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.”