Alfred Dreyfus in His Own Words:
Chapter 5 "The Degradation"
(Source: Five Years of My Life: The Diary of Captain Alfred Dreyfus)
Dreyfus marched out for his degradation on January 19, 1894
THE DEGRADATION TOOK PLACE Saturday, the 5th of January. I underwent the horrible torture without weakness.
Before the ceremony, I waited for an hour in the hall of the garrison adjutant at the Ecole Militaire, guarded by the captain of gendarmes, Lebrun-Renault. During these long minutes I gathered up all the forces of my being. The memory of the dreadful months which I had just passed came back to me, and in broken sentences I recalled to the captain the last visit which Commandant du Paty de Clam had made me in my prison. I protested against the vile accusation which had been brought against me; I recalled that I had written again to the Minister to tell him of my innocence. It is by a travesty of these words that Lebrun-Renault, with singular lack of conscience, created or allowed to be created that legend of confession, of which I learned the existence only in January, 1899. If they had spoken to me about it before my departure from France, which did not take place until February, 1895, - that is, more than seven weeks after the degradation, - I should have tried to strangle this calumny in its infancy.
After this I was marched to the centre of the square, under a guard of four men and a corporal.
Nine o'clock struck. General Darras, commanding the parade, gave the order to carry arms.
I suffered agonizingly, but held myself erect with all my strength. To sustain me I called up the memory of my wife and children.
As soon as the sentence had been read out, I cried aloud, addressing myself to the troops:
"Soldiers, they are degrading an innocent man. Soldiers, they are dishonoring an innocent man. Vive la France, vive l'armee!"
A Sergeant of the Republican Guard came up to me. He tore off rapidly buttons, trousers stripes, the signs of my rank from cap and sleeves, and then broke my sword across his knee. I saw all these material emblems of my honor fall at my feet. Then, my whole being racked by a fearful paroxysm, but with body erect and head high, I shouted again and again to the soldiers and to the assembled crowd the cry of my soul.
"I am innocent!"
The parade continued. I was compelled to make the whole round of the square. I heard the howls of a deluded mob, I felt the thrill which I knew must be running through those people, since they believed that before them was a convicted traitor to France; and I struggled to transmit to their hearts another thrill, - belief in my innocence.
The round of the square made, the torture would be over, I believed.
But the agony of that long day was only beginning.
They tied my hands, and a prison van took me to the Depot (Central Prison of Paris), passing over the Alma Bridge. On coming to the end of the bridge, I saw through the tiny grating of my compartment in the van the windows of the home where such happy years of my life had been spent, where I was leaving all my happiness behind me. My grief bowed me down.
At the Central Prison, in my torn and stripped uniform, I was dragged from hall to hall, searched, photographed, and measured. At last, toward noon, I was taken to the Sante Prison and shut up in a convict's cell.
My wife was permitted to see me twice a week, in the private office of the Prison Director. The latter, by the way, showed himself strictly just and fair during my whole stay.
Nothing can better give the impression of my wife and myself during the sad days I passed in the Sante Prison than our correspondence, of which I give a few extracts:-
"My DARLING, -
"JANUARY 5, 1895.
"In promising you to live until my name is rehabilitated, I have made the greatest sacrifice that can be made by an honest man. Sometime when we are reunited, I will tell you what I have suffered today as I went through, one after another, those ignominous stations of my Calvary. Again and again I wondered to myself, 'Why are you here? What are you doing here?' I seemed to myself to be the victim of a hallucination. Then, my torn, dishonored garments would bring me brutally back to reality. The looks of hate and scorn told me, only too plainly, why I was there. Oh, why could not my heart have been laid open so that all may have read it, - so that all those poor people along my route would have cried out, 'This is a man of honor!' ... How well I understand them! In their place I could not have restrained my contempt for an officer branded a traitor to his country. But, alas! Here is the pitiful tragedy. There is a traitor, but it is not I!"
"JANUARY 5, I895,
SATURDAY EVENING, 7 O'CLOCK.
"I have just had a spasm of tears and sobs with my whole body shaken by a violent chill. It was the reaction from the tortures of the day. It had to come. But, alas! Instead of crying in your arms, my head buried in your breast, my sobs have resounded in the emptiness of my prison.
"It is over. Bear up, my heart. I owe myself to my family. I owe myself to my name. I have not the right to give up. While there remains a breath of life I will struggle.
ALFRED."
From my wife:-
"SATURDAY EVENING, JANUARY 5, 1895.
"What a horrible morning! What fearful moments! No, I cannot think of them; it makes me suffer too much. My poor husband, that you, a man of honor, you who adore France, who have so high a sense of duty, should undergo the most disgraceful punishment that can be inflicted on a Frenchman, - it is unendurable.
"You promised me to be courageous. You have kept your word, and I bless you for it. The dignity of your attitude has impressed many; and when the hour of rehabilitation comes, the sufferings you have endured during these horrible moments will be engraved upon the memories of men.
"I should so much have wished to have been near you, to give you strength and comfort; I had so much hoped to see you, my beloved one. My heart bleeds at the thought that my permit has not yet come, and that I must perhaps wait a while before having the delight of clasping you m my arms.
"Our darling children are very, very good. They are gay and happy. It is a comfort in our measureless misfortune to have them so young and unconscious of the events that surround them. Pierre speaks of you with such wistful ardor that I cannot help breaking down sometimes.
LUCIE."
From the Sante Prison: -
"JANUARY 6, 1895, SUNDAY, 5 O'CLOCK.
"Forgive me, my beloved, if in my letters yesterday I poured out my grief and made a display of my torture. I had to confide them to some one! And what heart is better prepared than yours to receive the outpouring of my grief? ... It is your love that gives me courage to live. I must feel the thrill of your love close to my heart.
"Courage, then, my darling. Do not think too much of me; you have other duties to fulfil. They are heavy, but I know that if you do not let yourself be cast down, if you preserve your strength, you will discharge them all.
"You must therefore struggle against yourself, summon up all your energy, think only of your duties ....
ALFRED."
From my wife: -
"SUNDAY, JANUARY 6, 1895.
"I am greatly distressed at not having yet received news from you. I am anxious to know how you bore up under those fearful moments.
"Your two letters have just come; they are so con soling. I feel in them all your rectitude and tenderness of heart. You spoil me, and I thank you for it. I must not tell you how the thought of this last ordeal has tormented me, and what excruciating pangs I have felt at the thought of you. My God! What a life! I expected you to have that moment of reaction, an uncontrollable spasm of grief; I am sure that it has done you good to weep. Poor boy! We were so happy, we lived so peacefully, and only for each other. We thought but of the happiness of our parents and children. If only I could be with you, remaining in your cell and living your life, I should be almost happy. I should at least have the great solace of helping to comfort you a little. My boundless affection would console you, and I would surround you with every care a loving wife can bestow. But I beseech you, keep up your courage; do not allow yourself to be cast down."
"MONDAY, JANUARY 7, 1895.
"My first concern as soon as I rise is to come and talk with you for a little and try to send a wee ray of warmth into your gloomy cell. I suffer so much at knowing that while you are so unhappy, I am unable to comfort you. Everything about, and all that passes before me, which is not of you, is to me as if it did not exist.
"I can think but of you; I wish to live only for you and in the hope of being with you soon again.
"Ah, if I could but see you, remain with and help you to forget a little our adversity! What would I not give for that!"
"JANUARY 7, EVENING.
"What can I say but that I think only of you, that I speak only of you, that all my soul and all my mind reach out to you. Do not let grief destroy you, but bend all your force of character to retain your health....
"We all are convinced there is no error but will be discovered some day; that the guilty one will be found, and our efforts crowned with success ....
LUCIE."
From the Prison of the Sante: -
"TUESDAY, JANUARY 8.
"In the moments of my deepest sadness, in my moments of violent crisis, a star comes suddenly to shine upon my mind and beam upon me. It is your image, my darling. With your face before me, I shall find patience to wait till they give me back my honor.
ALFRED."
From my wife: -
"TUESDAY, JANUARY 8, 1895.
"Wildly agitated at having no news from you, I passed a miserable night. This morning I received your dear letter of Saturday, and it has done me good. I do not at all understand how your letters take so long a time to reach me....
"I have just received permission to see you Wednesday and Friday at 2 P.M. Think how happy I am ....
LUCIE."
From the Sante Prison: -
"WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 9, 1895.
"My Good DARLING, -
"Truly, as I keep thinking of it again, I wonder how I could have dared to promise you to live on after my condemnation. That day, that Saturday, is stamped into my mind in burning letters. I have the courage of the soldier who goes forward gladly to meet death face to face; but, alas! Have I the soul of the martyr? ...
"It is because I hope, that I live; because I am convinced that it is impossible the truth will not someday be made clear ... because I believe my innocence will be recognized."
"THURSDAY, JANUARY IO, 1895.
"Since two o'clock this morning I have been unable to close my eyes for the thought that today I should see you. It seems that even now I hear your sweet voice speaking to me of my dear children, of our dear families, and I am not ashamed to weep, for the torture that I endure is too cruel for an innocent man.
ALFRED."
From my wife: -
"THURSDAY, JANUARY 10, 1895.
"Yesterday evening I received your Tuesday's letter and read and re-read it. I wept alone in my chamber, and this morning again when I awoke. Last night I had a calmer sleep; I dreamed we were talking together. But what an awakening!
LUCIE-"
From the Sante Prison: -
"FRIDAY, JANUARY 11, 1895.
"Forgive me if I sometimes complain. How can I help it? At times my heart is so swollen with grief that I must pour its overflow into your heart. We have always understood one another so well that I am sure your strong and generous heart throbs with the same indignation as mine....
"I can well excuse this rage of a patriotic people who have been told that there is a traitor ... but I want to live that they may know that traitor is not I.
"Upheld by your love, by the devotion of our entire family, I shall overcome fate. I do not say that I shall not have moments of despondency, perhaps absolute despair.... But I shall live, my adored one, because I want you to bear my name, as you have borne it until now, with honor, joy, and love; and because I want to transmit it stainless to our children.
"Do not be weakened in your purpose by adversity.
Search ever for the truth....
ALFRED."
From my wife: -
"FRIDAY, JANUARY 11, 1895.
"How glad I am to have passed a few minutes with you, and how short they seem to me! I was so moved that I could not speak to you as I had wished, and exhort you to have courage. My dearest one, did I tell you what I think of you, how much I love and admire you, and the gratitude I feel for the heroism with which you are enduring this moral, mental, and physical torture? How I appreciate your doing it for my sake and that of our children! I am remorseful at not having spoken enough of the hope we have of discovering the truth; we are absolutely convinced that we shall succeed in doing it. To tell you when that will be is impossible, but have patience and never despair, for, as I told you a while ago, we have but one thought from morning to evening, and during the sleepless hours of the night we rack our brains to find some sign, some guiding thread which will help us to find the infamous wretch who has destroyed our good name. "Do not be uneasy about your children; they are both of them stout little hearts." ...
"SATURDAY, JANUARY 12, 1895.
"I am thrilled still by yesterday's interview; I was deeply moved in seeing and talking with you, and experienced such joy that I have been unable to close my eyes all the night long. It is wonderful that, in spite of your sufferings, you should keep your courage. Yes, we must hope the day is soon coming when your innocence shall be recognized, when France shall acknowledge her error and see in you one of her noblest sons.
"You shall yet know happiness; we shall pass happy years together, and you who were making so many plans, and dreamed of making your son a man, shall still have this joy. Your little Pierre is very good, and his sister is pretty as well as good. I was always strict with them, you remember, but I confess that now, while demanding their obedience, I rarely can resist indulging them. Let the poor little things profit by it before learning the tribulations of life."
"SUNDAY, JANUARY 13, 1895.
"What patience and courage you have, to bear up under these continued humiliations! I am proud to bear your name, and when the children are old enough, they will understand as I do that you have endured this inter minable harrowing agony for their sake."
"MONDAY, JANUARY 14, 1895.
"What a pity the minutes of our meeting, so short and so longed-for, should be already past! How protracted the minutes of weariness are, but how quickly the happy ones fly! This interview, like the first one, passed away like a dream; I went to the prison with the joy of expectancy, and came back very sad. The sight of you has done me good; I could not cease looking at and listening to you; but it is horrible to have to leave you alone in your bare cell, a prey to such fearful mental torture, undeserved....
LUCIE."
For a time after this, my wife, worn out by this uninterrupted succession of violent emotions, was obliged to keep her bed.
"WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 18, 1895.
"What a sad day I am passing, worse than the others, if that were possible, for the one shadow of happiness that is granted us has been refused me today. I have been able to rise, but I am not yet strong enough to go out. And in spite of my yearning to see and embrace you, the doctor, fearing I might take cold, insisted that I should keep my room today and tomorrow. This filled me with grief, and I must confess to you that I was not very reasonable. I hid away that I might weep.
L UCIE."
This letter reached me only at the Ile de Re; my wife did not at the time of writing know of my departure.
THE DEGRADATION
The following account of this ceremony appeared the next morning in one of the papers most hostile to Dreyfus:-
"The first stroke of nine sounds from the school clock. General Darras lifts his sword and gives the command, which is repeated at the head of each company: 'Portez armes!'
"The troops obey.
"A complete silence ensues.
"Hearts stop beating, and all eyes are turned toward the corner of the vast square, where Dreyfus has been shut up in a small building.
"Soon a little group appears: it is Alfred Dreyfus who is advancing, between four artillerymen, ac companied by a Lieutenant of the Republican Guard and the oldest non-commissioned officer of the regiment. Between the dark dolmans of the gunners we see distinctly the gold of the three stripes and the gold of the cap bands: the sword glitters, and even at this distance we behold the black sword-knot on the hilt of the sword.
"Dreyfus marches with a steady step.
"'Look, see how straight the wretch is carrying himself,' someone says.
"The group advances toward General Darras, with whom is the clerk of the Court Martial, M. Vallecale.
"There are cries now in the crowd. But the group halts.
"A sign from the officer in command, the drums beat, and the trumpets blow, and then again all is still; a tragic silence now.
"The artillerymen with Dreyfus drop back a few steps, and the condemned man stands well out in full view of us all.
"The clerk salutes the General, and turning towards Dreyfus reads distinctly the verdict: 'The said Dreyfus is condemned to military degradation and to deportation to a fortress.'
"The clerk turns to the General and salutes. Dreyfus has listened in silence. The voice of General Darras is then heard, and although it is slightly tremulous with emotion, we catch distinctly this phrase:-
"’Dreyfus, you are unworthy to wear the uniform. In the name of the French people, we deprive you of your rank.'
"Thereupon we behold Dreyfus lift his arms in air, and, his head well up, exclaim in a loud voice, in which there is not the slightest tremor:-
"'I am innocent. I swear that I am innocent. Vive la France!'
In reply the immense throng without clamors, 'Death to the traitor!'
"But the noise is instantly hushed. Already the adjutant whose melancholy duty it is to strip from the prisoner his stripes and arms has begun his work, and they now begin to strew the ground.
"Dreyfus makes this the occasion of a fresh protest, and his cries carry distinctly even to the crowd outside: "'In the name of my wife and children, I swear that I am innocent. I swear it. Vive la France!'
"But the work has been rapid. The adjutant has torn quickly the stripes from the hat, the embroideries from the cuffs, the buttons from the dolman, the numbers from the collar, and ripped off the red stripe worn by the prisoner ever since his entrance into the Polytechnic School. "The sabre remains: the adjutant draws it from its scabbard and breaks it across his knee. There is a dry click, and the two portions are flung with the insignia upon the ground. Then the belt is detached, and in its turn the scabbard falls.
"This is the end. These few seconds have seemed to us ages. Never was there a more terrible sensation of anguish. "And once more, clear and passionless, comes the voice of the prisoner:-
"'You are degrading an innocent man.'
"He must now pass along the line in front of his former comrades and subordinates. For another the torture would have been terrible. Dreyfus does not seem to be affected, however, for he leaps over the insignia of his rank, which two gendarmes are shortly to gather up, and takes his place between the four gunners, who, with drawn swords, have led him before General Darras.
"The little group, led by two officers of the Republican Guard, moves toward the band of music in front of the prison van and begins its march along the front of the troops and about three feet distant from them.
"Dreyfus holds his head well up. The public cries, 'Death to the traitor!' Soon he reaches the great gateway, and the crowd has a better sight of him. The cries increase, thousands of voices demanding the death of the wretch, who still exclaims: 'I am innocent! Vive la France!'
"The crowd has not heard, but it has seen Dreyfus turn toward it and speak.
"A formidable burst of hisses replies to him, then an immense shout which rolls like a tempest across the vast courtyard:-
"'Death to the traitor! Kill him!'
"And then outside the mob heaves forward in a murderous surge. Only by a mighty effort can the police restrain the people from breaking through into the yard, to wreak their swift and just vengeance upon Dreyfus for his infamy.
"Dreyfus continues his march. He reaches the group made up of the press representatives.
"'You will say to the whole of France,' he cries, 'that I am innocent!'
"'Silence, wretch,' is the reply. 'Coward! Traitor! Judas!'
"Under the insult, the abject Dreyfus pulls himself up. He flings at us a glance full of fierce hatred. "'You have no right to insult me!'
"A clear voice issues from the group:-
"'You know well that you are not innocent. Vive la France! Dirty Jew!'
"Dreyfus continues his route.
"His clothing is pitiably disheveled. In the place of his stripes hang long dangling threads, and his cap has no shape.
"Dreyfus pulls himself up once more, but the cries of the crowd are beginning to affect him. Though the head of the wretch is still insolently turned toward the troops, his legs are beginning to give way.
"The march round the square is ended. Dreyfus is handed over to the two gendarmes, who have gathered up his stripes, and they conduct him to the prison van. "
“Dreyfus, completely silent now, is placed once more in prison. But there again he protests his innocence."