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The Times Great Events. Группа авторов
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isbn 9780008419455
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Издательство HarperCollins
It cannot be too clearly understood that the present election is a triumph of trade-unionism, not of Socialism. No Socialists unconnected with trade union organization got in; only those succeeded who joined hands through the Labour Representation Committee; but nineteen trade-unionists were elected apart from Socialism. Social democrats may be delighted with these results, but they are sanguine and emotional persons, or they would not be Socialists. They look forward to overrunning the country with carpet-baggers next general election, but their failure at the present most exceptional opportunity hardly augurs great success at the next. Labour, meaning the mass of the industrial population, cares nothing for Socialism. It wants what everybody wants, and that is as much as it can get; it wants a larger share of what is going, and will get it, no doubt, by degrees; but the economic and social revolution sounds nonsense in its ears.
From 1895, Britain had a coalition government composed of the Conservatives and a breakaway faction of the Liberals, but its conduct of the Boer War and wrangling over trade tariffs made it increasingly unpopular. It was no surprise when the Liberal Party won a landslide victory in the 1906 election.
Yet, of more significance in the long term were the 29 seats won by – as it was named a few days later – The Labour Party. It had been founded six years before but this was the first General Election that it had contested properly. Keir Hardie was elected the leader of its MPs.
Perhaps surprisingly, The Times broadly welcomed their presence in the Commons, downplaying readers’ fears of revolution. “They are serious men,” it opined, “and intend to take their Parliamentary responsibilities seriously.”
10 July 1906
Pending the definite verdict of the Court of Cassation, the highest tribunal in France, on the charge of treason brought against Captain Dreyfus, public opinion is expressing a sense of relief that this famous case is shortly to be placed beyond all reach of party strife and to be made a matter of history, where it is to be classed with such great historical trials as those of the diamond necklace or of Calas. General Mercier, is making, however, one last desperate effort. In a second letter published in to-day’s papers he calls upon the Court to continue its inquiry by confronting him with the ex-President, M. Casimir-Perier, the ex-Prime Minister, M. Charles Dupuy, and M. Revoil, all of whom were present at the Elysée on the famous night when Count Munster was expected every moment bringing the result of his telegraphic negotiations with his Imperial master, upon which, according to General Mercier, depended the question of peace or war. General Mercier declares that it is of paramount importance to fix the date of this event. This pretension of General Mercier to dictate to the Court of Cassation, implying as it does his profound indifference to the results of that tribunal’s inquiry in spite of the demonstration by that Court of Dreyfus’s absolute innocence, has called forth the protests of a large number of Republican organs. On the sole point which interests the public – namely, whether the Court is to quash with reference back to a military tribunal or not, M. Cornely, writing in to-day’s Siecle, repeats what the Temps said yesterday – that it is impossible to suppose the Court capable of sending Dreyfus before new Judges. The Court, he says, can rid France of a shame and a remorse.
“If it can, it is bound to do so. If it is bound to do so it will do so.”
A duel with pistols, occasioned by the letter of Colonel Picquart impugning the value of General Gonse’s word, was “fought” to-day by those two officers. The latter fired but missed his man. Colonel Picquart reserved his fire altogether.
The Dreyfus affair, which was to scandalize and divide France for a decade, began in 1894 with the discovery by a French spy in the German embassy of a letter offering to betray military secrets. Suspicion fell on Alfred Dreyfus, an artillery officer, who was convicted of treason, publicly humiliated and imprisoned on Devil’s Island, off the coast of South America. He maintained his sanity by teaching himself to read Shakespeare in English.
Two years later, the head of France’s counter-espionage bureau, Georges Picquart, discovered that the traitor was in fact Major Ferdinand Esterhazy. Many in the French Establishment already had doubts about Dreyfus’s guilt – his stockbroker had recognized Esterhazy’s handwriting when the letter to the Germans had been printed by a newspaper – but the case exposed fault lines in society.
The Army had become a symbol of the nation and some thought it more important to protect the Army’s standing than to admit it had erred. In addition, Dreyfus was Jewish and many of his detractors ardent Catholics. Esterhazy was acquitted at trial and, having been found guilty again at a second court-martial, and then pardoned, Dreyfus was only fully exonerated in 1906.
25 July 1908
And at last he comes. A tired man, dazed, bewildered, hardly conscious, in red shorts and white vest, his hair white with dust, staggers on to the track. It is Dorando, the Italian. He looks about him, hardly knowing where he is. Just the knowledge that somehow, by some desperate resolve of determination, he must get round that 200 yards to the tape of the finish keeps him on his feet. Fifty yards, and it cannot even do that. He falls on the track, gets up, staggers on a few yards and falls again, and yet again; and then he reaches the last turn. The goal is in sight, though his closed eyes cannot see it. He is surrounded by officials almost, if not quite, supporting him, urging and cheering him on. If they were not there he would fall. He cannot run straight. And yet 50 yards from the end he suddenly bursts into a pathetic, almost a horrible, parody of a spurt, drops again ten yards from the tape, rises, staggers forward over those last terrible few yards, and has reached the goal.
But not with much to spare. Hayes, of the United States, follows him into the Stadium, a long way behind him in time, but comparatively a fresh and strong man, who can actually run, and is fast catching him up. Not quite, however, though he has run a magnificent race. So have several of the Americans. They come in, one after the other, Americans, Indians, Canadians, none of them happily, in the same dreadful state as Dorando, the Italian, but with a bewildered look on their faces, drawn and pale with exhaustion, as though wondering what they are doing. It seems as if the first Englishman will never come. And all the time the cheering goes on, every few minutes swelling round the course into a louder roar, as one by one they come. For if only one man can win, it is something even to finish in this Marathon race. Dorando was very ill after leaving the track, but it was afterwards announced that he was out of danger.
The Americans protested against Dorando’s win on the ground that he received assistance, and the protest was finally sustained by the council. So that, after all, the unfortunate man had his agonized struggles to no purpose. Altogether the finish of the race was far from satisfactory. The rule about attendants not being allowed on the course was flagrantly broken. The position of those in authority was undoubtedly difficult. It seemed inhuman to leave Dorando to struggle on unaided, and inhuman to urge him to continue. It did not seem right that thousands of people should witness a man suffering as he did. It seemed hard that he should lose the victory after having reached the Stadium so long before anyone else. And yet, after all, the race was not to the Stadium entrance, but to the finish in front of the Royal box,