I repeat to you, then, with all the strength of my soul, “Courage, courage!” I embrace you as I love you, with all my strength, with all the power of my affection, as I embrace our dear and adored children.
Alfred.
A thousand kisses to your dear parents, to all I love.
9 January, 1898.
After long and terrible waiting I have just received, altogether, the mails of October and November.
I need not tell you what indescribable emotion seizes me when I read the letters of those whom I love so much, of those for whom I would give my blood, drop by drop; of those for whose sake I live.
Had I thought, darling, of myself alone, long ago should I have been in my grave; it is the thought of you, the thought of our children, that sustains me, that lifts me up when I am bowed under the weight of so much suffering. I told you in my last letters all that Ihave done, of all the appeals that I have again made for you and for our children.
If the light that we have awaited for more than three years is not shown now, it will shine forth in a future that we know not.
As I told you in one of my letters, our children are growing; their situation, that of us all, is terrible; the situation I am supporting only by supreme effort is becoming absolutely impossible to bear. That is why I have placed our lot, our children’s lot, in the hands of the Minister of War, asking that at last an end may be made of our appalling martyrdom. That is why I have again asked the Minister of War to restore to us our honor.
I await his answer with the greatest impatience, and I am hoping that this appalling torment may have at last an end.
I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my love, with all my tenderness, as also I embrace our adored children.
Your devoted
Alfred.
A thousand kisses to your dear parents, to all our family.
25 January, 1898.
My dear and good Lucie:
I shall not write to you at length to-day; I suffer too deeply for you and for our children; I feel too keenly all your appalling anguish, your frightful martyrdom. At the very thought of it my heart beats heavily, as if weighed down by unshed tears. No human word could lessen the horror of your anguish.
I told you in my last letters what I had done; during the last few days I have renewed my appeals; the light we have so long waited for is not yet seen; it will be seen only in a future that no one can foretell. The situation is terrible, terrible for you, for the children, for all. As for me, it is needless for me to tell you what it is.
I have asked the President of the Republic, the Minister of War, and General de Boisdeffre for my rehabilitation, for a new trial. I have put the fate of so many innocent victims, the fate of our children, into their hands; I have entrusted the future of our children to General de Boisdeffre. I await their answer with feverish impatience, with all that remains to me of my strength.
I want to hope that there may yet be one minute of happiness for me upon this earth; but what I have not the right to doubt is that justice shall be done, that justice shall be done to you at least—to you, to our children. I say to you, then, “Courage and Confidence!”
I embrace you as I love you, with all that my heart contains of deep affection for you, for our adored children, for your dear parents, for all our friends.
A thousand kisses more from your devoted
Alfred.
26 January, 1898.
My dear Lucie:
In the last letters that I wrote to you I told you what I had done; to whom I had entrusted our fate, the fate of our children; what appeals I had sent forth. It is needless to tell you with what anxiety I am awaiting ananswer; how heavy the moments have become to me. But my thoughts, day and night, yearn so toward you, toward our children, that I want to write to you again to give you the counsels which I ought to give you.
I have read and re-read all of your letters, and the letters from home, and I believe that for a long time we have been living in a misconception of facts; this misunderstanding comes from different causes (your letters were often enigmas to me)—the absolute secrecy in which I live, the state of my brain, the blows that have been struck me without my understanding them, acts of stupidity that may also have been committed.
But this is the situation as I understand it, and I think that I am not far from the truth. I believe that General de Boisdeffre has never been averse to rendering us justice. We, deeply wounded, ask him to give us light upon this mystery. It has been no more in his power to give us light than it was in ours to procure it for ourselves; it will shine out in a future that no one can foresee.
Some minds have probably been soured; it may be that awkwardnesses have been committed, I cannot tell; all this has envenomed a situation already so atrocious. We must go back to the beginning, and raise ourselves above all our sufferings in order that we may look clearly into our situation.
Well, I, who have been for more than three years the greatest victim, the victim of everything and of every one; I who am here, almost dying of agony, I have just given you the counsels of prudence, of calmness, that I think I ought to give you, oh, without abandoning any of my rights, without weakness, but also without boasting.
As I have told you, it has not been in the power of General de Boisdeffre any more than it has been in your power to throw light upon this mystery; it will shine in a future that no one can foresee.
Therefore I have simply asked General de Boisdeffre for my rehabilitation; to put an end to our appalling martyrdom, for it is inadmissible that you should undergo such torture, that our children should grow up dishonored by a crime that I could never have committed.
I await the answer to my letters with all the strength that is left to me. I count the hours, I almost count the minutes.
I do not know if his answer will reach me soon; I know still less how I keep alive, so extreme is my cerebral and nervous exhaustion; but if I should succumb before that time comes, if I should faint under the atrocious burden that I have borne so long, I leave it to you, as your absolute duty, to go yourself to General de Boisdeffre, and, after the letters which I wrote to him, the desire which, I am sure of it, is in the bottom of his heart to grant us rehabilitation, when you (sic) will have realized that the discovery of the truth is a task that will take a long time, that it is impossible to foresee when it will be accomplished, I have no doubt that he will grant you, immediately, a new trial; that he will at once put an end to a situation as atrocious for you as it is for our children. I hope, too, that over my grave he will bear witness not only to the loyalty of my past conduct, but to the absolute loyalty of my conduct for the last three years, when, under all my sufferings, under all my tortures, I have never forgotten what I have been—a soldier, loyal and devoted to his country. Ihave accepted all, I have undergone all with closed lips. I do not boast of it, for I have done only my duty, nothing but my duty.
I leave you with regret, for my thoughts are with you, with our children, night and day; for this thought of you is all that keeps me yet alive, and I should like to come and talk like this at every instant of my long days and my long, sleepless nights.
I can only repeat this wish: it is that all this sorrow may have at last an end, that this infernal torture of all the minutes may soon be over; but if you do as I have told you, as it is your duty to do, since I command it, I have no doubt that you shall come to see the end of your appalling martyrdom, the martyrdom of our children.
I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my love; I embrace also our dear and adored children.
Your devoted
Alfred.
Kisses to your dear parents, to all.
4 February, 1898.
Dear Lucie:
I have nothing to add to the numerous letters that I have written to you during the past two months; all this medley of confusion may be summed up in a few words: I have appealed to the high justice of the President of the Republic, to that of the Government, in asking for a new trial, for the life of our children, for the end of this appalling martyrdom.
I have made an appeal to the loyalty of the men who caused me to be condemned, to bring about this new trial. I am waiting feverishly, but with confidence, tolearn that at last our terrible suffering is to have an end.
I embrace you as I love you, as I embrace our dear children.
Your devoted
Alfred.
A thousand kisses to your dear parents, to all our friends.
7 February, 1898.
Dear Lucie:
I have just received your dear letters of December, and my heart is breaking; it is rent by the consciousness of so much unmerited suffering. I have told you that the thought of you, of the children, always raises me up, quivering with anguish, with a supreme determination, from the thought of all that we hold most precious in the world—our honor, that of our children—to utter this cry of appeal, that grows more and more thrilling—the cry of a man who asks nothing but justice for himself and those he loves, and who has the right to ask it.
For the last three months, in fever and in delirium, suffering martyrdom night and day for you, for our children, I have addressed appeal on appeal to the Chief of the State, to the Government, to those who caused me to be condemned, to the end that I may obtain justice after all my torment, an end to our terrible martyrdom; and I have not been answered.
To-day I am reiterating my former appeals to the Chief of the State and to the Government, with still more energy, if that could be; for you must be no longer subjected to such a martyrdom; our children must notgrow up dishonored; I can no longer agonize in a black hole for an abominable crime that I did not commit. And now I am waiting; I expect each day to hear that the light of truth is to shine for us at last.
I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my love; also our dear and adored children.
Your devoted
Alfred.
A thousand, thousand kisses to your dear parents, to all our family.
25 February, 1898.
Dear Lucie:
Our thoughts are in harmony; my thought does not leave you for one single instant day or night; and should I listen only to my heart I should write to you each moment, every hour.
If you are the echo of my sufferings, I am the echo of yours, of the sufferings of you all. I doubt that human beings have ever suffered more. The thought of you, of the children, and my longing always outstretched toward you, toward them, still always give me the strength to compress my bursting brain, to restrain my heart.
I have written you numerous letters in these last months; to add anything to these letters would be superfluous. I have told you all the appeals I have addressed since November last—appeals in which I ask for my rehabilitation, for justice for so many innocent victims.
In one of my last letters I told you that I had just addressed a last appeal to the Government, an appeal more earnest, more energetic than any that I had madebefore. So I am waiting, expecting day by day to learn that this rehabilitation has taken place, that our tortures, as appalling as they were unmerited, are to end; that the light of justice shines at last. I wish, therefore, to-day only to embrace you with all my strength, with all my heart, as I love you; so, also, I embrace our dear children.
Your devoted
Alfred.
A thousand, thousand kisses to your dear parents, to all our dear relations, to all our dear brothers and sisters.
5 March, 1898.
Dear Lucie:
I have just received your dear letters of January. Your letters are always wonderfully equal in spirit, in feeling, and in elevation of soul. I shall not add anything to the long letters I have written to you during the last three months; the last were perhaps nervous, overflowing with impatience, with pain, with suffering; but all this is too appalling, and there have been responsibilities to establish.
I will not go over and over my thoughts indefinitely. After explaining the details of a situation as tragic as it is undeserved, a situation that has been so long borne by so many victims, I ask and ask again my rehabilitation of the Government, and now I am expecting each day to learn that the light of justice is at last to shine for us.
I embrace you, as I love you, with all the power of my love, as I embrace also our dear children.
My fondest love to all our friends.
Alfred.
On September 24, 1898, Dreyfus addressed a piteous letter to the Governor of French Guiana, saying that all his appeals had met with no response. It was at this period that he lost all hope. In early November he received a letter from his wife which, although giving not the slightest intimation of the stirring events in Paris, was in cheerful tone. He thought that it referred to his letter of September 24, and at once became encouraged. After more than two months’ silence he wrote to her again. He spoke of the good news contained in his wife’s letter, repeated that he was waiting the answer to his petition with confidence, and then he said:
“So when you receive this letter everything will, I think, be finished, and your happiness will be complete. But in these days of relief and felicity which will follow so many days of pain and suffering, I would that my thought, my heart, all that is living in me, which has not left you during those four terrible years, may again reach you, to add, if possible, to your joy until we can at least resume that happy and quiet life to which your natural qualities entitled you, and which you now deserved more than ever owing to the greatness of your soul, to the nobility of your character, to all the most beautiful qualities which a woman can displayunder such tragic circumstances—qualities which suffering has only developed, and which have proved to me that there was no ideal here below to which a woman’s soul could not rise, and which she could not surpass. It is in our mutual affection, in that of our dear and beloved children, in the satisfaction of our consciences, and in the feeling that we have done our duty, that we shall forget our long trials. I do not insist. Such emotion is great. I tremble at it; but it is lovely, as it elevates. So until the decisive news of my rehabilitation arrives I am going to live more than ever in thought with you, with all, sharing your common joy.”
“So when you receive this letter everything will, I think, be finished, and your happiness will be complete. But in these days of relief and felicity which will follow so many days of pain and suffering, I would that my thought, my heart, all that is living in me, which has not left you during those four terrible years, may again reach you, to add, if possible, to your joy until we can at least resume that happy and quiet life to which your natural qualities entitled you, and which you now deserved more than ever owing to the greatness of your soul, to the nobility of your character, to all the most beautiful qualities which a woman can displayunder such tragic circumstances—qualities which suffering has only developed, and which have proved to me that there was no ideal here below to which a woman’s soul could not rise, and which she could not surpass. It is in our mutual affection, in that of our dear and beloved children, in the satisfaction of our consciences, and in the feeling that we have done our duty, that we shall forget our long trials. I do not insist. Such emotion is great. I tremble at it; but it is lovely, as it elevates. So until the decisive news of my rehabilitation arrives I am going to live more than ever in thought with you, with all, sharing your common joy.”
At length Dreyfus was officially informed of the first decision of the Court of Cassation. Writing to his wife on November 25, he said:
“My dear Lucie:“In the middle of the month I was told that the petition for the revision of my judgment had been declared acceptable by the Court of Cassation, and was invited to produce my means of defence. I took the necessary measures immediately. My requests were at once transmitted to Paris, and you must have been informed of this some days ago. Events must therefore be moving rapidly. In thought I am night and day, as always, with you, with our children, with all, sharing our joy at seeing the end of this fearful drama approaching rapidly. Words become powerless to describe such deep emotions.... According to information which I sent you in the last mail, all will be over in the course of December. Therefore, when these lines reach you I shall be almost on the point of starting for France.”
“My dear Lucie:
“In the middle of the month I was told that the petition for the revision of my judgment had been declared acceptable by the Court of Cassation, and was invited to produce my means of defence. I took the necessary measures immediately. My requests were at once transmitted to Paris, and you must have been informed of this some days ago. Events must therefore be moving rapidly. In thought I am night and day, as always, with you, with our children, with all, sharing our joy at seeing the end of this fearful drama approaching rapidly. Words become powerless to describe such deep emotions.... According to information which I sent you in the last mail, all will be over in the course of December. Therefore, when these lines reach you I shall be almost on the point of starting for France.”
Here are touching passages from his letter of December 26. After telling his “chère et bonneLucie”—he almost invariably addresses her thus—that, with the exception of the telegram, to which he at once replied, he had not heard from her for two months until he got a letter a few days ago, he went on to explain that if he had for a moment closed his correspondence, this was because he was awaiting the reply to his petition for the revision of his judgment, and should only have repeated himself:
“If my voice had ceased to make itself heard, this would have been because it had forever died away. If I have lived, it has been for my honor, which is my property and the patrimony of our children; it has been for my duty, which I have done everywhere and always; and as it must ever be accomplished when a man has right and justice on his side, without fear of anything or of anybody. When one has behind one a past devoted to duty, a life devoted to honor, when one has never known but one language, that of truth, one is strong, I assure you, and atrocious though fate may have been, one must have a soul lofty enough to dominate it until it bows before one. Let us, therefore, await with confidence the decision of the Supreme Court, as we await with confidence the decision of the new judges before whom this decision will send me. At the same time as your letter I have received a copy of the petition for revision, and of the decree of the Court of Cassation, declaring it acceptable. I read with wonderful emotion the terms of your petition, in which you expressed admirably, as I had already done in mine, the feelings by which I am animated in asking that an end shall be putto the punishment of an innocent man—I may add to that, of a noble woman, of her children, of two families, of an innocent man who had always been a loyal soldier, who has not ceased, even in the midst of the horrible sufferings of unmerited chastisement, to declare his love for his native land.”
“If my voice had ceased to make itself heard, this would have been because it had forever died away. If I have lived, it has been for my honor, which is my property and the patrimony of our children; it has been for my duty, which I have done everywhere and always; and as it must ever be accomplished when a man has right and justice on his side, without fear of anything or of anybody. When one has behind one a past devoted to duty, a life devoted to honor, when one has never known but one language, that of truth, one is strong, I assure you, and atrocious though fate may have been, one must have a soul lofty enough to dominate it until it bows before one. Let us, therefore, await with confidence the decision of the Supreme Court, as we await with confidence the decision of the new judges before whom this decision will send me. At the same time as your letter I have received a copy of the petition for revision, and of the decree of the Court of Cassation, declaring it acceptable. I read with wonderful emotion the terms of your petition, in which you expressed admirably, as I had already done in mine, the feelings by which I am animated in asking that an end shall be putto the punishment of an innocent man—I may add to that, of a noble woman, of her children, of two families, of an innocent man who had always been a loyal soldier, who has not ceased, even in the midst of the horrible sufferings of unmerited chastisement, to declare his love for his native land.”
Always confident in the eventual result, Dreyfus wrote on February 8, 1899:
“Although I think, as I told you, that the end of our horrible martyrdom is nigh, what does it matter if there is a little delay? The object is everything, and until the day when I can clasp you in my arms I would have you know my thoughts, which never leave you, which have watched night and day over you and our children. Besides, the letter which I wrote to you on December 26 or 27 was too deep, too adequate an expression of my thoughts, of my invincible will, and of my feelings, for me to add a single word to it.”
“Although I think, as I told you, that the end of our horrible martyrdom is nigh, what does it matter if there is a little delay? The object is everything, and until the day when I can clasp you in my arms I would have you know my thoughts, which never leave you, which have watched night and day over you and our children. Besides, the letter which I wrote to you on December 26 or 27 was too deep, too adequate an expression of my thoughts, of my invincible will, and of my feelings, for me to add a single word to it.”
Pending the receipt of the news of his rehabilitation, he sends his love to all their relatives. The latest letter, dated February 25, runs thus:
“My dear and good Lucie:“A few lines, as I can only repeat myself, that you may still hear the same words of firmness and dignity until the day when I am informed of the end of this terrible judicial drama. I can well imagine, as you tell me so yourself, what joy you feel in reading my letters. I amsure that it is equal to my pleasure in perusing yours. It is a bit of one which reaches the other, pending the blessed moment when we are at last reunited. My thoughts, which have never left you a moment, which have watched night and day over you and our children, are always with you. I very often speak mentally to you, but they are always the same ideas and feelings of which I also find the echo in your letters, as all this is common to us since these same thoughts and sentiments are the common property, the innate basis of all loyal souls and of all honest characters. It is with a reassured and confident mind that I must leave to the high authority of the Court the care of the accomplishment of its noble work of supreme justice. Pending the news of my rehabilitation, I embrace you with all my strength, with all my soul, as I love you and our dear and adored children.Your devotedAlfred.
“My dear and good Lucie:
“A few lines, as I can only repeat myself, that you may still hear the same words of firmness and dignity until the day when I am informed of the end of this terrible judicial drama. I can well imagine, as you tell me so yourself, what joy you feel in reading my letters. I amsure that it is equal to my pleasure in perusing yours. It is a bit of one which reaches the other, pending the blessed moment when we are at last reunited. My thoughts, which have never left you a moment, which have watched night and day over you and our children, are always with you. I very often speak mentally to you, but they are always the same ideas and feelings of which I also find the echo in your letters, as all this is common to us since these same thoughts and sentiments are the common property, the innate basis of all loyal souls and of all honest characters. It is with a reassured and confident mind that I must leave to the high authority of the Court the care of the accomplishment of its noble work of supreme justice. Pending the news of my rehabilitation, I embrace you with all my strength, with all my soul, as I love you and our dear and adored children.
Your devoted
Alfred.
It was soon after this he wrote the following letter to his little son:
“My dear Pierre:“I have received your nice little letter. You wish me to write to you. I shall soon do better; I shall soon press you in my arms. Pending this good and sweet moment you will embrace your mamma for me, as well as grandpapa, grandma, little Jeanne, the uncles and aunts, all, in fact. Hearty kisses to you and little Jeanne, from your affectionate father.Alfred.”
“My dear Pierre:
“I have received your nice little letter. You wish me to write to you. I shall soon do better; I shall soon press you in my arms. Pending this good and sweet moment you will embrace your mamma for me, as well as grandpapa, grandma, little Jeanne, the uncles and aunts, all, in fact. Hearty kisses to you and little Jeanne, from your affectionate father.
Alfred.”
This letter, quite exceptionally, does not bear the stamp of the penal administration.
Here is a letter that was received by Maître Demange, the counsel of Dreyfus, from his client, December 31, 1894. It was first made public when sent to M. Sarrien, Minister of Justice, July 11, 1898. In the published copy it was deemed necessary to suppress certain words and phrases:
“Commandant du Paty came to-day, Monday, December 31, 1894, at 5.30P.M., after the rejection of my appeal, to ask me, on behalf of the Minister, whether I had not, perhaps, been the victim of my imprudence, whether I had not meant merely to lay a bait ... and had then found myself caught fatally in the trap. I replied that I had never had relations with any agent or attaché, ... that I had undertaken no such process as baiting, and that I was innocent. He then said to me on his own responsibility that he was himself convinced of my guilt, first from an examination of the handwriting of the document brought up against me, and from the nature of the documents enumerated therein; secondly, from information according to which the disappearance of documents corresponded with my presence on the General Staff; that, finally, a secret agent had declared that a Dreyfus was a spy, ... without, however, affirming that that Dreyfus was an officer. I asked Commandant du Paty to be confronted with this agent. He replied that it was impossible. Commandant du Paty acknowledged that I had never been suspected before the reception of the incriminating document.“I then asked him why there had been no surveillance exercised over the officers from the month of February,since Commandant Henry had affirmed at the court-martial that he had been warned at that date that there was a traitor among the officers. Commandant du Paty replied that he knew nothing about that business, that it was not his affair, but Commandant Henry’s; that it was difficult to watch all the officers of the General Staff.... Then, perceiving that he had said too much, he added: ‘We are talking between four walls. If I am questioned on all that I shall deny everything.’ I preserved entire calmness, for I wished to know his whole idea. To sum up, he said that I had been condemned because there was a clue indicating that the culprit was an officer and the seized letter came to give precision to that clue. He added, also, that since my arrest the leakage at the Ministry had ceased; that, perhaps, ... had left the letter about expressly to sacrifice me, in order not to satisfy my demands.“He then spoke to me of the remarkable expert testimony of M. Bertillon, according to which I had traced my own handwriting and that of my brother in order to be able in case I should be arrested with the letter on me to protest that it was a conspiracy against me. He further intimated that my wife and family were my accomplices—in short, the whole theory of M. Bertillon. At this point, knowing what I wanted to discover, and not wishing to allow him to insult my family as well, I stopped him, saying, ‘Enough; I have only one word to say, namely, that I am innocent, and that your duty is to continue your inquiries.’ ‘If you are really innocent,’ he exclaimed, ‘you are undergoing the most monstrous martyrdom of all time.’ ‘I am that martyr,’ I replied, ‘and I hope the future will prove it to you.’“To sum up, it results from this conversation:1. That there have been leakages at the Ministry. 2. That ... must have heard, and must have repeated to Commandant Henry, that there was an officer who was a traitor. I do not think he would have invented it of his own accord. 3. That the incriminating letter was taken at.... From all this I draw the following conclusions, the first certain, the two others possible: First, a spy really exists ... at the French Ministry, for documents have disappeared. Secondly, perhaps that spy slipped in in an officer’s uniform, imitating his handwriting in order to divert suspicion. Thirdly (here four lines and a half are blank). This hypothesis does not exclude the fact No. 1, which seems certain. But the tenor of the letter does not render this third hypothesis very probable. It would be connected rather with the first fact and the second hypothesis—that is to say, the presence of a spy at the Ministry and imitation of my handwriting by that spy, or simply resemblance of handwriting.“However this may be, it seems to me that if your agent is clever he should be able to unravel this web by laying his nets as well on the ... side as on the ... side. This will not prevent the employment of all the other methods I have indicated, for the truth must be discovered. After the departure of Commandant du Paty I wrote the following letter to the Minister: ‘I received, by order, the visit of Commandant du Paty, to whom I once more declared that I was innocent, and that I had never even committed an imprudence. I am condemned. I have no favor to ask. But in the name of my honor, which I hope will one day be restored to me, it is my duty to beg you to continue your investigations. When I am gone let the search be kept up; it is the only favor that I solicit.’”
“Commandant du Paty came to-day, Monday, December 31, 1894, at 5.30P.M., after the rejection of my appeal, to ask me, on behalf of the Minister, whether I had not, perhaps, been the victim of my imprudence, whether I had not meant merely to lay a bait ... and had then found myself caught fatally in the trap. I replied that I had never had relations with any agent or attaché, ... that I had undertaken no such process as baiting, and that I was innocent. He then said to me on his own responsibility that he was himself convinced of my guilt, first from an examination of the handwriting of the document brought up against me, and from the nature of the documents enumerated therein; secondly, from information according to which the disappearance of documents corresponded with my presence on the General Staff; that, finally, a secret agent had declared that a Dreyfus was a spy, ... without, however, affirming that that Dreyfus was an officer. I asked Commandant du Paty to be confronted with this agent. He replied that it was impossible. Commandant du Paty acknowledged that I had never been suspected before the reception of the incriminating document.
“I then asked him why there had been no surveillance exercised over the officers from the month of February,since Commandant Henry had affirmed at the court-martial that he had been warned at that date that there was a traitor among the officers. Commandant du Paty replied that he knew nothing about that business, that it was not his affair, but Commandant Henry’s; that it was difficult to watch all the officers of the General Staff.... Then, perceiving that he had said too much, he added: ‘We are talking between four walls. If I am questioned on all that I shall deny everything.’ I preserved entire calmness, for I wished to know his whole idea. To sum up, he said that I had been condemned because there was a clue indicating that the culprit was an officer and the seized letter came to give precision to that clue. He added, also, that since my arrest the leakage at the Ministry had ceased; that, perhaps, ... had left the letter about expressly to sacrifice me, in order not to satisfy my demands.
“He then spoke to me of the remarkable expert testimony of M. Bertillon, according to which I had traced my own handwriting and that of my brother in order to be able in case I should be arrested with the letter on me to protest that it was a conspiracy against me. He further intimated that my wife and family were my accomplices—in short, the whole theory of M. Bertillon. At this point, knowing what I wanted to discover, and not wishing to allow him to insult my family as well, I stopped him, saying, ‘Enough; I have only one word to say, namely, that I am innocent, and that your duty is to continue your inquiries.’ ‘If you are really innocent,’ he exclaimed, ‘you are undergoing the most monstrous martyrdom of all time.’ ‘I am that martyr,’ I replied, ‘and I hope the future will prove it to you.’
“To sum up, it results from this conversation:1. That there have been leakages at the Ministry. 2. That ... must have heard, and must have repeated to Commandant Henry, that there was an officer who was a traitor. I do not think he would have invented it of his own accord. 3. That the incriminating letter was taken at.... From all this I draw the following conclusions, the first certain, the two others possible: First, a spy really exists ... at the French Ministry, for documents have disappeared. Secondly, perhaps that spy slipped in in an officer’s uniform, imitating his handwriting in order to divert suspicion. Thirdly (here four lines and a half are blank). This hypothesis does not exclude the fact No. 1, which seems certain. But the tenor of the letter does not render this third hypothesis very probable. It would be connected rather with the first fact and the second hypothesis—that is to say, the presence of a spy at the Ministry and imitation of my handwriting by that spy, or simply resemblance of handwriting.
“However this may be, it seems to me that if your agent is clever he should be able to unravel this web by laying his nets as well on the ... side as on the ... side. This will not prevent the employment of all the other methods I have indicated, for the truth must be discovered. After the departure of Commandant du Paty I wrote the following letter to the Minister: ‘I received, by order, the visit of Commandant du Paty, to whom I once more declared that I was innocent, and that I had never even committed an imprudence. I am condemned. I have no favor to ask. But in the name of my honor, which I hope will one day be restored to me, it is my duty to beg you to continue your investigations. When I am gone let the search be kept up; it is the only favor that I solicit.’”
FOOTNOTES:[A]See Appendix A.[B]See Appendix B.[C]“Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing;’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands!But he that filches from me my good nameRobs me of that which not enriches him,And makes me poor indeed.”
FOOTNOTES:
[A]See Appendix A.
[A]See Appendix A.
[B]See Appendix B.
[B]See Appendix B.
[C]“Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing;’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands!But he that filches from me my good nameRobs me of that which not enriches him,And makes me poor indeed.”
[C]
“Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing;’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands!But he that filches from me my good nameRobs me of that which not enriches him,And makes me poor indeed.”
“Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing;’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands!But he that filches from me my good nameRobs me of that which not enriches him,And makes me poor indeed.”
“Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing;’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands!But he that filches from me my good nameRobs me of that which not enriches him,And makes me poor indeed.”