Proud Tower - Barbara W. Tuchman [133]
As vice-president, the gentle poet François Coppée was no more effective. More or less bludgeoned by his friends into accepting the post, he was wrapped in nostalgia for the past and wrote verse romances about the humble of earlier times. When asked by an English friend, “Que faites vous, Maître, dans cette galère?” (“What are you doing in with that bunch?”), he replied, “To tell you the truth, I am not quite sure.” He was able to explain, however, a vague feeling that the religion and patriotism which had made France great were vanishing and unless revived would disappear in the rising tide of materialism.
The real energy and leadership of the League was supplied by Barrès, Drumont, Rochefort and Déroulède, leader of the older Ligue des Patriotes. At policy sessions Drumont would laugh uproariously and say, “Those fellows will be the death of me.” Rochefort, who listened only to himself, would say impatiently after a long discussion, “Yes, yes, it’s sickening—what canaille!” and then tell some anecdote that enchanted Coppée. “Each one of us is serious individually,” Lemaître confessed to Mme de Loynes, “but together we become frivolous.”
Yet they felt the cause was deadly serious. Behind all the disputes over the bordereau and petit bleu, wrote Léon Daudet, “could be heard the tramp of the barbarian legions.” Dreyfusism was the foreigner at the gates. It was revolution. It was Jews, Freemasons, freethinkers, Protestants, Anarchists, Internationalists. Everyone saw in it his own enemy. Barrès saw everything that was “un-French”; Arthur Meyer saw “an alliance of Anarchism and Dreyfusism” of which “twice monstrous cult” the two priests were Anatole France and Octave Mirbeau. Brunetière saw “individualism … the great malady of our time … the Superman of Nietzsche, the Anarchist, the culte de moi.”
The strong man of the Radical Government which took office after the elections of May, 1898, was its Minister of War, Godefroy Cavaignac, a civilian. He was a man of rigid Republican righteousness, a “sea-green incorruptible,” who regarded himself as the chastiser of parliamentary corruption. He had initiated the Panama inquiry and loathed Clemenceau. As Minister of War for a six months’ tenure in 1895, he had accepted the honesty of the Secret File and firmly believed Dreyfus guilty. The outgoing Premier, Méline, had attempted to deal with the case by denying that any case existed after the rendering of a verdict, but Cavaignac decided to face the issue squarely. He reinvestigated the documents and convinced himself that although Esterhazy was involved, the Dreyfus verdict had been just. He thereupon ordered the arrest of both Esterhazy and Picquart and went to the Chamber determined to bury Revision for good. Grim and commanding, he told the members that Esterhazy had been wrongfully acquitted and would be dealt with as an accomplice but that “I am completely certain of Dreyfus’ guilt.” He went back over the entire history of the case, rebuilt the structure which the Dreyfusards had bit by bit proved false and in final proof cited Dreyfus’ supposed confession and the Panizzardi letter which Méline, who had been Premier until two weeks ago and was sitting in the audience, knew from the Italians was a forgery. When Cavaignac finished the Chamber was on its feet cheering. He had lifted the terrible burden and they voted 545–0 (with nineteen abstentions including the silent Méline) for a national affichage, or “posting,” of his speech outside every town hall in France. “Now the odious case is buried,” said de Vogüé that night at his club. “Now Dreyfus is nailed to his rock until he dies!”
For the Dreyfusards it was an unbelievable blow, an “atrocious moment.” A journalist came hot from the Chamber to bring the news to Lucien Herr, who was in his study with Léon Blum. They were struck mute; tears were close to the surface; they sat immobilized by consternation and despair. Suddenly the doorbell rang and Jaurès burst in, brushed aside the gesture of