here I violate the professional secret of others,—I
have heard these gentlemen, who were then a part of the
cabinet to which General Mercier belonged, declare that
there was no mention in the cabinet of any secret document
except the bordereau; that there was no allusion to the
other secret documents of which there has been talk since.
Well, gentlemen of the jury, this shows not only that the
communication was illegal, but that a single man, without
official consultation with his friends, took it upon himself to
throw into the scales of the trial a document whose value he
alone had dared to measure. I say that this man, in spite of
the brilliancy of his service and of his stripes, in spite of the
arrogance of power, is a man,—that is, a miserable and
fragile being, made of darkness and of pride, of weakness
and of error; and I do not understand how it is that in this
country of law a single man has ventured to assume, upon
his single conscience, upon his single reason, upon his single
head, to decide upon the life, liberty, and honor of another
man. And I say that, if such customs and such habits were
to be tolerated in our country, there would be an end to
liberty and justice.
“And that is why citizens like M. Zola have done right in
rising to protest. While the government, imprisoned in its
own devices, intrigued or equivocated; while parliamentary
parties, imprisoned in their own fears, kept silence or
abdicated; while military justice set up the arbitrary régime
of closed doors,—citizens rose in their pride, in their liberty,
in their independence, to protest against the violation of
right, and thereby have done the greatest service to our
country that they possibly could do.
“Oh! I know very well that M. Zola must suffer for this
noble service, and I know also why certain men hate and
pursue him. They pursue in him the man who has maintained
the rational and scientific interpretation of the
miracle; they pursue in him the man who has predicted in
‘Germinal’ the flowering of a new humanity, the springing-up
of the wretched prolétariat from the depths of suffering
to the sunlight; they pursue in him the man who has just
torn the staff from that baneful and arrogant irresponsibility
in which unconsciously the way is paved for all the
disasters of the country. They may pursue him and hunt
him down, but I believe that I express the feeling of all free
citizens in saying that before him we respectfully
bow.”
At the conclusion of the testimony of M. Jaurès the
defence offered two motions: first, that the court record its
acknowledgment of the fact that, Colonel Picquart having
been called a liar by Lieutenant-Colonel Henry, neither the
presiding judge or the attorney-general intervened to suppress
the insult; second, that, General de Pellieux having
declared that there was little or no resemblance between the
bordereau and fac-simile, the court order the production
of the original of the bordereau. The first motion was
granted, but the court refused to order the production of the
bordereau.
The testimony of the experts being now in order, M. Bertillon
took the witness-stand.
“I am absolutely sure,” he testified, “that Dreyfus wrote
the bordereau. I am absolutely sure that it is impossible
that any other person could have written it. There may be
a revision followed by an acquittal, but I swear most absolutely
that it can not be proved that any other person than
the individual originally condemned unites within himself
the calligraphic characteristics that this bordereau exhibits.
It could have been written only at the house of the condemned
man.”
M. Labori.—“This is very interesting. We pretend to
prove that the bordereau is the work of Major Esterhazy.”
M. Zola.—“Absolutely.”
M. Labori.—“M. Bertillon tells us that there is only one
man who can have written it. Well, if he succeeds in proving
that, it will have to be admitted that the defence finds
itself in a very embarrassing situation. So I ask M. Bertillon
to tell us why the bordereau can not be the work of
Major Esterhazy, but is necessarily the work of another.”
The Judge.—“Have you Major Esterhazy’s handwriting?”
M. Bertillon.—“No, I have proofs that are not exactly
calligraphic proofs. I have no confidence in expert opinion
in the matter of handwriting. I believe that it is
good for something as an eliminating process, but that
beyond that it is necessary to make a tabula rasa. But I
have convincing proofs; they are not simply proofs that put
one on the scent; they constitute a demonstration that the
bordereau was written by the man originally condemned.”
The Judge.—“And that it could not have been written by
anybody else?”
M. Bertillon.—“No. The bordereau, whatever they may
say, is not in a running hand. It follows a geometric
rhythm, the equation of which was found in the blotting-pad
of the man originally condemned, and with this blotting-pad
it is possible to re-establish his handwriting. I will do it, if
it is desired.”
M. Labori.—“That is precisely what we ask. It is very
important. It is absolutely necessary that the witness who
now addresses us should make the requisite demonstration,
and that is the point at which I was coming. We have a
blackboard here. If M. Bertillon wishes to make use of it,
it is at his disposition.”
M. Bertillon.—“Produce the documents that were seized
at the house of the condemned man, and I will make my
demonstration. But let me add, that you may not take me
for a trifler, that this demonstration is long and difficult.
Nevertheless the practice is easy. Some day I will explain
myself on this subject. I can reconstitute the bordereau for
you out of independent elements. But you must give me
these elements; I cannot speak in the dark.”
M. Labori.—“Well, M. Bertillon, we will do all that we
possibly can for you. I promise you that, if we do not get
these elements, it will not be my fault. Will Monsieur le
Président ask M. Bertillon if he recognizes this little paper,
which I pass first to the court?”
The Judge [stupefied].—“What is this?”
M. Labori—“That is a plan drawn by M. Bertillon in his
expert testimony. I should like to know if he recognizes it.
Notice of its production was made to the attorney-general,
and the plan has been published in ‘L’Aurore’.”
M. BERTILLON’S PLAN OF EXPERT PROOF.
M. Bertillon.—“That is not at all the plan of my deposition;
it is a scheme for a special point in my deposition. I
do not deny it at all; I accept it; only I am astonished that
you have not reproduced it entire, because there was a very
important point that is not indicated in it, and that should
have been indicated,—namely, the matter of the blotting-pad.”
M. Labori.—“M. Bertillon will make the necessary
correction.”
M. Bertillon.—“Yes, if you will give me the documents to
which I have referred.”
M. Labori.—“Did you mention these documents in your
written expert testimony?”
M. Bertillon.—“I furnished no written expert testimony.”
The Judge.—“First of all, M. Bertillon, will you tell us
what this plan is?”
M. Bertillon.—“The significance of this plan in this case
is sufficiently great, in that it is a material proof that the
experts in the first trial were of the same opinion as those of
the second. But I am absolutely determined to say nothing,
unless the documents are produced,—as well those that were
taken from the blotting-pad as those that were seized in the
war department. I am perfectly willing to make my demonstration
public, but I ask that the court put me in a position
to do so by furnishing the documents. Then I will make the
demonstration. But I warn you that it will be rather long.
Perhaps it would take two sessions.”
M. Labori.—“What are these documents?”
M. Bertillon.—“Oh! I do not know their titles. There
was a note of this, a note of that, etc.”
The Judge.—“Can you not sum up what you said in your
report?”
M. Bertillon.—“I made no written report. The documents
seized at the war department are various notes concerning
the service, writings on various questions. The
documents taken from the blotting-pad are letters from M.
Mathieu Dreyfus, one concerning hunting rifles, and the
other concerning an issue of bonds. But their substance is
immaterial. Yet these documents must be seen in order to
be discussed and analyzed. I cannot go farther.”
M. Labori.—“Did you not once receive a visit from M.
Picquart?”
M. Bertillon.—“Yes, on May 16, 1896. He brought me a
little photograph of a few lines of handwriting, an extremely
poor photograph, with words traced in every direction, and
asked me my opinion of the writing; Before even looking at
the paper, I suspected that it concerned the Dreyfus matter,
for, if it had been a matter of expert testimony in some new
case, Colonel Picquart would have had to act through my
superior, the prefect of police. Laying the paper on the
table, I said to him: ‘Is this the Dreyfus case again?’ He
answered: ‘I should like to know your opinion.’ I looked
at the writing, and, after a single glance, said to him: ‘That
singularly resembles the writing of the bordereau or the
writing of Mathieu Dreyfus. It relates to that case.’ Then
he said: ‘No, it does not relate to that case. Study it, and
talk with me about it afterwards. Be good enough to come
to the war office tomorrow to bring me the original.’ I did
what Colonel Picquart asked. I had the document photographed,
and then I paid no further attention to it. I had a
handwriting that resembled that of the bordereau. Now, I
have absolute proof that the bordereau must have been
written by the condemned man. Of what consequence is it
to me that there are other hand writings like it. Though
there were a hundred officers in the war department who had
this handwriting, it would be all one to me, for to me it is a
settled matter.”
M. Labori.—“M. Bertillon will do a service to everybody,
and especially to the defence, by explaining as far as possible
his methods of investigation.”
M. Bertillon.—“I am absolutely determined to say
nothing until the documents are produced.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Perhaps there is a way of arranging
this. The witness said just now, speaking of two or three
documents, that they were letters from Mathieu Dreyfus.
Is it necessary to have the same letters? Could not M.
Bertillon explain his theory with other letters from Mathieu
Dreyfus?”
M. Bertillon.—“Oh! not at all.”
M. Labori.—“M. Bertillon has just told us that he has no
confidence in expert testimony in the matter of handwriting.
Surely the witness must be able to explain to us how the
document of which he speaks can have such importance in
his mind. I will ask him, then, to point out in his little
plan the spot where this document is to be found. I will ask
M. Bertillon where we must look for the document from the
blotting-pad. Where is it? In the arsenal, in the citadel,
at the butts, or in the trench?”
M. Bertillon.—“It seems to me that this matter is too
serious for joking.”
M. Clemenceau.—“What! you think that the reading of
your paper constitutes a joke?”
M. Labori.—“I simply ask where this document is to be
placed in this plan.”
M. Bertillon.—“Produce the document, and I will tell
you.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Will M. Bertillon give the court a list
of the documents that he needs? We will try to get them,
and then we shall see if M. Bertillon can make his demonstration.
Do you remember what the documents are?”
M. Bertillon.—“They were numbered from 1 to 30, including
three or four letters from Mathieu Dreyfus and various
notes regarding the service.”
M. Labori.—“Is it for their writing that M. Bertillon
needs these documents?”
M. Bertillon.—“To answer that would be to enter into the
substance of my demonstration. I have told you that I will
give it entire or not at all. If some day I make this demonstration,
you will see that I needed the documents to make
it intelligible.”
The Judge.—“This is a matter of judicial identity. Do
you contend that your demonstration is absolutely certain?”
M. Bertillon.—“I consider it superior in certainty to
identification by anthropometric measurements. But I cannot
go into such a matter off-hand and under such
circumstances.”
M. Labori.—“Well, if the witness needs time for preparation,
we will adjourn until Monday.”
The proposition was accepted, and the court adjourned.
The proceedings of the seventh day began with the reading
by the court of a letter from M. Le Provost de Launay, a
member of the senate, and of a dispatch from M. Papillaud.
The letter read as follows:
I have read the testimony of M. Jaurès. He must be mistaken, for
M. Papillaud, whom I saw the day before he met Major Esterhazy, and
whom I saw again the day after, said to me a very different thing. I am
ready to testify to it.
Following is M. Papillaud’s dispatch:
Beaulieu (Alpes-Maritimes).
In convalescence here, I read deposition of Jaurès. Have already
contradicted in “Libre Parole.” Beg you, Monsieur le Président, to
excuse my absence, and read to the jury the following declaration:
Never did I make the remarks reported by Jaurès. Never did I hear
Esterhazy use such language. Once Esterhazy said in my presence:
“They thought me ruined because of the resemblance in handwritings.
If there is a resemblance, I shall prove that Dreyfus has imitated my
writing.” I saw Esterhazy seven times. Never did I hear him say anything
other than that. Therefore I protest against the Jaurès account,
which is a veritable falsehood, the more blameworthy because I, being
sick here, cannot appear before the court. Therefore I count on you,
Monsieur le Président, to establish the truth, and beg you to accept the
assurance of my distinguished sentiments.
M. Labori.—“Monsieur le Président, we do not complain
at all at the introduction of these documents into the trial.
Only I permit myself to point out that no notice of them has
been given, and we shall ask the same right for documents
emanating from us.”
The Judge.—“These are not documents of the trial.”
M. Labori.—“If, in the course of the trial, we receive
documents of a similar character, we shall ask the court to
read them.”
The Judge.—“I have read these by virtue of my discretionary
power.”
M. Labori.—“Monsieur le Président, it is to your discretionary
power that we shall appeal.”
M. Jaurès.—“Monsieur le Président, I regret more than
anyone that the health of M. Papillaud does not permit
him to be here, for I am sure that, before the clearness
of my declaration and the precision of my recollections, he
would not be able to maintain his denial for a moment. I
declare once more, under oath, that M. Papillaud twice said
to me that he had heard M. Esterhazy say to him, when ‘Le
Matin’ published the fac-simile of the bordereau: ‘I felt
that I was ruined.’ I give the circumstances in detail.
Once he said it as we were leaving the senate, after M.
Scheurer-Kestner had made his interpellation. We had met
at the foot of the grand staircase, and we were talking of
the result of the session. We agreed that, in spite of appearances,
M. Scheurer-Kestner had obtained an important
result in securing the admission of the bordereau as evidence
in the investigation. That was the starting-point of a
conversation concerning the bordereau, in the course of
which M. Papillaud said to me: ‘If it were only a matter of
the bordereau, the thing would be soon settled, for I am
convinced that the bordereau is the work of Esterhazy. I
know that by the agitation that he showed when, at a time
when his name had never been uttered in connection with
the affair, he said, on seeing the fac-simile in ‘Le Matin,’
that he felt that he was ruined.’ Another time, in the Salle
des Pas-Perdus of the chamber, I approached M. Papillaud,
who was standing in a group of journalists, and said to him:
‘How can you still march behind this man after the publication
of the letters in “Le Figaro?”’ He answered: ‘We
can the less march behind him because, when he came to the
office of “La Libre Parole,” he showed a singular agitation
in consequence of seeing the bordereau in “Le Matin.” He
felt that he was lost. From that moment I, who was, and
am still, convinced of the guilt of Dreyfus, said to my
friends in the office of “La Libre Parole:” “At any rate
we will not march behind Esterhazy.”’ These, gentlemen,
are precise affirmations, and, since I was not present just
now when M. Papillaud’s telegram was read, I may be permitted
to point out to the jurors the singular conditions
under which this contradiction was obtained. To facilitate
M. Papillaud in his contradiction, an inexact version of my
testimony was telegraphed to him. ‘La Libre Parole’ reproduces
this morning the telegram that was sent to M.
Papillaud, which says that I declared that M. Esterhazy said
to M. Papillaud: ‘I feel myself ruined.’ That is not what I
said. I repeated exactly a much more serious remark,—namely,
that fifteen months before, on seeing the fac-simile
of the bordereau, Esterhazy felt himself ruined. I am astonished
that this disavowal could have been obtained from
M. Papillaud, unless they distorted the meaning and text of
my words, and my astonishment is the greater since all the
newspapers, with the exception of ‘La Libre Parole,’ have
printed my deposition exactly. And it is surprising that
that paper, which is directly interested in the incident, is
the only one that has not reproduced it exactly. But I understand
the interest that they have in denying the remark.
It is twofold. In the first place, it is extremely serious
in itself, as a moral indication of M. Esterhazy’s state of
mind fifteen months ago, and, secondly, it demonstrates,
contrary to the allegation of General de Pellieux, that between
the fac-simile of the bordereau and the bordereau itself
there is not the difference that he has proclaimed, and
the proof is that M. Esterhazy, before the council of war,
where I was present, recognized a striking resemblance between
his own handwriting and that of the bordereau, having
previously recognized the same resemblance between his
own handwriting and that of fac-simile. Therefore
there is no difference between the fac-simile and the
bordereau.”
The judge then reread the telegram from M. Papillaud,
and M. Jaurès added:
“I reassert most absolutely the declarations made in my
deposition. I add that in controversies between friends—for
the most intimate friends have been divided for many weeks
past—many have not agreed with me as to the case of M.
Esterhazy and the conduct of the trial. And to these I have
often made use, especially in discussion with my friends of
‘La Dépêche,’ of the statements made by M. Papillaud.”
M. Labori.—“Gentlemen of the jury, ‘La Libre Parole’ of
this morning publishes under the heading, ‘The Defender
of Zola,’ the following note, the meaning of which it is impossible
for me to misunderstand.
One of our readers asks us if we know a member of the Paris bar, of
German origin, naturalized as a Frenchman, who married an English
Jewess, and whose father, still a German, is now a railroad inspector on
the other side of the Rhine. Is this question aimed at M. Labori, the
theatrical defender of Zola? At any rate it is certain that, like all who
are engaged immediately or remotely in the anti-French conspiracy, M.
Labori has foreign attachments. He married a young woman named
Ockey, a Protestant by origin, after her divorce from M. Pachmann, a
German, if I am not mistaken, by whom she has children, whom their
father visits in their new family. I give this information to show that
M. Labori has been under influence not precisely nationalistic, though I
take good care not to follow his example in bringing into the matter
women who have nothing to do with it.
“Gentlemen of the jury, upon this note I shall make no
comment. I answer with facts, and, as I am determined to
let nothing stop me in the task that I have undertaken, and
as I expect other attacks to be made, I declare that I answer
once for all. This is my reply: I am not naturalized. I
was born at Reims, of a French father. My wife is not an
Israelite. M. Pachmann so seldom makes visits at my house
that I have not the honor of his personal acquaintance. He
is not a German; he is a Russian. He was born at Odessa;
his father was a professor in the Odessa University; his
brother is now a Russian senator at St. Petersburg. My
father was an Alsatian. For forty-five years he has been in
the service of the Eastern Railway Company. In that capacity
he was in the campaign of 1870, during which he was
entrusted, at the camp of Châlons, with the embarkation of
the French troops. In 1871 he was delighted to receive, at
the Reims railway station, from the hands of the Prussians,
the service of the French railways. It was in that period of
his life, perhaps, that he was called upon for the greatest
proof of his patriotism. Since 1871 he has been entrusted,
in unison with the military commissions, with the organization
of the national defence over the line of railway with
which he is connected. Seven years ago, in January, 1891,
if I am not mistaken, my father was decorated with the
order of the legion of honor, at the request and by the
mediation of the fourth bureau of the staff of the minister
of war, and it was General de Boisdeffre who announced his
decoration to him, with the congratulations that he thought
it his duty to add. Such, gentlemen of the jury, is my
reply. I simply ask you to judge from this incident of the
value of certain attacks and certain assertions.”
After these incidents the witness-stand was again taken by
M. Bertillon, who declared, in answer to a question, that he
had not succeeded in obtaining from the war department the
documents of which he had spoken on Saturday.
M. Clemenceau.—“Under what conditions did M. Bertillon
ask for them, and under what conditions were they
refused?”
M. Bertillon.—“I remain on the ground of my previous
deposition.”
The Judge.—“M. Clemenceau asks you how you asked
for these documents, and how they were refused.”
M. Bertillon.—“The war department paid eight hundred
francs for these documents. I turned that sum into the
municipal treasury, considering that these documents had
been made with the products of my laboratory. They
remain the property of the war department; I have them
temporarily in my possession. Really, I ought to have deposited
them with the clerk of the war department. I am
only a witness; it is not my duty to execute commissions.”
M. Clemenceau.—“M. Bertillon told us day before yesterday
that he could not produce the documents without the
authorization of his superiors,—the prefect of police and the
minister of war. It was an important point, for the minister
of war is the complainant in this case. Then the court said
to him: ‘Will you ask your superiors for authority to bring
these pieces, and answer here on Monday?’ Today M. Bertillon
tells us that he has not obtained them. I ask him to
tell us under what conditions he asked for them, and under
what conditions they were refused.”
M. Bertillon.—“I have answered that question.”
M. Clemenceau.—“M. Bertillon must have gone to the war
department and said something to somebody, who must have
made him some answer.”
M. Bertillon.—“I believe that I have explained sufficiently
that in my relations with the war department I have acted
in my individual capacity.”
M. Clemenceau.—“You do not answer my question.”
The Judge.—“You are asked what steps you have taken
to obtain the documents.”
M. Bertillon.—“I have reflected upon the situation, and
have realized that these plates are the property of the
minister of war.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Then, contrary to what the witness
just said, he has not been forbidden to produce these
documents.”
M. Bertillon.—“I have been forbidden nothing at all.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Then the witness has seen nobody?”
M. Bertillon.—“I have seen nobody. I have consulted
the situation.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Then the witness, instead of consulting
the prefect of police and the minister of war, has consulted
the situation?”
M. Bertillon.—“I said that I would refer the matter to
my superiors. But a moment’s reflection showed me that I
was in error. I have not to refer to my superiors facts that
concern me personally, especially when I am acting as a
witness.”
M. Labori [passing a copy of M. Bertillon’s scheme to the
witness, and another copy to the court]—“Will you ask M.
Bertillon if this is an exact representation of the bastions,
intrenchments, and lines of battle which he presented to the
council of war after his expert testimony?”
The Judge.—“M. Labori, will you explain to us what this
document is?”
M. Labori.—“I handed this little work to M. Bertillon at
the last session.”
The Judge.—“But will you explain to us, M. Labori, of
what it consists?”
M. Labori.—“That is the explanation which I am trying
to get at.”
M. Bertillon.—“What is the question?”
M. Labori.—“I ask if this little work really emanates
from M. Bertillon.”
M. Bertillon.—“It refers to my deposition of 1894 in the
Dreyfus case.”
M. Clemenceau.—“What conclusion does the witness
draw from it?”
M. Bertillon.—“I recognize that I was wrong Saturday in
allowing myself to be dragged upon this ground. But I
will add one word to settle the question,—namely, that the
point to which I called attention is still missing. But I am
fully determined, from this on, to take shelter behind the
court’s decree forbidding any mention of the Dreyfus case.”
M. Labori.—“And I am determined, as counsel, to demand
that the decree of the court shall be observed completely,
or not at all. I affirm that this is an exact copy of
the document of which M. Bertillon made use in 1894. In
vain will he affirm the contrary.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Was it from his consultation of the
situation yesterday that he got the idea of sheltering himself
behind the court’s decree? M. Bertillon has seen neither the
minister of war or the prefect of police. He tells us that he
has consulted the situation. We ask how this situation led
him to refuse to speak today of the things of which he spoke
day before yesterday.”
M. Bertillon.—“The counsel will understand that, in my
personal situation, after having been concerned in the serious
matter of 1894, I feel from time to time internal ebullitions,—that
my situation is painful and tormenting.”
M. Clemenceau.—“The witness tells us that his situation
is tormenting. He means that he is an official, and that, as
such, there are things that embarrass him.”
M. Bertillon.—“That is not it at all.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Then I ask an explanation of the word
‘tormenting.’ This word is now in the trial, and I hold to
it. It must be explained, for it is a very pregnant matter.”
The Judge.—“Let us say that the witness will not speak.”
M. Bertillon.—“I burn with only one thing—to make
known my deposition. But there are a thousand obstacles
in the way. I am tormented every day by a thousand plots.
Then from time to time the dike bursts, sapristi!”
The Judge.—“You see that the witness will not speak.
Come, M. Bertillon, have you photographs of the letters
which served you for comparison?”
M. Bertillon.—“In which case?”
The Judge.—“In the first, since you have declared that
you had nothing to do with the second.”
M. Bertillon.—“In the case of ex-Captain Dreyfus? I
thought that this case was not to be treated here.”
The Judge.—“It is not a question of treating it. You are
asked if you have documents.”
M. Bertillon.—“That is to speak of that case.”
M. Labori.—“How does it happen that the witness perceives
the obligation to be silent concerning the Dreyfus case
only in the court-room, and that we find in the newspapers
detailed interviews with him regarding the matter?”
M. Bertillon.—“As regards interviews relating to the
Dreyfus case, you will not find many from me. I have received
many reporters, and have dismissed as many.”
M. Labori then read an interview from “L’Echo de Paris.”
M. Bertillon.—“For every word, an inaccuracy; but to
rectify them it would be necessary to go into the case of
1894. That I will not do.”
M. Labori.—“Very well; then will M. Bertillon prove to
us, by the interesting methods that are peculiar to him, not
that the bordereau is the work of Dreyfus, because the court
will stop him, but that it is not the work of Esterhazy?”
The Judge.—“You hear the question. Under these conditions
I can put it to you. On your soul and conscience, is
it possible that this bordereau came from the hand of Major
Esterhazy?”
M. Bertillon.—“It is impossible.”
M. Labori.—“The experts are not yet oracles, and we ask
them for explanations.”
The Judge.—“Wait, I have not asked why.”
M. Labori.—“I have been waiting a long time.”
The Judge.—“Witness, what makes you think that the
bordereau is not the work of Major Esterhazy?”
M. Bertillon.—“Because it is the work of another.”
M. Clemenceau.—“And what makes him think that it is
the work of another?”
M. Bertillon.—“Now we are falling back upon my depositions
of Saturday. This will never end.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Since the affair of 1894, has not the
witness made a demonstration to strangers or to friends, I
do not say of the guilt of Dreyfus, but of his system?”
The Judge.—“Have you made a demonstration of your
system? What is the system which you have employed to
arrive at the result of which you have just told us?”
M. Bertillon.—“You are asking me for a theoretical
course in the expert examination of handwriting. I published
two articles on that subject a few weeks ago in ‘La
Revue Scientifique.’”
M. Labori.—“We have read them, but I do not find there
what I ask. On the contrary, I find there a demolition of
expert examinations of handwriting, leaving nothing of
them.”
M. Bertillon.—“At the end of the article I say that only
material proofs can lead to the truth in matters of this kind.
These material proofs are in the file of 1894.”
M. Labori.—“No equivocation. I have the honor to be
acquainted with the file of 1894, since I am the counsel of
Mme. Alfred Dreyfus, the guardian of Dreyfus. I know
this file, as well as the expert testimony of M. Bertillon. It
is there. I say nothing more. But there must be no equivocation
here, and M. Bertillon must not try to make us
believe that he has judged as a judge concerning material
proofs touching the substance of the trial. I ask him if the
documents that were delivered to him were secret documents
concerning the treason, or mere handwritings from which he
has drawn conclusions.”
The Judge.—“Will you answer?”
M. Bertillon.—“Of which case is he speaking?”
M. Labori.—“Of the Dreyfus case.”
M. Bertillon.—“I thought that there was a decree of the
court forbidding us to speak of that case.”
M. Clemenceau.—“It is not for the witness to tell the
court the meaning of its decrees.”
M. Labori.—“I will not insist, because it would take us a
month. But could M. Bertillon tell us the difference
between dextrogyrate writing and sinistrogyrate writing, and
the consequences that he draws therefrom as an expert?”
M. Bertillon.—“I know the theory of that matter, but I
did not use it in my expert examination.”
M. Labori.—“Without concerning ourselves with the
Dreyfus case, I take the words A. Dreyfus and the word
adresse, and I ask him what scientific consequence he can
draw from the possible superposition of the words, both of
which begin with adr, but the first of which has a period
between the A and the D. Will the witness explain to us
by what method these two writings can be compared?”
M. Bertillon.—“This question relates to my deposition of
1894, and, moreover, is of no importance.”
M. Labori.—“Will the witness tell us if the bordereau is
written in a running hand?”
M. Bertillon.—“It is absolutely impossible for me to
answer that question without entering into my deposition of
1894.”
M. Labori.—“Permit me, Monsieur le Président, I have
not to occupy myself with M. Bertillon’s demonstration of
1894. That did not place an eternal gag in his mouth. I
know but one thing. We have a witness here,—I may say
an official witness; he is bound to testify, and I ask him a
question of the first importance. It does not concern the
Dreyfus case, which for the moment I forget. I speak of the
Esterhazy bordereau. I know why the witness cannot
answer, and I will give the reason in my summing-up. But
my question is: Is the writing of the bordereau in a running
hand, or is it made up of traced words?”
M. Bertillon.—“It is impossible to answer that question
without entering into my deposition of 1894. It is neither
one or the other. It is in a running hand, and it is not. I
will throw light upon all that. I must go to the heart of the
question, or say nothing at all.”
M. Labori.—“The jurors desire proofs. I shall furnish
them by opposing the three official experts of 1894 to the
three official experts of 1898 who passed on the same bordereau,
for it is impossible to reconcile their testimony.
That is why the witness will not answer. I repeat: Is the
bordereau—and here I pay no attention to Dreyfus; call him
Tartempion, if you will, but answer me—is the bordereau
written in a running hand, or is it made up of traced
words?”
M. Bertillon.—“It is impossible to answer that in a single
word.”
M. Labori.—“We do not ask that you shall answer it in a
single word.”
M. Bertillon.—“That is to enter into my deposition of
1894. I cannot do it.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Has the witness seen the Esterhazy
bordereau?”
M. Bertillon.—“You torment me with questions.”
M. Labori.—“Has the honorable witness seen the thin
paper original of the bordereau attributed to Major Esterhazy
before the council of war of 1898, which is the same
that led to the condemnation of Captain Dreyfus in 1894?”
M. Bertillon.—“I am willing to answer yes.”
M. Clemenceau.—“You are very accommodating.”
M. Labori.—“This is something, at any rate.”
M. Bertillon.—“Perhaps I did wrong to say so.”
M. Labori.—“No, you did not. Did the witness base his
expert testimony on the original, or on photographs, or on
tracings, or on all three?”
M. Bertillon.—“Now we are going straight into the Dreyfus
case. It is evident that I am burning to speak of these
questions, concerning which so many errors have been attributed
to me.”
M. Labori.—“I beg the court to ask M. Bertillon if the
writing of the bordereau is natural or disguised.”
The Judge.—“Can you answer that?”
M. Bertillon.—“Absolutely no, not without entering into
my deposition of 1894.”
M. Labori.—“Monsieur le Président, in the Dreyfus case
three experts say that it is in a running hand; three say
that it is disguised; three that it was written by Dreyfus,
and three that it was written by Esterhazy. If I show this,
I do not say that we shall have made progress toward the
manifestation of the truth, but we shall have thrown some
light on the value of expert testimony, and that is what I am
trying to get at. Consequently I ask the witness, in a
general way: Is the Esterhazy bordereau in a natural handwriting
or in a disguised handwriting?”
The witness made no answer.
M. Clemenceau.—“Has not the witness demonstrated his
system to friends?”
M. Bertillon.—“I have been the object of a thousand
attempts, of a thousand plots, but” ...
M. Clemenceau.—“By a lawyer?”
M. Bertillon.—“I repeat, attempts have been made” ...
M. Clemenceau.—“Yes or no, has he demonstrated the
principle of his system to a lawyer of the appellate court of
Paris?”
M. Bertillon.—“Certainly not. I have often defended
myself against the imputations of Bernard Lazare and company.
But the most absurd statements have been attributed
to me.”
M. Clemenceau.—“M. Bernard Lazare is not a lawyer of
the appellate court of Paris. Has the witness had a twenty
minutes’ talk concerning the principle of his system with a
certain lawyer of the appellate court of Paris?”
M. Bertillon.—“When you shall make your questions
more precise, I will try to remember more precisely. I
repeat that it is impossible to speak intelligibly of the Dreyfus
case without the documents before us. If you only
knew how for the last three years I have been pestered in all
ways! They ask me insidious questions. They accuse me
of this and of that. How many friends have become cool
toward me because of the rôle attributed to me in this
matter! I assure you that it is not funny. My conscience
is at ease, but I have suffered much during the last three
years. Now they make me one of the accused. That has
nothing to do with the Zola case.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Has the witness had a twenty minutes’
talk with our confrère Decori, a lawyer of the appellate
court of Paris, concerning the principle of his system?”
M. Bertillon.—“Oh! it is possible that I have spoken to
M. Decori, as to many others, of the Dreyfus case, and of
the insults that have been heaped upon me in connection
therewith.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Now we will go on to something else.
If tomorrow a new traitor were to be discovered in France,
and if M. Bertillon were to be asked to demonstrate the
guilt of this new traitor by an expert examination similar to
that of which we have been speaking, is it probable that M.
Bertillon’s system would be applicable to this new traitor
and his handwriting?”
M. Bertillon.—“All these questions relate to the Dreyfus
case.”
The Judge.—“No, no, this is a general question. It has
nothing to do with the Dreyfus case.”
M. Bertillon.—“That is, you transform into an
accusation” ...
The Judge.—“You are asked, if a similar case were to
come up, whether you would use the same system. That
has nothing to do with the Dreyfus case; it is a general
question.”
M. Bertillon.—“You always come back to the affair of
1894.”
M. Labori.—“Well, I can say to the jurors only one
thing, the accusation of 1894, and there you are! And now
I have done with this witness.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I have nothing more to say, Monsieur
le Président.”
M. Labori.—“There has been but one charge, the
bordereau; and there you see the expert, the principal
expert.”
The Judge.—“Then you pretend that, without speaking
absolutely of the case of which you have no right to speak,
you cannot explain yourself?”
M. Bertillon.—“Absolutely.”
M. Bertillon was succeeded on the witness-stand by M. G.
A. Hubbard, representing Seine-et-Oise in the chamber of
deputies.
He testified as follows:
“On November 15 my cousin, M. Alphonse Bertillon,
came to see me, after having previously made an appointment
with me, desiring to inform me concerning certain details
of his expert examination of handwriting, and especially
concerning the bordereau that had appeared in ‘Le
Matin’ a few days before. I was very willing to listen to
what he had to say, especially as he made no secret of the
matter, and was trying to plant in me the germ of an opinion
on matters under public discussion. He gave me a long
explanation, which you already know in part from his testimony,
but which I did not quite comprehend in all its
details, of his plan, his scheme, his comparisons of handwriting,
which led him very clearly to the opinion that the
original of the bordereau was a tracing from a writing of
Dreyfus. He told me that he had had other documents in
his hands which had enabled him, by the fitting of margins
and other mathematical deductions, to see that this was the
only possible conclusion, and he told me that I need not be
disturbed by anything that I might hear during the trial.
I was left under this impression, and, after that, wherever I
found myself, and whenever the matter came up, I made
haste to give the opinion that he had given to me and the
reasons therefor. When the newspaper published the first
fac-simile of the bordereau, then attributed to M. Esterhazy,
I remembered the conversation with my cousin, and applied
for myself to the handwriting of Major Esterhazy the observations
made to me by my cousin upon the bordereau of
which he had brought me the photograph. Immediately it
appeared to me that the differences which Bertillon had
pointed out to me between the bordereau and the writing of
Dreyfus disappeared upon comparison with the writing of
Esterhazy.
“I was much agitated; so I went to my cousin, and said
to him: ‘You came to me in 1896, at the time of the Castelin
interpellation, to tell me that you were sure that the bordereau
was a tracing from a writing of Dreyfus. Yet here is a
writing which seems to me to be that of Esterhazy. I beg
you, on your soul and conscience, to make once more the
application of your system. After having brought me so
decided an opinion previously, you cannot now leave me in
doubt, in view of the new charge against a certain Esterhazy.’
Straightway my cousin said to me: ‘I don’t want
to see the handwriting; I don’t want to see it. I know it.
It is Esterhazy’s. I know that Esterhazy is the Jews’ man
of straw, and he will finally confess it. The bordereau is
not dated or signed. It would not be a forgery or a swindle,
and thus it is hoped to get out of the affair. But I don’t
want to see the writing. Besides, there can be, there must
be, no revision. A revision would mean civil revolution.
The people would go down into the streets. There would be
riot. There must be no revision.’
“I answered: ‘That is politics. One may hold that
opinion, but it is not scientific criticism; it is not a scientific
expert examination based upon a verification of documents.
I remember what you told me a year ago. I marked the
gravity of your words. You told me, when you came back
from the war department with your demonstration, that they
would not allow you to testify in a certain way, saying to
you: “Your demonstration would tend to the acquittal of
Dreyfus.” And now you say that you will not look into
the question of handwriting.’ But he still refused to make
the comparison, and even added,—I remember that his wife
was present at the interview,—‘There are moments when
the prefects of police tell you to speak, and there are others
when they tell you to be silent.’ I understood that ‘the
moments when the prefects of police tell you to speak’
referred to the evening of November, 1896, when he came to
me to make his demonstration. I have always been on most
friendly terms with my cousin. I have always had the highest
esteem for his character, and anything which he could
say to me was calculated to carry conviction. But I must
say that, as much as I was attached at first to the idea that
there was certain proof that the writing of the bordereau was
a tracing from the writing of Dreyfus, I later saw that there
was reason to doubt, and that the writing of Esterhazy bore
a resemblance to it that could not be attributed simply to
chance. The incidents that have occurred since in the
chamber and in the senate troubled me much. Then came
the partial closed doors of the Esterhazy trial, and the
failure to reveal to the public the testimony of the experts,
which I especially awaited in order to compare it with what
my cousin had said, and my trouble became only the greater.
And when, in the chamber, M. Jaurès asked the prime
minister if a secret document had been communicated, I
considered that the silence of the government gave consent.
General Iung, my friend and colleague in the chamber, entertained
the same distrust, and very squarely declared that the
conduct of the war offices had been abominable.”
The witness-stand was then taken by M. Yves Guyot, who
testified concerning a lesson in expert examination of handwriting
which he had received from M. Bertillon.
“M. Bertillon told me that there were two kinds of handwriting,—sinistrogyrate
and dextrogyrate. It seems that in
sinistrogyrate writing the loops turn to the left, while in
dextrogyrate writing the curves and loops turn to the right.
I confess that today it would be as impossible for me to tell
one from the other as it was before I received the lesson.
Then I said to M. Bertillon: ‘Well, when you compared the
incriminated document with the writing of the accused, you
doubtless found that the two documents were in the sinistrogyrate
writing?’ ‘Not at all,’ said he; ‘the writing of
the accused is dextrogyrate, while that of the incriminated
document is sinistrogyrate; but I saw by certain contractions
of the pen that the accused had disguised his handwriting,
changing his dextrogyrate writing into sinistrogyrate
writing.’ ‘Then,’ said I, ‘it is not because of identity
of writing that you attribute the document to the accused,
but because of a difference in writing.’ ‘Yes,’ he said. I
answered that I was surprised that he should make such a
declaration on such a basis. ‘Pardon me,’ said he, ‘I did
not conduct the examination. I proposed that other means
should be employed. I said, for instance, that a chemical
composition could be put in the inkstand of the accused, and
if, after that, a document was found, a test with the chemical
reagent would show whether the document was written with
ink from that inkstand. I also indicated four or five other
ways of determining whether the accused was guilty, but
they did not follow my advice. I simply gave my opinion,
declaring that a document written in a sinistrogyrate writing
must be the work of a man whose writing is dextrogyrate.’”
M. Guyot was then asked his opinion of M. Zola’s good
faith. He answered:
“Gentlemen, I have a very clear opinion of my own, and
this opinion I share with the intellectual élite of France.
Moreover, as I was a member of the cabinet for three years,
I am more or less intimate with personnel of the departments.
Well, there I find many men who do not hesitate to
say in private conversation that the Esterhazy trial was a
parody on justice. And not only do these persons believe in
M. Zola’s good faith, but so do many foreigners—specialists
and men of science—with whom I am in relations. The
truth is known beyond our frontiers, and will be appreciated
there, though we stifle it here. In foreign countries the
military officers and the diplomatists understand the Esterhazy
case exactly.”
The next witness was M. Teyssonnière, who, as one of the
experts in handwriting connected with the Seine court,
served in the Dreyfus case of 1894, but, a few days before
the trial, was stricken from the list of experts, in consequence
of a charge that in another case he had called on one
of the parties thereto for a payment of 2,000 francs before
beginning his report. He told at length of his troubles at
that time, and said that before the first council of war he had
demonstrated mathematically that the bordereau was
written by Dreyfus, he having found that certain words in it
were identical with the handwriting of Dreyfus. Later he
called upon M. Trarieux, who was then minister of justice,
by whose intercession he was enrolled as one of the experts
of the appellate court.
“It was on this occasion,” said M. Teyssonnière, “that
I spoke of the Dreyfus case to M. Trarieux, and afterwards
to M. Scheurer-Kestner, to whom he sent me. M. Scheurer-Kestner
told me in June, 1897, that he had conceived doubts
concerning the guilt of Dreyfus, and that he would like me
to give him light. I brought to him the photograph of the
bordereau, and demonstrated by a comparison of handwritings
that the guilt of Dreyfus was certain. He seemed convinced.
On July 9 he sent for me again, and showed me
originals of the handwriting of Dreyfus and Esterhazy, and
we compared them with the bordereau. I called his attention
to entire syllables in the bordereau which were exact
tracings of the handwriting of Dreyfus. M. Scheurer-Kestner
then told me that he had had occasion to call upon
the staff since my first visit, and that they had said to him:
‘Don’t talk to us of Teyssonnière; he is a thief. It was the
testimony of Bertillon that convicted Dreyfus.’ Nevertheless,
I have made twenty-five decisive comparisons with the
handwriting of Dreyfus, and these comparisons reveal five
complete superpositions. There is no doubt; it is a case of
identity.”
The witness then told of his relations with another expert,
M. Crépieux-Jamin, who had been asked by M. Bernard
Lazare to examine the bordereau.
“I received a visit,” said the witness, “from M. Crépieux-Jamin.
I remember it only too well, for he came on a day
when I had just cut myself to the bone with a table-knife.
As he is a doctor, I was not sorry to see him. He attended
me professionally for several days, and during that time we
naturally talked of the Dreyfus case. I told him that the
fac-similes of the bordereau published in the newspapers
were very rough pieces of work, and calculated to deceive
the public. He tried to inspire me with doubts as to my
own conclusions. Not until the last day did I perceive the
purpose of his questions. One evening, suddenly, he asked
me how much I had received for my report. ‘Two hundred
francs, I believe,’ said I. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘you could have
had a hundred thousand.’ ‘But, my dear friend,’ said I,
‘you know that I was formerly connected with the department
of roads and bridges, and that I have a pension of 4-1/2
francs a day. My little house is mine; I have lived in it
honorably, and I wish to die in it honorably.’ This convinced
me that M. Crépieux-Jamin had come to sound me.”
M. Zola.—“At the time of your report in 1894 had you
been offered money?”
M. Teyssonnière.—“No.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Nor afterward, either?”
M. Teyssonnière.—“I can say only one thing,—that M.
Crépieux-Jamin told me that I could have had for my report
a hundred thousand; the word ‘thousand’ was cut in two by
my reply.”
M. Labori.—“Did he tell you that he was sent by anyone?”
M. Teyssonnière.—“No, but I felt that he was endeavoring
to get me to express a doubt as to the conclusions of my
report. He buried that in my brain as with a gimlet.”
On the demand of M. Labori, M. Trarieux was recalled for
confrontation with M. Teyssonnière.
M. Trarieux.—“When M. Teyssonnière, who had been
sent to me by his deputy, M. Descubes, came to tell me of
his disgrace, he said that he had been denounced by a
Jewish magistrate. I asked the judge of the civil court who
had revoked him to restore him to his position. This magistrate
explained that M. Teyssonnière had asked of a client
an advance payment of 2,000 francs, that certain experts
were in the habit of making these demands, and that an example
must be made of some one. I fully approved, but I
asked him if M. Teyssonnière was unworthy of my interest.
Receiving a negative reply, I went to the president of the
appellate court, and asked him to inscribe M. Teyssonnière
on his list of experts, which he did.”
M. Teyssonnière.—“And I shall always be grateful to you.
Investigation showed, however, that, far from having asked
2,000 francs too much, I was a loser by 600 francs.”
M. Trarieux.—“I remained on excellent terms with M.
Teyssonnière. He came to see me several times. We
talked of the Dreyfus case, and I saw that he had been
much more struck by the dissimilarities between the writing
of Dreyfus and the bordereau than by the similarities. In
the course of one of our discussions M. Bertillon was mentioned.
‘Bertillon!’ exclaimed M. Teyssonnière; ‘he
nearly spoiled everything. He made an incomprehensible
report. Fortunately I was there.’ I sent M. Teyssonnière
to M. Scheurer-Kestner, who, though at first convinced by
his demonstration, soon afterwards was impressed, as I was,
by certain dissimilarities, especially by certain double ss,
which were written fs in the Dreyfus writing and sf in the
bordereau. M. Teyssonnière maintained that these dissimilarities
were intentional.
“Last June M. Teyssonnière came to me to tell me of a
strange occurrence. The night before, as he was leaving his
house, he found on the table in his vestibule a package that
had been left there by an unknown hand. He opened it,
and was astonished to find the photographs of Dreyfus’s
handwriting that had been given to him to report upon in
1894. ‘How is it,’ he asked, ‘that these documents, which I
surely returned, have been left at my house? It is the work
of the Jews. They are trying to compromise me.’ I advised
him to return the documents to the minister of war, or put
them in a safe place. I do not know whether it was the
same day or later that he told me that he had had occasion
to go to the war offices for a certain piece of information,
and had been received very unfavorably, the officer to whom
he applied saying to him that he was astonished that M.
Teyssonnière dared to show himself there. M. Teyssonnière
was at a loss to understand such an attitude toward an
expert whose testimony in the Dreyfus case had won him the
congratulations of the staff.
“Last November I was told that M. Teyssonnière was suspected
by the government of having communicated to ‘Le
Matin’ the bordereau of which ‘Le Matin’ gave a fac-simile
in November. Till then my confidence in M. Teyssonnière
had been complete. But, beginning now to entertain
doubt, I wrote about the matter to his deputy, M. Descubes,
who sent my letter to M. Teyssonnière. Nevertheless I
heard nothing more from him.”
The second expert was succeeded on the witness-stand by
the third, M. Charavay.
M. Labori.—“Can M. Charavay tell us whether the
bordereau was traced, or written in a running hand?”
M. Charavay.—“I refuse to answer. It is a custom among
experts never to give an opinion while a trial is pending.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Then when do they give an opinion?”
M. Labori [handing specimen of the bordereau to the
witness].—“Do you know these?”
M. Charavay.—“They are writings connected with the
Dreyfus case. That is very far away.”
M. Labori.—“Certainly you cannot be very curious, if you
have not heard it spoken of in the last few months.”
M. Charavay.—“At any rate I am determined not to
answer. I was one of the experts in the first trial. I know
nothing of the second.”
M. Labori.—“Would you ever condemn a person solely on
the strength of an expert examination of handwriting?”
M. Charavay.—“I answer with your authorization, Monsieur
le Président. I answer purely and simply that, as I
do not believe in my own infallibility, or in the infallibility
of anybody under such circumstances, never in my life would
I condemn anyone on an expert examination of handwriting
in the absence of material or moral proofs.”
The Judge.—“That is a very natural opinion. But it
does not affect the situation at all.”
M. Labori.—“You add your impression, Monsieur le
Président, to that of the expert, and I shall have something
to say about that in my argument.”
Then the witness-stand was taken successfully by the two
remaining experts in the Dreyfus case,—M. Pelletier and M.
Gobert, the latter the expert of the Bank of France. Both
of them testified that, while there were commonplace analogies
between the handwriting of the bordereau and that of
Dreyfus, the dissimilarities were too numerous to warrant
the attribution to Dreyfus of the authorship of the bordereau.
The day’s proceedings ended with brief examinations
of the three experts in the Esterhazy case,—MM. Couard,
Belhomme, and Varinard. M. Couard refused to testify on
the ground that he and his colleagues had brought suit
against M. Zola for 100,000 francs damages, but nevertheless
declared that he and his two colleagues, working independently,
had reached unanimously the conclusion that the
bordereau was not the work of Major Esterhazy. M. Belhomme’s
testimony was virtually the same, and M. Varinard
categorically refused to answer, on the ground that his report
had been read behind closed doors.
After the opening of the court, permission was given to
General Gonse to make an explanation concerning the testimony
of M. Jaurès. He protested that the staff, far from
having delivered a secret document to Major Esterhazy as a
cordial, as M. Jaurès had said, and far from being desirous
of avoiding the light, wished the light most ardently; that
in the preliminary investigation of the Esterhazy case an
inquiry was begun to find out how the document reached
Major Esterhazy, but then, in consequence of the rapidity
with which the investigation was conducted, the inquiry
could not be carried to the end, and so the light was not
obtained; that it would be a great relief to the staff to know
who conveyed the document, especially as the only persons
in whose hands it had been were Colonel Henry, M. Gribelin,
Colonel Picquart, and himself, General Gonse; that he could
answer for Colonel Henry and M. Gribelin, but that it was
not for him to speak of himself; that the newspapers had
misreported that part of his testimony in which he declared
that Colonel Picquart, prior to this affair, had been a very
good officer, by making him say that Colonel Picquart is
capable of continuing to be a very good officer, whereas he
had spoken, not in the present, but in the past tense, to
give expression to the fact that such was his belief at the
time when Colonel Picquart was sent on a mission; and that
his present feeling regarding Colonel Picquart he had stated
very clearly before the council of investigation, but could
not now repeat, because the proceedings of that council
were secret.
M. Labori.—“General Gonse declares that the staff is desirous
of the light, and that he and his superiors are ready
to contribute thereto as far as possible. Therefore I invite
him to ask the minister of war to authorize General Mercier
to explain the communication of the secret document, which
is now proved; to release Colonel Picquart from the obligation
of professional secrecy, except on matters vital to the
national defence; to consent to the production in court of
the original bordereau, and of the papers used by M. Bertillon
in his expert examination; and to instruct M. Bertillon
and the experts in the Esterhazy case to testify.”
General Gonse.—“I am not authorized to speak of these
questions, or to transmit them.”
M. Labori.—“Then don’t come here again to talk to us of
the light, and to tell us that you love the light.”
M. Crépieux-Jamin then took the witness-stand to answer
the charges made by M. Teyssonnière the day before.
“The testimony of M. Teyssonnière,” said the witness,
“is a pure romance from one end to the other. In the first
place, there is only one man capable of valuing M. Teyssonnière
at 100,000 francs, and that is M. Teyssonnière himself.
When I went to his house, I was absolutely ignorant of his
report. He asked me to dinner, and we did not talk of this
matter at all. After dinner he took me aside, and said:
‘Come, let us talk of the case.’ ‘Of what case?’ ‘The case
of Dreyfus.’ Today, of course, everybody would understand
that it was the case of Dreyfus, but at that time it was still
possible for people to meet without talking of the Dreyfus
case. My wife was engaged in some trifling work. M.
Teyssonnière said to her in a theatrical tone: ‘Madame,
drop what you are doing; I am going to show you things of
much greater interest.’ And to my astonishment M. Teyssonnière
spread before me the entire file of the first council
of war. We talked at length about this file. I had all the
documents—which were secret documents—in my hands, and
M. Teyssonnière said to me: ‘Promise me that you will say
nothing.’ I have kept my promise until today, and now it
is only to defend myself that I declare that M. Teyssonnière
showed me the file, which he got I know not where, I know
not from whom, and which he certainly had no right to show
me. I listened while M. Teyssonnière told me of his report.
Every moment or two he stopped to ask me: ‘Well, are you
convinced?’ ‘Oh, dear, no, and I assure you that your
proofs are only quarter-proofs. There is absolutely nothing
in your report that is convincing.’ We talked at length
about the bordereau and the fac-simile in ‘Le Matin.’
There is only one little difference between them; the ‘Matin’
plate was slightly damaged at the bottom. M. Teyssonnière
said: ‘What annoys me is that they accuse me, or will
accuse me, of having given the bordereau to “Le Matin.”’ I
asked him why. ‘Oh!’ he said, ‘because each photograph
of the bordereau has its peculiar margin, and it seems that
the photograph which ‘Le Matin’ obtained has the same
margin as the photograph which I had upon which to make
my report.’ ‘Well,’ I answered, ‘you have reason to be
troubled, since in that case the document can have been
communicated only by you or by the officers of the council
of war.’ ‘Well,’ said he, finally, ‘I have not convinced you?’
‘No,’ I replied, ‘and I believe that of all your reports this
is the worst. You pretend to infallibility, and your report
is indisputably false.’
“Now, gentlemen, if I had been sent by the Dreyfus
family to bore a gimlet into M. Teyssonnière’s head, as he
claims, evidently he would not have waited four days, but
would have speedily turned me out of his house. But
nothing of the kind. I was not lodging at M. Teyssonnière’s.
I was at a neighboring hotel. As my departure drew near,
M. Teyssonnière said to me: ‘Excuse me, I have something to
do. Wait five minutes.’ He went out. When I arrived at
my hotel, I called for my bill. M. Teyssonnière said: ‘Dear
friend, I am too happy to have had you for my guest. I
have paid everything.’ That was not the conduct of a man
who had just received impudent proposals. A fortnight
later M. Teyssonnière wrote me an extremely affectionate
letter, which I have in my pocket. My visit was on
August 23; it was on September 3 that M. Teyssonnière
gave me this evidence of affection. If my purpose in going to
his house was to buy him, it is curious that a fortnight later
he should have written me in such terms.”
M. Labori.—“Has not the witness refused to testify as an
expert in the present trial?”
M. Crépieux-Jamin.—“That is a proof of my honesty and
my independence. If I had been a paid agent of the Dreyfus
family, I would not have refused. When I was approached
about this matter, I answered: ‘Thank you; I am a physician
and a dentist, not an expert in handwriting.’”
M. Labori.—“If I am well informed, the witness declined
to testify for motives of prudence?”
M. Crépieux-Jamin.—“Yes; I am not particularly fond of
having my windows broken. In the first place, I am not a
professional expert in handwriting; I am only an amateur.
When I was asked for a first report, I gave it, because it
suited me to give it. When I was asked for a second, I
refused, because it did not suit me to give it, and because I
saw danger in doing so. I did not want people to come to
me and say: ‘You have done such and such things; hereafter
you shall not fill our teeth.’”
The witness being asked if the photographs shown him by
M. Teyssonnière resembled the fac-simile in “Le Matin,” he
answered:
“It is inconceivable that any one should deny it. A fact
is a hard thing to kill. Sooner or later the time will come
when the original photograph of the bordereau will be in the
hands of everybody, and then the persons who have declared
these fac-similes to be false will see that they have been
guilty of an impudence which lays them under suspicion.”
M. Labori.—“What is the difference between the official
photographs and the fac-simile?”
M. Crépieux-Jamin.—“The difference is slight. It is more
or less marked, according to the copy of ‘Le Matin’ that you
happen to get. In my opinion, that newspaper had several
plates. One of these plates must have received a blow in the
lower right-hand corner that crushed a few of the words.
The rest is so typical that there is not the smallest difference.
Besides, if there is any forger here, it must be the
sun, because these things are obtained by purely mechanical
processes. One must be ignorant of the methods of reproduction
to say that a plate has been altered. You can no
more alter a plate of this kind than you can alter a photographic
plate. What retouching process could it have been
submitted to? It would have been necessary to efface entire
words, and replace them with other words. But, I repeat,
facts have a long life; they have time to live, and the truth
that I am telling you will be very plain one of these days.”
The next witness called was M. Paul Meyer, director of
the Ecole des Chartes, member of the Institute, and a professor
in the College of France.
M. Labori.—“Is the witness an Israelite?”
M. Meyer.—“I was going to say a word on that point. In
1882, the year that I entered the Institute, when I took the
biennial Grand Prize, the most important that the Institute
awards, M. Drumont, in three odious pages of the first
edition of ‘La France Juive,’ declared that I was the son of
a German Jew, and that that was the reason why I had been
awarded the principal of the Academy prizes. I wrote to M.
Drumont to deny that. I was born in Paris of French
parents. My grandfather on my father’s side was a native
of Strasbourg, which explains my Alsatian name. I was
baptized at Notre Dame. I made my first communion, and
was confirmed, at Saint-Sulpice, where I studied the catechism
until I was sixteen. It is provoking that without
proofs a statement should be printed that I am of another
religion, or have changed my religion, which I declare that I
have not done, and have no intention of doing. I am glad to
make this declaration, in order to save myself the trouble of
writing letters of correction to newspapers in which I should
not like to see myself in print.”
M. Labori.—“Will you give us your opinion of the
bordereau?”
The Judge.—“Did you ever see the original?”
M. Meyer.—“I have seen only fac-similes, the original not
being visible to the naked eye of the profane. One witness
has testified here that the fac-similes resembled forgeries,
and that nothing is less like the original than these fac-similes.
It is clear that, if they resemble forgeries, they do
not resemble the original. But I believe that this witness,
who is not accustomed to the precise formulation of thought,
went farther than he intended. I shall try to dissect his
declaration, and see what there is in it. These fac-similes
are produced by what is known as the Gillot process. It is a
zinc relief, the zinc being eaten in certain parts. When a
plate of this sort is put on a rotary press, the zinc
crushes a little, and the letters fill up. But this effect can be
discounted in advance, and any comparison of writings
should eliminate all difference between clear and filled
letters. The process is not a particularly good one, but it has
the advantage of being cheap; and, besides, it does not lend
itself easily to retouching, which is a guarantee of sincerity.
It alters in no way the form of the letters. If a person is in
the habit of crossing his t’s on the bias, on the bias the
crosses will remain. If he crosses them horizontally, they
will remain horizontal. There is no possibility of error of
this sort. The witness referred to says that the fac-simile
resembles a forgery. No. There is the sort of alteration
that I have pointed out, and there is another equally unimportant.
The original is written on two pages, while the fac-simile
is on a single page for convenience of publication.
But this difference is purely external, and has no bearing on
the form of the letters; so I do not see what they mean when
they say that the fac-simile does not resemble the original.
Let me say, in passing, that I have had a conversation with
M. Bertillon about all sorts of things. He said to me,—I
quote him because it is a point of fact and not a point of
reasoning,—‘These fac-similes are not so bad.’ M. Bertillon
knows photography and knows this process of reproduction.
Consequently it seems to me audacious to say that the fac-simile
resembles a forgery.
“But the day after the deposition of the witness in
question certain newspapers said: ‘It is a forgery.’ Such is
the way in which a legend springs up. An inexact report in
the first place, then a falsehood mingles with it, and then
you have the legend. Well, the legend must be destroyed
absolutely. I should like the witness who said this fac-simile
resembled a forgery to explain to me how it is, seeing
that this fac-simile was published at the beginning of 1896,
that anyone could have had the idea of making a fac-simile
of Major Esterhazy’s handwriting, when at that time he had
not been heard of in connection with the case. Well, these
fac-similes show the writing of Major Esterhazy; as to that
I have no sort of doubt. Is it Major Esterhazy’s hand? Ah!
here is a distinction, and a subtle one. At least it seems to
me subtle. It appears to result from the report of the
experts in the second trial. I do not know that report, but I
have read in a newspaper that it is the theory of these
experts that the fac-simile is the writing of Major Esterhazy,
but not his hand. That may be; I do not know. I have
tried two or three hypotheses to explain this dualism,—on
the one hand the writing, on the other the hand. I will
spare you these hypotheses. I think it would be hardly
charitable on my part to attribute them to the experts,
because I, their author, consider them absurd. I hope that
these gentlemen have found a hypothesis that has escaped
me, and that will explain this difficulty.
“There is a certain way of refuting me, if I am wrong. I
do not ask that the original be brought here,—to ask that
would be enormous;—I ask simply for a more delicate photograph,
simply two pages on albumen paper, something
very clear. Or, better yet, I would like glass negatives.
When a photograph is printed, there is always a negative.
It would be as well to bring the negative. Now, by looking
at the gelatine side of the negative, you can see whether it
has been retouched or not. For me this glass plate is as
good as the original, except in one point,—the quality of the
paper, which cannot be seen on a glass plate. From it one
could tell whether there is a difference between the original
represented by the photograph and the original more or less
imperfectly represented by the published fac-similes. If
they will show me these plates, I will ask nothing better
than to confess. If it proves to be true that the fac-similes
made by the Gillot process and published in ‘Le Matin’ are
bad, I will say so frankly. But, if this request be refused,
then I say that I am right. I felt very sad when I read the
demonstration of a certain expert, for I had talked formerly
with this expert, who in some respects is a very remarkable
man, and has invented a really magnificent thing—anthropometry.
Well, this conversation at first interested me—one
always learns; then it amused me, and finally it distressed
me, gentlemen. I was distressed to think that it was possible
to entrust an expert examination in so serious a matter
to a man whose methods of investigation it is impossible to
dispute, because they are entirely foreign to common sense.”
M. Labori asked the court to recall the three Esterhazy
experts that they might be confronted with M. Meyer.
The Judge.—“They are bound by professional secrecy.”
M. Labori.—“But, Monsieur le Président, I pray you.”
The Judge.—“No, no, they were right.”
M. Labori.—“I insist. M. Paul Meyer has told us that all
the hypotheses which he could frame in order to understand
that this document, while being Esterhazy’s writing, was not
in his hand, had seemed to him impossible. Did I rightly
understand?”
M. Meyer.—“Perfectly. But perhaps these gentlemen
have found something that I have not found.”
M. Labori.—“Then it would be interesting to hear MM.
Couard, Varinard, and Belhomme.”
The Judge.—“No, no, I have said” ...
M. Labori.—“But I have a question to put.”
The Judge.—“You shall not put it.”
M. Labori.—“I insist, Monsieur le Président.”
The Judge.—“I say that you shall not put it.”
M. Labori.—“Oh! Monsieur le Président, it is
interesting” ...
The Judge.—“It is useless to shout so loud.”
M. Labori.—“I shout, because I need to make myself
heard.”
The Judge.—“The question will not be put.”
M. Labori.—“You say that; but I say I wish to put it.”
The Judge.—“Well, I say that it is an understood thing.
The court must keep out of the debate anything that would
uselessly prolong it. I say that this is useless, and it is my
right to say so.”
M. Labori.—“You do not even know the question.”
The Judge.—“I know very well what you wish to ask.”
M. Labori.—“Well, I offer a motion in order to get a
decree from the court on this point.”
The Judge.—“Offer all the motions that you like.”
M. Labori.—“If you think that this shortens the debate,
you are mistaken.”
The Judge.—“Well, we will pass on the motion during
the recess. Next witness.”
M. Auguste Molinier is ushered in.
The Judge.—“What is the question, M. Labori?”
M. Labori.—“I am drawing up a motion, and I consider it
absolutely indispensable that the deposition of M. Meyer
and the incidents to which it has given rise should be
finished before the next witness testifies.”
The Judge.—“But ask your question now. It is useless
to waste our time.”
M. Labori.—“Pardon me, Monsieur le Président, we must
hear first MM. Couard, Belhomme, and Varinard. It is
indispensable to the truth, and I insist that my motion shall
be formally denied before the next witness testifies. I consider
it indispensable from the standpoint of the defence.”
M. Labori then offered a motion that the court formally
acknowledge its refusal to put to the Esterhazy experts a
question that had not been framed, and order that these
experts be heard regarding the interviews with them.
The court retired, and, returning five minutes later,
rendered a decree refusing to order that the witnesses be
heard, on the ground that they could plead professional
secrecy, and that their testimony would only prolong the
trial without useful results.
“Now,” said the judge, “the principle is laid down.
Every time that you insist, the same decree will be rendered.
Let that be understood.”
M. Labori.—“Then it is a standing decree?”
The Judge.—“It is a standing decree.”
M. Labori.—“There was nothing like that in the old
régime. It is inaugurated in this assize court. I can only
bow, while I protest.”
The Judge.—“It is the law, according to Article 270 of the
code of criminal examination.”
M. Labori.—“It is the first time that a court of justice has
declared that a decree rendered constitutes a standing decree,
and that all incidents to come will be decided by the same
decree. It is the first time, and, while I bow before your
words, I can only protest.”
The Judge.—“Protest as much as you like. But every
time, under the same circumstances, the same decree will be
rendered.”
The next witness was M. Auguste Molinier, a professor in
the Ecole des Chartes.
“I have lived among manuscripts,” said the witness, “for
25 years, and I have observed them in such detail that now,
by signs almost imperceptible to others, I can recognize the
identity of handwritings, and tell about how long a certain
manuscript has been written. I have had in my hands a
fac-simile of the bordereau, and, after examining the formation
of the letters therein, and comparing it with letters
written by Major Esterhazy, I affirm, on my soul and conscience,
that I find in Major Esterhazy’s letters all the
principal formations that occur in the bordereau.”
The Judge.—“At whose request did you make this
examination?”
M. Molinier.—“I made it of my own accord, for, in common
with all Frenchmen, I am interested in this case.”
At this point M. Clemenceau read the report of the magistrate,
M. Bertulus, who had been appointed to put certain
questions to Mme. de Boulancy. The answers of Mme. de
Boulancy, as stated in this report, were in substance to
the following effect: that she was in possession of letters
and telegrams from Major Esterhazy, some of which, notably
two telegrams, were of recent date; that she had deposited
these documents in a safe place, intending to preserve them
as a means of self-defence; that the telegrams contained no
threat, but urged her in polite, but most pressing, terms to
restore to Major Esterhazy the letters which he had written
to her between 1881 and 1884; that these letters are perhaps
as compromising as the letter in reference to the Uhlans,
and that they say certain rather serious things in regard to
the army and to France; that she would not consent that
these letters should be handed to the judge by those in possession
of them, as she wished to be well armed, in case she
should be charged with forgery; that Major Esterhazy had
come to her door four or five times, but that she had refused
to let him in; that, seeing that he was unwilling to leave
the stair-landing, or was too persistent in his attitude toward
the servant, she came to the half-open door, which was secured
by a chain, and asked him to go away, pointing out to
him that he was compromising her; that the object of each
of these visits was to ask for a return of the letters and the
telegrams; that she had always answered that she would
not publish them, but must keep them for her defence; that
she told him that the letters that had been published were
published against her will, and in consequence of her too
great confidence in the word of a person whom she had supposed
to be a devoted friend; that Major Esterhazy had
never said, in answer to her refusal, that he would kill himself;
that on Saturday, February 5, 1898, when she had
already taken up her residence at Neuilly, Major Esterhazy
was seen on the stairs of her previous residence, 22, Boulevard
des Batignolles, by the tenant occupying the floor
above; and that she did not know what attitude Major
Esterhazy assumed when he heard this tenant coming.
M. Clemenceau then offered a motion that a magistrate be
appointed to ask Mme. de Boulancy whether Major Esterhazy
did not say in these letters; first, that “General
Saussier is a clown, and we Germans would put him in
a circus;” second, that, “if the Prussians were to come to
Lyons, they could throw away their guns and keep only
bayonets, and still drive the Frenchmen before them.”
The court postponed its decision, and called another witness,
M. Emile Molinier, professor at the Ecole du Louvre,
and a brother of the preceding witness. He testified that
the similarity between the handwriting of the bordereau
and that of Major Esterhazy is absolutely complete. “I
will even say,” he added, “that, if a savant were to find in
one of the volumes of the National Library by the side of
Major Esterhazy’s letters the original of the bordereau, he
would be considered disqualified if he did not say that the
bordereau and the letters were written by the same person.”
M. Molinier was then succeeded by M. Célerier, professor
in the College of Fontenay-le-Comte.
“The bordereau and Major Esterhazy’s letters,” said the
witness, “are absolutely in the same handwriting. The letter
n is strangely formed. Now it is regular, now it becomes
an x. Thus the word tenir often appears as if it were the
word texir. Well, I find the same thing five or six times out
of ten in Major Esterhazy’s letters. One has only to open
his eyes to see that it is absolutely the same handwriting.”
The Judge.—“Who asked you to make this
examination?”
M. Célerier.—“M. Bernard Lazare. He asked me if I
would make an examination, and I said yes, and afterwards
sent him a report of a few lines containing my conclusions.”
The Attorney-General.—“Was the witness confronted in
another case with the three Esterhazy experts?”
M. Célerier.—“Yes.”
The Attorney-General.—“And there, too, you did not
agree with them?”
M. Célerier.—“I did not.”
M. Labori.—“In view of the questions of the attorney-general,
I would like to ask if a fortnight ago a case was not
heard before the court of Paris, in which the court refused
to recognize the testimony of M. Varinard and M. Couard.”
Testimony to the same effect as that given by the preceding
witnesses was then given by M. Bourmon, a paleographer,
who in turn was succeeded by M. Louis Franck, a
Belgian lawyer.
A blackboard was furnished to the witness, upon which he
illustrated with much detail the similarities between Major
Esterhazy’s handwriting and the bordereau. Among other
things he showed that Major Esterhazy’s writing and the
bordereau were alike in the fact that each line was begun a
little to the right of the beginning of the preceding line,
whereas the writing of Dreyfus showed the precisely opposite
characteristic, each line beginning a little to the left of
its predecessor; that the t’s in the bordereau, like Major
Esterhazy’s t’s, were crossed horizontally, while in the
writing of Dreyfus the crosses are made in an upward direction
from left to right; that in the bordereau 68 per cent.
of the t’s are crossed and 32 per cent. uncrossed,—a proportion
almost exactly paralleled in Major Esterhazy’s letters,
where 65 per cent. are crossed and 36 per cent. are uncrossed.
After pointing out these and many other similarities,
the witness said; “The bordereau can have been
written only by Major Esterhazy. M. Bertillon has told us
that, though a hundred French officers should have the
same handwriting, he would not infer that the bordereau
was written by Major Esterhazy. Well, M. Bertillon could
not show us among all the officers of the French army a
single one whose writing approaches the writing of the
bordereau and contains all the elements of similarity with an
arithmetical rhythm so decisive.”
The Judge.—“Who asked you to make this
examination?”
M. Clemenceau.—“Monsieur le Président, I beg your
pardon for repeating always the same thing, but it seems to
me impossible to allow witnesses for the defence to be continually
interrupted when they are testifying.”
M. Franck.—“Two months ago I was called to Paris in
connection with the case of Mlle. Chauvin. The Dreyfus
case had just begun to attract attention. When I read in
‘Le Figaro’ Mme. de Boulancy’s letters and the bordereau,
I had an intuition that the writer of the bordereau was
identical with the writer of the letters. Expressing this
opinion in the presence of a journalist, he tried to prove to
me that I was wrong. His explanation being unsatisfactory,
I began to look into the matter more thoroughly, and, after
my return to Belgium, made a complete study of it. When
this trial came on, I wrote to a friend of M. Zola that this
study was at M. Zola’s service, if it was of any use to him.
Hence my presence here.”
The Judge.—“How did the witness come into possession
of original letters from Esterhazy?”
M. Franck.—“Through M. Bernard Lazare.”
The court next listened to the testimony of M. Grimaux,
honorary professor in the Faculty of Medicine, professor in
the Polytechnic School, and member of the Institute.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” said the witness, “the defence
has summoned me here because I signed a petition in the
chamber of deputies in which we said that, disturbed by the
irregularities of the trial of 1894, by the mystery surrounding
the Esterhazy trial, by the illegal searches of the premises
of Colonel Picquart, and by the methods of examination
pursued by the military authorities, we demanded that the
chamber of deputies should maintain the legal guarantee of
citizens. Why did I and so many others sign this protest?
I will tell you. But first I must point out to you the singular
movement that enlists the interest of so many scientists,
littérateurs, and artists, men who do not follow the fluctuations
of politics, and many of whom could not tell you the
names of the members of the cabinet. But all rise up today,
because they feel that the liberty and honor of the country
are at stake. Doubts and then conviction have gradually
come to me by an examination of official documents undisputed.
In the first place, though not an expert, I saw the
similarity between Major Esterhazy’s handwriting and that
of the bordereau. The reports of the latest experts have
sustained me. Then I carefully studied the indictments,
weighed their value, and came to a conclusion. This conclusion
is that never would any man in the habit of reasoning
consent to sign such documents. There is nothing in
them but unproved insinuations, idle tales, and contradictory
reports of experts. My conviction was further strengthened
by the Esterhazy trial. First by the report of Major Ravary,
in which he accuses of forgery, upon the strength of Esterhazy’s
stories, one of those brilliant young officers who are
the hope of the country, and in which he says also that a
secret document was stolen from the war department, passed
into the hands of a veiled lady, and was given by her to
Major Esterhazy. And Major Ravary does not seem to be
astonished, but rather finds it perfectly natural, that this
secret document, which in 1895 the minister of war refused
to communicate to the honest M. Scheurer-Kestner, should
be carried about the city by veiled ladies. Then the singular
way in which the trial was conducted, the judge suggesting
answers to the accused whenever the latter became embarrassed;
and, finally, the contradictions of the experts, who
declared that the document was not written by Major Esterhazy,
but was of his handwriting, in contradiction with the
first experts, who had declared that it was of the handwriting
of Dreyfus. Thus the first experts were grossly mistaken,
and with them the seven officers, the seven judges,
who, in the loyalty of their souls, condemned Dreyfus. It
was said also that this document is a tracing from Esterhazy’s
handwriting, and M. Ravary finds that very natural,
and does not inquire who could have done the tracing. So
that we arrive at this singular reasoning: Dreyfus made the
tracing, because he is a traitor, and the proof that he is a
traitor is that he made no tracing, but made a bordereau.
“I do not wish to abuse your patience, gentlemen, but I
must tell you that I have arrived at my unshakable conviction
in spite of disguised threats and attempts at
intimidation.”
M. Labori.—“Will M. Grimaux tell us what these threats
were?”
M. Grimaux.—“If M. Labori thinks it necessary to the
defence” ...
M. Labori.—“I think it indispensable, and I beg you to
complete your great act of courage by telling the whole
truth.”
M. Grimaux.—“I have sworn to tell the whole truth;
therefore I cannot refuse to answer the question. On January
16, the minister of war caused the question to be officially
put to me whether I had signed the protest. Immediately
I wrote a letter in which I said: ‘Here is the protest
that I signed; here is the text; I admit my signature.’
The next day, at a meeting of the cabinet, a decree was presented
revoking my professorship in the Polytechnic School,
where I have served science and the State for thirty-four
years. But the cabinet declared that this would be illegal,
that my petition was respectful, and that I only exercised a
citizen’s right in signing it. A week later I was denounced
in a scandalous, blackmailing sheet, ‘La Libre Parole,’ in
which it was said of me: ‘M. Grimaux, professor in the
Polytechnic School, who educates officers, is one of those
who abuse the army,’ This insult was to me a matter of
indifference, coming as it did from a journal which, eight
months before, although I am a Catholic, had called me a
‘renegade Jew who had gone over to Protestantism.’ But
lately, three or four days ago,—on Friday, I believe,—the
day before the day when I was expected to testify, the
minister of war asked the general in command of the Polytechnic
School to make an investigation concerning me and
to report thereupon. This letter from the minister of war said:
‘General, we are informed that M. Grimaux has signed
protests; or taken part in manifestations hostile to the
army.’
“Gentlemen, to the first phrase, ‘has signed protests,’ I
answer: It has been well known at the war department for
the last month that I signed the protest, and admitted it.
As to the passage, ‘has taken part in manifestations hostile
to the army,’ I protest energetically. I am a patriot.
When the flag passes, I salute it with respect, with beating
heart, for I saw this glorious flag torn by treason from the
heroic hands of the army at Metz, and I hope to see it floating
again above the cities that we lost, as a result of the
victories that shall restore to us our dear provinces. I not a
patriot! The general has asked about my family and my
past. My family? My father in 1805 was on a frigate that
fought an English frigate. In 1814 he rode in Champagne.
My grandfather by marriage was lieutenant of dragoons,
aide-de-camp of Marshal Brune, and thirty years ago he told
me of the interview of Tilsit, at which he was present. I
took lessons in patriotism sitting on the knees of two naval
captains who, in the wars of the Revolution and the Empire,
fought against the English. And more recently he who,
during his course at Saint Cyr, was the darling of my house
fell gloriously, facing the enemy. Still I see his brave,
young, beardless face. Lieutenant of dragoons, he asked to
go to Soudan. He was of a line of fighters. He was a true
officer, loyal as a sword, brave as a sabre. Scarcely was he
at Kayes with his captain and eight horse-soldiers when he
drove back eighty Moorish Arabs. Then soon he was at
Timbuctoo, charging incessantly. Directly he was surrounded
by the blacks, a lance pierced his side, he fell as his horsemen
were about to protect him, and the young hero died
with a smile on his lips, as was told me by his captain, who
received his dying message. He died with a smile on his
lips, as if he saw the image of his country floating before
his eyes,—the country to which he had given his young life.
That is the family of the bad patriot, of the man hostile to
the army, to which I belong. Gentlemen, I should like to
stop here, but, being a witness, I must leave no doubt as to
my testimony. It must not be said that I am a bad citizen,
and, if I hurl back the insult, it is not because it was uttered
by ‘La Libre Parole,’ but because it has appeared in an official
document, and I wish to wipe it out. And so I am
obliged to speak of myself, asking pardon of the jury.
Forty-four years ago I was a naval health officer at the port
of Toulon. I carried a sword at my side. I held the rank
and advantages of an officer. I served in the maritime
hospital at Toulon during the Crimean war, for to doctors
and pharmacists hospitals and epidemics are battle-fields.
During the war I left La Vendée, where I was staying on
leave of absence, to come to Paris to serve as a national
guard and care for the wounded. What, no patriot the man
who saw the plateau of Villiers covered with our dead? I
saw those glorious dead, and I remember, among others, five
artillery officers, lying side by side, struck by shells and
bullets, elegant, freshly shaven, in brilliant uniform, for the
French officer goes to battle adorned like a bride who
marries death. I was honored with the friendship of Gambetta;
I helped him to found ‘La Republique Française’; I
have friends in the army and the navy, from the young lieutenants
of Fontainebleau to the generals of division, and
also for twenty-two years I have been connected with that
grand Polytechnic School, whose glorious motto you know,
and where there is nothing but patriotism.
“I believe, gentlemen, that there will remain no illusion
as to my patriotism, and I must say that it is in our ranks,
in the ranks of those who think as I do, that are to be found
the most enlightened patriots, who see most clearly the
interests of the country. Those who insult the army are the
rotten journalists who accuse the minister of war of having
sold himself for 30,000 francs to a pretended Jewish syndicate.
The insulters of the army are those heroes of fear who
told you at the beginning of this case: Rather let the innocent
suffer torture than compromise our security, when a
foreign power is watching us! What! a foreign power is
watching us, and we have an army of two millions of men,
an entire nation to defend the country, with 2,000 educated
officers, workers, ready to shed their blood on the battle-field,
who, in time of peace are preparing perfect weapons,
and you think that we would insult them? The insulters
are those who run through the streets crying ‘Long live the
army!’ without crying ‘Long live the republic!’—those two
cries that cannot be separated. The insulters are those who
cry ‘Long live the army!’ and then ‘Death to Zola!’ and
‘Down with the Jews!’ For who is there that has not in
the army a brother, a son, a parent, a friend? The army
is the flesh of our flesh, blood of our blood. Ask rather
this noble defendant, this courageous citizen who sits here
on a bench of infamy, which he will transform into a bench
of glory,—ask him if he does not share my sentiment.”
M. Zola.—“Absolutely.”
M. Grimaux.—“Gentlemen, I believe that I have said all
that I desired to say in order to wash from my honor imputations
that ought not to remain in an official document; but
I venture to add that my conviction grows more and more
certain. I declare it again. Neither insults or threats or
revocation can touch me, for truth wears an impenetrable
cuirass. We have entered on a path which we shall follow
to the end. We desire the truth, and we will have it. We
will pursue this path from which nothing shall turn us, for
we are of those who want the light, complete light. Our
consciences are thirsty for justice.”
As M. Grimaux left the witness-stand, M. Zola arose and
shook hands with him, and M. Grimaux said something to
him in a low voice.
M. Labori.—“Be good enough, M. Grimaux, to say aloud
what you have just said to M. Zola.”
M. Grimaux.—“I said that I had never seen M. Zola
before; I now see him for the first time.”
The last witness of the day was M. Louis Havet, professor
in the College of France, and member of the Institute.
The witness first dealt with the similarities in handwriting
between the bordereau and the Esterhazy letters, and contrasted
them with the letters of Dreyfus, pointing out especially
that in the bordereau and the Esterhazy letters the
capital J’s are written half above and half below the line,
while the J’s of Dreyfus always stop at the line. Passing
then from handwriting to orthography, M. Havet testified
as follows:
“Both Captain Dreyfus and Major Esterhazy spell well.
They make no mistakes regarding the s in the plural, or in
other matters of that sort. But let us examine some orthographic
minutiæ,—the accents and the cedilla. Captain
Dreyfus is not much of a grammarian; he has not the soul
of a grammarian, and he often forgets to put a cedilla where
one is needed, writing, for instance, français or façon without
a cedilla, or perhaps he will put a cedilla where there
should be none,—for instance, forçe and souffrançe with a
cedilla. In this he is capricious. He writes the word
annonçant now with and now without the cedilla. And the
same as to the accents. If he writes the preposition à, which
should have a grave accent, he sometimes gives it a grave
accent and sometimes does not. He also uses needless
accents. The word nécessaire, which has an acute accent
over the first vowel, is written by him with an accent over
each e. With Esterhazy it is quite the contrary. He is very
careful about his accents, and his hyphens, and all the little
details of orthography. He puts a grave accent over the
preposition à not only when it is a small letter in the middle
of a phrase, but when it is a capital letter at the beginning of
a sentence. Now, the bordereau and Major Esterhazy’s
letters show absolutely the same orthographical habits, while
the bordereau differs totally in this respect from the letters of
Captain Dreyfus.
“Again, as to choice of words. There are many ways of
speaking French. One may speak French correctly, or one
may make blunders. Now, in the bordereau there are incorrect
turns of phrase which seem to indicate a writer unfamiliar
with the language, or accustomed to think in a foreign
language. ‘Sans nouvelles m’indiquant que vous désirez me
voir, je vous adresse cependant, monsieur, quelques documents
intéressants.’ The word nouvelles is one that would
never be written in such a connection by a Frenchman perfectly
acquainted with his tongue. Such a Frenchman would
say sans avis. The author thought in German and translated
into French. But let us go on. ‘Sans nouvelles m’indiquant
que vous désirez me voir, je vous adresse cependant,
monsieur.’ Instead of this, an educated Frenchman, with
the instinct of his language, would say: Quoique je n’ai
pas reçu d’avis me disant que vous désirez me voir, je vous
adresse. Or else he would separate the phrase. The phraseology
of the bordereau is sometimes found in the commercial
style, but not at all in the literary style, and is written
especially by foreigners imperfectly acquainted with the
French language. Farther on, à propos of a certain document,
occurs this expression: ‘Chaque corps en reçoit un
nombre fixe.’ The words nombre fixe properly mean here
that there is always the same number for each corps,—that
each corps, for instance, receives fifty. But that is not what
the author of the bordereau meant. He meant that each
corps receives a definite number, a number known in
advance, enabling it to be determined whether all the copies
are returned. But he did not know the proper word. It is
such an error as a professor would point to as a proof that
his pupil did not know French, or was a foreigner.
“Now, Captain Dreyfus writes perfectly correct French.
There never are any mistakes of phrase in his letters. Take
this, for instance: ‘J’ai légué à ceux qui m’ont fait condamner
un devoir,’ etc. It is impossible to find a better
phrase than that; and so it is throughout. If it were a
schoolboy’s copy, the teacher would write ‘Very good’ in
the margin. I have sought in vain for an error of this sort
in Captain Dreyfus’s letters. But in Major Esterhazy’s such
errors swarm. In a letter in which he struggles against
financial troubles, he says: ‘Telles et telles personnes doivent
avoir conservé toutes traces de cette affaire.’ This phrase,
instead of toutes les traces imaginables is one that occurs
in the famous Uhlan letter: ‘Je ferai toutes tentatives pour
aller en Algérie.’ It is a phrase peculiar to Major Esterhazy.
“The writing of the bordereau, without the shadow of a
doubt, is that of Major Esterhazy. The orthographical
habits are his habits, and, as regards choice of words, it is
quite impossible that Captain Dreyfus should have written
the bordereau, while, on the contrary, it is perfectly natural
that Major Esterhazy should have written it.”
This ended the day’s proceedings.
At the opening of the session the court rendered a decree
denying the motion of M. Clemenceau that a magistrate be
appointed to further examine Mme. de Boulancy regarding
the contents of the letters from Major Esterhazy, basing the
denial on the ground that the witness had already declined
to specify the contents of the letters, and that therefore it
would be fruitless to question her further. The witness-stand
was then taken by General de Pellieux, who made the
following statement:
“I recognize that, of all the fac-similes that have appeared,
that published by ‘Le Matin’ most resembles the bordereau,
but I wish to point out an essential difference. The bordereau
is written on both sides of thin paper and in pale ink,
the writing on the back being much darker than the writing
on the front; consequently, when the bordereau is photographed,
the photograph necessarily shows something of the
back as well as the front, so that, to print these fac-similes,
it has been necessary to remove the traces of the writing on
the back by some photographic practice with which I am not
familiar. The defence absolutely rejects all the expert testimony
made by sworn experts who have had the originals
before them, and admits all expert testimony made by
experts who have seen only fac-similes or photographs. The
defence has even tried to turn into ridicule the testimony of
sworn experts, and has brought to this bar some professional
experts, but especially amateur experts, even a dentist; and,
further than that, it has brought here—a fact which I leave
the jury to judge—a foreigner, a foreign lawyer.
“When M. Mathieu Dreyfus wrote his letter to the minister
of war, he said: ‘I accuse,’—and in that respect he
showed himself a forerunner,—‘I accuse Major Esterhazy of
being the author of the bordereau.’ I sent for M. Mathieu
Dreyfus, and he asked for an expert examination of the bordereau.
I pointed out to him that he rejected the first
expert testimony based on an examination of originals, and
I said to him: ‘Will you accept the second?’ He did not
answer, and I concluded that, if the expert examination
proved unfavorable, he would ask for still others, which he
did. The bordereau was found insufficient; so they had
another document in reserve, the dispatch. There has been
testimony to show how far this document is from being
authenticated, and any government that had prosecuted an
officer on the strength of such a document would have
covered itself with ridicule. So, when M. Picquart insisted
that Major Esterhazy should be prosecuted and arrested on
the strength of this simple document, he was separated from
the war department. And I think that he was treated very
indulgently.
“Much has been said of the writing of the bordereau, but
its contents have not yet been referred to. I ask your permission,
then, to take this bordereau, which has just been
shown to me, and examine, point by point, whether it was
possible for Major Esterhazy to procure the documents that
were mentioned in it.”
M. Labori.—“I ask that Colonel Picquart, who is now
present at the hearing before M. Bertulus in the matter of
the complaint against the Speranza forgery, be summoned to
court to hear the testimony of General de Pellieux.”
The Judge.—“Go on, General.”
M. Labori.—“I ask permission to offer a motion. I ask
for the presence of Colonel Picquart here.”
The Judge.—“You have not the floor. Go on. General.”
General de Pellieux.—“I pretend to prove here, documents
in hand, that the officer who wrote the bordereau is an
officer of the war department, an officer of artillery, and,
furthermore, a licentiate. I ask for a copy of the bordereau
as it appeared in ‘Le Matin’.”
M. Labori.—“I ask you to send for Colonel Picquart. I
protest against the absence of Colonel Picquart.”
The Judge.—“I will send for Colonel Picquart when I get
ready.”
M. Labori.—“That is understood. Well, I point that out
to the jury.”
The Judge.—“Point out what you like.”
M. Labori.—“I intend to do so. You think to turn the
course of the debate, because General de Pellieux is here
alone.”
The Judge.—“I have told you that you have not the floor.
Do not oblige me to take measures. Go on, General.”
General de Pellieux.—“I thank you, Monsieur le
Président.
“The bordereau contains this item: ‘A note on the
hydraulic check of 120, and the way in which this piece is
managed.’ This is the expression of an artillery officer. In
speaking of this piece an artillery officer says ‘the 120.’
An infantry officer would never say that. He would say
‘the piece 120.’ Moreover, the artillery guard their secrets
very carefully. Although I have been chief of staff of an
army corps, I am not acquainted with the hydraulic check of
the piece 120. It has been said that this knowledge would
have been acquired at the manœuvres. It is absolutely impossible
to see the operation of this piece at the manœuvres,
and I, who was present at the manœuvres of 1896 and 1897,
am unfamiliar with it. Furthermore, this paragraph must
refer to a report that exists in the war department on the
way in which this hydraulic check has behaved in experiments.
Only an officer of the war department could have
given information on this point. No infantry officer ever
saw the piece 120 fired. Though I have been present at
firing lessons, I never saw it fired.
“The bordereau contains also a note concerning troupes de
couverture, and I call your attention to the second paragraph:
‘The new plan of mobilization involves some modifications.’
How could an infantry officer in garrison at Rouen
have known anything about the troupes de couverture? It
has been said that Esterhazy, being a major, was in possession
of his regiment’s plan of mobilization. True, but in
the plans of mobilization of regiments, especially of regiments
that have nothing to do with couverture, there is no
compromising detail. These plans simply specify the measures
to be taken to make the regiment ready for transportation.
The regiment does not know even where it is going.
Deposited in the colonel’s office are what are called fiches.
These fiches of transportation give only a point of departure
and a point of arrival. At the point of arrival the regiment
receives new fiches from a staff officer sent by the minister of
war, and only there does it learn its final destination. Consequently
Major Esterhazy could not possibly have given
any detail regarding troupes de couverture. His regiment
did not furnish such troops, and the regiments that do
could give details only concerning the hour of their departure.
And how could Major Esterhazy know anything of
a new plan in progress of elaboration? Such a thing could
have been known only to an accomplice in the war
department.
“Thirdly, the bordereau contains a note on a change in
artillery formations. How could Major Esterhazy have
known anything about that? There is no artillery garrisoned
at Rouen.
“Fourth, the bordereau contains a note relating to Madagascar.
Gentlemen, the bordereau is certainly not of earlier
date than March 14, 1894, since it speaks of a document that
did not appear until March 14, of which I shall speak
directly. It is certainly of earlier date than September 1, at
the time at which it was seized. Well, at that time it was
known only in the war department what part the land forces
were to take in the Madagascar expedition. The question
was not agitated until the 16th or 17th of August, 1894.
These details, then, must have been given by an officer of
the war department; Major Esterhazy at Rouen could not
possibly have known of preparations for an expedition in
which a part of the land forces would participate.
“I come now to perhaps the most serious point,—‘the note
concerning the manual of artillery campaign practice, March
14, 1894.’ This manual has never been in the hands of an
infantry officer. A very few copies were sent to artillery
regiments. It is hardly known to the officers in the war department,
except those of the third division,—the artillery
division. Major Jamel had it in his drawer in the war department,
and it was at the disposal of the incriminated
officer whom I refuse to name here. There has been an endeavor
to prove that Major Esterhazy once had this manual
in his hands, and for that purpose an appeal was made to
the testimony of a Lieutenant Bernheim, who happens to be
an Israelite, and who came to testify. This officer was
obliged to admit that he did not communicate the manual to
Major Esterhazy; that what he communicated was an artillery
regulation regarding siege pieces,—a regulation which
anybody can buy, which does, indeed, contain interesting
details regarding the firing of such pieces and something
about the firing of all other pieces, and which Major Esterhazy
had made use of in preparing a lecture on artillery to
be delivered to his regiment. And right here I ask permission
to relate an incident. M. Picquart sent for a certain
Mulot, Major Esterhazy’s secretary, presented to him a
firing manual, and said: ‘This is the document, is it not,
that you copied?’ Mulot answered: ‘Not at all. I copied
extracts from a firing manual, but it was a much larger
manual than that, containing the rules for firing certain
pieces.’ Whereupon M. Picquart said to him: ‘Your
recollection is not very exact. Go home and think about
the matter, and, when you have thought about it, write to
us. You belong to the reserves, and, if you need any
permits, apply to me, and I will see that you get them.’
“Now, gentlemen, I am coming to the end. What is left
of the scaffolding that has been constructed? Not much, in
my opinion; and yet on it rests the infamous accusation
that the council of war acquitted a guilty party in obedience
to orders. Gentlemen, I have not a crystal soul; I have a
soldier’s soul, and it revolts against the infamies heaped
upon us. I say that it is criminal to try to take away from
the army its confidence in its chiefs. What do you think
will become of this army on the day of danger,—nearer,
perhaps, than you think. What do you think will be the
conduct of the poor soldiers led by chiefs of whom they
have heard such things said? It is to butchery that they
would lead your sons, gentlemen of the jury. But M. Zola
will have won a new battle, he will write a new ‘Débâcle,’
he will spread the French language throughout the universe,
throughout Europe from whose map France has been wiped.
“One word more. Much has been said of revision. Revision—and
I shall not be contradicted by my comrades—is
to us a matter of absolute indifference. We should have
been glad, had Dreyfus been acquitted. It would have
proved that there was no traitor in the French army. But,
gentlemen, what the council of war of 1898 was not willing
to admit was that an innocent man should be put in Dreyfus’s
place, whether Dreyfus was guilty or not. I have
done.”
M. Labori.—“I ask the floor.”
The Judge.—“What question do you wish to ask?”
M. Labori.—“I appeal to Article 319 of the code of criminal
examination, which says that ‘after every deposition the
court shall ask the accused if he wishes to answer what has
been said against him, and that the accused and his counsel
shall have a right to question the witness through the court,
and to say against him and his testimony anything that may
be useful for the defence of the accused.’ I ask the floor.”
The Judge.—“What questions?”
M. Labori.—“I ask the floor to say against the witness
and his testimony anything that may be useful for the defence
of the accused.”
The Judge.—“You have the floor only to ask questions.”
M. Labori.—“I have the honor, by virtue of Article 319 of
the code of criminal examination, to ask that the floor be
accorded me, and I offer the following motion.”
General de Pellieux.—“Can I retire, Monsieur le
Président?”
The Judge.—“You may sit down.”
M. Labori.—“I have the honor to ask the court to be good
enough to wait until my motion is ready.”
The Judge.—“You have the floor.”
M. Labori offered a formal motion that the court accord
the floor to the counsel for the accused, in conformity with
Article 319 of the code, and asked for the floor in order to
speak in support of his motion.
The Judge.—“You have the floor.”
M. Labori.—“Gentlemen, you have just heard, not a deposition,
but an argument. It is the argument of the staff,
which sends General de Pellieux here, not to give explanations,
but to throw into the debate, speculating on the generosity
of a great people” ...
At this moment there was an uproar in the court-room,
which led M. Labori to say, interrupting himself: “I pay
no attention, but I judge of the reach of my blows by the
protests that they call from my enemies.”
The Judge.—“M. Labori, pay no attention to what takes
place in the audience. You talk to everybody except the
court.”
M. Labori.—“I answer the protests which the court does
not suppress, and I add that I have here a letter that one of
my confrères has just passed to me, which says: ‘M. Labori,
lawyers are prevented here from making any manifestation.
Why, then, are infantry and artillery officers allowed to
openly applaud?’ I resume. I was saying that they speculate
on the generosity of a great people which confounds
persons with principles, which identifies chiefs, who are only
fallible men, with the flag that we all respect and that no
one has a right to monopolize, no more General de Pellieux
than I. As a soldier, I owe respect to General de Pellieux,
because he is my chief. I am a soldier, as he is, and on the
day of battle my blood will be as good as his, and I declare
that, though I may have fewer stripes, I shall not show less
resolution or less courage. Every time that the advocate of
the war department shall ask the floor at the beginning of
the day’s hearing, in order to make an impression on the
men of good faith whose names the newspapers of the
Rue Saint Dominique print every evening as a sort of intimidation,—I
say that every time that the advocate of the staff
shall come to this bar to throw himself into the balance, not
as a witness, but as a sort of pillar of support, the attorney-general’s
silence proving inadequate,—I say that, immediately
afterward, the defender of M. Zola, whatever his
fatigue, whatever his emotion, whatever his sadness, will
rise, and, though this trial should last six months, he will
struggle until the light, which is becoming more brilliant
every day, which at first was only a gleam” ...
The Judge.—“This has no relation to your motion. I am
going to deprive you of the floor.”
M. Labori.—“If you deprive me of the floor, Monsieur le
Président, it will be said that General de Pellieux was
allowed to speak here for half an hour, and that I was not
permitted to answer him. I await your decision.”
The Judge.—“You have the floor, but in support of your
motion. Let us have done with it.”
M. Labori.—“If this expression, ‘Let us have done with
it,’ indicates that I am disagreeable to the court, I am very
much grieved; but I have no desire to have done with it. I
want the light. Entrusted with the defence of Emile Zola, I
will go to the last extremity to get it. I assure you that
you do not excite me at all. I ask only for a moment’s rest,
and will then speak to the end with tranquillity.”
The Judge.—“You speak of all sorts of things. That is
why we shall come to no end, and you have not said a word
regarding your motion.”
M. Labori.—“I am saying something now of greater consequence
than my motion.”
The Judge.—“But we are not here to hear all these
things. This is the first time that I witness such a
struggle.”
M. Labori.—“Because it is the first time that there has
been maintained, in the name of the law, a judicial error
which must come to light,—which will come to light in a few
days, if it does not today. General de Pellieux has said:
‘Innocent or guilty.’”
The Judge.—“According to Article 311 of the code of
examination, I tell you that you must explain yourself with
moderation.”
M. Labori.—“Will you tell me, Monsieur le Président,
what expression has fallen from my lips that was lacking in
moderation?”
The Judge.—“Everything that you say.”
M. Labori.—“Pardon me, I do not accept your warning,
unless it is made more precise.”
The Judge.—“I repeat that this incident has now taken
up ten minutes. Develop your motion simply.”
M. Labori.—“If you ask me to be moderate, and ask me in
terms that resemble a warning or a censure, and if you do
not tell me why you inflict this censure upon me” ...
The Judge.—“Will you speak in support of your
motion?”
M. Labori.—“But, Monsieur le Président, do you hold to
what you just said?”
The Judge.—“I have no account to render to you.”
M. Labori.—“Very well. This observation made, it is
agreed that not one of my words can be reprimanded or
blamed, and I continue. Article 319 declares that the witness,
no matter how many stripes he may wear, cannot have
the upper hand of the defence. M. de Pellieux is not the
accused party here. If he were, he would have the same
right that we have, and, if he were the complainant against
the accused on behalf of the public, he could take the floor.
But he is not. The staff has said to itself that it has in
General de Pellieux a distinguished orator, and so it sends
him here every day to begin the hearing with an argument
against such portions of the demonstrations and evidence of
the day before as seem overwhelming. Well, I say that, if
ever Article 319 is to be applied, this is the time for it.”
The court retired for five minutes, and then rendered a
decree refusing the floor to the counsel for the defence for
the purpose for which he asked it, on the ground that it was
the duty of the court, according to Article 270 of the code of
criminal examination, to exclude everything that would
needlessly prolong the trial.
M. Labori.—“I ask that Colonel Picquart be heard.”
The Judge.—“He is not here.”
M. Labori.—“I know it, but his place is here. I ask that
he be sent for, and confronted with General de Pellieux.”
The Judge.—“He will come when he is free.”
M. Labori.—“Yes, at five o’clock tonight, when the hearing
is over.”
The Judge.—“We will send for him soon.”
M. Labori.—“At once. I will ask no other question until
he is summoned.”
But, in spite of this, Colonel Picquart was not heard, the
witnesses that were called to the bar in the meantime occupying
the rest of the session. The first was M. Scheurer-Kestner,
who appeared in order to contradict some points in
the testimony of the expert, Teyssonnière.
“M. Teyssonnière,” said M. Scheurer-Kestner, “made an
incredible blunder when he said that I showed him on Sunday,
July 11, specimens of Esterhazy’s handwriting. It is a
monstrous error, for on July 11, when M. Teyssonnière came
to see me,—and we have not met since,—I had never heard
the name of Esterhazy.”
M. Teyssonnière.—“I thought that Esterhazy’s name was
mentioned. At least I found it on my notes.”
M. Labori.—“What notes?”
M. Teyssonnière.—“The notes that I take daily.”
M. Labori.—“How could you have found the name of
Esterhazy on your notes at a time when nobody was thinking
about it? Your conversation with M. Scheurer-Kestner was
in July, and it was on November 17 that M. Mathieu Dreyfus
pronounced Esterhazy’s name for the first time in
denouncing him to the minister of war. Now, M. Teyssonnière,
‘La Libre Parole’ publishes this morning an article in
which it is said that M. Scheurer-Kestner and M. Trarieux
tried to get you to modify your opinions. Are you in any
way connected with the publication of this article?”
M. Teyssonnière.—“Yes.”
M. Labori.—“The article contains a letter written to you
by M. Trarieux. Who gave the letter to that newspaper?”
M. Teyssonnière.—“I did.”
M. Labori.—“M. Trarieux, keeper of the seals, secured
your restoration to the list of experts, after your name had
been stricken from it. You have a way of showing gratitude
that is peculiar to yourself.”
M. Teyssonnière.—“M. Trarieux in his testimony committed
errors concerning me which I will qualify as lies. I
did not go in search of him. I was sent to him.”
M. Labori.—“Have M. Scheurer-Kestner and M. Trarieux
brought any pressure to bear upon your conscience?”
M. Teyssonnière.—“No.”
M. Labori.—“Well, then, be off.”
M. Trarieux.—“Pardon me. I should like to know on
what point M. Teyssonnière pretends that I lied. He cannot
say. He admits that I took an interest in him at the time
when his name was stricken from the list of experts, and now
he covers me with odious slander, and pretends that I drew
him into some trap to get him to modify his conclusions as
an expert.”
M. Teyssonnière.—“I have not said that.”
M. Trarieux.—“Then why do you carry a letter to ‘La
Libre Parole,’ if not to permit that journal to publish it with
venomous insinuations? I will not rest quiet under these
calumnies. Never did I ask anything of you. It was you
who wanted to force your opinions upon me.”
M. Trarieux then produced a letter from M. Teyssonnière
in which he insisted on coming to show him his report in the
Dreyfus case, and to scientifically prove the guilt of the
condemned man.
M. Labori.—“Why did General de Pellieux declare that
we reject the official experts, while appealing to foreigners
and dentists? Why! when the staff experts are questioned
by us, they preserve an obstinate silence. Could not General
de Pellieux loosen their tongues? It is not words that we
want, but reasons. What answer, indeed, can be made to
men like M. Louis Havet, M. Molinier, or the director of the
Ecole des Chartes? I fancy that you will not disdain these
men as dentists. You think that you have said all when
you have cried: ‘Good jurors, we shall have war.’ War?
Who here is afraid of it? Not you or I, General de
Pellieux. But we are entitled to know whether our chiefs
are worthy of us. Then let them fear neither discussion or
light. I ask that General de Pellieux be confronted with M.
Meyer.”
The court gave its consent, and M. Labori put this question
to General de Pellieux: “Will you explain your statement
that the fac-simile ‘Matin’ was a forgery?”
General de Pellieux.—“I maintain that among the fac-similes
reproduced by the journals there are some that singularly
resemble forgeries.”
M. Paul Meyer.—“But what interest had ‘Le Matin’ in
committing a forgery in 1896, when nobody was thinking
of Major Esterhazy?”
General de Pellieux.—“I have always said that the reproduction
made by ‘Le Matin’ was the least imperfect of all.
It is not the same with the fac-similes that have appeared in
certain pamphlets.”
M. Meyer.—“I have made no use of those. But the
resemblance, according to ‘Le Matin’s’ fac-simile, between
Major Esterhazy’s writing and the writing of the bordereau
is undeniable.”
General de Pellieux.—“You have never seen the original
of the bordereau.”
M. Meyer.—“I have seen the ‘Matin’ fac-simile, the
fidelity of which has been admitted by M. Bertillon. That is
sufficient for me. No one called your word in question, my
general, but you are lacking in the power of observation. As
for your experts, you perhaps will permit me to say that I
do not consider myself beneath them in point of intelligence.
The president of the civil court asks me to select most of
them. Do you think that, if I had selected myself, he
would have blackballed me? I prefer an expert examination
made by myself from a fac-simile, to an expert examination
made from an original by people whom I do not know.”
M. Meyer then asked General de Pellieux to procure for
him at least the original photographs of the bordereau.
General de Pellieux.—“Oh! I would like nothing better,
and I regret that the reports of the Esterhazy experts cannot
be brought here and discussed. I was absolutely opposed to
closed doors. They were declared in spite of me, but I have
no right to violate them.”
M. Labori.—“But certainly somebody has a right to
authorize this production. Let the order be given, and the
light will stream forth. Oh! we have made some progress
in the last week. Here we are, almost in agreement. If this
trial goes on, we shall all walk out of here like honest
people, arm in arm. It will be admitted that there has been
only an immense misunderstanding between us, and that
nothing is easier than to honestly repair a judicial error
involuntarily committed. Well, my general, do what we
ask. Get the minister of war to produce the bordereau.
Pray him to show us this bit of transparent paper which is
so securely locked up in his department, and let everybody
see it. If it were not that certain minds are anchored in a
blind obstinacy, we should soon see that in this whole matter
there is not wherewith to whip a cat. It is a great pity that
M. Couard is not here. It would be a pleasure to witness a
discussion between him and M. Meyer, his former professor
in the Ecole des Chartes.”
“I ask nothing better,” cried a stentorian voice, from the
middle of the auditorium, and through the crowd pushed M.
Couard, carrying a large package.
“I do not wish it to be said,” he shouted, “that I have
not the profoundest respect for my old teacher. But what is
the Ecole des Chartes? The Ecole des Chartes, I know it.
I have been through it. Do they teach anything there about
the handwriting of the nineteenth century? The fifteenth,
the sixteenth, I even grant you the seventeenth and
eighteenth, if you please; but contemporary handwriting?
Why, there is not a single chair of modern handwriting
there. I revere M. Meyer as a professor of Roman philology,
but as an expert in handwriting he is like a child just born.
Why, I was present at the development of a thesis on the
famous flag of Jeanne Hachette, which is preserved at
Beauvais. The candidate had deciphered upon it all sorts of
interesting fifteenth-century inscriptions. I twisted with
laughter. His description was based upon a flag manufactured
in 1840 to replace the true one, which is worm-eaten,
and of which nothing is left but shreds, upon which it is
impossible to read anything. ‘Each one to his trade, then
the cows will be well kept.’”
M. Meyer.—“If there is no instruction in writings at the
Ecole des Chartes, where did you get your instruction, Monsieur
Expert?”
M. Couard.—“By practice, my dear master,—practice for
eight years.”
M. Meyer.—“Pardon me, I do not defend myself. Pupils
are always the best judges of their professors.”
M. Labori.—“What is the package, so preciously wrapped,
that you have there under the table? Does it contain, perchance,
photographs of the bordereau?”
M. Couard.—“No, it is the famous dissertation upon the
flag of Jeanne Hachette. I see what you are after. You
wish to turn the course of my testimony. But it is established,
nevertheless, that my old teacher is only an expert on
occasion.”
The next witness was M. Paul Moriaud, professor in the
Geneva law school. He desired to use a blackboard for his
demonstrations, as M. Franck had done the day before, but
the court refused to permit him to do so. After declaring
that there were never two handwritings so nearly identical as
that of Esterhazy and that of the bordereau, he discussed the
question whether the bordereau was produced by tracing.
“Tracing,” said the witness, “can be done in two ways.
There is first the tracing of entire words separately. Suppose
you desired to produce this phrase: ‘You are right,
Monsieur,’ signed ‘So and So.’ You procure a specimen of
the writing of M. So and So, and you look for the word ‘are,’
the word ‘right,’ etc. You paste them side by side, you cut
out the signature and paste it beneath, and you photograph
the whole; or else you trace them. In this case we may suppose
tracing, for the bordereau is on tracing-paper. Here
you have 181 words, almost all different. There are rare
words among them,—Madagascar, check, hydraulic, indicating,
etc. Well, if you should collect Major Esterhazy’s letters
for ten years, and try to find in them all the words that
are in this bordereau, you would not succeed. The process
is an utter impossibility.
“You have been told by previous witnesses of the style
and punctuation of the bordereau. I wish to say something
of the way in which the words are placed. M. Esterhazy
begins his paragraphs without indention. The lines that
begin paragraphs are as long as their predecessors. Furthermore,
he never divides a word at the end of a line. If there
is not room for it, he runs it over to the next line. Now, you
find that in the bordereau. Another thing. The bordereau
is not in the same handwriting throughout. Now, M. Esterhazy’s
handwriting is very variable. He writes coarse or
fine, according to circumstances. Now, these two handwritings
of Major Esterhazy are to be seen in the bordereau.
The first fourteen lines are written in a more compact, more
calm, more legible, finer handwriting, the last sixteen in a
larger, looser hand. Now, if the bordereau had been traced,
what would have been the result? All the words would have
been in the same handwriting, either one or the other; or
else there would have been a mixture, one word in one handwriting
and the next in the other. But in the bordereau all
the first part is in one handwriting, and all the second part
in the other, which clearly shows that M. Esterhazy wrote
the bordereau at two sittings, in two different states of mind.
“Some words are repeated in the bordereau. The word ne,
for instance, occurs four times; the word de seven times. It
is very evident that, if these words had been hunted for in
M. Esterhazy’s letters, in order to trace them, on finding the
word ne they would have copied it four times. But such is
not the case. If we had time, I would propose a little
experiment. I would ask you to cut from the bordereau one
of the four words ne, and give it to me; whereupon I would
immediately tell you which one of the four it was. Or you
might do the same thing with the word vous, which occurs
six times. If you will cut it out and show it to me, I will
tell you whether it is the fourth, the fifth, or the sixth.
They are so different that, from memory, in spite of the inevitable
confusion that takes possession of a man when he
speaks in public and among strangers, I should be able to
recognize them, which proves that each of these words was
written individually by M. Esterhazy. No two persons
ever write the same word exactly like, and no person ever
writes a word twice in exactly the same way. And so in the
bordereau there is this variety of form which life always
gives.
“The last argument. As I said, M. Esterhazy never
divides his words, but, if the end of the word is far from the
end of the line, he makes a long final stroke, often immoderately
long; and a curious thing, that I have never seen in
the handwriting of anybody else, is this: if the word at the
end of a line is a little word, and if M. Esterhazy has much
room, he writes the word in a larger hand. You will find,
for instance, at the end of a line an immoderately large ne,
which seems almost in another handwriting. Now, that is
precisely what you will find in M. Esterhazy’s letters, the
elongation of the final strokes to fill out the blank space at
the end of a line; which proves clearly that these words
were not taken here and there from Esterhazy’s letters. I
consider this demonstration irresistible, and, whether its
truth be admitted or not today, the day will come when
savants will take these documents and say that M. Esterhazy
wrote the bordereau, and there will be no doubt about it
whatever. There may have been an original corresponding
as a whole to the bordereau, but in that case M. Esterhazy
wrote the original. If it be insisted that somebody has imitated
M. Esterhazy’s handwriting, the imitator was M. Esterhazy
himself.”
At the end of this demonstration the court adjourned.
After a renewed demand on the part of the defence for the
production of the original of the bordereau, and a refusal of
the court to order its production, M. Paul Moriaud again
took the stand to testify concerning the Uhlan letter. In
this letter he pointed out various peculiarities tending to
identify M. Esterhazy as the writer, especially the x form
given to the letter n, giving the word “Uhlan” the appearance
of “Uhlax,”—a peculiarity which had been pointed
out in the bordereau a year previously by an expert to whom
M. Esterhazy’s writing was unknown.
M. Moriaud was confronted with M. Varinard, who persisted
that the Uhlan letter is a forgery, though saying that
he could not give his reasons without having the original
before him. The defence then asked for the production of
the letter.
M. Clemenceau.—“Does not General de Pellieux think
that it is of interest to the honor of the army to know
whether a French officer wrote such a letter?”
General de Pellieux [advancing to the bar].—“Of the
highest interest. On this point I agree with the defence,
and there is not a single officer who does not share my sentiment.
Major Esterhazy’s letters were written in 1882. I
myself ask for their production.”
It was agreed that the letter should be produced the following
day, and publicly examined by experts. Before the
closing of the incident M. Clemenceau asked General de
Pellieux whether any alterations to which the letter had
been subjected must not have occurred while it was in Mme.
de Boulancy’s possession.
General de Pellieux.—“Surely; it was placed under seal
by me.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Under open seal (by sealing a thread
passed through the corner of the document). Does not that
sort of seal leave the document uncovered?”
Testimony was then given by M. Giry, professor in the
Ecole des Chartes, and by Dr. Hericourt, editor of the
“Revue Scientifique,” to the effect that the similarity between
the writing of the bordereau and that of Major Esterhazy
amounts to identity, after which Colonel Picquart was
called to the stand.
M. Labori.—“Yesterday General de Pellieux declared
that Major Esterhazy could not have procured in 1894 the
documents enumerated in the bordereau. What has Colonel
Picquart to say in answer to that?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I should not have approached this
question, if it had not been brought up here yesterday; but
now my duty to tell the truth obliges me to give my
opinions in regard to this bordereau. I beg that my words
may not be misinterpreted. Some things that I shall say
perhaps will contradict what General de Pellieux has said,
but I believe it my duty to say what I think. Permit me to
view this question of the bordereau in a general way. I am
accustomed to deal with these questions, having been occupied
with them on other staffs, prior to my service of a year
and a half as chief of the bureau of information. Well, the
bordereau enumerates documents of much less importance,
in my opinion, than that which has been attributed to them.
I note in the first place this passage:
I address you meantime:
(1) A note on the hydraulic check;
(2) A note on the troupes de couverture;
(3) A note on the firing manual;
(4) A note relating to Madagascar.
“Well, these are only notes. Anyone who had had anything
serious to furnish, and not simply what he had picked
up in conversation, or seen in passing, would have said: ‘I
send you a copy of such and such a document.’ When one
wishes to give value to his merchandise, he points out its
origin. Now, a note indicates simply a personal observation,
or perhaps a little copy of something or other drawn from
memory, or from the newspapers, or from some other source.
I note also this,—that, in the case of the only authentic
document, which is not of capital importance, the firing
manual, the author of the bordereau said: ‘Project of a
firing manual,’ adding: ‘This last document is extremely
difficult to procure,’ thus showing the difficulty that he had
in procuring it. Now, could Major Esterhazy have obtained
these points of information?”
The Judge.—“That is the question.”
Colonel Picquart.—“I say: ‘Yes.’ When the famous dispatch
brought Major Esterhazy’s name to my attention, I,
in search of information, applied first to a person belonging
to his regiment, who said to me: ‘This man has singular
ways. He has been twice to the artillery firing schools, and
he asked permission to go a third time at his own expense.’
I know that he explains these frequent visits by saying that
he had a country house not far from the Châlons camp. But
I would like to know whether on each occasion he went to
the Châlons camp. The last time, yes; but the other times I
do not think that he did. I cannot assert it,—because I
never assert anything of which I am not sure,—but it seems
to me that one of the firing schools was at Mans.
“Another thing. An agent informed us that a major
wearing decorations, and about fifty years old, was furnishing
documents to a foreign power, especially documents concerning
artillery and firing. This points to the conclusion
that Esterhazy could give information concerning artillery.
“A third thing. The member of Esterhazy’s regiment to
whom I applied told me that Esterhazy had asked him
whether he knew anything about the mobilization of artillery.
Why did he desire to know that? Consequently I
believe that Esterhazy could furnish a personal note as to
what he had seen of the hydraulic check and the modifications
in artillery formations. The newspapers have said that
this matter of a modification in artillery formation was the
subject of a legislative bill, and was known, before its introduction,
to not a few senators, deputies, and journalists.
Now, Esterhazy knew not a few deputies, and was a frequent
visitor at newspaper offices.
“Concerning the statement of the bordereau, in relation to
the troupes de couverture, that some modifications will be
made by the new plan, I maintain that this expression
evidently came from someone not connected with the department,
and, if desired, I will go into detail on that matter,
but behind closed doors.
“Now I pass to the note concerning Madagascar. It has
been said that it could not have been known at the beginning
of 1894 that there would be a Madagascar expedition. In
the first place, this is simply a note relating to Madagascar.
It has nothing at all to do with a project for the participation
of land forces in a Madagascar expedition. It may have
been copied from a geographical document. There is
nothing to indicate that it was of a military character. If
it should be said that it must have been of a military character,
I would answer that, since the first Madagascar expedition,
there has been every year a question of sending
somebody there; and I have received letters from many of
my comrades, who, knowing that I had served in the colonies,
asked me if I could not give them some information, in
view of the widespread report that there was to be a Madagascar
expedition. I mention this to show that in the beginning
of 1894 there was already much talk about Madagascar,
though it was not then known that there would be
an expedition in which the land forces would take part.
“Now as to this passage from the bordereau:
(5) The project of the manual of artillery campaign practice. This
last document is very difficult to procure. I was able to have it at my
disposal for a few days only. The minister of war sent a definite number
to the corps, and for these the corps are responsible. Each officer must
return his copy after the manœuvres.
“Are those the words of an artillery officer connected with
the war department? ‘The minister of war has sent a definite
number to the corps.’ Why does he talk of the corps?
That seems to me to indicate an officer not connected with
the department.
“Now I must speak of two very serious matters in the
bordereau. It contains this phrase: ‘Unless you wish me
to have it copied in extenso.’ Now, one who wishes to have
a document copied in extenso must have someone at his disposition
to make the copy. The writer does not say:
‘Unless I copy for you,’ but ‘Unless you wish me to have it
copied.’ When my attention was called to Esterhazy, I said
to myself: How, in 1894, could he have had at his disposition
secretaries, persons who could copy? The person to
whom I applied for information said to me: ‘Esterhazy has
always had documents copied for him at home by secretaries,
and he is even now having some copied.’ Furthermore, this
party said: ‘Esterhazy in 1894 was a major,’—that is, he
had a secretary under him. The information that Esterhazy
was then a major astonished me, for the bordereau says: ‘I
am about to start for the manœuvres,’ and majors generally
do not take part in the spring manœuvres. But, on consulting
the reports of the 74th of the line, I found there the
statement that Major Esterhazy will take part in the
manœuvres. Thus I found all the evidence in harmony.
“General de Pellieux spoke yesterday of a secretary
named Mulot whom I had questioned. It is perfectly true,
and General de Pellieux got the information from me. I
ask the jurors to remember the letters written to me by
General Gonse, and the testimony given here by General
Gonse on February 9. General Gonse, in his letter, told me
not to continue with the experts, but to try to find out how
the documents were obtained and copied. In his testimony
General Gonse said that it was necessary at that moment for
me to question the artillery officers with whom Major Esterhazy
might have been at the manœuvres and the firing
school, and find out what they perhaps had copied. Well,
gentlemen, I am astonished that I am now reproached at
having sent for Mulot, who was one of the two secretaries
employed by Esterhazy. I thought that, if I could be reproached
with anything, it was with having questioned only
him; and I will tell you why. I had been advised to question
the sub-officers, but very discreetly, so that the matter
would not be noised abroad. Well, the difficulties that I
met convinced me that it was impossible to get this information
without asking for it. So I sent for Mulot, and said to
him: ‘There have been indiscretions in the press. The
minister desires to know if any documents have been copied
in the offices that should not have been.’ He answered: ‘I
was the secretary of Major Esterhazy, and copied such and
such documents,’ which he enumerated. I could not press
him without putting him on the track that I was following.
He told me that Esterhazy delivered many lectures, and that
he had to copy for him passages from books. I remember
only one thing. He spoke to me of a manual. I believe
that I showed him the manual of artillery practice, and
asked him if that was it. He said: ‘No.’ Then I allowed
him to go, and I did not follow up the matter, because it
was not possible to do so without compromising Esterhazy
and giving rise to rumors. But I am astonished that under
these circumstances, it being known that I had questioned
Mulot unsuccessfully, Mulot should have been the only one
cited before the council of war. I am astonished that they
did not summon the other secretaries whom Esterhazy had
employed, and especially the secretary that he employed in
the spring of 1896 to copy sundry documents for him. One
fact is patent,—that at that time the colonel of the 74th gave
to Major Esterhazy a confidential document. Its delivery is
proved either by a receipt or by a note in that report.
Well, at that time Major Esterhazy was employing someone
to copy documents or plans for him at home. It would have
been interesting to know whether he employed some one to
copy the document that his colonel gave him.
“There is another thing, which has deeply saddened me.
I hardly think it was General de Pellieux’s intention, but it
seems to me that he insinuated yesterday that it was my
desire to engage in a corrupt conspiracy against this man.
Possibly I spoke to the general of his military situation.
Possibly, on the other hand, he first spoke to me of it. But
I cannot suffer such a charge to be made against me. There
had never been any mention of Mulot’s deposition. I had
seen him in the witnesses’ room, but I simply said ‘Good
day’ to him, adding: ‘You did not think that you would
come here, did you?’ And it was only yesterday that I
learned through General de Pellieux’s testimony what was
thought of me in the matter.”
General de Pellieux, recalled, declared that he could
answer concerning two points only.
“I said yesterday,” he testified, “that the writer of the
bordereau was an officer, an officer in the war department,
and a licentiate. I said that he was a licentiate, because in
the war offices the officers are somewhat confined by their
services, and an officer in one bureau would find difficulty in
furnishing information from another bureau, whereas a licentiate
goes from one bureau to another, and consequently
is in a position to furnish information from many. It is true
that Major Esterhazy was at the manœuvres and at the firing
schools, but the note on Madagascar, since it was not until
August that the matter was elaborated in the war department,
could not have been furnished by Esterhazy, because
at that time he had been to the firing schools and the
manœuvres, and did not go again after August 16, while all
the licentiates were at the manœuvres until the end of
August. I care nothing for the importance of the documents
enumerated; what I wish to prove is that they were
not furnished by Esterhazy. One word more. Colonel Picquart
says that Mulot’s deposition was made behind closed
doors. True, but the investigation was not behind closed
doors, and in the investigation he made the declaration that
I spoke of yesterday. He made it in presence of Major
Ravary, and Major Ravary’s report was not read behind
closed doors. Send for Mulot; he will corroborate me.”
M. Labori.—“We shall be glad to send for any witnesses
that are desired. We wish to do nothing to increase the
darkness. I ask that each of the documents be examined
individually. Let Colonel Picquart give his explanations,
and let such of them as may be contested be discussed, one
by one.”
General Gonse then came to the stand.
“The documents enumerated in the bordereau are, first,
the note on cannon 120, and the way in which its hydraulic
check works. Well, the piece 120 is a piece which at the
time of which we speak was still new. Its check was new.
Knowledge of it was confidential and extremely technical.
I am not acquainted with the check, and I never saw the
piece fired. It is fired only under special conditions. It
may be that infantry officers have seen it fired, but only
from a distance, and certainly they are not in a position to
furnish any serious information regarding it, which indicates
that this note is a technical note that could have
come only from an artillery officer.”
The Judge.—“What is the second point in the
bordereau?”
General Gonse.—“The troupes de couverture. There is
nothing confidential here. These are troops that go to the
frontier when war is declared, to cover the mobilization of a
certain region and to prevent incursions of the enemy.
They come from points not far from the frontier, either on
foot or by rail. Well, in the month of April, or early in
1894, the staff reconstituted the plans for the transportation
of the troupes de couverture. These new plans could not
have been known outside of the staff. At this time was
made also a plan for the general concentration of the army.
But that plan it took a long time to finish, and the plan
regarding the troupes de couverture went into force in the
spring, while the plan of concentration was not completed
and put in force until the end of 1894, or the beginning of
1895. Meantime there were some modifications, some
changes of garrison among the troupes de couverture, some
modifications in the organization of artillery; consequently
the bordereau states the truth when it adds to the note concerning
the troupes de couverture that there have been some
modifications in the plan. Only an officer of the general
staff could have known these modifications and furnished
the note regarding them. No officer of troops, not even an
officer of a division staff, could have given this information.
“It is certain that anybody may make notes about Madagascar,
but in 1894 a note on Madagascar was made, destined
for the minister of war,—a secret note indicating measures to
be taken, measures that concerned the expedition, a whole
series of secret and confidential matters. When the
bordereau announced this note, we were extremely surprised.
It did not occur to anyone that the reference might
be to a note taken from a newspaper or magazine. As to
the firing manual, we never give the manual of artillery
practice to infantry regiments; so it seems, too, that only an
artillery officer could have furnished that.
“Colonel Picquart said just now that I prescribed the
course that he should follow in his investigations, telling
him to question artillery officers, which he did. But he
fails to say that the result was negative. He went to an
artillery regiment in garrison at Versailles, and questioned
the officers. But the information given him was negative.
Colonel Picquart told me so himself.”
Colonel Picquart.—“I questioned an artillery officer of a
regiment in garrison at Versailles, having previously
obtained the authorization of the colonel; but I did not go
farther for the same reasons that kept me from further
questioning the secretary, as I have already stated. Now I
come to the question of the bordereau. Dates must not be
confused. There were manœuvres in the autumn of 1894,
but the bordereau was written in April. What struck me
were the words: ‘I am about to start for the manœuvres.’
It was not the autumn manœuvres that were then
approaching.”
General de Pellieux.—“One word. The bordereau was
not written in April. I appeal to General Gonse.”
M. Labori.—“It has always been said at the war department
that it was written in April.”
General de Pellieux.—“Not at all.”
M. Labori.—“This is an interesting point. Will you ask
whichever of these gentlemen it is who knows, at what date
the bordereau was written, and at what date it was seized;
and, when I say seized, I mean at what date it fell into the
hands of the minister?”
General Gonse.—“It reached the department toward the
end of September, 1894.”
M. Labori.—“And at what date was it written?”
General Gonse.—“There is no date. It must have been
written toward the month of August, since there is a question
in it of a note about Madagascar.”
M. Labori.—“Just now General Gonse made use of the
phrase: ‘A note on Madagascar,’ as a basis for saying it was
certainly very serious, since in the month of August a very
serious note on Madagascar was made; and now he makes
use of this date, August 10, to fix the date of the bordereau.
This is a begging of the question.”
General Gonse.—“Permit me. I do not give the date
with absolute certainty. I know only that the bordereau
reached the department at the end of September. We suppose
that it must have been written toward August.”
M. Labori.—“At what date was the important note on
Madagascar drawn up in the department?”
General Gonse.—“In the course of the month of August.”
M. Labori.—“I read from the Dreyfus indictment:
Regarding the note on Madagascar, which offered great interest for a
foreign power, an expedition had been sent there toward the beginning of
1894. Captain Dreyfus could easily have procured it. In fact, in the
month of May last Corporal Bermelin, then Colonel Sandherr’s secretary,
copied its twenty-two pages in the ante-room next to the office of
this superior officer. The making of the copy took about five days, and
in the meantime original and copy were left in a blotting-case.
“I ask General Gonse how he reconciles the date August,
which he has given, with the report of M. d’Ormescheville,
which gives the date February, 1894; and how he explains
the copying of notes so serious by a corporal, during five
days, in an ante-room?”
General Gonse.—“There was a note in August. I do not
know whether there was a note in February.”
M. Labori.—“You see, gentlemen, how important it is to
be exact. This matter is being continually befogged by
equivocation. They say it is a note on Madagascar which
was written in August, 1894, and, when we consult M.
d’Ormescheville’s report relating to the Dreyfus case, and
consequently to the bordereau, we find mention of a note
written in February, 1894. So that matter is settled.”
General Gonse.—“I have nothing to say. I maintain all
that I have said.”
M. Labori.—“I ask that Colonel Picquart be heard on
these points.”
Colonel Picquart.—“I have another word to say concerning
the troupes de couverture. I said just now that I did not
believe that the author of the bordereau was connected with
the department. Otherwise he would not have written: ‘A
note on the troupes de couverture; there will be some modification
in the new plan.’ If, as I had always believed
hitherto, the bordereau was written in April, the writer
alluded to modifications just made. Now, the modifications
that had just then been made were then considered definitive,
although later they were slightly changed. I know something
about this, because I drew them up.”
M. Labori.—“Why have you always supposed that the
bordereau was written in April?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I have always heard it so said at the
war offices.”
The Judge.—“You do not know of your own knowledge?”
Colonel Picquart.—“No.”
M. Labori.—“Now I am going to ask Colonel Picquart—for
I imagine that at the point at which things have now
arrived he will not refuse to answer—whether he was not
delegated by the minister of war to attend the Dreyfus
trial.”
Colonel Picquart.—“I maintain my first declaration.”
M. Labori.—“You refuse to answer?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Yes.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Does General de Pellieux think that
Colonel Picquart may answer?”
General de Pellieux—“I cannot speak of the Dreyfus
trial. I had nothing to do with it.”
M. Clemenceau.—“That is not my question. I ask: Does
General de Pellieux think that Colonel Picquart may answer
the question put to him?”
General de Pellieux.—“Colonel Picquart is judge of his
own answers. I have no advice or command to give him.”
M. Clemenceau.—“It is not advice or command that I ask,
but an opinion.”
General de Pellieux.—“I have no opinion to offer to
Colonel Picquart.”
M. Labori.—“Then, Monsieur le President, will you ask
General Gonse if Colonel Picquart was not delegated by the
minister of war to attend the Dreyfus trial?”
General Gonse.—“I have not to answer that question.”
M. Labori.—“Then I say to the jury that it is the truth,
and, if it is not true, let one or the other of these gentlemen
contradict me. Now I ask General Gonse how he knows
that the notes enumerated in the bordereau furnished any
serious revelations regarding the important subjects
mentioned.”
General Gonse.—“From the titles themselves. I cannot
suppose that these notes contained trifles.”
M. Labori.—“Then I ask General Gonse this question: A
traitor is a man who delivers documents for money. When
he delivers a serious document, does he not show its importance,
and, when he says ‘a note,’ can it be taken to be a
document instead of a personal note?”
General Gonse.—“I have no answer to make on that
matter.”
M. Labori.—“Come back now to this passage of the
bordereau:
This last document is very difficult to procure. I was able to have it
at my disposal for a few days only. The minister of war sent a definite
number to the corps, and for these the corps are responsible. Each officer
must return his copy after the manœuvres.”
General Gonse.—“After the firing lessons.”
M. Labori.—“Pardon me; it says after the manœuvres;
and that is very interesting, for here is an officer going to the
manœuvres, who can use this document during the manœuvres,
having not to restore it till after the manœuvres.
Then I ask General Gonse: Why is this document difficult
to procure, and why could the officer in question have it for
a few days only?”
General Gonse.—“Regarding that, you should ask an
officer of the third division,—the artillery division of the war
department. I give only an opinion. I believe that, when
these documents exist only as projects, the copies are numbered.
They give perhaps ten to a regiment of artillery;
these ten copies must be restored intact after use of them, so
that, if they gave only ten, and there were thirty or forty
officers, no single officer could keep his copy long. But this
is only a supposition, because the distribution does not
concern me. I know it only by hearsay.”
M. Labori.—“But just now it was necessarily an artilleryman.
I say, at any rate, that it is necessarily a corps officer,
for he would have a manual only during the time of the
manœuvres. Is that General Gonse’s interpretation?”
General Gonse.—“Yes. But that does not prove that it is
a regiment officer. It must be an artillery officer, and not an
officer of a regiment of infantry, for this manual never goes
to the infantry.”
The Judge.—“You said just now that it must be an artillery
officer and a licentiate.”
General Gonse.—“It was not I who said that; it was
General de Pellieux. But I corroborate him, because the
enumeration of the documents in the bordereau concerns the
artillery division. The hydraulic check does not concern us
at the staff. It is a technical matter in the artillery domain.
The matter of the troupes de couverture concerns at least
three bureaus of the staff,—the first, third, and fourth. The
writer of the bordereau then must have been an officer
initiated in the work of these three bureaus.”
The Judge.—“My inquiry concerned the words ‘and at
the same time a licentiate.’”
General Gonse.—“The licentiates remain two years with
the staff, passing six months in each of the four bureaus.”
General de Pellieux.—“The bordereau says: ‘A certain
number of these documents were sent to the corps.’ An
infantry officer would have said: ‘A certain number of these
documents were sent to the artillery corps.’”
M. Clemenceau.—“Would an artillery officer at the firing
lessons have refused to lend his manual to a major of
infantry?”
General Gonse.—“It is certain that it might have been
done, because there is no distrust of the officers of infantry;
but, if I remember rightly, the information obtained by
Colonel Picquart from the artillery officers was to the effect
that Major Esterhazy paid very little attention to what was
going on on the firing grounds, and spent his time in smoking
cigarettes.”
M. Labori.—“Then what becomes of that extraordinary
zeal which was made so much of before the council of war, to
explain Major Esterhazy’s strong desire to go to the manœuvres
at his own expense? Why was he so zealous, if he
wanted to do nothing but smoke cigarettes? If he had asked
an officer to lend him the manual, he would not have done so
in order to follow the firing, for it is our contention that he
wanted it in order to deliver it to a foreign power.”
Colonel Picquart.—“General Gonse said that the writer of
the bordereau must have been a licentiate who had passed
through the first, third, and fourth bureaus. Well, this
bordereau has been attributed to a person who had not
reached the third bureau at the time of the appearance of the
bordereau, and who was then in the second bureau, which
relates to foreign armies. If, then, this person had had anything
to deliver, it would have been other things,—for
instance, how much we know about the status of foreign
armies.”
A recess was then taken, and, when the court came in
again, General de Pellieux asked to be recalled.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” said he, “I have an observation
to make concerning what has just taken place. So far, we
have kept strictly within the bounds of legality. We have
said nothing of the Dreyfus case, and I do not wish to speak
of it. But the defence has just read publicly a passage from
the report of Major d’Ormescheville, which was made behind
closed doors. I ask, then, to speak, not of the Dreyfus case,—I
shall not speak of it,—but I say, as Colonel Henry said:
‘They want the light; they shall have it.’ At the time of the
Castelin interpellation in 1896, a thing occurred which I
desire to point out. There came to the war department—and
notice that I do not speak of the Dreyfus trial—absolute
proof of the guilt of Dreyfus. This proof I have seen.
There came to the war department a paper the origin of
which cannot be contested, and which contained these words:
‘There is going to be an interpellation regarding the Dreyfus
case. Never tell the relations that we had with that Jew.’
Gentlemen, the note is signed. It is not signed with a known
name, but attached to it is a visiting-card, and on the back of
this card are a few words making an unimportant rendezvous
signed with the same name that is signed to the document,
and the visiting-card bears the name of the person. Well,
gentlemen, a revision of the trial has been sought by indirect
methods. I bring you this fact. I make the declaration on
my honor, and I appeal to General de Boisdeffre in support
of my testimony.”
M. Labori.—“I ask the floor for a moment, not to answer
General de Pellieux, but to point out immediately the necessary
consequence of his words, so far as this case is concerned.
I ask the floor, Monsieur le Président, to say two
words.”
The Judge.—“Two words only?”
M. Labori.—“Two words only.”
The Judge.—“Have you a question to put?”
M. Labori.—“How could I have questions to put in answer
to an absolutely new matter just brought into the trial?”
General de Pellieux.—“You have brought into the trial a
new matter by reading the indictment framed by Major
d’Ormescheville, which was read behind closed doors.”
M. Labori.—“We are advancing, we are advancing.”
General Gonse.—“I ask the floor.”
The Judge.—“Presently, general.”
M. Labori.—“A matter of exceptional gravity has just
arisen. There is one point on which we are all agreed here:
General de Pellieux has not spoken of the Dreyfus trial.
He has spoken of something that happened after the Dreyfus
trial. This matter, then, must be discussed here. After
such a statement, there can be no restriction of the debate.
I point out to General de Pellieux that no document can
have any scientific value as proof, until it has been discussed
openly. We have now reached a point in this affair—an
affair that is assuming the proportions of a State affair—where
we are in the presence of two documents, or two files
of documents, equally serious,—a secret file which was the
basis of the conviction of Dreyfus in 1894 without contradiction,
without discussion, without defence, and a second
secret file which has been used for weeks to prevent anything
but assertions from being made in this court. What
ever respect I may have for the word of General de Pellieux
as a soldier, I cannot grant that this document has the
slightest importance. As long as we do not know it, until
we have discussed it, until it shall be publicly known, it will
go for nothing. And it is in the name of the eternal right of
principles venerated from the beginning of civilization that
I utter these words. Consequently I now arrive at a point
so precise that my tranquillity, from any point of view, is
increased. Only one thing has worried me—the constant
obscurity, the increase of public anxiety, thanks to the
daily thickening darkness, thickened I do not say by lies,
but by equivocations. Whether Dreyfus be guilty or innocent,
whether Esterhazy be guilty or innocent, these are
questions of the highest gravity. General de Pellieux, the
minister of war, General Gonse, and myself are entitled to
convictions upon them, and we are capable of going on forever
unless the absolute light is brought out. But it will
not do to let the excitement of the country go on increasing.
Now we have a means, without closed doors, and without
court decrees, of arriving at the light, at least at partial
light, for the revision of the Dreyfus trial is now a thing of
necessity. The protests of the crowd show that it does not
understand the seriousness of this trial from the eternal
standpoint of civilization and humanity. If Dreyfus is
guilty, and if the statements of these generals are well
founded, the proof will come out in a fair trial. If they are
mistaken, the contrary will be proved, and, when the light
shall be absolute, and all the darkness dissipated, there will
be perhaps in France one or two men really guilty and responsible,
and, whether they be on the one side or the other,
they will be known and marked. And then we shall go
quietly back to our works of peace or war,—for nobody fears
war with generals worthy to speak in the name of the army
which they command; and not by threats of war, which is
not approaching, whatever they may say, are the jurors to
be intimidated. Let General de Pellieux explain himself
without reserve, and let the document be produced.”
The Judge.—“General Gonse, what have you to say?”
General Gonse.—“I confirm the testimony of General de
Pellieux. He has taken the initiative, and he has done well.
I would have taken it in his place, to avoid all equivocation.
The army does not fear the light. To save its honor, it does
not fear at all to tell the truth. But prudence is a necessity,
and I do not believe that proofs of this character, though
they are real and absolute, can be brought here and made
public.”
General de Pellieux.—“M. Labori spoke just now of revision
on the strength of the communication of this secret
document to the council of war. There has been no proof of
such communication. I do not know whether Colonel
Henry’s testimony of the other day was listened to with
sufficient attention. He pointed out that Colonel Sandherr
had delivered to him a secret file, which had been sealed
before the sitting of the council of war and had never been
opened. Now, for a revision of the Dreyfus trial because of
this document, what is necessary? The proof.”
The Judge.—“We have not to concern ourselves with
revision. That cannot be done here.”
General de Pellieux.—“There is talk of nothing else.”
The Judge.—“I know that, but it cannot be done in an
assize court. General Gonse, have you anything more to
say?”
General Gonse.—“No.”
General de Pellieux.—“I ask that General de Boisdeffre
be sent for to confirm my words.”
The Judge.—“Will you ask him to come tomorrow?”
General de Pellieux.—“Major Delcassé, take a carriage
and go for General de Boisdeffre at once. I wish to say that
I have brought up this letter only because I was forced to.
Major d’Ormescheville told me himself that the newspapers
mutilated his report. I ask that he be called to testify.”
M. Labori.—“Since it was I who read from this report, I
ask permission to answer General de Pellieux in two words.”
The Judge.—“Is it a material fact?”
M. Labori.—“This report has been published. I had
nothing to do with its publication.”
General de Pellieux.—“Has it been published in full?”
M. Labori.—“I do not know.”
General de Pellieux.—“Ah! that is the question.”
M. Labori.—“No, that is not the question, for there are
several questions.”
General de Pellieux.—“It is one of the questions.”
M. Labori.—“The question is whether the note to which
General Gonse attributed the date of August was really
written in February. Whether some pages were omitted or
not does not alter this fact. If the report has not been published
entire, I ask that it be published entire. And I shall
have only to congratulate myself when it appears, because
thus we shall arrive at that light for which we are continually
asking, and which will never be made too complete to
suit us. General de Pellieux sends for General de Boisdeffre.
He is right, but I wish to say—and within forty-eight
hours my words will be recognized as prophetic—that
it will not be possible to stop the debate at the words of
General de Pellieux or at those of General de Boisdeffre.
Either these documents must not be spoken of, or else they
must be shown. That is why I say to General de Boisdeffre:
‘Bring the documents, or say no more’.”
M. Clemenceau.—“General de Pellieux told us that at the
time of the Castelin interpellation they had absolute proofs.
Does that mean that, before that, they had only relative
proofs? I ask General de Pellieux—and it is a question that
is beginning to be asked everywhere—how it happens that it
is in an assize court that so serious an assertion is made?
How happens it that General Billot, in the course of the
Castelin interpellation, did not speak of these secret documents
to the chamber, any more than he threatened the
chamber with war? It is to an assize court that they come to
say these serious things, and reveal secret documents.”
General de Pellieux.—“I have not threatened the country
with war. All this is to play upon words. It is none of my
affair whether General Billot spoke of this document at the
time of the Castelin interpellation. General Billot does as he
sees fit. Surely he said to the chamber several times:
‘Dreyfus was justly and legally convicted.’”
M. Labori.—“I interrupt to say that at least one of those
two words is false.”
General de Pellieux.—“Prove it.”
M. Labori.—“It is proved.”
M. Clemenceau.—“We have tried to prove it, and have
been prevented, and, if General de Pellieux wishes me to
explain further, I am ready to do so.”
The Judge.—“It is useless.”
M. Labori.—“It is proved by M. Salle; it is proved by M.
Demange; it is proved by publications in the newspapers
that have not been contradicted; it is proved by General
Mercier, who did not dare to look me in the face and say the
contrary, though I had sent him, through the newspapers of
the day before, a challenge which he has answered by silence,
which he answered by a distinction which in itself alone is a
decisive proof, for, when I said: ‘General Mercier delivered
a document to the council of war, and has boasted of it publicly
everywhere,’ General Mercier, throwing another equivocation
into the debate,—I do not say wilfully, perhaps
unconsciously,—answered; ‘That is not true,’ and I said to
him: ‘What is not true,—that you have not said it everywhere,
or that you did not deliver the document?’ and he
answered me: ‘Simply that I have not boasted of it everywhere.’
So I say that to every honest mind the proof is
made, and the proof that the proof is made is that no one
has risen to say what General de Pellieux will not dare to
say. I defy him to say it. Well, I say that the proof is
made.”
General de Pellieux.—“How do you expect me to say
what happened in the Dreyfus trial? I was not there.”
M. Labori.—“It is well. I thank you, my general.”
M. Clemenceau.—“We brought here a witness who had it
from the lips of one of the members of the council of war
that a secret document was communicated to the judges.
We were not allowed to question him.”
M. Labori.—“I have two letters that say the same thing,
and I have another letter from a friend of the president of
the republic, declaring that he will not come to testify,
because he has been warned that, if he tells the truth, they
will declare him a liar.”
M. Clemenceau.—“As to the secret document, why did not
General Billot show it to M. Scheurer-Kestner when that
gentleman went to see him? In that case the whole matter
would have been finished by this time.”
Cutting the matter short, the court called the next witness.
It was Major Esterhazy. He advanced to the bar, and rested
himself upon it, facing the jury. A guard followed him,
stopping a little distance away. But M. Labori insisted that
the trial could not go on until the declarations of General de
Pellieux had been either overthrown or confirmed, and, General
de Boisdeffre not having arrived, the court postponed
the hearing of Major Esterhazy to the following day, and an
adjournment was declared.
At the opening of the hearing the judge called General de
Boisdeffre to the bar, and said to him:
“General, yesterday an incident occurred which we did
not expect. Although it concerns a matter outside of this
trial, in view of what was said, and in view of the demand
for your testimony, we thought it our duty to send for you.
Let me read to you the stenographic report of the declaration
made here yesterday by General de Pellieux.”
When the judge had finished reading, General de Boisdeffre
spoke as follows:
“I shall be brief. I confirm General de Pellieux’s deposition
in all points as exact and authentic. I have not a word
more to say, not having the right. And now, gentlemen,
permit me, in conclusion, to say one thing to you. You are
the jury; you are the nation. If the nation has no confidence
in the commanders of its army, in those who are
responsible for the national defence, they are ready to leave
this heavy task to others; you have only to speak. I will
not say a word more. Monsieur le Président, I ask your
permission to withdraw.”
The Judge.—“You may withdraw, General. Bring in the
next witness.”
M. Labori.—“Pardon me, I have some questions to put.”
The Judge.—“You have not the floor. The incident is
closed.”
M. Labori.—“Pardon me, Monsieur le Président” ...
The Judge.—“You have not the floor. [To the court
officer.] Bring in Major Esterhazy.”
M. Labori.—“I have some questions to put to the
witness.”
The Judge.—“This was an incident outside of the trial.
You have not the floor.”
M. Labori.—“Monsieur le Président, I ask you for the
floor.”
The Judge.—“I do not give it to you.”
M. Labori.—“Will you permit me to make some observations,
in order to indicate why I ask the floor.”
The Judge [to the court officer].—“Bring in Major
Esterhazy.”
M. Labori.—“I am going to offer a motion in order to obtain
the floor.”
The Judge.—“The court will pass upon it later. Bring
in Major Esterhazy.”
M. Labori then began to draw up his motion, and in the
meantime Major Esterhazy was ushered in. As he took the
stand, the judge said: “M. Labori, what questions have
you to put?”
M. Labori [without rising].—“Monsieur le Président, I
am drawing up my motion.”
The Judge.—“Well, I am going to question the witness.
It has been declared in this trial that you were the author of
the famous bordereau. What have you to say thereupon?”
Major Esterhazy.—“I ask permission to make a declaration
to the jurors before answering you.”
The Judge.—“You can make such a declaration, now that
you have taken the oath.”
Major Esterhazy.—“Gentlemen of the jury, I do not know
whether you realize the abominable situation in which I am
placed. Without the shadow of a proof, a wretch, M.
Mathieu Dreyfus, has dared to accuse me of being the
author of the crime for which his brother is being punished.
He has accused me of the crime of high treason. For seven
weeks two examinations were in progress. My accusers
had a chance to produce all their proofs. They were offered
the widest latitude; they produced nothing. I have been
judged by my peers, by my superiors, who have acquitted
me unanimously. Today, in contempt of all rights, in contempt
of all the rules of justice. I am summoned before you,
not as a witness, but as an accused. I protest with all my
might against this treatment. I am kept in the witnesses’
room, and not allowed to put anyone forward in my justification.
Meantime my accusers question the witnesses whom
they have prepared. There is no one to raise his voice in my
favor. During the last eighteen months, in the shadow,
there has been woven against me the most frightful conspiracy
ever woven against any man. During that time I
have suffered more than anyone of my contemporaries has
suffered in the whole of his life. I have been made the object
of the most infamous manœuvres, the most cowardly
manœuvres,—for it is especially cowardice that figures in
this campaign. I am ready to answer all the questions that
the court or the jurors may ask me. It is your right. As
for these people, I do not answer them.”
The Judge.—“M. Labori, have you any questions to
put?”
M. Labori.—“I am drawing up my motion, Monsieur le
Président.”
The Judge.—“Witness, you may be seated.”
M. Labori.—“I add that I shall have some questions to
put to the witness.”
The Judge.—“You will put them now, or not at all.”
M. Labori.—“I call attention to the way in which, twice
in succession, you have refused me the means of maintaining
the defence.”
The Judge.—“I repeat to you that you are not the
director of the trial.”
M. Labori.—“I do not direct the trial. The proof of that
is that you forbid me the floor. I have a right to offer motions.
I am drawing up a motion. When the court shall
have passed upon it, I will put questions. You will pass
upon it in the fulness of your rights. As for me, I will appeal
by every way that is open to me.”
The Judge.—“You have the right to appeal, but as for
me, I will direct the trial as to me seems proper. You ask
the floor on a matter foreign to the trial. I have refused it
to you, and I still refuse it to you. If you have no questions
to put to Major Esterhazy, we shall ask him to be
seated.”
M. Labori.—“I have questions to ask, but I will not ask
them until the court shall have passed upon my motion.”
The Judge.—“The court will pass upon it tomorrow.”
M. Labori.—“The court will pass upon it when it likes,
but, as for me, not another word shall be gotten from me.”
The Judge.—“Witness, take your seat.”
The court then called other witnesses, but none appeared.
Thereupon General de Pellieux asked for the floor.
The Judge.—“Certainly.”
General de Pellieux.—“I have just received the declaration
of a person whose name is on this card. This person
was questioned day before yesterday by M. Atthalin. I ask
that he be heard. He has an especially important declaration
to make regarding a money proposition that has been
made to him. He is in the Salle des Pas-Perdus, ready to
come up. His name is M. Bouton. I do not know him.”
The Judge.—“We will hear this witness presently, if
there is occasion.”
The court then declared a recess. An hour and a half
later the court came in again, whereupon M. Labori read the
following motion:
May it please the court,
Whereas, after the deposition of General de Boisdeffre, M. Labori
asked the floor in order to put several questions to the witness;
Whereas the incident in question was raised spontaneously during
yesterday’s session by General de Pellieux, who invoked, as a so-called
proof against Dreyfus, and consequently as a so-called decisive defence
of Major Esterhazy, two documents without any appearance of value or
authenticity;
Whereas, without having to touch any point concerning the national
defence, the accused have a right to put to the witnesses in a general way
questions relative to their depositions, and of such a nature as to aid in
bringing out the truth;
Whereas the accused cannot be forbidden, without outrageously violating
the rights of defence, to ask questions concerning the manner in
which General de Pellieux was made acquainted with these documents,
the conditions under which they were shown to him, in order to find out
whether they have been examined by experts, etc.;
Whereas it cannot be pretended that General de Pellieux made a
declaration so spontaneous that it was impossible to stop him;
Whereas in fact, General de Boisdeffre, whose deposition had been
announced in advance, has been called to the bar, after a day’s reflection,
with the consent of the court and with full knowledge of the circumstances,
in order to confirm the declaration of General de Pellieux;
Whereas there is no occasion here to inquire into the value, from the
standpoint of equity and right, of judicial processes which consist in
calling, or allowing to come daily, to the bar generals who testify free of
all control, and without prevention of any sort, concerning matters which
it pleases them to approach, invoking or violating closed doors or professional
secrecy at their convenience;
But whereas in any case, and making, moreover, concerning this matter,
all legal reserves, the accused believe it their duty to establish the
following fact: The judge of the assize court, answering M. Labori, who
asked for the floor in the terms of Article 319 of the code of criminal examination,
and solely to put questions to witnesses; declared that the
floor should not be given to him, and that no question should be asked
either of General de Boisdeffre or of General de Pellieux;
Whereas the court made this answer before any question had been
formulated;
Whereas M. Labori then asked to be allowed to offer a motion, in
order to establish this refusal, and to make known to the court the
reasons of fact and law by which he intended to obtain the floor immediately
in the interest of the defence;
Whereas the judge refused to let M. Labori offer his motion;
Whereas the judge of the assize court undoubtedly has a right to
direct the trial and to put questions to witnesses, but whereas, that this
right may be exercised in conformity with the law, with equity, and with
good sense, it is indispensable that the judge should at least inform
himself of the questions to be put;
Whereas the refusal of the court, under the general, rigorous, and
absolute conditions in which it was declared, constitutes, from all points
of view, and especially after the depositions of General de Pellieux and
General de Boisdeffre, which are thus left without answer and with the
protection of justice, a manifest violation of the rights of defence;
Whereas by the deposition of General de Boisdeffre the question of
confidence in the general staff is now laid before the jury, and the chief
of the general staff has indicated that a verdict of acquittal would be
followed by the resignation of the general staff;
Whereas the defence thus finds itself confronted with a really abusive
intervention of military authority in a matter of justice, and whereas it
would be a veritable denial of justice to prevent the accused from disproving
the serious charges made against them at this bar with the
authorization of the court;
Whereas, in consequence of these facts, the judge summoned the next
witness, Major Esterhazy;
Whereas, after having put a question to him upon the refusal of the
defence to put questions itself for the reason that it needed time to draw
up a motion, the judge invited M. Labori to put questions to Major
Esterhazy if he thought it useful to do so, telling him that he must put
them then, or that he would not be allowed to put them later;
Whereas, after this declaration, and in spite of the protests of the
defence, the witness, Major Esterhazy, was sent back to his seat, and
another witness was called;
Whereas it was only because no witness appeared at the bar that the
judge found himself under the necessity of declaring a recess, and that
the defence has had an opportunity of drawing up its motion;
Whereas all these facts have done serious injury to the rights of the
defence, the free exercise of which it is the business of the court to insure;
For these reasons,
To give the movers the benefit of record of the facts announced as the
reasons for the present motion;
To order that Generals de Pellieux and de Boisdeffre shall be recalled
to the bar, there to be examined on all questions that may be formulated
by the defence and thereafter put by the court;
To declare that the trial shall then go on according to the regular
forms prescribed by law, under all reserves, notably under that of recalling
to the bar Major Esterhazy when there shall be occasion;
And that will be justice.
Paris, February 18, 1898.
The Attorney-General.—“I have but a single observation
to make,—namely, to recall my declaration of the opening
day that the law is absolutely opposed to any attempt at
revision in the assize court. I asked the court to exclude
from the trial the Dreyfus file and the Esterhazy file. I
foresaw all that is taking place here. It is because we have
allowed ourselves to be drawn upon the ground which the
defence had chosen and prepared that all this has occurred.
Under these circumstances I have only to remain on the
ground where I first placed myself, and on that ground I
call for an open debate, but only on that ground.”
M. Labori.—“I do not ask the floor to plead. Nevertheless
it is fitting that the defence should say a word in answer
to the attorney-general, and I thank the court for allowing
me for once to take the floor.” [Murmurs of protest in the
court-room.]
The Judge.—“For ten sessions this has been going on.”
M. Labori.—“What has been going on, and what is increasing,
is the unfitting manifestations which the court
makes no effort to suppress. The attorney-general seeks
shelter behind the words that he uttered on the opening
day. He has seen nothing of what has been going on during
the last ten days, if he thinks that we are still at the point
where we were when he rose for the first time, on February
7, 1898. The facts have taken it upon themselves to prove
that, in presence of a situation so serious as this, procedure
and its subtleties are of no avail. I said, when I rose the
first time: ‘Do you imagine that you can stop a torrent by
placing yourself in the middle of it?’ You see that this
torrent flows on. But the attorney-general could not have
chosen a more inopportune moment for placing himself in
opposition to the full explanations that we desire. Was it
the accused who threw into the trial the incredible declarations
that were heard here yesterday, and that could not
resist ten minutes’ examination? We have nothing to do
with them. Generals have come here every day to plead,
not only with the oratorical talent that some of them possess,
but with their authority, with their uniform, with their
stripes, with their decorations” ...
The Judge.—“I shall take the floor from you, if you go
on in that tone; it the last degree of impropriety.”
M. Labori.—“I do not accept the word ‘impropriety.’
There is nothing improper in my words. I say that these
generals have come here to plead. Is that improper? I say
that they have pleaded here not only with their talent. Is
that improper?”
The Judge.—“No.”
M. Labori.—“I say that they have pleaded also with all
the authority given them by the love of this country for its
flag, which it wrongly confounds with them, for the flag is
to be confounded with nobody. The flag is a symbol.
[Cries of Enough! Enough!] Silence for those who do not
respect justice in default of respect for defence. Really,
who is it that is guilty of impropriety here, I ask?”
The Judge.—“The impropriety is in exciting the protests
that you excite.”
M. Labori.—“Pardon me, this trial has now risen to such
a point that such opinions as those which you have just
uttered, Monsieur le Président, have no weight with me,
whatever my respect for your functions. And you shall not
stop me, except by depriving me of the floor. It would not
be the first time, and, if the trial goes on in this way, I am
afraid that it will not be the last. That said, I resume my
explanations at the point where I left off. I say that the
attorney-general could not have chosen more inopportune
circumstances to remind us of his words on the opening day.
These generals have brought into the trial, not facts, but
assertions, which we are forbidden, I do not say to contradict,
but to discuss and examine. This is not the moment to
protest against the revision that we desire. Ah! yes, in
spite of all obstacles, by virtue of the forces that truth and
the sentiment of justice impart, we have been making this
revision here for the last ten days, and it is because we are
making it so successfully that by violent, morally violent,
and illegal means they are trying from day to day, by demolishing
each stone of the edifice that is rising in spite of
everything, to make against us a sort of counter-revision.
Well, there shall be no counter-revision here, unless we have
the right to reply. The debate has now risen far above the
condemned man on Devil’s Island, who is interesting not
because of his suffering, for there are so many men who
suffer, and in so many different ways, that one more or less
does not make much difference. He is interesting only because
he suffers in violation of law, by a verdict rendered in
the name of the people, in the name of the country. The
trial has risen far above Esterhazy, far above M. Zola and
M. Perrenx. It has risen above everybody. It is justice,
liberty, and right that are now in question, and it is in their
name that I offer in abstracto the motion which I have just
offered.
“You also, gentlemen of the court, have responsibilities
here. Do not answer our motion by equivocations. Do not
say that I have asked for the floor for an argument. It
would not be true. Confront the question as it is put. You
are to tell us, gentlemen, if new forms of justice are to be
inaugurated in this country. Neglect the tumult of an
audience which does not know why it rages. Neglect the
passions of people who trustingly believe in assertions that
cannot be examined, and could not stand examination for a
second. Do not forget that perhaps we are at a turning-point
in the history of this country; and that you are about
to render a decree the consequences of which no one can
measure.”
The court then rendered the following decree:
After listening to the accused and their counsel, and to the public
prosecutor, and after deliberating in conformity with the law;
Considering that, on the spontaneous demand of General de Pellieux,
the latter declared at yesterday’s session a fact relating to the Dreyfus
case, and that, in support of his declaration, he invoked the testimony of
General de Boisdeffre;
Considering that the latter, at today’s session, has confirmed the
declaration of General de Pellieux;
Considering that, in the terms of the decree of February 7, the court
has ordered that all incidents relating to the Dreyfus case should be
excluded from the trial, and that consequently every question relating to
these incidents must be excluded as of no utility and contrary to the
aforesaid decree;
Considering that consequently the presiding judge was right in
refusing the floor to the defence for the putting of any question under this
head, and in ordering that the trial should be proceeded with;
Adopting, furthermore, the reasons indicated in the aforesaid decree;
Considering, as concerns Major Esterhazy, that the presiding judge,
after having summoned the witnesses to the bar, invited the counsel of M.
Zola to put to him such questions as he might deem useful, and that the
counsel refused to put any questions at that moment, and that the presiding
judge had to question him officially;
Considering, further, that the direction of the trial belongs exclusively
to the president of the assize court in conformity with the law;
For these reasons,
The court declares that the presiding judge was right in refusing the
floor to the counsel of the accused for the putting of any question to
Generals de Pellieux and de Boisdeffre;
Declares that Major Esterhazy will be recalled to the bar, if there is
occasion;
Rejects consequently the motion of the defence, and declares that the
trial shall be proceeded with.
At this point M. Clemenceau inquired if General de Pellieux
had fulfilled his promise to obtain from the minister of
war an authorization of the production of the Uhlan letter.
General de Pellieux answered that the minister of war must
have written to the court in regard to it; but the court
declared that nothing had been received from General Billot.
Then M. Clemenceau asked that the court order a guard to
protect Mme. de Boulancy on her way to the court-room, she
being in the building, but fearing to traverse, unprotected,
the distance of one hundred and fifty feet between the point
where she was and the court-room. The request was denied.
Then Colonel Picquart was recalled to the stand.
M. Labori.—“Major Esterhazy has had in his hands a
document known as ‘the liberating document.’ It is
directly connected with the Esterhazy case, and is the document
that was seen in a certain file concerning which Colonel
Henry testified. It has been declared that this file was shut
up in a closet on the 15th or 16th of December, 1894, and was
not taken out again until it was seen on the desk of Colonel
Picquart in the presence of M. Leblois. Will Colonel Picquart
tell us what he knows about that file?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Colonel Henry’s testimony was incorrect.
The file was taken from the closet in the interval, I
have not to say for what circumstances, or for what purpose.
But Colonel Henry’s statement is not correct.
“Another thing. General Gonse said that the document
beginning: ‘That scoundrel D——’ had been in the hands
of several persons,—his own, Major Henry’s, Adjutant
Gribelin’s, and mine. Well, I say that it has been in the
hands of other persons. I need not enumerate them, but one
of the persons who had it in his possession for some time is
Colonel du Paty de Clam.
“I say further that, when this file was shut up in my
closet from the end of August to the beginning of November,
1896, I was not the only one who could get it. There were
at least two others who knew how to open my closet,—Adjutant
Gribelin and Major Lauth. Colonel Henry also
spoke of certain secret documents, extra-secret. I should
violate my professional duty, if I were to enumerate the
contents of that file. Until the minister of war shall relieve
me from the obligation of professional secrecy, I shall have
nothing to say regarding this. But I believe that Colonel
Henry somewhat exaggerates the importance of certain documents
therein. Evidently they are not documents for the
public, but, considering the fact that the bordereau and the
dispatch have been spoken of here, there are certainly other
documents in the file which could be spoken of. In fact,
there are certain of them whose authenticity it would be well
to verify, one especially which arrived at the moment when
Major Esterhazy needed to be defended against the charge
that he was the author of the bordereau, and when it was
necessary to prove that the author of the bordereau was
someone else. Well, it has been produced, it seems, for it
was never shown to me; but I have heard of it, and its origin
has not been stated; probably it fell from heaven. But, in
view of the moment of its production, and the language in
which it is framed,—language absolutely improbable,—I
think that there is reason to consider it a forgery.”
M. Labori.—“The document of which Colonel Picquart
speaks is the document alluded to here yesterday?”
Colonel Picquart.—“It is the document of which General
de Pellieux spoke. If he had not spoken of it yesterday, I
would not have spoken of it today. It is a forgery.”
General Gonse was then recalled for confrontation with
Colonel Picquart. But he declared that he could do no
more than repeat the declaration already made by General de
Boisdeffre.
Major Esterhazy was then called to the bar.
M. Labori.—“Major Esterhazy has declared that he will
not answer me. Consequently, in conformity with the law,
I ask him no question, but I ask the court to ask him what
he thinks of the writing of the bordereau, and to call his
attention to the fact that the question is put by the court.”
The Judge.—“I repeat the question to Major Esterhazy.
You are asked what you think of the writing of the
bordereau.”
Major Esterhazy.—“Although you do me the honor to
convey to me this question, Monsieur le Président, it is still
the question of M. Labori. Consequently I will not answer.”
M. Labori.—“Monsieur le Président, will you ask Major
Esterhazy if he has in his hands the letter that Captain
Brault wrote to him in 1893 to ask him for his handwriting—either
Captain Brault or a forger signing the captain’s
name?”
The Judge.—“Will you answer?”
Major Esterhazy.—“I will answer none of the questions
put to me. That is flat.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I ask permission to continue the experiment.
And, as the witness may at any time change his
mind, I will ask all the questions that I have to ask. The
witness will answer or not. Will you ask the witness how
he entered the French army,—by way of St. Cyr, by way of
the Polytechnic, or otherwise?”
The Judge.—“You hear the question.”
Major Esterhazy.—“Always the same reply.”
M. Clemenceau.—“At what time was the witness connected
with the French information service? Has he not
said that he was connected with it twenty years ago? Did
he not say that before the council of war?”
No answer.
M. Clemenceau.—“I will continue. Did the witness ever
know a person answering to the name of Mme. de
Boulancy?”
The Judge.—“Will you answer this question?”
Major Esterhazy.—“None, Monsieur le Président.”
A few “Bravos” were heard in the court-room.
M. Clemenceau.—“I beg the court to permit all these
manifestations on the part of the public. If you will permit
me, I will even join in them, because I consider that the
witness has adopted the only plan open to him. Placing
myself where he stands, I will applaud every time that he
refuses to answer the questions that I shall ask him. Does
the witness admit that he wrote a letter to Mme. de Boulancy
containing the following passage: ‘The Germans will
put all these people [meaning Frenchmen] in their right-place
before long’?”
The Judge.—“Major Esterhazy has declared that he will
not answer.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Pointing out that the witness has previously
admitted the authenticity of this letter, I continue.
Does the witness admit that he wrote a letter containing the
following passage: ‘There is the beautiful army of France;
it is shameful. And if it were not a question of position, I
would leave tomorrow. I have written to Constantinople.
If they offer me a position that suits me, I will go there, but
not without first administering to all these scoundrels a
pleasantry of my own’?”
After waiting a moment and receiving no reply, M. Clemenceau
continued:
“Are not the passages that I have just read contained in
letters whose authenticity the witness admitted to General
de Pellieux? [Silence.]
“Did not the witness deny to General de Pellieux the
authenticity of a single letter, called the Uhlan letter, in
which the passages that I have just read do not occur?”
[Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Did not the witness admit that the following
passage occurred in a letter written by him to Mme.
de Boulancy: ‘Our great commanders, poltroons and ignoramuses,
will go once more to fill the German prisons’?”
[Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Does the witness admit that the passage
just read was contained in a letter whose authenticity
he did not deny to General de Pellieux?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Does the witness admit that he wrote
to Mme. de Boulancy a letter containing the following passage:
‘I am absolutely at the mercy of this hussy, if I make
the slightest mistake with her; and it is a situation which is
far from pleasant. I hate her, you may believe, and I would
give everything in the world to be today at Sfax, and send
for her to come there: one of my horse soldiers, with a gun
capable of going off by chance, would cure her forever.’”
[Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Does the witness admit that this letter
was produced before General de Pellieux, and that he did
not deny its authenticity?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on. The major has told you that he
will not answer.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Does the witness admit that all
these letters containing the insults to the army and its commanders
which I have just read were written after the war of
1870 and 1871?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Monsieur le Président, I am going to
read a letter the authenticity of which the witness denies,
and, after that, I will ask him a question.”
M. Clemenceau then read the Uhlan letter, and followed it
with this question: “This letter having been seized at Mme.
de Boulancy’s, does the witness pretend that Mme. de Boulancy
is a forger?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“In certain interviews it has been stated
that Major Esterhazy had declared that Mme. de Boulancy
was either mad or a forger. Does the witness maintain that
declaration?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Has not the witness once stated that
the Uhlan letter could not have been written by him, since
he writes ‘Uhlan’ in the Hungarian fashion, while in the
letter it is written as it is usually written in France?”
[Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Does not the witness know that his
argument on that point has been met by the statement that,
in a letter whose authenticity cannot be denied, since it was
seized at the law office of M. Lortat-Jacob, there is mention
of the Uhlan, and that the word is spelled as in the letter to
Mme. de Boulancy?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“What is the explanation of the word
‘crime’ contained in a letter that I have read, and in which
Major Esterhazy indicated that perhaps he would be obliged
to commit a crime? What crime had he in mind? Did he
mean, as certain newspapers have stated, that he would be
ready to kill himself?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“If that be his explanation, how can he
admit the other affirmation made to a witness, M.
Autant, that Major Esterhazy was at that moment a man
who was ready to kill himself, when Major Esterhazy
declared before the council of war that he was not a man to
kill himself?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“You have no more questions?”
M. Clemenceau.—“Yes, Monsieur le Président. Does
the witness admit having written other letters to Mme. de
Boulancy and recently two telegrams?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“At first did not the witness deny all
these letters?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“After the motion made before the court,
did not Major Esterhazy admit that the passages indicated
in the motion were correct, notably the following: (1) ‘General
Saussier is a clown, whom the Germans would not have
in a circus;’ (2) ‘On reaching Lyons, the Germans will
throw away their guns, and keep only their bayonets, to
drive the Frenchmen before them’?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Concerning the first passage, did not
Major Esterhazy declare that he was simply reporting
remarks made by German officers at a dinner where French
officers were present?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Concerning the second passage, has not
the witness declared in an interview that the phrase was his,
but that it was his estimate of the way in which the city of
Lyons is defended? Concerning the first passage, will Major
Esterhazy explain to the court how it happened that French
officers were able to be present at a dinner where foreign
officers indulged in such remarks, and how it happens that
the French officers, and notably Major Esterhazy, did not
protest?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“In the passages that I have just read
Major Esterhazy repeatedly indicates that he was exasperated;
yet has not Major Esterhazy received excellent testimonials
from his superiors?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“On the eve of the appearance of Major
Esterhazy before the council of war, the chief of staff said
in a testimonial that he is ‘of the most distinguished superior
officers, and of elevated sentiments,—one who can aspire
to the highest positions in the hierarchy’; the brigadier-general,
that M. Esterhazy ‘is distinguished, remarkably
endowed, has all the qualifications of a commander, and has
a future’; the general of division, that he is ‘a superior
officer of personal value.’ Now, will the court ask the witness
if he was not a little surprised when he heard these
testimonials read before the council of war?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Were not the causes of his surprise (1)
that he has been short of money, and, to use his own expression,
had been to the people whose trade it is to lend money;
(2) that he speculated on the stock exchange, as indicated
by M. de Castro. [Silence.] I may go on, Monsieur le
Président?”
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Has not Colonel Picquart said that the
witness was short of money, and did he not give the names
of officers who had given him bad reports concerning Major
Esterhazy? Was not the witness’s acquaintance with
General Guerrier another reason for his surprise? The witness
has declared that his premises were robbed; when were
they robbed?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Before the council of war, the witness
was a little confused in his replies on this point. He was
unable to explain himself. Perhaps he would like to explain
himself in the assize court? [Silence.] Did the witness
ever prefer a complaint on account of this robbery?”
The Judge.—“Will you answer?”
Major Esterhazy.—“No, Monsieur le Président.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Was this robbery proved otherwise
than by the affirmations of Major Esterhazy? [Silence.]
Did Major Esterhazy reply to the council of war: ‘I supposed
that it was M. Mathieu Dreyfus? I would not have
believed that it was an officer. When they told me that, I
was dumbfounded.’ Does the witness adhere to the reply?
[Silence.] If he adheres to it, how can he explain his
answer that M. Mathieu Dreyfus was guilty of this robbery
in 1896, when at that time he could not have known the
name of M. Mathieu Dreyfus? [Silence.] How did the
witness learn that he was suspected of having written the
bordereau?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“When did he learn it?”
The Judge.—“You may go on. The witness has told you
that he will not answer you.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Has not the witness said that he
learned of it through a letter signed ‘Speranza,’ received in
the country, October 20, 1897, in which Colonel Picquart
was denounced, and in which it was said that Colonel Picquart
had paid soldiers for specimens of his handwriting?
[Silence.] Did not the witness learn through the note published
in ‘Le Matin’ on October 10, ten days before the 20th,
that M. Scheurer-Kestner knew who wrote the bordereau?
[Silence.] When the witness returned to Paris, did he not
observe the resemblance in the writing, and did he not say
that there was a frightful resemblance between the writing
of the bordereau and his own? [Silence.] Will the witness
explain concerning the veiled lady, and the circumstances
under which she conveyed to him the liberating document?
[Silence.] Did not Major Esterhazy have four meetings with
the veiled lady? [Silence.] At the second meeting, near
the spot where now stands the Bridge Alexander III, did
not the veiled lady hand to Major Esterhazy an envelope
containing a liberating document? [Silence.] Did not
Major Esterhazy declare before the council of war that he
had carried this document, this liberating document which
affirmed his innocence, in an envelope to the war department,
without knowing what the envelope contained?”
[Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“When the witness deposited this
liberating document at the war department, did they not
give him a receipt for it? [Silence.] When he appeared at
the war department with a secret document stolen from its
most secret closet, was not Major Esterhazy afraid of being
arrested as an accomplice in a robbery? [Silence.] Has
not Major Esterhazy made endeavors to find the veiled lady
again?” [Silence.]
The Judge.—“Go on.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Will Major Esterhazy tell us what, in
his opinion, were the motives that led Lieutenant-Colonel
Picquart to accuse him? [Silence.] Does Major Esterhazy
admit that he has written articles signed ‘Dixi’ for ‘La
Libre Parole’? Is Major Esterhazy aware that ‘La Libre
Parole’ lately declared that the articles thus signed were
from his pen? [Silence.] In these articles did Major Esterhazy
seriously insult Colonel Picquart, and especially accuse
him of having been bought in 1896? [Silence.] Does
Major Esterhazy admit having had relations with Colonel de
Schwarzkoppen?”
The Judge.—“Oh! nothing about that. Not a word concerning
foreign politics.”
M. Clemenceau.—“This does not concern foreign politics.”
The Judge.—“Say nothing of officers belonging to foreign
countries.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I have not a right to speak of an act
committed by a French officer?”
The Judge.—“No, let us not discuss that.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Is it true, as the newspapers have said,
that Major Esterhazy knew Colonel de Schwarzkoppen, and
went once in uniform to the German embassy for his colonel,
who desired to go to Alsace-Lorraine without being
disturbed?”
The Judge.—“I have told you that I will not put the
question.”
M. Clemenceau.—“Does the witness admit that he had
relations, not frequent, but not hidden, with Colonel de
Schwarzkoppen, military attaché of the German embassy,
whom he knew at Carlsbad, as ‘Le Paris’ says?”
The Judge.—“No, I will not put the question.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I will offer a motion, if necessary.”
The Judge.—“Oh, come!”
M. Clemenceau.—“Certainly. How is it that one cannot
speak of justice in a court?”
The Judge.—“Because there is something above that,—the
honor and safety of the country.”
M. Clemenceau.—“I note, Monsieur le Président, that
the honor of the country permits these things to be done,
but does not permit them to be said.”
Major Esterhazy was then allowed to step down, and his
place was taken by M. Jules Huret, of “Le Figaro,” who
testified that on November 17, 1897, he went to the garrison
at Rouen to question the officers regarding Major Esterhazy,
and found among them no astonishment at the mention of
Major Esterhazy’s name in connection with the bordereau,
one of them saying that Major Esterhazy, in spite of his
services in Tunis, and in spite of the services of his uncle
and father in the French army, was considered the rastaquouère
of the French army.
The defence then offered as a witness General Guerrier,
but the court declined to hear him, because his name was
not in the list of witnesses furnished by the defence to the
attorney-general. For the same reason the court declined to
hear M. Bouton, whose card had been passed up by General
de Pellieux. An adjournment was then taken until the
following day.
The proceedings opened with an application for the floor
from Colonel Picquart, who desired to vindicate himself
against aspersions cast upon him by witnesses and by the
newspapers. Referring first to a statement of “Le Petit
Journal” that he was a divorced husband, and was having
his children brought up in Germany, he declared that he was
not married, that he had never been, that he had no children,
and that, if he had any, he would not have them brought up
in Germany. Referring next to the statement of General de
Pellieux that he, Colonel Picquart, had endeavored to stimulate
the testimony of Mulot by promising him certain favors,
he said that General de Pellieux knew him only through the
three interviews that they had had on three afternoons, and
that he would like some military commander who knew him
better to be called to testify regarding his character. “I
will cite you,” said he, “one man whose past is glorious,
who has shed his blood on many battle-fields, a man who has
been mingled with our victories and our sorrows, a man who
certainly cannot be suspected of undue indulgence toward
his subordinates,—I mean General de Galiffet. I am certain
that, if General de Galiffet were called to this bar, he would
say what he said before the council of investigation, where
he did not fear to shake hands with me after saying what he
thought of me. I ask that he may come here to say what he
thinks of me. I do not know the proper means to employ;
but I desire it.”
M. Labori sustained the demand of Colonel Picquart that
General de Galiffet be called, but the court ruled that his
testimony would be useless.
In answer to questions put by M. Labori, Colonel Picquart
testified that, while he was at the head of the bureau of
information, one Marchand was connected with that service,
who was also an editor of “L’Eclair,” a “hold-over” from
the time of Colonel Sandherr, and that, at the time of certain
publications in “L’Eclair,” M. Marchand was questioned
about them, whereupon he denied being concerned in the
indiscretions, and endeavored, but unsuccessfully, to find
out who had given the documents to “L’Eclair.”
M. Labori.—“Did not General de Pellieux intervene
several times, of his own accord, in the course of Colonel
Picquart’s testimony before the council of war?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Please put that question to General
de Pellieux.”
Thus summoned, General de Pellieux advanced to the bar,
apologizing for his appearance in civil costume, declaring
that he had supposed his part in the affair was ended.
Instead of answering the question, he spoke as follows:
“The words uttered yesterday by the attorney-general
dictate my duty. I absolutely refuse to answer any question
of the defence not directly connected with the Zola case.
Now I have a word to add. In presence of Colonel Picquart,
I said at a previous session that everything in this case was
strange, but what I find still more strange—and I say it to
his face—is the attitude of a Monsieur who still wears the
French uniform, and who comes to this bar to accuse three
generals of having committed a forgery or made use of a
forgery.”
Colonel Picquart.—“In declaring yesterday that in my
eyes the document of which General de Pellieux had spoken
was a forgery, I insist that I had not the least intention of
casting suspicion upon the good faith of my superiors.
There are forgeries so perfect that they have the appearance
of a genuine document. For instance, there were the Norton
documents, I believe, which persons high in place thought
to be genuine. My thought should be interpreted from this
point of view, and I object to any other interpretation.”
M. Labori desired to say a few words regarding the
incident, but the court was opposed. “All this,” said the
judge, “has nothing to do” ...
M. Labori.—“Pardon me, Monsieur le Président” ...
The Judge.—“I am going to deprive you of the floor.”
M. Labori.—“Every time that you deprive me of the floor,
you do me a little more honor.”
The Judge.—“Well, it is understood; you may take your
seat.”
General de Pellieux.—“I would like to add a word. The
part that I have played in this matter has not been voluntary;
circumstances have forced it upon me.”
The Judge.—“Can the witness withdraw? Has the
defence any objection?”
M. Labori.—“I have no objection to anything, since I cannot
make any observations.”
The Judge.—“That is not the question.”
M. Labori.—“You ask me a question. Will you permit
me to answer it or not?”
The Judge.—“I ask you a question.”
M. Labori.—“You ask me if I object to the withdrawal of
General de Pellieux.”
The Judge.—“Answer yes or no.”
M. Labori.—“I cannot answer yes or no, because I have
distinctions to make.”
The Judge.—“Monsieur the attorney-general?”
The Attorney-General.—“Incidents may arise. The
general had better remain in the court-room.”
The Judge.—“Then, General, be good enough to remain in
the court-room.”
General de Pellieux.—“I remain at the disposition of the
court and the jury.”
M. Labori.—“As for me, I ask that it be recorded that the
court has asked me a question, and then deprived me of the
floor before I had replied.”
The Judge.—“But I have not deprived you of the floor.
I deprived you of the floor when you were going to argue.”
M. Labori.—“I have not argued.”
The Judge.—“This is too much.”
M. Labori.—“You had deprived me of the floor.”
The Judge.—“I did so because you desired to argue;
because it is my right; because it is my duty.”
M. Labori.—“It relates to a question.”
The Judge.—“The witness has answered that he will say
nothing.”
M. Labori.—“It is to you that I speak. I wish to induce
you to direct the trial in a manner that I am about to point
out. Do you give me the floor for that purpose?”
The Judge.—“No.”
M. Labori.—“Very well. It is not the court that is judge,
but the whole country.”
General Gonse was then called, and asked by M. Labori at
what date the hydraulic check was introduced into the
service.
General Gonse.—“I am not in charge of the artillery service,
and cannot answer.”
M. Labori.—“Will you permit me to comment upon the
testimony of the witness, to say regarding it that which is
indispensable to the truth, according to Article 319?”
The Judge.—“Ask questions only.”
M. Labori.—“Really, I ask myself if it would not be
better to quit this court-room than to suffer myself to be
thus gagged and placed in a strait-jacket.”
The Judge.—“Come, Monsieur Labori, say serious
things.”
M. Labori.—“Monsieur le Président, you abuse the right
that your lofty position gives you. You have no right to
insult me. Do you maintain that I do not say serious
things here?”
The Judge.—“Ask questions.”
M. Labori.—“It is well. You do not maintain it; I continue.
I ask Colonel Picquart to explain what he meant in
his testimony when he indicated that one of the documents
in the secret file applied rather to Major Esterhazy than
to another.”
Colonel Picquart.—“Had there not been mention of this
document in the Ravary report, I would not say a word
about it. I say that it applied rather to Major Esterhazy
than to another, because this document need only be seriously
discussed in order to make it plain that it can apply
only to an officer of troops, and not to a staff officer. I
could give my reasons only behind closed doors.”
M. Labori.—“Was not Colonel Picquart appointed chief
of the bureau of information on July 1, 1895?”
Colonel Picquart.—“Yes.”
M. Labori.—“When he entered upon his functions, did
not General de Boisdeffre say to him: ‘Occupy yourself
with the Dreyfus case. There is not much in the file’?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I have not to answer that question,
for it relates to conversations with the chief of staff.”
M. Labori.—“At what date did the witness say to General
Gonse: ‘I shall not carry this secret to the grave’?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I cannot speak of private conversations.
I have seen that statement in a newspaper, and
asked myself who could have given it out.”
M. Labori.—“Did not General de Boisdeffre in September
and October, 1896, after the letters of General Gonse, invite
Colonel Picquart to put questions regarding Major
Esterhazy?”
Colonel Picquart.—“The obligations of professional
secrecy prevent me from answering.”
M. Labori.—“Was it not then that Colonel Picquart proposed
to have Major Esterhazy arrested for certain matters
of indelicacy?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I considered that it would be useful
to arrest Major Esterhazy, and that, if the presumption that
he was a spy was not strong enough, there was enough
against him in other directions to warrant sending him to a
fortress. My superiors did not agree with me.”
M. Labori.—“This proposition having been rejected by
General de Boisdeffre, did he not ask Colonel Picquart to
formulate another?”
Colonel Picquart.—“I cannot testify in the assize court
concerning the details of my service.”
M. Labori.—“Did not Colonel Picquart then frame
another proposition, which was first accepted, and then rejected
because it would lead to Major Esterhazy’s arrest?
Does not that prove that the authenticity of the dispatch
was not disputed?”
Colonel Picquart.—“At that time nobody questioned the
authenticity of the dispatch.”
The stand was then taken by M. Stock, the publisher, who
at the time of the examination in the Esterhazy case had
turned over to General de Pellieux certain letters written by
Major Esterhazy to M. Autant, the architect.
“General de Pellieux undoubtedly took no account of
them,” said the witness, “for neither M. Autant or myself
was called before him. At that time Major Esterhazy said to
M. Autant: ‘You must deny having received these letters;
you must deny that I am your tenant; you must deny any
acquaintance with me; and, if questioned about the letters,
you must say that they are forgeries.’ M. Autant refused,
saying that that was contrary to the truth. Moreover, it
was childish, for there were two registered leases, and everybody
in the house knew Major Esterhazy. Later the letters
found their way into the hands of Major Ravary, and M.
Autant and I were called before him. He was very courteous,
but my testimony did not seem to please him. He
asked me why the letters had been photographed. I did not
know. He said that he considered it very strange that M.
Autant should have given up Major Esterhazy’s letters without
his consent. I found it very curious that this examining
magistrate should tell a witness to ask the opinion of the
accused before deciding what to do.”
M. Labori.—“Does the witness know anything concerning
M. Zola’s good faith?”
M. Stock.—“To me, as to everybody, it is absolutely evident.
Furthermore, I know, through the indiscretion of a
member of the council of war, that not simply one secret
document, but several, were communicated to that body. I
can enumerate them.”
The Judge.—“No, it is useless. We have no right to say
anything about the Dreyfus case.”
M. Stock.—“I can enumerate four of these documents, if
you like.”
The Judge.—“We are not concerned with the Dreyfus
case.”
The next witness was M. Lalance, who formerly sat in the
German reichstag representing Alsace-Lorraine, as protesting
deputy.
“I would like,” said the witness, “to tell the jury something
about the origins of this affair. I was acquainted with
the Sandherr and Dreyfus families,—that is, with the family
of the accuser and the family of the accused. I have lived
with them and seen them very closely. The elder Sandherr
was a Protestant who became a Catholic and showed the intolerance
of all neophytes. In 1870, the time of the war,
bands of people said to be directed by him ran through the
streets of Mulhouse, crying: ‘Down with the Prussians of
the interior!’ These Prussians were the Protestants and
Jews. These cries found no echo. Protestants, Jews, and
Catholics all did their duty during the war and after it.
When in 1874 the provinces were called upon to send deputies
to Berlin, it was a Jew who nominated the bishop of
Metz, and the Protestant deputies were nominated by the
priests. The younger Sandherr, the colonel, whom I knew
from childhood, was a good soldier and a brave and loyal
citizen, but he had inherited his father’s intolerance. Furthermore,
in 1893 he fell a victim to the brain disease of
which he was to die three years later. In that year he was
sent to Bussang to be cured. During his stay there, there
was a patriotic ceremony,—the return of the flag to the
regiment of light infantry. All the bathers went to see it.
Near them was a Jew, undoubtedly an Alsatian, who wept
with emotion. Colonel Sandherr turned to his neighbors,
and said to them: ‘I distrust those tears.’ His neighbors
asked him to explain, saying to him: ‘We know that there
were Jewish officers in the army who were patriotic and intelligent
and did their duty.’ Colonel Sandherr answered:
‘I distrust them all.’ Such was the man, gentlemen of the
jury, who proffered the accusation. It is legitimate to suppose
that he was governed by his feelings rather than by
justice. As for the Dreyfus family” ...
The Judge.—“Say nothing of Dreyfus.”
M. Lalance.—“The family, Monsieur le Président.”
The Judge.—“No, it is useless.”
M. Lalance.—“I desist, in obedience to your orders. But
I thought it might be useful for the jury to know what the
elder brother did.”
M. Labori then read the following letter received from M.
Gabriel Séailles, professor of philosophy at the Sorbonne,
who had been summoned, but was kept at home by illness.
Why did I sign the protest?
A man of the study. I can bring here only the testimony of my free
and sincere conscience. After the Dreyfus trial it never occurred to me
for a moment to call in question the legality of the verdict. I do not wish
to lessen the initiative of M. Zola, but it is not he who opened this
debate. It was opened by the unknown person who transmitted to ‘Le
Matin’ the fac-simile of the famous bordereau. On that day the question
was submitted to public opinion; an appeal was taken to the conscience
of each of us. There is no escape from the logic of events. Other things
occurred, other documents have been presented to us. We have seen a
bit of writing which, by the confession of its author, bears a frightful
resemblance to the handwriting of the bordereau. We have witnessed a
trial the conduct of which astonished us,—a trial where the witnesses
were transformed into the accused. We have read an indictment which
disconcerted us, because we sought in it in vain for what we expected to
find there. We may be condemned to silence, but we cannot prevent
ourselves from thinking. So my mind worked on the data that had been
furnished, and my ideas concentrated themselves in the following
dilemma: of two things one; either Dreyfus was convicted on the strength
of the bordereau,—that is, without proof,—or he was convicted on secret
documents not communicated to the defence,—that is, illegally. This
almost involuntary conclusion fell heavily upon my heart. If the law,
which is the security of all of us, and which we may have to invoke
tomorrow, should be always respected, should it not be especially respected
when in one individual there are thousands of individuals whom
they pretend to condemn and dishonor?
How was I led to sign a protest?
I had just corrected a lesson in morals, the work of a student. I had
said to these young people what all of you I am sure would wish me to
say to them: that the human person is sacred; that justice is inviolable:
that it cannot be sacrificed to passion or to interest, with whatever name
they may be decorated. I had told them that justice is not a servant
whom we ring for when we need its service; that it is the grand image
which should hover over all conflicts of passions and interests, because it
alone can be the peacemaker. I returned to my study. A student
brought me a petition. I signed it. Our teaching would have no authority,
if we were not ready to confirm it by our acts. I have no authority
to speak in the name of the university. The painful conflict of duties
that has disturbed so many consciences has divided us, but we too highly
esteem one another, we hold sincere thought in too great respect, to treat
each other as knaves or fools. If you have found on the lists of those
protesting so many names of people connected with the university, it is
not because of any spirit of revolt. It is because these brave people
who, should occasion arise, would hasten to defend the integrity of the
national territory consider it their professional duty to maintain another
integrity no less precious,—the integrity of the national conscience.
But, since the name of the university has been uttered, let us have an
understanding. We respect and we love the army. In that we are
unanimous. We consider ourselves as workers in the same work, servants
of the same cause, soldiers in the same fight. The army of France,
the army of mutilated France, is force in the service of right. Never
have we separated the cause of right from the cause of the army. Please
God that we may soon find ourselves reconciled in the superior thought
of the country, and that at last we may be spared the continuance of the
painful spectacle of so many French hands withdrawing from one
another, when all ought to join in a common and fraternal action. As
for M. Zola’s good faith, the very experiences that he is undergoing are
sufficient to attest it. He has acted in accordance with his temperament,
after the fashion of a man who, shut up in a room where the air is becoming
stifling, rushes to the window, and, at the risk of covering himself
with blood, breaks the glass to let in a little air and light.
Gabriel Séailles.
The witness-stand was then taken by M. Duclaux, director
of the Pasteur Institute, who testified that he signed the
protest because it seemed to him that it would be a good
thing for a group of men to declare to the public that the
Esterhazy trial had not dissipated the obscurity of the Dreyfus
trial. His testimony was followed by that of M. Anatole
France, member of the French Academy, who, after explaining
why he had signed the protest, was asked his opinion of
M. Zola’s good faith.
M. France.—“Having spent some hours with M. Zola last
December, and having been, so to speak, the witness of his
thought, I can testify here to his admirable good faith and
his absolute sincerity. But the sincerity of M. Zola needs
no guarantee; so I will simply say that he is acting, under
these circumstances, with courage, according to his temperament,
in behalf of justice and truth, inspired by the most
generous sentiments.”
General Billot, who had been appealed to to authorize the
production of the Uhlan letter, having written to the judge
that he would leave the matter to the decision of the court,
the court now rendered a decree that it should not be produced,
since by a previous decree all matters “relating to
the Dreyfus and Esterhazy trials, judged, in whole or in
part, behind closed doors, had been excluded from the
debate.”
This ended the testimony, and, the attorney-general not
being ready to begin his argument, an adjournment was
taken until Monday, February 21.
With the opening of the session, Attorney-General Van
Cassel began his summing-up.
“Gentlemen of the jury, a man well known in letters goes
in search of a militant newspaper, comes to an understanding
with it, and publishes an article which shows either
irresponsibility or shamelessness. He declares that a council
of war has rendered a verdict in obedience to orders.
‘Let them prosecute me in the assize court, if they dare.’
Well, here we are. But where are your proofs, those precise
and irrefutable proofs that the council of war has rendered
a verdict in obedience to orders? During the twelve sessions
which you have just passed through not once has this
question, the only one before us, been posited. But, though
you have attempted no proof, you have shrunk from no violence.
How intolerable the situation in which you have
placed the generals whom you have brought to this bar!
The attitude of the insulters has been on a level with the
insults. You have drawn upon yourselves the eloquent
reply of General de Boisdeffre, who said to you: ‘My officers
are brave people. They began by submitting without
reply to sustained attacks. If they have been drawn from
their silence, you have only yourselves to blame,—you and
the odious provocations of which you made them the object.’
“The experts in the Esterhazy case worked separately,
and arrived by different methods at identical conclusions.
They had the originals before them. The experts cited by
the defence had examined only doubtful copies,—doubtful
as to their origin, doubtful as to their authenticity. M.
Paul Meyer, director of the Ecole des Chartes, who advises
his pupils to study nothing but originals, should have followed
his own teaching. I say nothing of the international
experts that gravitate around M. Bernard Lazare, undertaker
of revision. They are surrounded by too much money and
too much mystery to warrant me in dwelling on their testimony.
I attach the same authority to the declaration of M.
Stock, who has declared here that not one, but numerous
secret documents were communicated to the council of war.
As M. Bernard Lazare’s publisher, he has too plain an interest
in the multiplication of documents.
“Alfred Dreyfus alone was in a position to procure the
documents concerning the national defence which are
enumerated in the bordereau. General de Pellieux and
General Gonse are in a position to know more about that
than anybody else. After what they have told you, it is
impossible to doubt. But I shall say no more about the
Dreyfus case. It would be a violation of the authority of
the thing judged.
“Dreyfus belongs to a rich and powerful family, which
continues to keenly feel the deep sorrow of having seen one
of its members convicted of high treason. This campaign
has been carefully prepared. It began in the press before
ending in parliamentary incidents and judicial proceedings.
“Never has the government varied in its declarations.
General Billot has always declared that Dreyfus was legally
and justly condemned. The government did not obstruct
the investigation. General de Pellieux’s examination was
an open one, and was conducted freely. Major Ravary
acted with the same independence. The judges who acquitted
Major Esterhazy came to their decision in full liberty of
conscience. In short, the behavior of the government
demonstrates its respect for law and the dignity of justice.
“‘L’Aurore’ accuses it of being influenced by political
considerations. Only this morning that newspaper had the
audacity to say that France is given over to the sabre, that
the republic is in danger. General Billot has already
replied to it from the tribune of the chamber. ‘Who dares,’
he asked, ‘to pretend that there is a single officer in the
ranks of the army who contemplates an attack on the republic?
There has never been found but one, and he was forced
to take refuge in suicide.’ Such is the legal attitude of the
government, which I contrast with your revolutionary
method. You have done nothing here but open an audacious
discussion on the thing judged. But it is not permissible
to relapse into judicial anarchy. The legal method of
revision was open to you. Why did you not apply to the
keeper of the seals?
“What do the ‘intellectual revisionists’ know of the trial
of 1894, that they can pretend that it was irregular?
Nothing. The public has no element of proof, so far as the
Dreyfus case is concerned. All cases of spying are decided
behind closed doors. Twenty-seven accused persons have
appeared since 1885 before the police courts, charged with
this abominable crime; four before the councils of war; one
before the assize court. In every case closed doors, for
reasons of a superior order, have been declared. One of the
accused was acquitted.
“M. Demange was the first to render homage to the
perfect honesty of the judges of Alfred Dreyfus. The
accused appeared, surrounded by all desirable guarantees.
He was protected by his uniform itself. Before the minister
of war will consent to bring one of his officers to trial for
high treason, his guilt must be perfectly clear. So I ask
yourself on what grounds honorable men like M. Scheurer-Kestner
and M. Trarieux can take their stand, to maintain
that an irregularity has been committed. They must have
the gift of double sight, which permits them to look at once
into the secret documents belonging to the minister of war
and into those belonging to the Dreyfus family.
“Colonel Picquart obeyed an unfortunate inspiration
when he opened the doors of the war department to his
friend Leblois, who had no business there, and showed him
secret documents which he ought never to have read. In
vain does Colonel Picquart try to dispute this illicit communication.
You have heard here the respectful, but firm,
denial of his testimony, given by Adjutant Gribelin, who,
General Gonse tells you, is a model servant. I add that the
mysterious telegrams signed ‘Speranza’ and ‘Blanche,’
addressed to Colonel Picquart at Tunis, could have come
only from his own acquaintances. The same signature,
‘Speranza,’ appears in letters sent to him in 1896 and opened
at the war department.
“Major Esterhazy has been the object of two judicial
examinations. They have resulted in nothing. If he
appeared before the council of war, it was on the formal
order of General Saussier, who, although Major Esterhazy’s
innocence had been recognized, was desirous of a public trial
because of the notoriety that the matter had gained. Contrary
to the usual practice, only a part of the trial took place
behind closed doors. M. Mathieu Dreyfus was invited to
produce his proofs in public. He did not produce a single
one. Nor did M. Scheurer-Kestner, who also testified in
public. Under these circumstances, what could the representative
of the government do? Public prosecutor and
accuser are not always synonymous terms. For my part, I
have many times abandoned accusations that were not established.
And do not claim either that the trial was one-sided.
The council of war listened to persevering and convinced
accusers,—Colonel Picquart and M. Leblois. The acquittal
was regular, deliberate, legal, pronounced unanimously by
judges belonging to different branches of the army, designated
according to priority of service, and under no other
obligation than that of their honesty and their conscience.
“As for Major Esterhazy, the letters published, after they
were procured by indirect and censurable methods, and perhaps
tampered with, created a deplorable atmosphere about
him. It is not fitting that I should dwell upon that matter
here, after the examination undergone at this bar by a
patient mute, who broke his silence only to cry his suffering,
while they tortured him with questions as if applying red-hot
irons to living flesh. The victim had been judiciously
chosen as a substitute for the condemned man of 1894.
“It is not true, as certain newspapers have declared, that
after the acquittal Major Esterhazy was the object of a manifestation
on the part of the members of the council of war.
This is proved by the following letter, which General de
Luxer has just addressed to General Billot.
M. le Ministre:
Several newspapers have said that the members of the council of war,
after the session, surrounded Major Esterhazy, shook hands with him,
and congratulated him. I have the honor to report to you that no such
manifestation occurred. According to the provisions of the law, the
verdict was rendered in the absence of the accused, and was read to him
afterward by the clerk, before the assembled guard, in the absence of the
members of the council. The judges of the council of war have all told
me that they did not see Major Esterhazy afterward, either in the court-room,
or out of it, or in the street. Be good enough to accept, etc.
General de Luxer.
“You remember, gentlemen of the jury, that an attempt
was made to show that Major Esterhazy secured a false
entry upon his record of service, and that General Guerrier
was called by the defence to testify on this point. Now this
is what happened: In 1881 Captain Esterhazy accomplished
a brilliant feat, in consequence of which he was proposed as
an officer of the legion of honor. His act was brought to
the knowledge of the regiment by the following order:
‘The camp having been attacked by the Arabs, Captain
Esterhazy, while other officers were attacking them on the
flanks, attacked them in front, leading his men with a dash
and a courage beyond all praise.’ Now, according to certain
regulations of 1889 and 1895, this matter should be set forth
in the order of the day of the regiment, and not in the order
of the day of the army.
“Is not the misinterpretation of so simple a matter identical
with calumny?
“As for Colonel Picquart, who endeavored to maintain
here that the documents seized after the condemnation of
Dreyfus are forgeries, he has been contradicted by his
inferiors and by his equals, and you have heard in what
terms his superior, General de Pellieux, expressed himself
regarding him. And finally he contradicted himself. The
scene was so saddening that I have not the courage to dwell
upon it.
“Gentlemen of the jury, the judges of the council of war
are invested with a double character. They are at once magistrates
and jurors. It seems to me that I see them, hesitating
first, then stiffening their will in face of the duty to be
done, far from all influence, solely concerned with the rendering
of an honest and loyal verdict. You have the same
honorable mission, gentlemen of the jury. You are to do
the same justice. The prime minister has declared from the
tribune of the chamber his high confidence in the twelve free
citizens to whom the government has entrusted the defence
of justice and of the honor of the army. The revolutionary
manifestation of M. Emile Zola has met its counter-shock in
the street. Persons and property are no longer respected.
Violence breeds violence. But what cares ‘L’Aurore,’ which
has its sensational trial? What difference does that make
to M. Emile Zola? He has lifted himself to the rôle of a
great man, which he easily assumes. He has realized his
dream. He has brought to this court-room cabinet ministers,
foreign diplomats, generals. He would have summoned all
Europe. It was the necessary stage-setting for the novel
that he announces. ‘L’Aurore’ tells us that he has entered
into glory in his lifetime. His ‘Letter to France’ is literature;
it savors of the Academy. His ‘Letter to Youth’ has
enjoyed a success only in Berlin, and here is a translation
sent to me from Germany. For the sake of his personal
vanity he has imposed upon you these twelve sessions that
have made the heart of the country bleed. And beyond the
frontier what lamentable echoes! They have not hesitated
to attack the staff, to compromise the national defence.
They have overwhelmed with outrages the obedient and
silent army, in which every Frenchman sees the image of his
country. They have put upon it the outrageous insult of
casting suspicion on its commanders, who are endeavoring,
respectful of the laws, to make it worthy of its task on the
day when it shall be necessary to lead it against the enemy.
No more violent insult could be offered. No more anti-patriotic
campaign could be conceived. You have listened
here to M. Jaurès. For my part, I value talent only in the
ratio of the good that it does, not in the ratio of the ruins
that it accumulates. No, it is not true that a council of war
has rendered a verdict in obedience to orders. It is not true
that seven officers have been found to obey any other than
the order of their free and honest conscience. You will condemn
those who have outraged them, gentlemen of the jury.
France awaits your verdict with confidence.”
At the conclusion of the attorney-general’s address, M.
Zola read the following declaration to the jury:
“In the chamber, at its session of January 22, M. Méline,
president of the cabinet, declared, amid the frantic applause
of his obliging majority, that he had confidence in the twelve
citizens to whose hands he entrusted the defence of the army.
It was of you, gentlemen, that he spoke. And, just as General
Billot dictated his decree to the council of war which
was charged with the acquittal of Major Esterhazy, uttering
from the tribune for the instruction of his subordinates the
military countersign of unquestionable respect for the thing
judged, so M. Méline has endeavored to give you an order to
sentence me in the name of respect for the army, which he
accuses me of having outraged. I denounce to the conscience
of honest people this pressure of public power on the justice
of the country. These are abominable political practices,
dishonoring to a free nation.
“We shall see, gentlemen, if you will obey. But it is not
true that I am here before you by the will of M. Méline. He
yielded to the necessity of prosecuting me only in great agitation,
in terror of the new step that truth in its march
might take. That is known to everybody. If I am before
you, it is by my own will. I alone have decided that the
obscure, the monstrous matter should be brought before your
jurisdiction, and I alone, in the full exercise of my will, have
chosen you, the highest and most direct emanation of
French justice, that France at last may know all, and decide.
My act had no other object, and my person is nothing; I
have sacrificed it, satisfied simply to have placed in your
hands, not only the honor of the army, but the endangered
honor of the entire nation.
“You will pardon me, then, if your consciences have not
been thoroughly enlightened. It is not my fault. It seems
that I was dreaming in expecting to bring you all the
proofs,—in considering you alone worthy, alone competent.
They began by taking from you with the left hand what
they seemed to give you with the right. They made a pretence
of accepting your jurisdiction, but, though they
trusted you to avenge the members of one council of war,
certain other officers remained unassailable, superior even to
your justice. Understand it who can. It is absurdity in
hypocrisy, and furnishes striking proof that they feared
your good sense, and did not dare to run the risk of allowing
us to say everything, and of allowing you to judge everything.
They pretend that they desired to limit the scandal.
And what do you think of this scandal, of my act, which
consisted in laying the case before you, in desiring that the
people, incarnate in you, should pass judgment upon it?
They pretend, further, that they could not accept a disguised
revision, thus confessing that they have only one fear
at bottom,—that of your sovereign control. The law has in
you its total representation, and it is this chosen law of the
people that I have longed for, that I profoundly respect, as a
good citizen, and not the equivocal procedure by which they
have hoped to baffle you.
“Thus am I excused, gentlemen, for having turned you
aside from your occupations without succeeding in flooding
you with the total light of which I dreamed. Light, complete
light, that has been my sole, my passionate desire.
And this trial has just proved it to you; we have had to
struggle step by step against a desire for darkness extraordinary
in its obstinacy. For each shred of truth torn from
the unwilling a fight has been necessary; they have disputed
about everything, they have refused us everything,
they have terrorized our witnesses in the hope of preventing
us from proving our case. And it is for you alone
that we have fought; that this proof might be submitted to
you in its entirety, so that you could pass judgment without
remorse and in your conscience. Therefore I am certain
that you will take our efforts into consideration, and that,
moreover, enough of light has been shed. You have heard
the witnesses, you are going to hear my counsel, who will
tell you the true story, the story that maddens everybody
and that everybody knows. So I am at ease; the truth is
now with you; it will do its work.
“M. Méline thought, then, to dictate your verdict in entrusting
to you the honor of the army, and it is in the name
of this honor of the army that I myself appeal to your justice.
I deny M. Méline’s statement in the most formal
manner; I have never insulted the army. On the contrary,
I have expressed my tenderness, my respect, for the nation
in arms, for our dear soldiers of France who would rise at
the first threat, in defence of the French soil. And it is
equally false that I have attacked the commanders, the
generals who would lead them to victory. If certain individuals
in the war offices have compromised the army by
their conduct, is it an insult to the entire army to say so?
Is it not, rather, the work of a good citizen to free the army
from all compromise, to sound the alarm, in order that the
misdeeds which have forced us to this fight may not be repeated
and lead us to new defeats. However, I do not defend
myself. I leave to history the judgment of my act,
which was a necessary act. But I declare that they dishonor
the army when they allow the gendarmes to embrace
Major Esterhazy after the abominable letters that he has
written. I declare that this valiant army is insulted daily
by the bandits who, pretending to defend it, sully it with
their base complicity, dragging in the mud everything good
and great that France still has. I declare it is they who
dishonor this great national army, when they mingle the cry
of ‘Long live the Army!’ with the cry of ‘Death to the
Jews!’ And they have cried ‘Long live Esterhazy!’ Great
God! The people of St. Louis, of Bayard, of Condé, and of
Hoche, the people that have won a hundred giant victories,
the people of the great wars of the republic and the empire,
the people whose strength, grace, and generosity have dazzled
the universe, crying ‘Long live Esterhazy!’ It is a
shame that only our effort in behalf of truth and justice can
wipe out.
“You know the legend that has been created. Dreyfus
was condemned justly and legally by seven infallible
officers, whom it is impossible even to suspect of error without
insulting the entire army. In an avenging torture he is
expiating his abominable misdeed. And, as he is a Jew, a
Jewish syndicate has been created, an international syndicate
of people without a country, with hundreds of millions
at their disposal for the purpose of saving the traitor at the
cost of the most shameless manœuvres. Then this syndicate
began to heap up crimes, buying consciences, throwing
France into a murderous tumult, determined to sell her to
the enemy, to set Europe on fire with a general war, rather
than abandon this frightful design. It is very simple,
even puerile and imbecile, as you see. But it is upon this
poisoned bread that an unclean press has been feeding our
people for months, and we should not be astonished at the
spectacle of a disastrous crisis, for, when stupidity and lies
are sown at such a rate, a crop of madness is sure to be
harvested.
“Certainly, gentlemen, I do not offer you the insult of believing
that you have been caught by this nursery tale. I
know you. I know who you are. You are the heart and
reason of Paris, of my great Paris, where I was born, which
I love with an infinite tenderness, which I have been studying
and singing for forty years. And I know too now what
is going on in your brains, for, before sitting here as an
accused, I sat in the seats which you occupy. You represent
average opinion; you aim to be wisdom and justice
en masse. Presently I shall be with you in thought in your
deliberations in the jury-room, and I am convinced that you
will endeavor to guard your interests as citizens, which
naturally are, according to you, the interests of the whole
nation. You may be mistaken, but your purpose will be to
insure your own welfare and the welfare of all.
“I see you at your homes, at night, under the lamp; I
hear you talking with your friends; I accompany you to
your shops and stores. You are all workers, some merchants,
others manufacturers, and a few professional men.
And you are filled with a perfectly legitimate anxiety concerning
the deplorable state into which business has fallen.
Everywhere the existing crisis threatens to become a disaster,
receipts are falling off, transactions are becoming
more and more difficult. So that the thought that you have
brought here, the thought that I read on your faces, is that
there has been enough of this, and that it must come to an
end. You do not say, as many do: ‘What difference does it
make to us whether an innocent man is on Devil’s Island?
Is the interest of an individual sufficient to warrant the agitation
of a great country?’ But you do say, nevertheless,
that the agitation which we are carrying on, in our hunger
for truth and justice, is paid for too dearly by all the
evil that they accuse us of doing. And, if you convict me,
gentlemen, the sole foundation of your verdict will be the
desire to quiet your families, the need of a resumption of
business, the belief that, in striking me, you will put an end
to a campaign of vindication that is harmful to the interests
of France.
“Well, gentlemen, you would be utterly mistaken. Do
me the honor to believe that I am not defending here my liberty.
In striking me, you will only add to my stature.
Whoever suffers for truth and justice becomes august and
sacred. Look at me, gentlemen. Have I the appearance of
one who has sold himself? Do I look like a liar and a
traitor? Why, then, should I act as I do? I have behind
me neither political ambition or sectarian passions. I am
a free writer, who has given his life to toil, who tomorrow
will again take his place in the ranks, and will resume his
interrupted task. And how stupid are they who call me an
Italian! I who was born of a French mother, brought up
by Beauce grandparents, peasants in that robust region; I
who lost my father at the age of seven, and never went to
Italy until I was fifty-four, and then only to get material for
a book. Which does not prevent me from being very proud
that my father was of Venice, that resplendent city whose
ancient glory sings in all memories. And, even if I were
not French, would not the forty volumes in the French
language which I have scattered by millions throughout the
entire world suffice to make me a Frenchman, useful to the
glory of France?
“So I do not defend myself. But what an error would be
yours, if you were convinced that, in striking me, you
would re-establish order in our unhappy country. Do you
not understand that that of which the nation is dying is the
darkness in which they are bent upon leaving her, the
equivocations in which she is agonizing? The mistakes of
our governors are piled up on mistakes; one lie necessitates
another, so that the mass becomes frightful. A judicial
error has been committed, and then to hide it it has been
necessary to commit each day a new attack on good sense
and equity. The conviction of an innocent man has involved
the acquittal of a guilty man; and now today you are
asked to convict me in my turn, because I have cried out in
my anguish at the sight of the progress of the country in
this frightful path. Convict me, then. It will be one error
more added to the others, an error the burden of which you
will bear in history. And my conviction, instead of bringing
about the peace that you desire, and that we all desire,
will only sow the seed of a new crop of passion and disorder.
The measure is full, I tell you; do not make it overflow.
“Why do you not exactly estimate the terrible crisis
through which the country is passing? They say that we
are the authors of the scandal, that it is the lovers of truth
and justice who are leading the nation astray and urging it
to riot. Really, this is mockery. To speak only of General
Billot, was he not warned eighteen months ago? Did not
Colonel Picquart insist that he should take in hand the
matter of revision, if he did not wish the storm to burst and
overturn everything? Did not M. Scheurer-Kestner, with
tears in his eyes, beg him to think of France, and save her
such a catastrophe? No, no! our desire has been to facilitate
everything, to allay everything, and, if the country is
now in trouble, the responsibility lies with power, which, to
cover the guilty, and in the furtherance of political interests,
has denied everything, hoping to be strong enough to prevent
the light from being shed. It has manœuvred in the
shadow in behalf of darkness, and it alone is responsible
for the present distraction of consciences.
“The Dreyfus case, ah! gentlemen, that has become a
very small matter now. It is lost and far away, in view of
the terrifying questions to which it has given rise. There is
no longer any Dreyfus case. The question now is whether
France is still the France of the rights of man, the France
that gave liberty to the world, and that ought to give it
justice. Are we still the most noble, the most fraternal, the
most generous nation? Shall we preserve our reputation in
Europe for equity and humanity? Are not all the victories
that we have won called in question? Open your eyes, and
understand that, to be in such confusion, the French soul
must have been stirred to its depths in face of a terrible
danger. A nation cannot be thus upset without imperiling
its moral existence. This is an exceptionally serious hour;
the safety of the nation is at stake.
“And, when you shall have understood that, gentlemen,
you will feel that but one remedy is possible,—to tell the
truth, to do justice. Anything that keeps back the light,
anything that adds darkness to darkness, will only prolong
and aggravate the crisis. The rôle of good citizens, of those
who feel it to be imperatively necessary to put an end to
this matter, is to demand broad daylight. There are already
many of them who think so. The men of literature, philosophy,
and science are rising on every hand, in the name of
intelligence and reason. And I do not speak of the foreigner,
of the shudder that has run through all Europe. Yet
the foreigner is not necessarily the enemy. Let us not speak
of the nations that may be our adversaries tomorrow. But
great Russia, our ally; little and generous Holland; all the
sympathetic nations of the north; those countries of the
French language, Switzerland and Belgium,—why are their
hearts so heavy, so overflowing with fraternal suffering?
Do you dream, then, of an isolated France? Do you prefer,
when you pass the frontier, not to meet the approving smile
upon your legendary fame for equity and humanity?
“Alas! gentlemen, like so many others, you perhaps expect
the thunderbolt, the descent from heaven of the proof of
the innocence of Dreyfus. Truth does not generally come in
that way. It requires research and intelligence. We know
very well where the truth is, where it could be found. But
we dream of that only in the secrecy of our souls, and we
feel patriotic anguish lest we expose ourselves to the danger
of having this proof some day flung in our face after having
involved the honor of the army in a lie. I wish also to declare
squarely that, though, in the official notice of our list
of witnesses, we included certain ambassadors, we had formally
decided in advance not to summon them. Our audacity
has provoked smiles. But I do not think that there was
any smiling in our foreign office, for there they must have
understood. We simply intended to say to those who know
the whole truth that we also know it. This truth is bandied
about at the embassies; tomorrow it will be known to all,
and, if it is now impossible for us to seek it where it is protected
by formalities that cannot be overstepped, the government
which is not ignorant, the government which is convinced,
as we are, of the innocence of Dreyfus, will be able,
when it likes, and without risk, to find witnesses who will
make everything clear.
“Dreyfus is innocent; I swear it. I stake my life upon
it; I stake my honor upon it. At this solemn hour, before
this tribunal that represents human justice, before you, gentlemen
of the jury, who are the emanation of the nation,
before all France, before the entire world, I swear that Dreyfus
is innocent. And by my forty years of toil, and by the
authority that this labor has given me, I swear that Dreyfus
is innocent. Let it all fall to the ground, let my works
perish, if Dreyfus is not innocent. He is innocent.
“Everything seems to be against me,—the two chambers,
the civil power, the military power, the journals of large circulation,
the public opinion that they have poisoned. And
with me there is but an idea, an ideal of truth and justice.
And I am perfectly at ease; I shall triumph.
“I did not wish my country to remain in falsehood and
injustice. Here I may be condemned; but some day France
will thank me for having helped to save her honor.”
M. Zola was followed by his counsel, M. Labori, who
summed up his case with the following elaborate argument:
“Gentlemen of the jury, though this trial has already
lasted more than two weeks, I have still to call upon you for
a last, and perhaps, alas! a long, effort. I feel that you
appreciate, and perhaps better than ever after the words
that have just been spoken, the grandeur of this trial, and
that you will forgive me for counting on your devotion as
citizens and on your kindly and impartial attention as
judges. I do not think that there was ever an affair that
more deeply stirred the public conscience. None has caused
more clamor, the excuse of which, in the case of many, is
that they who utter it know not what they do. None has
given rise to more decided courage and conviction. Between
the determination of some and the outcry of others the mass
of the people, insufficiently enlightened, but of good faith
(and it is on this good faith that I rely), still hesitates in uncertainty
before the unchained passions, on the one hand,
which uselessly invoke, though neither is involved, the
honor of the army and the safety of the country, and, on
the other, before all that France possesses of independence
and elevation of mind. It suffices, gentlemen, to take at
hazard from the list the names of those whose thought accompanies
the great citizen here before you,—Anatole
France, Duclaux, Gabriel Monod, Michel Bréal, Jean
Psichari, Réville, Frédéric Passy, de Pressensé, Havet,
Séailles, and that admirable Grimaux whom the army cannot
deny. For years he has been the teacher of a great number
of its most brilliant officers. But M. Grimaux, in spite of
all threats, came here to proclaim, with an eloquence that
moved us all, his conviction that we are in the path of truth,
justice, and right.
“Ah! gentlemen, between these two parties, not equal yet
in numbers, I know in which direction this great people
would lean, if the public powers, misled by their temporary
interest, sustained by those who were yesterday, who will be
tomorrow, who are even today, their worst adversaries, did
not disconcert the country by their attitude and unproved
declarations. Everybody says everywhere that there are
three hundred deputies in the chamber, and one hundred and
fifty or two hundred senators in the senate, who consider
revision a necessary thing, but will not say so until after the
elections. But it is not enough, gentlemen, that our governors,
who ought to be the nation’s guides, separate themselves
from this phalanx of chosen men, some of whom I have
just named. It is necessary also that these chosen men,
every day and twice a day, should be insulted and defamed,
I do not say only by the newspapers that make a trade of
calumny, but even by those organs of public opinion from
which we are accustomed to expect a little more moderation
and a little more justice.
“The insult that is thrown in their face may be summed
up in one word: they are members of that syndicate formed
to sustain the Jews and ruin the country. Syndicate! an
ingenious word, an invention of talented pamphleteers,—whose
excuse is that at bottom they are too often children
through the very puerility of their credulity. An ingenious
word, but an infamous word for those who launch it, hoping
that it will make its way. And, gentlemen, has it not made
its way, when we see it approved here by the attorney-general?
An infamous word for those, a childish word for
those others who believe that such things are possible. Oh!
if they simply mean that a family will spend all that it possesses,
will sacrifice not the immense fortune which has been
spoken of, but its abundant ease, to save the man whom it
knows to be innocent, and if they mean that some friends
will help them, I say quite frankly that I see nothing in that
which is not respectable. But, if they mean that M. Zola
has sold himself, I say as frankly: it is a lie, or, rather, it is
childishness. Sold? Let them say it; it is a matter of indifference
to him. If he defends himself, if those who assist
him defend him and themselves with him, it is in the interest
of the cause that they represent. No, gentlemen, there
are no money syndicates that can produce movements like
those which you have witnessed, or powers of resistance
such as those which we endeavor to display. It is not
money that brings here citizens like Scheurer-Kestner,
Trarieux, Jaurès; politicians—I take them from all parties—like
Charles Longuet and—I say it, though I raise a protest
in the court-room—like Joseph Reinach himself, whom we
should not be afraid to mention here in praise of his perseverance
and the dignity of his attitude; artists like Clairin,
Eugène Carrière, Claude Monet, Bruneau, Desmoulins, who
accompany M. Zola to this court every day, in spite of the
threats with which he is surrounded; and publicists like
Quillard, Ajalbert, Victor Bérard, Lucien Victor-Meunier,
Ranc, Sigismond Lacroix, Yves Guyot, and Séverine, who
said to us: ‘Do not call me as a witness; proclaim loudly
what I think; I serve you better where I am.’ She is right,
for do you know what she assures us with her articles in ‘La
Fronde’? The support of a cohort of French women, who
are with us, and will remain with us, and who instil at the
fireside the ideas that we have scattered through the
country.
“Well, gentlemen, all those whom I have enumerated, all
those whom I forget, we must thank and salute, not in the
name of M. Zola,—for his personality, however eminent it
may be, disappears from the case,—but in the name of something
higher, for they will be entitled some day to the country’s
gratitude. And do you know why? Because in a
moment when it required some courage these men placed
truth and right above everything. Belonging, most of them,
to the educational world,—and it is to the honor of the
French university,—they understood that, teaching the eternal
ideal, they had no right, in the hour of danger, to pursue
a line of conduct not in harmony with their teachings.
Defending liberty and the eternal rules of justice, they were
bound to practise both.
“The truth is, whatever may be said, that the verdict
against Dreyfus in 1894 has never ceased to weigh upon the
public conscience. I do not mean by that that the majority
of citizens suspect the legitimacy of the sentence. How
could I say it, when I very well know that at the present
hour the majority is against us, or seems to be, for many
timid consciences are silenced by the uproar which is mistaken
for an expression of the general sentiment. But I
grant that at present the majority is still against us.
“Many, nevertheless, have been disturbed, disturbed
from the very first by the darkness of the prosecution, by
the moving scene of the degradation, by the persistence of
the condemned man in proclaiming his innocence. When
the verdict was rendered, the majority, knowing nothing,
were moved for a moment by the obscurities in which the
case was wrapped. But their emotion was soon smothered
in the floods of lies that were poured forth, and all rested in
the confidence that the verdict necessarily inspired.
“I find no better proof of this than an article furnished me
this morning by ‘L’Intransigeant.’ The article is from the
pen of M. Clemenceau. It was hoped to embarrass him by
showing that in December, 1894, or in January, 1895, he
was one of those who showed the greatest irritation against
the man whom they called the traitor. I fancy that it gives
him no embarrassment; for my part, I note only this,—that,
like many people then, like many people even today, he
believed in the justice and the legality of the verdict rendered,
and that his contrary opinion of today has for me, and
should have for you, only the greater value. But, if the
majority doubted, some who had approached this family
which they despise when they are not acquainted with it,
and which they respect when they approach it,—some who
had approached this family, or its counsel who has never
wavered in his conviction of his client’s innocence, harbored
a doubt, yes, cherished a hope. And, in uttering this word
hope, do you know under what authority I place myself?
Under the authority of a man who for many days has spared
us neither accusations or insults, but whom I regard as an
honest man. I mean M. Paul de Cassagnac, director of
‘L’Autorité.’
“Hear, gentlemen, what he says, and in admirable language.
For my part, I cannot believe that a man who writes
thus is really an enemy of truth and justice. Hear what he
said of the sadness which must have invaded all French
hearts on the day after the conviction of Dreyfus.
This judgment is going to fill the country with profound sadness and
bitter disappointment. In the first place, profound sadness. For the
great mass of the French people, in spite of their hostility to the Jews, do
not carry the blindness of religious hatred so far as to wish that a traitor
may be found in the ranks of our officers, though this traitor should be a
Jew. They would have welcomed with joy a complete, absolute acquittal,
establishing indisputably that it was a cruel blunder to have believed, on
the strength of false indications, that a French officer had betrayed his
country. For the love of country, in its grand and holy solidarity,
knows neither Jew or Christian. France is a mother, and necessarily
suffers atrociously at the public dishonor of any of her sons.
“You see that I was not wrong in saying that those who
harbored a doubt cherished also a hope; and this doubt continued
in the minds of all who knew anything of the matter,
however little. Others, knowing nothing, but accustomed to
observe, harbored at least an anxiety. Why? Because
there was too much darkness and too much light as well.
For the trouble in this matter has been that, while the proof
remained hidden in obscurity, public opinion took possession
of the affair, determined to know all. Never from the first
has there been complete silence; the discussion continued,
assertions were made, falsehoods were spread, or suffered to
spread, thus creating that anxiety and anguish the fruit of
which the country now is reaping. Am I wrong in saying
that? Again I place myself under the authority to which I
appealed just now. On the eve of the trial of 1894 the entire
press, even the press of M. Drumont himself, called for a
public trial. Listen to what M. Paul de Cassagnac said in
‘L’Autorité’ on December 8, 1894.
Must I say it? The farther I go, the more perplexed I feel, and I
ask myself if perchance Captain Dreyfus is not innocent. Do not cry
out, friendly readers, but reflect. Is not this solution, if it result from
the trial itself, the solution to be desired? For my part, from the beginning
I have been unable to reconcile myself to the idea that a French
officer could have sold his country to the enemy. And no hatred that I
feel for the Jews can make me prefer to find a guilty man in the uniform
of a soldier, rather than an innocent man. What fills me with doubt is
what they say about the document on which this charge rests. The document
in question is one said to have been written by Dreyfus. It was
found, they say, by a secret agent, in the waste-basket of a foreign
military attaché, into which it had fallen. Dreyfus denies that the writing
is his, and four experts have examined it. Three say that he wrote
it; the fourth holds the contrary opinion.
“This is an error. The document was examined by five
experts, three of whom declared Dreyfus the writer, the two
others dissenting.
If this had been the only proof, the charge against Dreyfus would
have been an imprudent one. Who does not know, in fact, that, even
when experts are agreed, it is far from sure that they are right? And
the public, very incredulous in regard to this pretended science, has not
forgotten the famous trial of la Boussinière at Angers, in which the
experts in handwriting made anything but a brilliant spectacle. Now,
two of the experts who were so unfortunate in that case are of the three
who declare that this document was written by Dreyfus.
Unhappily for Dreyfus, there seems to be something else. There is
talk of another document found in the office of the same military attaché,
which is said to be overwhelming. But the government, it seems, has
not the courage to publicly confess how and where it procured this document,
and so they hesitate to produce it. Then what remains of the
charge? Is it because the government does not feel sufficiently well
armed that it proposes to call for closed doors. Is it because it fears the
foreign power whose military attaché has played an ignoble rôle? We do
not know. But what we do know is that public opinion will not
tolerate concealment, and will insist on an open trial. It would be really
strange, were France, after her indignation at the closed doors behind
which the Italians strangled the Romani case, were to use the same
wretched means toward Captain Dreyfus. A French officer in France
must have the right to publicly defend his honor, and the government
which accuses him is bound to grant him the favor of the open day. Let
the government have a care. The people will not be satisfied with a
minimum sentence based on presumptions, and formulated behind doors
closed to stifle the affair. Somebody here is guilty. If it is not Captain
Dreyfus, it is the government. And what a terrible responsibility would
weigh upon the government of the republic if it were proved that, without
proofs convincing to the most sceptical, it had committed the horrible
crime of sullying the whole French army in accusing an officer of the
most frightful of misdeeds, of having sold his country to the enemy. If
Captain Dreyfus is acquitted, the minister of war becomes the traitor.
Dreyfus acquitted, Mercier must be driven in shame, not only from the
war department, but from the ranks of the army, for having cast suspicion
upon an innocent officer.
Though perplexed today, I believe in the guilt of Dreyfus. For I
cannot imagine that they would have arrested this officer, that they
would have preferred such a charge against him, that they would have
submitted him for months to the frightful torture of the nation’s censure,
to suffer which is a hundred times worse than to be shot,—I cannot
imagine that they would have so tortured this living man, unless they
were absolutely certain of his guilt. So a public trial is indispensable.
Acquittal in the darkness would leave Dreyfus under the stain of suspicion.
It would look as if he had been acquitted through fear of a foreign
power. Or it would be said that the Jews bought the consciences of the
judges. An acquittal behind closed doors is not an acquittal; it is a
sort of hypocritical and shameful condemnation. As for condemnation,
who would dare to hope for it in the absence of those irrefutable proofs
that in our day society is obliged to spread before the eyes of everybody,
before mortally and materially killing one of its children. To take from
a man, from a soldier, his honor and his life without saying why?
Nonsense! It is impossible. Human reason forbids such a return to the
darkest traditions of the secret tribunals of Spain and the Netherlands.
The government of the republic renewing and aggravating the mysterious
and unavowable processes of the Inquisition and of St. Vehme when the
fate of a French officer is in the balance! And from pusillanimity! I
repeat, it is impossible, for it would be too ignominious.
“It is impossible, and yet, gentlemen of the jury, it happened.
The doors were closed, and the doubt continued. It
continued even in the mind of M. Paul de Cassagnac, as I
shall show you presently; you will not be astonished, then,
if it continued in the minds of others.
“At first, gentlemen, this was only a preoccupation, but it
became a source of anguish for some, of whom I was one,
when there appeared in ‘L’Eclair,’ of September 15, 1896, an
article that seemed almost official, a mixture of revelation
and falsehood, which did not seem to cause even a moment’s
indignation among those in whom this country places the
care of right and justice. The attorney-general has spoken
to you of this article, and has attempted to attribute it to
Colonel Picquart. We shall see presently whether it is
difficult to answer him on that point. But, first, I am going
to read to you, not the whole article, for it is too long, but a
part of it. And you will see at once, now that you know
what Colonel Picquart’s sentiments have been since September,
1896, whether the publication of this article can be
attributed either to him or to his friends. Remember the
name of this newspaper, ‘L’Eclair,’ gentlemen. We shall
meet it frequently. It is among those that carry on today
the most violent and unjust campaign against the defenders
of M. Zola. It began long ago. I read from the article in
question.
A French officer is expiating in imprisonment the crime of high
treason. That his expiation may be absolute, not a single conscience
must grant the traitor the benefit of a doubt. But such doubt is being
manifested in repeated articles, and, if some one does not intervene to
say frankly and courageously that which has been hidden, it will finally
create around Dreyfus a scandalous legend.
“The fact to which the attorney-general alluded in his
address, the serious fact that disturbed Colonel Picquart and
led him to write to General Gonse that ‘perhaps it will soon
be too late for us to do justice,’—was this fact, as has just
been insinuated, the article that appeared in ‘L’Eclair’ of
September 5, 1896? That cannot be maintained. The
articles that raised the doubt of which I have just spoken to
you were favorable articles, articles that marked the beginning
of a very legitimate campaign, which ‘L’Eclair’
answers with a tissue of lies. Let it not be said that friends
of the Dreyfus family could have originated such a story.
Presently I will tell you why, but the article itself demonstrates
it irrefutably.
That his guilt, attested by the verdict of his peers after a trial held
behind closed doors, may appear clear to those minds which are readiest
to believe in the possibility of error the entire truth must be known. We
have asked the government to tell it. The government does not think
that it can depart from the reserve dictated to it by a diplomatic prudence.
We are not bound to be equally circumspect. Convinced that the reasons
which militated in favor of silence no longer exist, we are persuaded that
the proof may be spread before the public.
“Note the process, gentlemen! I do not know exactly
from whom the article emanated, though I shall show you
that it must have had its source with the staff. Was it given
out by an officer or by a subordinate? I do not know, but
compare these processes. When doubts spring up, when a
campaign is beginning, they strike a blow resembling that
which was struck at one of these sessions. We shall return
to it; we shall examine its significance. At present I
simply ask: Why this resemblance? For there certainly is
a resemblance between the way in which they came here to
try to close our mouths by declarations that we were not
permitted to discuss or to verify, and the insertion in
‘L’Eclair’ of a pretended proof, of which we shall speak
again, but which no longer weighs in the balance, because it
is ridiculous, as are also those which are brought forward
today,—brought forward in the same manner, at a similar
moment, with the same intentions.
Irrefutable proof, proof in black and white of the treason, the proof
that resulted in the unanimous verdict of the council of war made up of
officers who have too long suffered under the cruel suspicion cast upon
them by the skilfully-sustained legend of the innocence of Dreyfus. In
our opinion, it is patriotic to break with the policy of reticence, and to
produce all the documents which rigorously show that the judges of the
military court declared their verdict with full knowledge of the facts, and
that Dreyfus, in spite of his denials, was guilty, accused by numerous
moral presumptions and by formal proofs, one of which bore his name.
“It is a lie, and yet they make the declaration. I pass
over very long passages, and come to the essential part of
the article. They tell the story of the circumstances under
which the prosecution of M. Dreyfus in 1894 was undertaken,
the discovery of the bordereau, and then they come
to this matter which it is indispensable that I should make
known to you.
They were not slow, however, in putting their hands on a document of
exceptional importance, a document which later compelled the unanimous
decision of the judges. In September the military attachés of the German
embassy addressed to their colleagues of the Italian embassy a letter in
cipher.
“This is another lie. The letter was not in cipher.
This letter left the hands of its authors to pass into the hands of those
for whom it was destined. But between the point of departure and the
point of arrival it was prudently photographed. It was a letter in the
cipher of the German embassy. About September 20 Colonel Sandherr,
chief of the statistical division, communicated to General Mercier this
letter, which had been deciphered. It related to the spying service of
Paris, and contained this phrase: “Decidedly, that animal Dreyfus is
becoming too exacting.”
“You know this document. We can speak of it. It has
been referred to in an official document which has been published—the
report of Major Ravary. It is the famous document
that Colonel Henry and M. Gribelin claim to have seen
between Colonel Picquart and M. Leblois. But it is a distorted
document, and the author of this article, convinced
that he would thus fix public opinion forever, did not fear
to write: ‘That scoundrel Dreyfus,’ spelling the name out,
when really the name Dreyfus does not appear in the document.
I come to the end of the article.
As soon as the file of documents had been delivered to the military
prosecuting officer, the examination began—an absolutely secret examination.
Dreyfus, who had again become master of himself....
“Yes, again become master of himself, because somewhere
in the article—and this is another lie—it is said that he had
made confessions.
Dreyfus, who had again become master of himself, persisted throughout
the trial, in spite of the overwhelming charges, in protesting his
innocence. It is true that Dreyfus did not know, and perhaps does not
yet know, that the minister of war was in possession of a photograph of
the letter exchanged between the German and Italian military attachés, the
only document in which his name appeared. The letter which he had
written, and which he had been careful not to sign, could be only a moral
element in the case.
“The reference here is to the bordereau.
In fact, though two of the experts in handwriting, Charavay and
Bertillon, declared that it was Dreyfus, the three others were in doubt.
But there was one proof that did not admit of doubt,—the document in
which Dreyfus was named. This document could settle the opinion of
the court, and it was important that the traitor should not escape his
punishment. But this so serious document was essentially confidential.
The minister of war could not give it up in the absence of a demand from
the courts. It was necessary, then, for a search to be made in the war
department itself. It took place, but, in order to save the agent of the
government from having to go through so many secret files, it was so
placed as to be the first to come under his hand. It was stipulated,
nevertheless, that, though thus regularly seized, it should not be put in
as evidence. Therefore it was communicated to the judges alone in the
consultation chamber. An irrefutable proof, it settled all doubts in the
minds of the members of the council. They were unanimous in their
decision as to the prisoner’s guilt, and as to the punishment to be inflicted
upon him.
“Such is the article, in substance. Three days after its
appearance, M. Demange, counsel of Dreyfus, meeting his
old friend Salle, was greeted thus:
“‘Ah! my good Demange, I am very glad to see you. I
am very glad to relieve myself of a secret that is on my
conscience.’
“‘What do you mean?’ said Demange.
“‘Well, since it is published, I can tell you.’
“‘Published? What? What are you talking about?’
“‘Why, the article in “L’Eclair”! what it says about the
secret document is the truth. A few days after the verdict
of the council of war I was dining with a few friends, among
whom was one of the officers who had convicted Dreyfus. I
said to him: “How is it that you were unanimous in your
condemnation? How do you explain such a sentence, when
Demange, whom I consider an honest man, tells me that
there is nothing in the file, that there has not been a moment
when he was not perfectly at ease regarding the innocence
of his client, and that up to the last moment he was
confident of an acquittal? How do you explain that?”
“Oh!” answered the officer, “the reconciliation is easy.
Demange had not seen what we have seen. If he had, he
would think as we do. He would be convinced.”’
“There you have, then, what the article in ‘L’Eclair’
represented, so far as the practical fact is concerned; such is
the truth that is at the bottom of it. The details are all
lies, but the certain point is that, at the council of war,
without the knowledge of the accused or his counsel, there
was a communication of one or more secret documents, and
that, on the strength of these, a verdict was arrived at
which could not otherwise have been obtained. Was I right,
then, in saying to you that what was at first a preoccupation
became in the minds of some a source of anguish? Was
such a communication possible, gentlemen? I have just told
you it was only too true. At first, it seemed beyond belief,
but the article was so well sustained! And, the declaration
of Demange coming on top of it, doubt was no longer possible.
A feeling of revolt was born in disturbed consciences.
It was but a germ, yet this germ was going to grow. The
anguish was on the point of changing into indignation when
further confirmation came in ‘Le Matin’s’ publication of the
bordereau, in no way resembling the writing of Dreyfus.
And the indignation changed into stupefaction upon the appearance
of the indictment with which you must be
familiar—I mean the d’Ormescheville report, which astonished
by its puerility all people who reason and think,
all savants like M. Duclaux, like M. Paul Meyer, like M.
Grimaux, who have come here to tell you of a scientific
spirit that they expected to find in such a document, and
which they did not find at all.
“Since then, gentlemen, we have witnessed the daily
growth of the number of men who do not believe it their
duty, I do not say before the army, but before certain commanders
of the army, to abdicate their liberty of judgment.
These think that no institution is above the law. They are
convinced that, a right having been violated, Dreyfus having
been illegally convicted, he must be tried again, whether he
be guilty or not,—a question which we shall discuss presently.
They are convinced that, in presence of such circumstances,
no one is justified in keeping silence, because it is a
concern, not of an individual interest, but of civilization itself.
And, if I must tell you, gentlemen, the raison d’être
of what is called the syndicate is this. The common purpose
of the syndicate, regardless of the belief that one may
entertain in the innocence of Dreyfus, at which one arrives
only gradually, at which you will have arrived day after
tomorrow,—regardless of that, the common object of the syndicate
is justice, right, the wounded ideal which we, in our
turn, take in our hands, and which, in spite of all furies, is
our strength and our protection. Syndicate, yes, but a syndicate
of faith, a syndicate of disinterestedness, a syndicate
of hope. [A voice—“For money”.] If we had paid you,
perhaps you would shout in our favor.”
The Judge.—“M. Labori, do not address the public.”
M. Labori.—“Monsieur le Président, I ask your pardon,
but I am obliged to be my own policeman. And that astonishes
me, gentlemen of the jury, for the people who raise
these protests fail in respect for you, a group of judges, you
who have had your anxieties, but who feel the grandeur of
your mission. But I know that, after a certain time, threats
will only strengthen you in your resolution to judge with
impartiality. So I resume, leaving those who murmur when
I speak of hope and disinterestedness to make such manifestations
as they choose.
“Try, then, to explain otherwise what this man is doing
here. What is he? I should lower him, and lower myself,
and lower you also, in trying to represent him to you. He
is not only a creative man of genius; he is, for those who are
capable of understanding, for those who penetrate to the
heart and substance of his works,—and his act of today is a
sure proof of it,—he is a poet, in spite of all violences of
form; and, as for his glory, it is not among these blind men
that we must seek his measure, but throughout Europe.
What had he to gain here? He had to gain a loss of time, a
tempest of insults and outrages. Read the newspapers, and
you will know what one gains by such an act. What moves
him, then, if not the imperative necessity of acting in accordance
with his convictions? Admirably conscious of the
power of the pen and of the power of thought, he was determined,
by a tremendous act, a violent act, if you will, to
harmonize his conduct with the inmost conviction of his soul.
That is what he wanted to do,—act.
“And action was necessary, gentlemen, on the morrow of
the acquittal of Major Esterhazy. On the morrow of that
singular prosecution, which ended in a verdict demanded
from the tribune by the minister of war, who, proclaiming
Dreyfus justly and legally condemned, was unwilling that
another should be pronounced the author of the bordereau,—on
the morrow of this judicial decision which fell like a
second stone on the condemned man buried alive on Devil’s
Island,—on the morrow of that prosecution, all who had
doubted, all who had been anxious, all who had gradually
arrived at certainty, all were struck with stupefaction.
There had to be some one to feel enough confidence in himself,
and enough authority over his fellow-citizens, to dare,
in consciousness of his power, which I admire and which was
not ill-founded, to proclaim loudly what many felt in secret,
and to act. For it was an act, gentlemen,—that letter that
burst like a terrible bomb. A revolutionary act, he called it;
it was from him that the attorney-general got the word.
Revolutionary, yes, in the sphere of thought. Nothing less
than a revolution in this sphere was needed to recall men’s
minds to common sense and truth. M. Zola has begun the
revolution. It has not yet done much harm. You will
finish it, gentlemen, finish it peacefully, finish it by the verdict
of acquittal which I am going to ask of you, but not
without first having a thorough understanding with you as
to its value and significance.
“How was it received, this act of M. Emile Zola? Some,
a few, saw in it a rallying-cry, and marched as at the sound
of the cannon. The demoniacs, struck down by an attack
so crushing, and feeling that they had no rivals in the art of
insult, falsehood, and calumny, answered by deafening
clamor. The majority, of good faith, but indifferent, suddenly
aroused from their apathy by an act so unexpected,
drew back in astonishment. Their reasoning was twofold,
and I must do justice to it. They considered M. Zola’s
letter too violent. They mistakenly saw in it insults to the
army. Dreyfus, they say, was condemned by his peers.
Esterhazy was acquitted by his. Behind all stands the staff.
We can never admit that an entire staff is guilty; rather
admit that Dreyfus is guilty than accept the conclusion that
the others are guilty. That is their argument; they have
no other. But it has another branch, which is this: There
are men in the cabinet whom we can trust. They know the
truth. They do not ask for a revision. Therefore the
Dreyfus verdict was well rendered. Therefore Dreyfus is
guilty, and was justly condemned. That is their whole case.
“They forget, gentlemen, that things do not present themselves
so simply; that questions generally do not take the
form of a dilemma; that Dreyfus may be innocent, and yet
they who condemn him may not have been knowingly responsible
and really guilty of any infamy. They do not
remember that their reasoning would apply to all judicial
errors, from the conviction of Jesus Christ to that of Pierre
Vaux, including that of Jeanne d’Arc herself. They forget
that the raison d’Etat can be pleaded in behalf of the worst
acts of government, from the massacre of St. Bartholomew
to the massacre of the hostages, including the revocation of
the Edict of Nantes, the reign of terror, and the legal murder
of the duc d’Enghien, also committed by a military tribunal.
“This reasoning, gentlemen, is terrible; it is cruel, false,
absurd. But that is not to say that with those who reason
thus I am unwilling to discuss. On the contrary, I believe
them of good faith, I believe them sincere; that is enough
for me. I am convinced that, when they understand the
real truth, they will be with us; they will join the great
number of those who are coming to us daily, because they
are beginning to understand a matter upon which hitherto
they have passed in ignorance. And their ignorance we can
easily understand, for we see how difficult, not to say how
impossible, it is for us to get at even a part of the truth here
in this court. So a word at first in answer to their objections.
They talk of insults to the army.
“Insults to the army? But, in the first place, what is the
army? Does it consist of a few personalities, however high
they may be? Is it not the entire nation, with a considerable
number of officers, all of whom, whether belonging to
the staff or not, are worthy of the stripes that they have won
by their courage and their loyalty? And then, at their head,
a small number of permanent, experienced commanders,
fallible, as all men are,—and I do not insult them in saying
so,—but surely worthy of the respect of all, by reason of the
lofty mission with which they are invested. How, gentlemen,
could Frenchmen be lacking in respect for them, especially
such a Frenchman as M. Emile Zola? Is he not one of
those who owe most to the French country, just as the
French country owes most to them? Is he not one of those
who place the highest value on French citizenship? And is
he not, therefore, one of those who must have the highest
respect for the personification of France in the French army
itself?
“But does respect for the army mean that everything is
permissible, I do not say to the army, but to a few commanders
of the army? Does it mean that they form a caste apart,
which, above other citizens, as M. Méline said in the chamber
on January 22, 1898, must not be submitted to the jury?
I am not inventing, gentlemen of the jury; here are his
words, uttered in answer to M. Paschal Grousset:
“‘I understand the significance of your interruption.
You say: “You have prosecuted, but you have not prosecuted
everything.’” The matter in question, you will understand,
was M. Zola’s letter. ‘“You have left out of the
prosecution a part of the author’s charges.” Well, yes, we
did not think it our duty to submit the honor of the commanders
of the army to the decision of the jury.’
“And why? Is there in this country any citizen, whosoever
he may be, who is indispensable to the public welfare?
No. There is not even a necessary soldier. And, if, in execution
of its threat, the staff were to resign on the day after
your verdict of acquittal, I am convinced that in this admirable
army hands would not be lacking to take up the baton
of command, and assure us the same safety from foreign
attack. So no vain threats. There are no necessary individuals
in this country, no men who escape the jurisdiction of
the jury; and M. Méline, though he is a prudent man,—M.
Méline, who has the reputation of being a moderate,—launched
a bold word, which perhaps betrayed the deplorable
state of his mind, when he said: ‘We will not submit
the honor of the commanders of the army to a jury.’ No
one here wishes to wound anyone whomsoever. There is
nothing in my words that can be offensive to loyalty. And,
as for you, gentlemen, I can only repeat the admirable
expression of M. Jaurès, much more exact than that of General
de Boisdeffre when he said: ‘You are France.’ You
are not France, but you are the legal conscience of France.
M. Jaurès was right in saying so. It is an admirable phrase,
because it expresses an admirable idea, and consequently
everybody and all institutions in this country must be
respectfully submissive to you. Was I wrong, then, in saying
that one may respect the army without being obliged to
abdicate his judgment before certain army commanders? In
our day, under the régime which still is, and which may
remain, a régime of liberty, no free mind can admit that.
“And do you know why it must not be admitted, especially
in this country, and at this hour when democracy has
made its way? Because, if a military supremacy were to
arise under these conditions, it would be the most oppressive
of all, more oppressive than the régime of the Turks or the
Tartars, for in those countries, or rather among those
peoples, where an absolute military power reigns, there is a
responsibility,—the responsibility of the chief to his people,
to history, to his dynasty, to God sometimes (in the countries
of divine right), while in a country like ours, where
there is no sole and personal responsibility, military dictatorship,
which would be the dictatorship, not of a man,
but of a bureau or a staff, would very quickly degenerate
into an anonymous oligarchy, without counterpoise, without
responsibility, a hundred times more cruel than any oppression
ever known. And, finishing, I say, gentlemen, that
there is in France, and that tomorrow there still will be in
France, something more powerful, something more respectable,
than the army itself,—the law.
“Did M. Zola ever intend to say anything else? Has he
insulted the army? Permit me to remind you of a passage
in his letter, which cannot be reread too often.
They talk to us of the honor of the army. They want us to love it,
to respect it. Ah! certainly, yes, the army which would rise at the first
threat, which would defend French soil; that army is the whole people,
and we have for it nothing but tenderness and respect. But it is not a
question of that army, whose dignity is our special desire in our need of
justice. It is the sword that is in question, the master that they may give
us tomorrow. And piously kiss the sword-hilt, the god? No.
“Well, the sword is the exact symbol of that political
state which I have just tried to picture to you, and I have
met from the audience in this court-room, which is not, you
will admit, made up by me, only manifestations of sympathy
at the expression of these ideas.
“So much for the matter of insults to the army. Now for
the second point. They have said to M. Zola: ‘Your letter
is violent. It exceeds its purpose. To justify such language,
what proofs do you offer?’
“Before answering, gentlemen, we must understand each
other. As I have already said, M. Zola’s letter is an act, a
resounding act, a brilliant act; but it was committed deliberately.
From what everybody has known, from what everybody
has seen and from what they have not seen, and also
from what he knows and has been able to tell you, as well as
from what he knows but has been prevented by his patriotism
from telling you, he has come to a conclusion which
forced itself upon his mind. And what is this conclusion?
Does it fill him with a feeling of anger towards certain army
commanders? No, gentlemen. That he leaves to the friends,
to the actual supporters, I do not say of the army, for they
insult the army, but of the staff. Listen to what ‘L’Intransigeant’
said on March 3, 1897. I quote from a letter attributed
to a superior officer in active service, to ‘a person well
informed,’ as they say of people to whom they wish to
attribute certain infamies, to give them credit and authority.
This article says:
It is monstrous to see the chief command of the army in the hands of a
septuagenarian....
“The reference here is to General Saussier, and it reminds
one of the opinions of Major Esterhazy.
A septuagenarian who, in peace as in war, was long ago judged at his
true value,—nothing. As for Boisdeffre, stupidly tainted with a nobility
which has not even the merit of being serious, he is, as you say so precisely,
a loafer, an ignoramus, full of assurance, so rossard that he has
never had the courage to learn a word of German, wherefore the chief of
staff of the army, in order to read the slightest note in this language, is
obliged to summon an interpreter. How the Prussians must laugh at us!
Moreover, thanks to these commanders,—like masters, like subordinates,—this
staff is so singular that the superior officer at the head of the
famous S. R. [Service de Renseignements, Service of Information]—the
reference here must be to Colonel Henry—knows not a word of any
foreign language. As for the generalissimo, Saussier, he was a brave
captain in the old African army, who afterwards became a general and a
detestable tactician, today completely foundered. From these chief commanders
we may not judge of all the others,—for fortunately there are
some good ones,—but we may judge of the new and terrible wasps’ nest in
which we should find ourselves, in case of a coup de torchon.
“If you continue, you will find the same language and the
same expressions. Here is an unsigned article that appeared
in ‘L’Intransigeant’ October 3, 1897.
Military justice, as lame as the other justice, but blinder and more
crying. These crying injustices are revolting, and create revolt in the
minds of the soldiers,—moreover, a legitimate revolt.
“And, on July 14, 1896, we find this, over the signature
of M. Rochefort:
One embraces the military profession only in the hope of killing men,
and, when one is not strong enough to kill those of the others, one exterminates
his own. The grand belief of the idiots who have succeeded one
another in the war department is that, if we were beaten in 1870, it is
because our troops were insufficiently disciplined.
“And in the same newspaper, on September 7, 1897, I find
this:
Passive obedience, ferocious egoism and brutality, those are the great
principles that they try to beat into the hearts and brains of the soldiers.
If the army were really a great family; if it were the school of honor,
dignity, and duty; if it were the democratic institution which befits the
French people,—it would be invincible, and there would be no deserters
from it. But the truth is that they try to make mercenaries of our
soldiers, and that the proudest, the most enlightened, the most ardent,
the best among them, are those who feel the most imperative need of
avoiding so odious a rôle.
“And there is one more passage that I wish to read, also
by M. Rochefort, which appeared on Friday, April 12, 1894.
The people regret to see that this famous military spirit succeeds in a
very short time in reducing the finest minds to a state of atrophy.
Recent verdicts rendered by councils of war show that there is a real
national danger in leaving longer to judges so ill prepared for judicial
functions the right of life and death over accused persons whose guilt
they are not capable of passing upon.
“And, if, gentlemen, we open ‘La Libre Parole’ of
November 5, 1894, we find this from the pen of M. Drumont:
Look at that ministry of war which ought to be the sanctuary of
patriotism, and which is a place of perpetual scandal, a cloaca that cannot
be compared to the Augean stables, for as yet no Hercules has tried
to clean it. In such an establishment honor and truth ought to be
embalmed, but, in reality, there is always something there that stinks.
“And, finally, gentlemen, I read to you a letter that
appears in ‘L’Autorité’ of this morning under the title
‘Billot.’
Paris, February 20, 1898.
Monsieur le Directeur:
You must be distressed by all the basenesses of the present hour. But
once more let your voice be heard in the name of this poor France, who
defends her last honor in the hands of those who betray her. A certain
man is at this moment the target of public contempt. This man is
the minister of war, a sinister figure, whose personality appears at the
saddest hours in our history. If the Méline cabinet associates its cause
with that of the minister of war, it is irrevocably lost in the esteem of the
country and the army. Not a single one of the 27,000 officers would dare
to defend the minister of war. You cannot imagine the contempt that his
lies and empty declarations have engendered. How guilty, then, is this
government that seeks out such men, knowing what they were and what
they are. Every step of this man is marked by an injustice. Regular
promotion no longer exists. Of the rights consecrated by the committees
of classification he takes no heed. The promotion lists are modified in
the office of the minister, who inserts or erases as he sees fit.
“Well, gentlemen, these are the supporters of the army.
These are the patriots. I point them out to you.
“Did Emile Zola ever use such language? Undoubtedly
he has spoken strongly, and, if, instead of being here in this
echoing trial, we were in some parlor or some office, we
might ask him perhaps to soften some corners of his letter.
But he wanted it to go far; he wanted it to be heard. It
has been heard, as he wished; and he was right. But at
bottom what was his thought? He had arrived at the conclusion
that a judicial error had been committed; that this
judicial error was not criminal in its origin, but grew out of
the credulity of a few: that it was confirmed by the malice
and the blindness of a few others, as well as by the solidarity
of brothers in arms; and that it was finally sealed by a
violation of law. Well, gentlemen, this being the case, it
was necessary, in the first place, to fix the limits of our
proofs. Even in the strangulation to which we have been
subjected, we have been treated with some regard, made
necessary, I fancy, by the processes of justice, for here, it
seems, outside of the Zola case, there are two other cases,—the
Dreyfus case and the Esterhazy case. Of the Esterhazy
case we may say everything. Of the Dreyfus case we may
say nothing. Why this distinction? Is it based on the
thing judged? Ah! I confess, gentlemen, that, when I first
asked myself the explanation of this singular restriction
upon a trial which M. Zola wished to be so open, I said to
myself: ‘It is very simple; we shall be permitted to say
nothing. In fact, there are decrees which prohibit all attack
on the thing judged, even by demonstrating that the judges
are liars. So, as we have to deal here with two things
judged, the Dreyfus case and the Esterhazy case, they will
strangle us in silence.’ Well, they have not done it. I
know not why, because, in truth, in the path upon which
they have entered they had the means. But they did not
dare to use them, and in this affair, as in so many others in
this country, they took half-measures, partial closed doors,
partial explanations, partial thing judged.
“True, gentlemen, it would not have been easy to entirely
close my mouth. I should have risen just the same after
the shorter trial, and made my argument, simply telling
you what others have told you. If I had not been contradicted,
it would have been necessary to extend the scope of
the debate.
“Now, gentlemen, I want to sum up for you chronologically
the facts in this case, to sum them up in spite of all
the obstacles that have been placed in my path. And it is
the object of my argument to try to show, by reasoning and
by induction, in all cases where the light has not been complete,
the necessary answers to the questions that I have
been forbidden to ask,—answers that result inevitably from
the study, or, to be more exact, from the silence, of our
adversaries.”
At this point the court interrupted M. Labori, declaring
an adjournment until the following day.
Resuming his argument at the point at which he had
dropped it the day before, M. Labori continued as follows:
“Let us go back to the autumn of 1894. Dreyfus, who
was then Captain Dreyfus, was arrested on October 14, 1894,
but neither the public or his family, Mme. Dreyfus excepted,
knew of his arrest. On October 29 the news leaked
out in a rather indefinite way, through ‘La Libre Parole,’
and on November 1 a more exact account was given in
‘L’Eclair.’ I beg you, gentlemen, to note that the two
newspapers which alone were well informed at the beginning
of this case are the two newspapers that have carried on the
most violent and most unjust campaign in the years that
have since elapsed. ‘L’Eclair’ having given a more precise
account, ‘La Libre Parole’ of November 1 published a very
short article, of which I shall read to you but an extract.
“Is it true that recently a very important arrest has been made by order
of the military authority? Is the individual arrested accused of
spying? If the news is true, why does the military authority maintain a
silence so absolute? A reply is necessary.” Such was the question that
we asked on Monday, and the minister of war has carefully refrained
from replying. We had been notified of the arrest on Sunday, ...
“At once we may ask by whom ‘La Libre Parole’ had
been notified. I questioned General Mercier to find out to
whom this indiscretion should be attributed, and whether any
inquiry was made. He answered that he knew nothing
about it, hinting that he attributed it to the Dreyfus family
That theory cannot be accepted. The Dreyfus family knew
nothing about the matter. Major du Paty de Clam, employing
threats toward Mme. Dreyfus, had forbidden her to
speak; and, supposing that she had spoken, you can well
imagine that she would not have carried her secrets to ‘La
Libre Parole.’ Consequently, here at the beginning we find
the hand of some one who is in relations both with the newspapers
of which I speak and with the war offices. Who is
he? Is he a superior officer or a subordinate? I do not
know, but the relation is indisputable.
We had been notified of the arrest on Sunday, but, in view of the
gravity of the charge, and the name and position of the guilty party, we
desired to await the result of the examination. Today these reasons do
not hold. Here, in fact, is what our confrère, “L’Eclair.” says concerning
our questions: “Several newspapers have published a note of a
few lines, asking if there had been an important arrest for a crime of
high treason. The arrest has been kept secret. The facts, unhappily,
are exact, and much more serious than the question led us to believe.
An officer, not however, a superior officer, is at this moment in prison at
Cherche-Midi; he has committed the most abominable crime that an
officer can commit. He has betrayed his country, and for venal motives.
The examination, which was conducted in secret, is finished, and the
proof materially established.”
“This is an inaccuracy, perhaps a falsehood. Certainly it
was the starting-point of all the stories, each more false than
the other, which from that moment began to fill the columns
of the newspapers, finding no contradiction and spreading
error through the public opinion of the entire country. If I
did not wish to save your time, gentlemen, I could read you
extracts from a thousand newspapers of all parties, affirming
most energetically that Dreyfus had relations with German
and Italian spies which had been materially proved; that he
had made suspicious journeys to Belgium or Alsace, in the
course of which he was detected in the act of spying; that
he broke open a vault in the war department, and took
therefrom secrets of the most vital interest to the national
defence; that he delivered important documents to the
enemy; and that he had numerous civil accomplices.
“It must be said that the mystery which surrounded the
arrest of Captain Dreyfus opened the way for all these lies,
which served as a foundation for public opinion. On October
13 Dreyfus was summoned to the war department, and
there invited to appear, in civil dress, on October 15. You
understand why. He was to be arrested. The arrest had
already been decided upon, and it was not desirable that he
should be taken in uniform to Cherche-Midi between policemen.
That would have aroused public opinion, and the
policy of mystery had already been resolved upon.
“On the morning of October 15 Dreyfus appeared at the
war department. There he was arrested by Major du Paty
de Clam, after an examination which I shall refer to again
hereafter. Then a search was made. Absolute silence was
imposed upon Mme. Dreyfus by reference to the Iron Mask
and assertions that her husband’s life depended upon it.
This silence was maintained for a fortnight. Meanwhile
what was happening at the prison of Cherche-Midi? I had
hoped that a man who could speak to you with authority
upon this point would testify here under oath; I mean
Major Forzinetti. He was not allowed to testify, but, thank
God! he has published in ‘Le Figaro’ over his own signature
a story with which undoubtedly you are not familiar,
but with which you must be made familiar, for it is nothing
else than his deposition. I am going to read it to you. I
am sure that he is now in this court-room. If it does not
represent his thought at every point, if it is not what he
would have declared under oath, he will contradict me.
Here is his story:
On October 14. 1894, I received a secret enclosure from the minister of
war. It made known to me that on the next day, the 15th, at 7 o’clock in
the morning, a superior officer would make his appearance at the prison
to convey to me a confidential communication. On the morning of the
15th....
“Note this, gentlemen. You will see the value of it in my
subsequent discussion. We are at the morning of the 15th.
Though Captain Dreyfus, who was notified on the 13th to
appear on the 15th, had not yet been examined, and was as
yet only an object of suspicion, already they were preparing
for him a prison-cell.
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.
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.
“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!’”
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.
“Gentlemen, if our enemies do not understand us, it is
our duty to ourselves and to our country to understand
them, in order that the prevailing obscurity may be dissipated.
For my part, I consider that the worst treason, perhaps
because it is the most common, is treason to the French
spirit, that spirit of tolerance and justice which has made us
beloved by the peoples of the earth. Even if France were to
disappear tomorrow, we should leave behind us one thing
eternal, the sentiments of liberty and human justice that
France unchained upon the world in 1789. Gentlemen,
when the hour of insults is past, when they have finished
outraging us, it will be necessary to reply. And then what
will they offer us? The thing judged. Gentlemen, look
above your heads. See that Christ upon the cross. There is
the thing judged, and it has been put above the judge’s
head that the sight of it may not disturb him. It ought to
be placed at the other end of the room, in order that, before
rendering his verdict, the judge might have before his eyes
the greatest example of a judicial error, held up for the
shame of humanity. Oh! I am not one of the worshippers
of Christ, in the sense in which many among you are, perhaps.
But, after all, perhaps I love him more, and certainly
I respect him more than do many of those who preach massacre
in the name of the religion of love.
“They also tell us of the honor of the army. On that
point I have answered, but I wanted to cite to you, so odious
are these words of treason, and so revolting is it to me to see
them flung so freely about,—I wanted to cite to you the case
of Marshal Bazaine. He was really a traitor, was he not?
He betrayed French soldiers by hundreds of thousands, at
the critical moment when it depended upon him to change
the fortune of our arms and save his country. I wish to indulge
in no declamation here, but I declare, and I defy any
man to rise to contradict me, that Bazaine committed the
greatest act of treason known to the world. Condemned to
military degradation and to death, they spared him both.
Tell me, do you think that the responsibility of commanders
is greater than the responsibility of soldiers? Yes, undoubtedly.
Well, if this responsibility is greater, why every
day do they punish simple soldiers so pitilessly, and why do
they pardon the traitor par excellence, the traitor who had
no excuse, the traitor whose outstretched hand France
awaited on the day of her supreme disaster. To what régime
did they submit him? Let me read you a few words from a
pamphlet by M. Marchi, keeper of the prison of the Sainte
Marguerite Islands. Here are his instructions:
You will treat the prisoner with the greatest regard; in short, at
Sainte Marguerite one must be a man of the world, and not a jailer.
“M. Marchi arrives at Sainte Marguerite. The temporary
superintendent makes him familiar with the service, and informs
him, among other things, that, supposing it to be his
duty to watch the condemned man whenever he went to
walk upon the terrace, Lieutenant-Colonel Valley went to
Paris to protest against the conduct of the keeper, wherefore
the keeper had been reprimanded? It would take too long
to tell you of all the instructions. Suffice it to know that
cabinet ministers wrote to Bazaine, that they addressed him
as Monsieur the Marshal, and that there was a question of
pensioning him. Boats were allowed to come to the edge of
the terrace, whence he conversed with visitors. On the eve
of his escape he had obtained permission to go out with a
guardian. Well, really, when I compare this tolerance,
which is an outrage upon France and upon the army, with
the hatred unchained against the prisoner on Devil’s Island;
when I remember that an artillery officer named Triponé,
who had not only delivered documents, but had delivered
the Bourges detonator, of which we were the only
possessors in Europe, by the complicity of the sub-officer
Fessler, to the house of Armstrong, which then gave the
benefit of it to Germany; when I see that Triponé was sentenced
to five years in prison, and was pardoned after two
years and a half, though his crime was certainly not less
than that of Dreyfus,—I say that there is no equality of
punishment between these Christians and this Jew.
“Again, there is another fact. Adjutant Chatelain, who
is now in New Caledonia, perhaps is farming there and raising
cattle; his crime, if I remember rightly, consisted in the
sale of certain documents to Italy. He was not less guilty
than Dreyfus. But what a difference in treatment! They
talk of equality before the law. It is a phrase. We await
the reality. They tell us that we have violated the law. I
maintain, on the contrary, that we appear here in the interest
of the law, and I say that we were unable to do otherwise.
For the rectification of a judicial error application
was made to the war department, to the executive power.
You know how General Billot received the application; he
refused to act. M. Trarieux applied to M. Méline; M.
Scheurer-Kestner did the same; M. Méline would not even
talk with them. In the senate, discussion, leading to nothing.
In the chamber, discussion, leading to nothing. And
similarly with the council of war, with the investigation by
General de Pellieux, with the investigation by Major
Ravary. Now, when all the powers that are the organs of
the law fail in their legal duty, what was left for those who,
like M. Zola, have undertaken the work of justice from
which the powers of justice shrank? M. Zola’s idea is an
appeal to the people, an appeal to the people represented by
twelve jurors whom he does not know, whose opinions none
of us know, to pass upon his act, and say whether they will
allow him to bring out the light. If he must be struck, he is
very proud to be struck for this confession of justice and
truth.
“If the jury gives him its aid, the pacification of minds
may be accomplished, and the agitation of this day finished
by the legal reparation due to all who have been deprived of
the guarantees of the law. Without truth, M. Zola can do
nothing; he is powerless; he will be baffled on every hand.
With a bit of the truth, M. Zola is invincible. It is for the
jurors to answer to the appeal of truth.
“I have said that the government is fallible. The jurors
also have no higher light. They are men. They do their
best. They have the advantage of being for a time unbiased
by esprit de corps, and of being able thus, in perfect liberty
of mind, to act in accordance with that need of superior
justice which we all feel. We are before you, gentlemen.
Shortly you will pass judgment. I hope that you may not
be governed by the argument which now controls too many
minds. How many Frenchmen there are who say: ‘Possibly
Dreyfus was condemned illegally, but he was condemned
justly, and that is sufficient; so let us say no more about it.’
Sophism of the raison d’Etat, which has done us so much
harm,—which hampered the magnificent movement of the
French revolution by the guillotine and all sorts of violence.
Ah! we have torn down the Bastille. Every 14th of July
we dance to celebrate the abolition of the raison d’Etat.
But a Bastille still remains within us, and, when we question
ourselves, an illegality committed to the detriment of others
seems to us acceptable, and we say, and we think, that this
may be a little evil for a great good. Profound error. An
illegality is a form of iniquity, since the law is guarantee of
justice.
“Gentlemen, all the generals together have no right to say
that the illegality which comes from a certain form of justice,
since it is a denial of it; all the magistrates together,—have
no right to say that illegality can be justice, because the law
is nothing but the guarantee of justice. To do justice outside
of the law no one has either the right or the power. If
you wish to render the supreme service to the country under
the present circumstances, establish the supremacy of the
law, the supremacy of justice. Cause to disappear from our
souls that respect for the raison d’Etat so absurd in a democracy.
With Louis XIV, with Napoleon, with men who
hold a people in their hands and govern according to their
good pleasure, the raison d’Etat is intelligible. In a democracy
the raison d’Etat is only a contradiction, a vestige of
the past. ‘France is a high moral person,’ said Gambetta.
I do not deny it, monarchy or republic. But I say that the
tradition of the raison d’Etat has had its day, and that the
hour has come for us to attach ourselves to the modern idea
of liberty and justice. After the original duty of defence of
the soil, nothing can be more urgent than to establish among
us a régime of liberty and justice, which shall be in accordance
with the ambition of our fathers, an example to all
civilized nations.
“At the present hour, I admit, the problem presents itself
to you in a bitter and sorrowful form. Oh! it is very sorrowful
to sincere people to find themselves in hostility with
brave soldiers who intended to do well, who wished to do
well, and who, thinking to do well, have not done well.
That happens to civilians not in uniform; that happens to
civilians in uniform,—for soldiers are nothing else.
“From this point of view you are at a turning-point in our
history, and you must submit military society to the control
of the civil law, or abandon to it our most precious conquests.
We have not to pass upon General de Boisdeffre or
upon General de Pellieux. They will explain themselves
to their superiors. It is not our affair. They have nothing
to ask of us. But, however painful it may be to find ourselves
for a day in conflict with them, take your course,
since no danger can result, unless you yourselves abandon
the cause of the law of justice which you represent. Thus
you will render us the grand service, the inestimable service,
of extinguishing at the beginning the religious war that
threatens to dishonor this country. [Murmurs of protest.]
“Since you protest, so much the better. I am willing to
believe that it is your intention to renew the wars of religion;
but, when I see in France, in our France of Algeria, a
pillaging of warehouses; when I see it boasted in the newspapers
that safes have been thrown into the sea, and that contracts
have been torn up; when I see that Jews, while going
to get bread for their families, have been massacred,—I have
a right to say that religious warfare offered no other aspect in
the middle ages; and I say that the jurors of today, in rendering
a verdict in favor of liberty and justice for all, even
for Jews, will signify their intention of putting an end to
these excesses by saying to those who have committed these
barbarities: ‘In the name of the French people, you shall
go no farther.’
“Gentlemen, we are the law; we are toleration; we are
the defenders of the army, for we do not separate justice
from patriotism, and the army will not be strong, it will not
be respected, unless it derives its power from respect for the
law. I add that we are the defenders of the army, when we
ask you to drive Esterhazy from it. You have driven out
Picquart, and kept Esterhazy. And, gentlemen of the jury,
since there has been reference to your children, tell me
who would like to belong to the same battalion that Esterhazy
belongs to? Tell me if you will trust this officer
to lead your children against the enemy? I need only ask
the question. No one will dare reply.
“Gentlemen, we have known terrible shocks in this century.
We have experienced all glories and all disasters.
We are now confronted with the unknown, between all
fears and all hopes. Seize the occasion, as we have seized it,
and determine your destinies. It is an august thing, this
judgment of the people upon itself. It is a terrible thing
also, this decision by the people of its future. Your verdict,
gentlemen, will not decide our fates as much as your
own. We appear before you. You appear before history.”
It was six o’clock when M. Clemenceau took his seat and
Attorney-General Van Cassel rose to reply.
“I am obliged to place the question before you anew. M.
Zola has declared that the council of war condemned in obedience
to orders. Has he given the slightest proof of this?
He has not even attempted it. For twelve days we have heard
nothing here but insults to the army; and now, for the last
two days, in order that they might be tolerated here, they
have done nothing but repeat that the staff is made up of
brave generals, and that the council of war rendered its verdict
in good faith. The insulters have been forced to hide
themselves behind the army, shouting: ‘Long live the
army!’”
To this address M. Labori made rejoinder. Facing the
audience, which was crying “Enough! enough! Down with
Labori!” he said:
“This last incident was necessary, in order to show the
two parties to this debate,—those, on the one hand, who
plead for justice and right, and those who shout ‘Enough!’
when, in the name of the accused, the counsel takes the
floor, as is his right.”
Then, turning to the attorney-general, he continued:
“You call me an insulter of the army; for it was at me
that your words were aimed, since it was I who spoke for
two days. I am not of those who are accustomed to such
attacks, and I am not of those who are disposed to submit to
them. I do not accept this insult that rises to me from your
seat, Monsieur Attorney-General, however high your position.
From the standpoint of talent you and I are equals.
You have no lesson to give me. I refuse you the right, and
I say that you rose to utter these brief words because you
knew that they would let loose a manifestation which you
had a right to expect from a hall packed against us.”
Then, turning to the jury, he concluded:
“There are two ways of understanding right, gentlemen of
the jury. The question before you is this: Is Zola guilty?
Let these clamors dictate to you, gentlemen, the duty of
firmness that is incumbent upon you. You are the
sovereign arbiters. You are higher than the army, higher
than the judicial power. You are the justice of the people,
which only the judgment of history will judge. If you have
the courage, declare Zola guilty of having struggled against
all hatreds in behalf of right, justice, and liberty.”
The session was then suspended, and the jury retired for
deliberation. After thirty-five minutes, it returned. The
court came in again. Then the foreman of the jury rose and
said:
“On my honor and my conscience the declaration of the
jury is: as concerns Perrenx, yes, by a majority vote. As
concerns Zola, yes, by a majority vote.”
Then the air was filled with cries of ‘Long live the army!
Long live France! Down with the insulters! To the door
with Jews! Death to Zola!’ amid which Zola sadly cried:
‘These people are cannibals.’
The court then retired to deliberate upon the sentence.
Returning a few minutes later, it condemned M. Perrenx,
the gérant of “L’Aurore,” to an imprisonment of four
months and the payment of a fine of three thousand francs;
upon M. Emile Zola it inflicted the maximum penalty of one
year’s imprisonment and a fine of three thousand francs.
The trial thus being ended, the court adjourned; but a
day or two later the council for the accused appealed from
the verdict to the higher court.
Transcriber’s Note
Printer’s errors have been corrected by the transcriber where they
could be clearly identified. Otherwise, as far as possible, original
spelling and punctuation have been preserved.
The table of contents was created by the transcriber; none existed
in the printed book.