Thirteenth Day—February 21.
With the opening of the session, Attorney-General Van Cassel began his summing-up.
Speech of Attorney-General Van Cassel.
“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.”
Speech of M. Emile Zola.
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.”
Speech of M. Labori.
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.