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.
“I believe, gentlemen, that there will remain no illusion as to my
patriotism, and I must say that it is in our ranks, in the ranks of
those who think as I do, that are to be found the most enlightened
patriots, who see most clearly the interests of the country. Those who
insult the army are the rotten journalists who accuse the minister of
war of having sold himself for 30,000 francs to a pretended Jewish
syndicate. The insulters of the army are those heroes of fear who
told you at the beginning of this case: Rather let the innocent
suffer torture than compromise our security, when a foreign power is
watching us! What! a foreign power is watching us, and we have an army
of two millions of men, an entire nation to defend the country, with
2,000 educated officers, workers, ready to shed their blood on the
battle-field, who, in time of peace are preparing perfect weapons,
and you think that we would insult them? The insulters are those who
run through the streets crying ‘Long live the army!’ without crying
‘Long live the republic!’--those two cries that cannot be separated.
The insulters are those who cry ‘Long live the army!’ and then ‘Death
to Zola!’ and ‘Down with the Jews!’ For who is there that has not in
the army a brother, a son, a parent, a friend? The army is the flesh
of our flesh, blood of our blood. Ask rather this noble defendant,
this courageous citizen who sits here on a bench of infamy, which he
will transform into a bench of glory,--ask him if he does not share my
sentiment.”