M. Clemenceau.—“M. Zola tells me that he is an anti-Semite. I did not know it, and it does not matter. It was Colonel Picquart who submitted his doubts to his superior, General Gonse, and it is out of the scruples of those two men, expressed in the letters with which you are now familiar, that the whole matter which brings us here today has grown.
“Now, gentlemen, what is the question before us? For my part, I consider it at once most simple and most complex. Most simple, for it is a question of legality, a question whether the law which is the guarantee of all of us, the law which protects us against the temptations of judges, the law which protects us against exterior passions, the law which safeguards all of us from the highest to the lowest,—it is a question whether the guarantees which this law furnishes have been observed in the case of Dreyfus. No, they have not. And that is all I want to know. I do not examine the presumptions of innocence, which are enormous, especially now that the present trial has shed full light upon them. I consider only the question of legality. And, the question being so simple, why has it aroused so many passions against it? It is because justice, while undoubtedly the most beautiful ideal to sing and to celebrate, is also the most difficult to realize.
“The social organization is theoretically admirable. The people send to parliament men whose mission it is to represent their will. This will is formulated under the forms of law. The judges apply it, the police execute it. But it comes about that men invested with public power suffer themselves, because they are men, because they are weak, to be abused by the idea that they are more or less necessary men. Having some power, they want more. They confuse their own interests, individually and as a body, with the general interest, and, when it is pointed out to them that they have made an error, their first impulse is to resist en masse. Their entire profession is at stake.
“May I be permitted this respectful criticism? They say to us: ‘You insult the army.’ No, we do not insult the army. The army exists only through the law. We desire it to be great through the law, for we have duties toward it. But it has duties toward us, and there must be an understanding between military and civil society on the very ground of law and justice. Gentlemen, France for twenty-five years has been carrying on a double enterprise, which seems contradictory. We are a vanquished nation,—gloriously vanquished, it is true, but vanquished none the less,—and it has been our thought to re-establish the power of France. That is a matter of necessity. It must be, because there is no civil law, there is no means of doing right and justice, if we are not, in the first place, masters in our own house. And our second thought has been that of ridding ourselves of all personal despotisms, of every vestige of oligarchy, and founding in our own country a democracy of liberty and justice.
“Then the question arose whether these two views are not contradictory. The principle of civil society is right, liberty, justice. The principle of military society is discipline, countersign, obedience. And, as each is led by the consciousness of the utility of his function to try to encroach upon his neighbor, military society, which has force at its disposal, tends to encroach on civil authority, and to look upon civil society sometimes from a somewhat lofty standpoint. It is a wrong. Soldiers have no raison d’être except as defenders of the principle which civil society represents. A reconciliation between these two institutions is necessary. The professional army no longer exists. The universal army, the army of all, must be penetrated with the ideas of all, with the universal ideas of right, since it is made up of the universality of citizens. If, absorbed by the thought of defence, which is of the first legitimacy, civil society were to rush into military servitude, we should still have a soil to defend, it is true; but the moral country would be lost, because, abandoning the ideas of justice and liberty, we should have abandoned all that has been done hitherto in this world by the glory and renown of France. These two societies must come to an understanding. Military society must enjoy all its rights, in order to do all its duties. Civil society, conscious of its duties toward the country and the army, must maintain its rights inflexibly, not only in the higher interest of the principle which it represents, but to insure a maximum of efficiency in the military institution. Yes, indeed, the army must be strong, but, as the abnegation of some and the absolute command of others are destined to fuse in one immense effort of life and death for the defence of the territory, it is necessary that civil society, by the superiority of its principle, should preserve its full power of control.
“Gentlemen, you belong to the army. At what moment will the army be most admirable? At the moment when, running to the frontier, it will have all our heart and all our hope. Suppose that a hundred thousand Frenchmen fall in the first battles. Ninety thousand of these will be men who today are not wearing the uniform, and only ten thousand of them will be men who call themselves soldiers. Will these men lie in two heaps? Will it be said that there is one honor belonging to the ten thousand military men, and another belonging to the ninety thousand civilians? No. There is but one honor for all, the honor that consists in the fulfillment of the supreme duty, total duty toward the country. Then let us not abuse a word which no longer has the significance that it had in the days of professional armies. The honor of the army today is the honor of all. The army has but one honor,—that it is potent for the national defence, that in peace it is always respectful of the law.
“General de Pellieux asked us for confidence the other day. And, while he spoke, I reflected that, during the twenty-five years of the empire, we had full confidence in the commanders of the army. We never criticised them, we never controlled them. The men whom I saw start were full of confidence. You know to what disasters they ran. M. Zola has been reproached for having written ‘La Débâcle.’ Alas! gentlemen,—and I say it very low,—if he wrote it, it was because before him there had been men of war to organize it and to bring it about. It is a return of that that is to be avoided, and patriotism does not consist in admiring, whether or no, everything that is done in the army, but in submitting the army to the discipline of the law. When General de Boisdeffre came to this bar, after General de Pellieux, to use toward this jury language that was threatening, he revealed to you what must have taken place before the council of war, and from what we have seen of the trial in the open day we may judge of the trial behind closed doors. The language of General Billot at the tribune was clear enough. It was the equivalent of an order; and did not Colonel Picquart say, to explain the insufficiency of the Ravary report: ‘General de Pellieux had concluded that there was no ground for a prosecution; Major Ravary could not do otherwise than come to the conclusion of his superior?’ It is not necessary to conclude therefrom that the generals have wilfully failed in their duty. Nothing more than their own words is necessary to show us how, without intending it, without realizing it, they have stepped aside from the clear path of right and justice. General de Boisdeffre would have proved it superabundantly, if that had been necessary. He was asked for the proof, or, rather, he was not asked for it, for we were not allowed to ask it, but at the bottom of our hearts we wanted it revealed. If he had brought a decisive proof that would have compelled everybody to bow, for my part, I swear to you, I would have left this court-room with a sense of relief. But what sort of proof did they bring us? A document later by two years than the Dreyfus verdict. What sort of justice is it, gentlemen, that discovers proofs of a just verdict two years after the verdict was rendered, and which produces, as convincing, documents that were never submitted to the accused? That is the philosophy of these closed doors. Behind them everything was known, even the secret documents, known to all except to him whom these documents were to condemn. They hide from us documents the revelation of which they say would be harmful to the national defence, and these documents, which they refuse to M. Scheurer-Kestner and to the chamber, traverse the highways in Major Esterhazy’s pocket. M. Méline, to whom Jaurès said: ‘Yes or no, did you communicate secret documents?’ replied to him: ‘We will answer you elsewhere.’ Elsewhere is here, and here they have not answered us, for I cannot consider as an answer the assertion that two years after the verdict they discovered a proof against the prisoner. M. Labori has told you that this document is a forgery. I tell you that, even if it is true, it is the first duty of all of us to see that this document is submitted to Dreyfus, whether he is a traitor or not,—to Dreyfus and to his lawyer; and, if you say that, because he is a Jew, he is not to be tried as others are tried, I tell you that the day will come when you will be similarly treated because you are a Protestant or a Freethinker. This is a denial of the French idea born of the Revolution, the idea of liberty for all, the idea of tolerance for all, the idea of equality of guarantees, equality of rights, equality of justice. If you once condemn a man without the forms of justice, some day the forms of justice will be abrogated by others to your harm. How justly the historians have cried out against the abominable law of the 22d of Prairial, made by Robespierre to rid himself of his enemies! All thinkers have handed over to the execration of mankind this abominable law that abolished the right of defence. It is odious, it is infamous; but at least it allowed the prisoner to know the charge against him. Why do you not do as much, you in times which are not of revolutionary violence, in peace, in tranquillity, when all the machinery of the public powers is operating freely? Yes, we condemn a man, a French officer, for he is a French officer, and not of the least distinguished, belonging to a family which has given proofs of patriotism. I do not know the Dreyfus family. I only reproduce the testimony of M. Lalance, which M. Labori has read to you.
“Even if Dreyfus is a traitor, I do not see what interest we can have in refusing to honor people who are not responsible for the crime committed, and who have given manifest proofs of love for the French country. I cannot suffer the error of one to become a burden on all. If Dreyfus is guilty, let him be punished as severely as you will. You have my article, in which I say that I ask no pity for him. But, if he has brothers, children, parents, who have behaved themselves as good Frenchmen, I hold it a point of honor to do them justice. It is the misfortune of the times, in which all passions are furiously unchained, that we will not listen to the voice of reason; that we insult each other, that we accuse each other. You have even seen here officers who are old comrades, who tomorrow will vie with each other in deeds of valor and self-sacrifice, if the country is threatened,—you have seen them accuse each other, defy each other, and exchange retorts as if they were sword-thrusts. Tomorrow Colonel Picquart will cross swords with a companion in arms whom at the bottom of his heart perhaps he loves. And we, who do not wear the uniform, who are Frenchmen all the same, and who intend also that France shall be effectively defended, what do we do? A few of us assert that perhaps a judicial error has been committed. Then goes up a great cry from the crowd: ‘Traitor! Scoundrel! Renegade! Agent of the Jews!’ And these are Frenchmen, gentlemen, who think to serve France by pointing her out as a den of people who sell themselves; these are Frenchmen, to whom it never occurs to suppose that their fellow-citizens are capable of French generosity. They hurl insults, they betray hatred, and it is thus that they pretend to serve the country.
“Gentlemen, if our enemies do not understand us, it is our duty to ourselves and to our country to understand them, in order that the prevailing obscurity may be dissipated. For my part, I consider that the worst treason, perhaps because it is the most common, is treason to the French spirit, that spirit of tolerance and justice which has made us beloved by the peoples of the earth. Even if France were to disappear tomorrow, we should leave behind us one thing eternal, the sentiments of liberty and human justice that France unchained upon the world in 1789. Gentlemen, when the hour of insults is past, when they have finished outraging us, it will be necessary to reply. And then what will they offer us? The thing judged. Gentlemen, look above your heads. See that Christ upon the cross. There is the thing judged, and it has been put above the judge’s head that the sight of it may not disturb him. It ought to be placed at the other end of the room, in order that, before rendering his verdict, the judge might have before his eyes the greatest example of a judicial error, held up for the shame of humanity. Oh! I am not one of the worshippers of Christ, in the sense in which many among you are, perhaps. But, after all, perhaps I love him more, and certainly I respect him more than do many of those who preach massacre in the name of the religion of love.
“They also tell us of the honor of the army. On that point I have answered, but I wanted to cite to you, so odious are these words of treason, and so revolting is it to me to see them flung so freely about,—I wanted to cite to you the case of Marshal Bazaine. He was really a traitor, was he not? He betrayed French soldiers by hundreds of thousands, at the critical moment when it depended upon him to change the fortune of our arms and save his country. I wish to indulge in no declamation here, but I declare, and I defy any man to rise to contradict me, that Bazaine committed the greatest act of treason known to the world. Condemned to military degradation and to death, they spared him both. Tell me, do you think that the responsibility of commanders is greater than the responsibility of soldiers? Yes, undoubtedly. Well, if this responsibility is greater, why every day do they punish simple soldiers so pitilessly, and why do they pardon the traitor par excellence, the traitor who had no excuse, the traitor whose outstretched hand France awaited on the day of her supreme disaster. To what régime did they submit him? Let me read you a few words from a pamphlet by M. Marchi, keeper of the prison of the Sainte Marguerite Islands. Here are his instructions: