An Officer And A Spy Part 32

I have an instinct that I can trust him and so I agree, and after the stenographer has left the room I tell him the story of du Paty's liaison with Blanche, replete with the detail of the stolen letter allegedly returned by a woman wearing a veil. "That is why I say du Paty must be behind it in some way or other. His imagination is lurid but restricted. I am sure that he is the one who gave Esterhazy this device from romantic fiction about a 'veiled lady' who is somehow known to me."

"It's barely credible."

"I agree. But you can see how devastating it would be to Mademoiselle de Comminges's position in society if the full details ever became known."

"So you are suggesting Colonel du Paty is a direct link between Major Esterhazy's allegations and an officially sanctioned conspiracy against you involving forged messages?"

"I am."

"Is forgery a method commonly employed by the intelligence department?"

I have to suppress a smile at his navety. "There's an officer who works for the Srete-Jean-Alfred Desvernine. He once brought a forger to see me with the pseudonym of Lemercier-Picard. I suggest you have a word with Desvernine. He might be able to help."

Bertulus makes a note of the name and then calls the stenographer back into the room.

That afternoon, while I am still being deposed, there is a quick knock at the door and Louis puts his head into the room. He is sweating, out of breath. "Forgive my intrusion," he says to Bertulus, "but Colonel Picquart is needed urgently in court."

"I am afraid he is in the process of giving evidence to me."

"I appreciate that, and Matre Labori sends his apologies, but he really does need to call the colonel as a reb.u.t.tal witness."

"Well, if he must, he must."

As we hurry along the corridor Louis says, "General Pellieux is on the witness stand and trying to destroy your evidence. He is claiming that Esterhazy couldn't possibly have written the bordereau because he didn't have access to that level of intelligence."

"But that's nonsense," I say. "I dealt with all this yesterday. And anyway, what has it to do with Pellieux? Why isn't Gonse handling that part of their case, or Henry?"

"Haven't you noticed? They now have Pellieux doing everything. He's the only decent spokesman they've got, and he isn't tainted like the others." When we reach the doors of the courtroom he turns. "You do realise what this means, Georges, don't you?"

"What?"

"They're on the run. For the first time they're actually scared they're going to lose."

Inside the court, Pellieux is at the witness stand and clearly just reaching his peroration, addressing the jury directly as if he were an advocate. Louis and I stand at the back to listen. "Gentlemen," he cries, striking his breast, "I have a soldier's soul, and it revolts against the infamies heaped upon us! I say that it is criminal to try to take away from the army its confidence in its chiefs. What do you imagine will become of this army on the day of danger-nearer, perhaps, than you think? What do you imagine will be the conduct of the poor soldiers led by chiefs of whom they have heard such things said? It is to butchery that they would lead your sons, gentlemen of the jury! But Monsieur Zola will have won a new battle, he will write a new Debcle,* he will spread the French language throughout the universe and throughout a Europe from whose map France will have been wiped!"

The section of the court occupied by army officers erupts in cheers. Pellieux holds up a finger to silence them. "One word more, gentlemen. We should have been glad if Dreyfus had been acquitted three years ago. It would have proved there was no traitor in the French army. But what the recent court-martial was not willing to accept was that an innocent man should be put in Dreyfus's place, whether Dreyfus was guilty or not."

He stands down to renewed acclamation from the General Staff. I move forward towards the well of the court, past Gonse and Henry, who are both on their feet applauding. Pellieux struts back to his seat like a prizefighter who has just won a bout, and I stand aside to let him pa.s.s. His eyes are shining. He doesn't even notice me until he draws level with me, and then he says out of the corner of his mouth as he goes by, "All yours."

In the event, much to Labori's irritation, the judge rules that it is too late in the day for me to be called and that my testimony will have to wait until the next session. I return to Mont-Valerien and pa.s.s a sleepless night, listening to the wind and staring long into the small hours at the light on top of the Eiffel Tower, glowing like a red planet in the heavens above Paris.

The next morning, once I am standing at the front of the court, Labori says, "Yesterday General de Pellieux declared that Major Esterhazy couldn't have obtained the doc.u.ments listed in the bordereau. What do you say in answer to that?"

I begin cautiously: "Some things I shall say perhaps will contradict what General de Pellieux has said, but I believe it my duty to state what I think. The central point is that the doc.u.ments listed in the bordereau are much less important than people have been led to believe."

Once again I am careful to speak forensically. I point out that five sets of data were supposedly handed over with the bordereau. Yet four of them were not actual doc.u.ments at all but simply "notes," which required no inside knowledge of the General Staff: notes on the hydraulic brake of the 120 millimetre cannon, on covering troops, on changes to artillery formations, and on the invasion of Madagascar. "Well, why only notes? Surely anyone who had anything serious to offer and not simply what he had picked up in conversation or seen in pa.s.sing would have said, 'I send you a copy of such and such a doc.u.ment.' Now, there was a copy handed over: the fifth doc.u.ment-the firing manual-and surely it's not a coincidence that we know Major Esterhazy was able to get access to that, and indeed arranged to have it transcribed. But here again the author speaks of having it for only a limited amount of time, whereas an officer on the General Staff, such as Dreyfus, would have had unlimited access."

There is a large ornate clock to my right. I can hear it ticking in the silence of the court whenever I pause between my points, such is the intensity with which my audience is concentrating. And from time to time, out of the corner of my eye, I can see the doubts beginning to creep across the faces not just of the jurors but even of some of the General Staff officers. Pellieux, less confident now, keeps rising to interrupt me, venturing further and further out onto thin ice, until he makes a significant mistake. I am in the process of pointing out that the concluding phrase of the bordereau-"I am leaving on manoeuvres"-also indicates that its author was not working in the Ministry of War, because the General Staff's manoeuvres are in the autumn and the bordereau was supposedly written in April, when Pellieux comes forward again.

"But the bordereau wasn't written in April."

Before I can answer, Labori is on him in a flash. "Yes it was-or at least so it has always been said by the ministry."

"Not at all," insists Pellieux, although there is a tremor of uncertainty in his voice. "I appeal to General Gonse."

Gonse comes forward and says, "General Pellieux is correct: the bordereau must have been written around the month of August, since it contains a reference to a note on the invasion of Madagascar."

Now Labori pounces on Gonse. "So when exactly was the note on Madagascar drawn up by the General Staff?"

"In August."

"Wait." Labori searches through his bundle of doc.u.ments and pulls out a sheet of paper. "But in the original indictment of Captain Dreyfus, which was read out at his trial, it is alleged that he copied the Madagascar note in February, when he was in the relevant department. I quote: 'Captain Dreyfus could easily have procured it then.' How do you reconcile those two dates?"

Gonse's mouth flaps open in dismay. He looks at Pellieux. "Well, the note was written in August. I don't actually know if there was a note in February ..."

"Ah, now, gentlemen!" mocks Labori. "You see how important it is to be exact?"

It is such a trivial discrepancy, and yet one can feel the change of mood inside the courtroom like a drop in barometric pressure. Some people start to laugh, and Pellieux's face turns rigid and flushes with anger. He is a vain man, a proud man, and he has been made to look a fool. Worse, the whole of the government's case seems suddenly fragile. It has never been tested properly by an advocate of Labori's quality: under pressure it is starting to appear as fragile as matchwood.

Pellieux requests a brief recess. He stalks back to his seat. Quickly the officers of the General Staff, including Gonse and Henry, form a huddle around him. I can see his finger jabbing. Labori sees it too. He frowns at me, spreads his hands and mouths, "What is this?" But all I can offer is a shrug: I have no idea what they are discussing.

Five minutes later, Pellieux marches back to the front of the court and indicates that he wishes to say something.

"Gentlemen of the jury, I have an observation to make concerning what has just taken place. Until now, we on our side have kept strictly within the bounds of legality. We have said nothing of the Dreyfus case, and I don't wish to speak of it now. But the defence has just read publicly a pa.s.sage from the indictment which was supposed to stay behind closed doors. Well, as Colonel Henry says: they want the light; they shall have it! In November of '96 there came into the Ministry of War absolute proof of the guilt of Dreyfus. This proof I have seen. It is a doc.u.ment, the origin of which cannot be contested, and it contains roughly these words: 'A deputy is going to ask questions about the Dreyfus case. Never admit the relations that we had with that Jew.' Gentlemen, I make this declaration on my honour, and I appeal to General Boisdeffre to support my testimony."

There is a collective intake of breath around the court which then subsides into an exhalation of muttering as people turn to their neighbours to discuss what this means. Again Labori, baffled, stares across at me. It takes me a few seconds to work out that Pellieux must be referring to the letter supposedly retrieved from the German Emba.s.sy-the one that turned up so conveniently just before I was removed from Paris, and that Billot read out but wouldn't show me. I nod vigorously to Labori and make a grabbing gesture with my hands. Pellieux has made another blunder. He must seize this moment before it is lost.

Already Gonse, recognising the danger, is on his feet and hurrying forward. He calls out anxiously to the judge, "I ask for the floor." But Labori is too quick for him.

"Excuse me, but I have the floor, General. A matter of exceptional gravity has just arisen. After such a statement, there can be no restriction of the debate. I point out to General Pellieux that no doc.u.ment can have any scientific value as proof until it has been discussed openly. Let General Pellieux explain himself without reserve and let the doc.u.ment be produced."

The judge asks, "General Gonse, what do you have to say?"

Gonse's voice is a high croak. He sounds as if he is being strangled. "I confirm the testimony of General Pellieux. He has taken the initiative, and he has done well. I would have done the same in his place." He rubs his hands nervously up and down the sides of his trousers. He looks utterly wretched. "The army doesn't fear the light. To save its honour, it doesn't fear at all to tell the truth. But prudence is a necessity, and I do not believe that proofs of this character, though they are indeed real and absolute, can be brought here and made public."

Pellieux says bluntly, "I ask that General Boisdeffre be sent for to confirm my words," and ignoring both the judge and the hapless Gonse he calls out to his aide-de-camp, standing in the aisle: "Major Delca.s.se, take a carriage and go for General de Boisdeffre at once."

During the recess, Labori comes over to where I am standing. He whispers, "What kind of doc.u.ment is he talking about?"

"I can't tell you-not in any detail. It would breach my oath of secrecy."

"You have to give me something, Colonel-the Chief of the General Staff is about to walk in."

I glance over to where Pellieux, Gonse and Henry are sitting, too absorbed in their own conversation to pay any attention to me. "I can tell you it's a pretty desperate tactic. I don't think Gonse and Henry are very happy at the situation they've been put in."

"What line of questioning do you suggest I take with Boisdeffre?"

"Ask him to read the doc.u.ment out in full. Ask whether they will allow it to be forensically examined. Ask him why they only seem to have discovered the 'absolute proof' of Dreyfus's guilt two years after they sent him to Devil's Island!"

Boisdeffre's arrival outside the courtroom is announced by a round of applause and cheering from the corridor. The door bangs open. Several orderly officers hurry in ahead of him and then the great man himself begins his slow progress from the rear of the chamber towards the bar of the court. It is the first time I have seen him for fifteen months. Tall and dignified, walking stiffly, b.u.t.toned up tightly in his black uniform, which contrasts sharply with the whiteness of his hair and moustache, he seems to have aged a great deal.

The judge says, "General, thank you for coming. An incident has occurred that we did not expect. Let me read to you the stenographic record of the testimony given by General Pellieux."

After he has finished, Boisdeffre nods gravely. "I shall be brief. I confirm General Pellieux's deposition in all points as exact and authentic. I have not a word more to say, not having the right." He turns to the jury. "And now, gentlemen, permit me, in conclusion, to say one thing to you. You are the jury; you are the nation. If the nation has no confidence in the commanders of its army, in those who are responsible for the national defence, they are ready to leave this heavy task to others; you have only to speak. I will not say a word more. Monsieur President, I ask your permission to withdraw."

The judge says, "You may withdraw, General. Bring in the next witness."

Boisdeffre turns and walks towards the exit to loud applause from all around the court. As he pa.s.ses me, his gaze flickers for an instant across my face and a muscle twitches slightly in his cheek. Behind him, Labori is calling: "Pardon me, General, I have some questions to put to you."

The judge tells him to be quiet. "You do not have the floor, Matre Labori. The incident is closed."

His mission accomplished, Boisdeffre continues his steady tread away from the witness stand. Several of the General Staff officers rise to follow him, b.u.t.toning their capes.

Labori is still trying to summon him back. "Pardon me, General Boisdeffre-"

"You do not have the floor." The judge hammers his gavel. "Bring in Major Esterhazy."

"But I have some questions to put to this witness ..."

"It was an incident outside the scope of the trial. You do not have the floor."

"I demand the floor!"

It is too late. From the back of the courtroom comes the sound of a door closing-courteously, not slammed-and Boisdeffre's intervention is over.

After the drama of the last few minutes, the arrival of Esterhazy is an anticlimax. Labori and the Clemenceau brothers can be heard debating in loud whispers whether they should walk out of the trial in protest at Boisdeffre's extraordinary intervention. The jury-that collection of drapers, merchants and market gardeners-still look stunned at having been threatened by the Chief of the General Staff in person that if they find against the army, the entire High Command will take it as a vote of no confidence and will resign. As for me, I sit shifting in my seat in an agony of conscience as to what I should do next.

Esterhazy-trembling, his unnaturally large and protruding eyes darting constantly this way and that-begins by making an appeal to the jury. "I do not know whether you realise the abominable situation in which I am placed. A wretch, Monsieur Mathieu Dreyfus, without the shadow of a proof, has dared to accuse me of being the author of the crime for which his brother is being punished. Today, in contempt of all rights, in contempt of all the rules of justice, I am summoned before you, not as a witness, but as an accused. I protest with all my might against this treatment ..."

I cannot bear to listen to him. Ostentatiously I stand and walk out of the court.

Esterhazy shouts after me, "During the last eighteen months there has been woven against me the most frightful conspiracy ever woven against any man! During that time I've suffered more than any one of my contemporaries has suffered in the whole of his life ...!"

I close the door on him and search the corridors for Louis until I find him on a bench in the vestibule de Harlay staring at the floor.

He looks up, grim-faced. "You realise we have just witnessed a coup d'etat? What else is one to call it when the General Staff is allowed to produce a piece of evidence the defence isn't allowed to see, and then threatens to desert en ma.s.se unless a civilian court accepts it? The tactics they used on Dreyfus they are now trying to use on the entire country!"

"I agree. That's why I want to be recalled to the witness stand."

"Are you sure?"

"Will you tell Labori?"

"Be careful, Georges-I'm speaking as your lawyer now. You break your oath of confidentiality and they will put you away for ten years."

As we walk back to the court, I say, "There's something else I'd like you to do for me, if you would. There is an officer of the Srete, Jean-Alfred Desvernine. Would you try to contact him discreetly, and say I need to meet him in the strictest confidence? Tell him to keep an eye on the papers, and the day after I'm released I'll be in the usual place at seven in the evening."

"The usual place ..." Louis makes a note without pa.s.sing comment.

Back in court, the judge says, "Colonel Picquart, what is it you wish to add?"

As I walk towards the stand, I glance across at Henry, sitting crammed in his seat between Gonse and Pellieux. His chest is so vast his arms folded across it appear stubby, like clipped wings.

I stroke the polished wood of the handrail, smoothing the grain. "I wish to say something about the doc.u.ment that General Pellieux has mentioned as absolute proof of Dreyfus's guilt. If he hadn't brought it up, I would never have spoken of it, but now I feel I must." The clock ticks, a trapdoor seems to open at my feet and I step over the edge at last. "It is a forgery."

The rest is quickly told. When the howling and the shouting have died down, Pellieux steps forward to make a violent attack upon my character: "Everything in this case is strange, but the strangest thing of all is the att.i.tude of a man who still wears the French uniform and yet who comes to this bar to accuse three generals of having committed a forgery ..."

On the day the verdict is announced, I am taken by carriage from Mont-Valerien for the final time. The streets around the Palace of Justice are crammed with roughs carrying heavy sticks, and when the jury retires to consider its verdict our group of "Dreyfusards," as we are starting to be called, stands together in the centre of the court, for mutual protection as much as anything else: me, Zola, Perrenx, the Clemenceau brothers, Louis and Labori, Madame Zola and Labori's strikingly beautiful young Australian wife, Marguerite, who has brought along her two little boys by her previous marriage. "This way we'll all be together," she tells me in her strongly accented French. Through the high windows we can hear the noise of the mob outside.

Clemenceau says, "If we win, we will not leave this building alive."

After forty minutes the jury returns. The foreman, a brawny-looking merchant, stands. "On my honour and my conscience the declaration of the jury is: as concerns Perrenx, guilty, by a majority vote; as concerns Zola, guilty, by a majority vote."

There is uproar. The officers are cheering. Everyone is on their feet. The ladies of fashion at the back of the court clamber onto their seats to get a better view.

"Cannibals," says Zola.

The judge tells Perrenx, manager of L'Aurore, that he is sentenced to four months in prison and a fine of three thousand francs. Zola is given the maximum penalty of a year in gaol and a fine of five thousand. The sentences are suspended pending appeal.

As we leave, I pa.s.s Henry standing with a group of General Staff officers. He is in the middle of telling a joke. I say to him coldly, "My witnesses will be calling on yours in the next few days to make arrangements for our duel; be ready to respond," and I am pleased to see that this has the effect, at least briefly, of knocking the smile off his porcine face.

Three days later, on Sat.u.r.day, 26 February, the commandant of Mont-Valerien calls me to his office and leaves me standing at attention while he informs me that I have been found guilty of "grave misconduct" by a panel of senior officers and that I am dismissed from the army forthwith. I will not receive the full pension of a retired colonel but only that of a major: thirty francs per week. He is further authorised to tell me that if I make any comments in public again regarding my period of service on the General Staff, the army will take "the severest possible action" against me.

"Do you have anything to say?"

"No, Colonel."

"Dismissed!"

At dusk, carrying my suitcase, I am escorted to the gate and left on the cobbled forecourt to make my own way home. I have known no other life except the army since I was eighteen years old. But all that is behind me now, and it is as plain Monsieur Picquart that I walk down the hill to the railway station to catch the train back into Paris.

* Zola's novel about the Franco-Prussian War of 1870.

21.