M. Franck.—“Through M. Bernard Lazare.”
Testimony of M. Grimaux.
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.