Dear L.,--Just a few lines from me to-day to answer your question, O
merciless and adorable friend! Dreyfus has been brought back from the
dreadful island where he has been confined these last five years. Five
years of torture! He was taken to Rennes to be tried. His lawyer,
Labori, has driven the judges almost out of their senses.
The sensational attacks of Zola and his sudden "_J'accuse_," the
suicide of Henry, the repeated demissions of the Ministers and
Générals, _la femme Voilée_, the disappearance of Esterhazy (stamped
as a first-class scamp), the attempt to get Labori's papers by
shooting him--the ludicrous and tragic episodes have at last come to
an end. Dreyfus is declared innocent, and people are beginning to
realize what has happened.
Björnstjerne Björnson, the famous Norwegian poet, has, from the
beginning, taken Dreyfus's defense and written article after article
in the papers and proclaimed in every manner his belief in his
innocence. He hurried to Paris when he heard that Dreyfus had
returned. We were very glad when an invitation came from the Swedish
Minister (Mr. Ackermann) to lunch with the great author. I wish that
you could see him, for to see him is to know him. He has the kindest
and noblest face in the world. I wept over his account of the
interview between him and Dreyfus. The day and hour were fixed for his
visit. He found Madame Dreyfus alone. She begged him to wait a moment,
because her husband was so agitated at the thought of seeing him that
he could not trust himself to appear. When at last Dreyfus came into
the room Björnson opened his arms. Dreyfus fell weeping into them and
sobbed, "_Merci! Merci! Vous avez crû en moi_"--Björnson replied:
"_Mon ami, j'ai souffert pour vous, mon pauvre ami_." Of course, this
is only a very little part of what he told me, but it was all in this
strain. He said that during the interview, which lasted an hour,
Dreyfus did not utter a word of reproach against his tormentors.
[Illustration:
BJÖRNSON
From a photograph taken in 1901.]
Björnson gave a tea-party at his daughter's house in Passy, and
invited us. I hoped that possibly Dreyfus might be there, but he was
not. However, I had the pleasure of seeing Colonel Picquard again, and
we had a long talk together. Afterward, when I bade Björnson good-by,
he stooped down and kissed me on my forehead before the roomful of
people. Imagine my embarrassment at this unexpected and gratuitous
token of friendship, but, the kisser being Björnson, every one knew
that the accolade was merely the outpouring of a kind and good heart.
PARIS, _August 15, 1900_.
The hottest day we have had! The thermometer was way up in the clouds.
My maid, in doing my hair this morning, informed me of this fact. We
conferred about my toilet for the afternoon _fête_ in the Elysées
Gardens. We heard that twelve thousand people were invited. Certainly
I should be lost in a crowd like that and need not be dressed in my
best. My maid thought a rather flimsy gown of about year before last
would be good enough. Johan thought that he would be so entirely out
of sight that he was on the point of not going at all. Well, we had a
queer awakening. I was very much astonished when the master of
ceremonies met me at the entrance and led me into the garden, where
the vast lawn was one mass of humanity. He bade me take the first
seat. I said to myself, "It is only for the moment; I shall have to
move farther on later, when a higher-ranked lady arrives." Not at all!
I remained in the place of honor, to the right of Madame Loubet, to
the very end.
In the middle of the lawn were placed a dozen large red arm-chairs
before which a strip of carpet was stretched, where we sat.
Three performances were arranged for the afternoon. To the right was a
Japanese theater where Sadi-Jako and her troupe played their
_répertoire_. In the center was a Grecian temple, before which a
ballet of pretty girls danced on the grass in Grecian dresses. The
effect was charming. To the left was a little Renaissance theater
where people of different nationalities danced and sang in their
national costumes. I never saw anything so wonderfully complete. Only
the French can do things like that. When the moment arrived for the
official promenade, you may imagine how I felt when I saw Monsieur
Loubet approach me and offer me his arm. After all, I was the first
lady! Why was I not dressed in my best?
Monsieur and I walked at the head of the procession. We made the tour
of the gardens and through the whole palace, gazed on and stared at by
the entire crowd of the twelve thousand spectators, until at last we
reached the _salon_ where the buffet was established.