“I am innocent. I swear that I am innocent. Long live France!”
“Death to him!” is the immense shout that goes up from the crowd. But immediately the noise subsides. The adjutant entrusted with the sad mission of taking off his stripes has laid hand upon Dreyfus, and already the first stripes, which had been loosened in advance, have been torn off by him and thrown upon the ground. Again Dreyfus protests against his condemnation, and his cries reach the crowd very distinctly.
“On the head of my wife and the heads of my children I swear that I am innocent. I swear it. Long live France!”
Meanwhile the adjutant has very swiftly torn the bands from his cap, the stripes from his sleeves, the buttons from his dolman, the numbers from his collar, and from his pantaloons the red band which the condemned man has worn since he entered the Polytechnic school. There remains the sword. The adjutant draws it, and breaks it across his knee. A snapping sound, and the two pieces lie with the rest upon the ground. Then the sword-belt is detached, and the scabbard falls in its turn.
It is finished. These seconds have seemed a century. Never was there an impression of acuter anguish. And again, clear, without sign of emotion, the voice of the condemned man rises: “You degrade an innocent man.”
Now he has to pass before his former comrades and subordinates. For any other it would have been a frightful torture.
“You are listening to his enemies, gentlemen of the jury.
Dreyfus, however, does not seem embarrassed. He strides over what were the insignia of his office, which two gendarmes will presently pick up, and places himself before the four cannoneers, who lead him before General Darras. The little group, with the two officers of the republican guard at the head, starts toward the band placed before the prison vehicle, and begins to march along the line of troops, at a distance of about a yard. Still Dreyfus walks with head erect. The public shout “Death to him!” Soon he nears the railing; the crowd has a better view of him; the shouts increase. Thousands of lungs call for the death of the wretch, who shouts again: “I am innocent. Long live France!” The crowd does not understand, but it has seen Dreyfus turn toward it and shout. A storm of hisses answers him; then a clamor that traverses the vast court-yard like a tempest. “Death to him! Death to him!” And outside there is a terrible swaying of the dark mass, and the agents have the greatest difficulty in preventing the people from rushing upon the Military School and taking the place by storm, in order to do swifter and more rational justice to the infamy of Dreyfus.
Dreyfus continues his march. He reaches the group of journalists.
“You will say to entire France,” he says, “that I am innocent.”