The Judge.--“No, it is useless.”
M. Lalance.--“I desist, in obedience to your orders. But I thought it
might be useful for the jury to know what the elder brother did.”
M. Labori then read the following letter received from M. Gabriel
Séailles, professor of philosophy at the Sorbonne, who had been
summoned, but was kept at home by illness.
Why did I sign the protest?
A man of the study. I can bring here only the testimony of my free and
sincere conscience. After the Dreyfus trial it never occurred to me
for a moment to call in question the legality of the verdict. I do not
wish to lessen the initiative of M. Zola, but it is not he who opened
this debate. It was opened by the unknown person who transmitted to
‘Le Matin’ the _fac-simile_ of the famous _bordereau_. On that day the
question was submitted to public opinion; an appeal was taken to the
conscience of each of us. There is no escape from the logic of events.
Other things occurred, other documents have been presented to us. We
have seen a bit of writing which, by the confession of its author,
bears a frightful resemblance to the handwriting of the _bordereau_.
We have witnessed a trial the conduct of which astonished us,--a trial
where the witnesses were transformed into the accused. We have read an
indictment which disconcerted us, because we sought in it in vain for
what we expected to find there. We may be condemned to silence, but we
cannot prevent ourselves from thinking. So my mind worked on the data
that had been furnished, and my ideas concentrated themselves in the
following dilemma: of two things one; either Dreyfus was convicted on
the strength of the _bordereau_,--that is, without proof,--or he was
convicted on secret documents not communicated to the defence,--that
is, illegally. This almost involuntary conclusion fell heavily upon my
heart. If the law, which is the security of all of us, and which we
may have to invoke tomorrow, should be always respected, should it not
be especially respected when in one individual there are thousands of
individuals whom they pretend to condemn and dishonor?
How was I led to sign a protest?
I had just corrected a lesson in morals, the work of a student. I
had said to these young people what all of you I am sure would wish
me to say to them: that the human person is sacred; that justice is
inviolable: that it cannot be sacrificed to passion or to interest,
with whatever name they may be decorated. I had told them that justice
is not a servant whom we ring for when we need its service; that it
is the grand image which should hover over all conflicts of passions
and interests, because it alone can be the peacemaker. I returned to
my study. A student brought me a petition. I signed it. Our teaching
would have no authority, if we were not ready to confirm it by our
acts. I have no authority to speak in the name of the university. The
painful conflict of duties that has disturbed so many consciences has
divided us, but we too highly esteem one another, we hold sincere
thought in too great respect, to treat each other as knaves or
fools. If you have found on the lists of those protesting so many
names of people connected with the university, it is not because of
any spirit of revolt. It is because these brave people who, should
occasion arise, would hasten to defend the integrity of the national
territory consider it their professional duty to maintain another
integrity no less precious,--the integrity of the national conscience.
But, since the name of the university has been uttered, let us have
an understanding. We respect and we love the army. In that we are
unanimous. We consider ourselves as workers in the same work, servants
of the same cause, soldiers in the same fight. The army of France, the
army of mutilated France, is force in the service of right. Never have
we separated the cause of right from the cause of the army. Please God
that we may soon find ourselves reconciled in the superior thought
of the country, and that at last we may be spared the continuance of
the painful spectacle of so many French hands withdrawing from one
another, when all ought to join in a common and fraternal action. As
for M. Zola’s good faith, the very experiences that he is undergoing
are sufficient to attest it. He has acted in accordance with his
temperament, after the fashion of a man who, shut up in a room where
the air is becoming stifling, rushes to the window, and, at the risk
of covering himself with blood, breaks the glass to let in a little
air and light.