THE LIVING AGE.Sath Seri...

Volume X VII. No. 2797-February 12,1898. {From Bel!iDulng,

Vol. COXVI.

CONTENTS.

I. THE PLEVNA OF LABOR. By An On­looker,

II. MARUSKA: AN INCIDENT IN MODERNLIFE,

III. THE DEGRADATION OF DREYFUS. ByAdolphe Brisson. Translated for TheLiving Age,

IV. A WALK THROUGH DESERTED LON­DON.. By Sir Algernon West,

V. WITH ALL HER HEART. By Rene Bazin,Chapters XXV., and XXVI. Trans­lated for The Living Age,

VI. AN EPISODE IN THE HISTORY OF THECOMEDIE FRANCAISE. By Tighe Hop­kins,

VII. My FRIEND ROBIN. By Gilbert Cole­.ridge,

VIII. THE AUTHOR OF" MONSIEUR TONSON."By Austin Dobson,

IX. WATERLOO: A CONTEMPORARY LET­TER,

X. THE CRIMINAL TRAMP, .X~. CREOLE PROVERBS,

Contemporary Review, •

Blackwood's Magazine,

Les Annales,

Nineteenth Century,

'Revue des. Deux Mondes,

Macmillan'.~ Magazine, •

Fortnightly Review,

Longman's Magazine,

Cornhill Magazine,Spectator,Speaker,

411

418

432

433

• 442

• 447

455

458

463468.471

DRAKE'S DRU~I,

MORCEAU A QUATRE MAINS,

POETRY •.410 VICTORS,

• 410• 410

SUPPLEMENT.

J{EADINGS FROM AMERICAN READINGS FROM NEW BOOKS.MAGAZINES:

. 473

. 4U6

FATHER SMILEY'S VENTURE. 'ByHenry Christopher McCOOk, 4S5

EVOLUTION AND IMMORTALITY. ByLyman Abbott, . 487

ON THE CAMPAGNA. By'Rene Bazin, 490BETWEEN T·wo. By Jane H. Find-

later, . 493

BOOKS OF THE MONTH, .

THE475477478479481483484

"OUT OF EGYPT," •THE LABOR MOVEMENT AND

NEGRO,A.USTIN DOBSON,THE CASE OF MARIA,WISCONSIN TRAVELING LIBRARIES,A RUNAWAY ENGINE,·GARBAGE AND BACTERIA,A. NOCTURNE OF EXILE,

PUHLISHED E'\TERY SATURDAY BY

THE LIVING AGE COMPANY, BOSTON.

432 The Degradation of Dreyfus.ing in a broken, shamefaced fashion­"not even to beg your pardon. I knowit is worse than no excuse, no apology,to say that for a day and a night I wasa drivelling idiot, quite off my head.Somehow, I declare, I believe I wasbewitched, bedevilled. And you never,never can forgive me-can you, Molly?"

"Hum, hum," muttered Mrs. Pierre­pont's Old Friend to himself, movingsoftly away. "I thinl, I may soon ordermy customary claret-jug offering, withthe usual legend, written on my card,hanging out of its mouth-'May your fu­ture be as rosy as the claret I shallhenceforth hold.' "

There was one prejudice which pretty,happy little Lady Molly Dallas wasnever able to overcome. Nor did shemake many hearty, Christian endeavorsto do so. To the end of her life sheentertained a rooted aversion to HolyRussia and all the inhabitants thereof.

Fr0m T,f'B Annales.THE DEGRADATION OF DREYFUS.

Now, when so much is being said andwritten concerning the condemnationof Captain Dreyfus, it seems interest­ing to reproduce the following accountof the final scene of his trial, word forword, as it appeared in the RepubliqueFrangaise of the same evening.

8 A. M. Off for the Ecole Militaire.A bitter wind is blowing along thequays. Many fiacres are making theirway to the Ohamp de Mars. Along thostreets officers are hurrying in dressuniform, the collars of their coatsturned up about their ears. And, in alldirections are to be seen the detach·ments-old soldiers in marching order,fresh recruits iu jacket and cap-whichare to be present at the performance.

The civilians, who have been allowedto penetrate to the inner court are notnumerous. The military governmentof Paris has distributed but a limitednumber of tickets, giving them only tothe press, certain official personagesand celebrated authors curious to studythe psychology of the condemned man,

The bulk of the crowd has had to staywithout the gates. You can tell thatit is rough and ready to display its indignation.

8.45. The last of the troops have ar­l'ived. They are drawn up on the foursides of the court, and presently Drey­fus will have to pass before them, SUb­jected for more than half a mile to thosilent Scorn of these thousands of men.What a Calvary! Some hundred yardshave been reserved for the reporters.who draw up in line and toe the marklike common soldiers.

Meanwhile the time draws near. "Vohave seen the arrival of the prison van.which has been drawn up by the side ofa building. It is he! 'We imagine himthere, awaiting the moment. He hearsfrom afar the click of the bayonets,the tread of the soldiers, summoned tobe present at his torture. T'o what an­guish must he not be a prey? Will heno't wpar the pallor of death when he isbrought before his judges? Will he beable to stand upright? Or, will he notgive way for one moment? And, at thisthought, notwithstanding our hOlTor ofhis crime, we are overwhelmed withpity for the unfortunate man, so crueldoes his exp,iation seem.

9. Barely has the first strokosounded from the great clock of theEcole MUitail'e, when General DarraRlifts his sabre. The trumpets sound;and we perceive, iu an angle of thecourt, a little group, consisting of foui~

artillerymen commanded by a sergeantand surrounding an officer in full uniform.

This officer is Alfred Dreyfus.He raises his head, his bearing is as·

sured, but perfectly natural; he doesnot overdo his calmness. You wouldsay that he was making his way tran·quilly to the drill-ground. At twentypaces from the general, the group halts.The general pronounces in a loud voicethe regulation phra~e:-

"Alfred Dre3'fus, you are unworthyto bear arms!"

A police adjutant at once steps for·ward, and the hideous torture begins.Braid and buttons are torn away, theregimental number removed from the

A Walk through DeseTted London. 433

From The Ninetf"enth Century.A WALK THROUGH DESERTED L01\r(\;,<'.

When some grumbler met "thatpolished sin-worn fragment of thecourt," the Duke of Qneensberry, "oldQ.," one September afternoon, andasked whether he was not bored withthe emptiness of London-"Yes," hesaid; "but, at all events, there are morepeople here than there are in the coun­try." Tbis may be so, yet with its mil­lions of liVing souls moments wlll coinewhen the true Londoner discovers thata crowd is not company. His season isover, his clubs are shut, his streetsunder repair, his friends fled, -and their

'houses dismantled.

he leaves us bewildered and deeply andstrangely moved. What is in the heartof that man? What motive po,wer is heobeying when he protests thus of hisinnocence, with the energy of despair?Is he hoping to deceive public opinion,fill us with doubts, excite suspicionswith regard to the fidelity of the judgeswho' have condemned him? And lil,ea lightning flash, this thought crossesour minds, "If he were not guilty, whatfrightful agony!"

But we repel this thought. Reasonregains the empire over our feelingswhich had been for a moment dis­turbed. No, we cannot, and do nothave any doubt that Dreyfus has beenbranded by the purest and most honestelement in the French army. He wascondemned without a dissentient voice.He did really sell his country.

And" instead of bowing his headunder his just disgrace, he dares to pro­test, to utter grandiloquent phrases, togesticulate like a third-rate actor, andpose as a martyr!

This Dreyfus is realIy the lowest ofThe low!

cap. FinaIly-and this is the hardestmoment-the adjutant draws Dreyfus'ssabre, breaks the blade over his knee,and tlings the fragments at the traitor'sfeet. Dreyfus is too far away for us tobe able to make out his expression. Heseems agitated and gesticulates. 'Whenthe general uttered his damning- apos­trophe, he raised his arm, and in II

voice strained and piercing cried out:-·"V·ive la F,-ancel I am innocent!"The adjutant has finished his tasle

'l'he gold which covered the uniformlies heaped upon the ground; they havenot even left to the condemned manthose red bands down the trousers,vhich indicate his branch of the ser­vice. Dreyfus in his jacket, now per·fectly black with his darl;: cap, seemsalready to have assumed a convict'scostume. The sinister esco-rt is oncemore set in motion. The traitor is topass before our eyes, and we are impa·tient to see him. Here he comes; Drey­fus is more and more agitated. He con·tinues to cry, "I am innocent! V'ire l(~

Fmncel" And, o:n the other side of thegates the crowd, vaguely discerning hisform, lets fly fierce voIleys of hoots and ADOLPHE BRISSON.hisses. Dreyfus hears these impreca- Translated for The Living Age.tions and they increase his rage.

As he passes a group of otlicers, thisphrase is audible:-

"Off with you, Judas!"FuriOUS, he turns on the speaker, and

repeats with redoubled energy:-"I am innocent! I am innocent!"Now we can discern bis features

clearly, and for a moment we closelyscru tinize them, hoping to fi nd there asupreme revelation, a reflection of thatsoul whose inmost windings only themembers of the court-martiaJ have thus

, far been able to penetrate. That whichis most prominent on the face of Drey­fus is anger, anger aJmost beyond thepoint of control; the lips are parted byan involuntary grima-ce, his eyes areblood-shot. We realize that if the con­demned man is firm and walks withso proud a bearing, it is because he islashed by that fury which is straininghis nerves to the breaking point, and The baffled hopes have gone to Cowesputting him beside himself. the broken hearts to Baden. '

He passes by us: he disappears; and It is not pleasa'nt, for we know that