Every one must feel that the last word has not been said on that
extraordinary transaction which convulsed France, and shocked Europe,
during the close of the nineteenth century, under the name of the
Dreyfus Case.
It is true that no effort has been spared by the Government of the
Republic to put an end to an agitation which threatened to develop
into a civil war. A general amnesty has been proclaimed; the courts
of law have been forbidden to entertain any proceedings involving the
guilt or innocence of Captain Dreyfus, his accusers or his partisans,
and the French press has been appealed to, in the name of patriotism,
to close its columns to all further discussion of the dangerous topic.
Such an attitude, adopted in order to save France from disruption, is
not without a certain dignity; but it is at the same time terribly
unjust. It is as if France had repeated to the victim of the Devil’s
Isle the memorable words--‘It is better that one man should die for
the people.’
The one person in Europe who is completely ignorant of the true
motives underlying this grim tragedy is without doubt Dreyfus
himself. That taciturn, commonplace figure, suddenly elevated
into the position of criminal, martyr, and hero, was merely the
shuttlecock driven through the air by unseen hands. Even if he was
guilty of writing the celebrated bordereau--a question which the
Court of Rennes decided in the affirmative--he must have done it by
the order of others, given for reasons which he did not comprehend.
It will be remembered that before and during the second trial of
Dreyfus, the strongest efforts were put forth on his behalf by three
foreign Powers--those composing the Triple Alliance. The German,
Austrian, and Italian military attachés, breaking through the
etiquette of their position, disclaimed, each on his personal word of
honour, any dealings with the alleged spy.
Not only so, but I myself sent for the Paris correspondent of a
London newspaper of high standing, and authorised him to inform his
readers that the German Emperor himself was prepared personally to
exculpate the accused from the charge of selling information to
Germany.
This offer, made privately to the French President, was declined for
the same reasons which prompted the Government to hush up the whole
affair. But every thoughtful man will realise that it would not have
been made unless there had been more at stake than the freedom of an
obscure captain.
My own connection with the _Affaire Dreyfus_ dates from the time of
the first trial and sentence, when the theatrical spectacle of the
degradation of the unfortunate officer was the theme of universal
comment. At this juncture I received a visit from Colonel ----, an
officer high in the Emperor’s confidence, and at that time attached
to the German Embassy in Paris.
‘I have come to you,’ he announced, as soon as we found ourselves
alone, ‘by command of his Imperial Majesty the Kaiser.’