An Officer and a Spy

The magistrate thinks about it. ‘Very well,’ he says eventually. ‘However, you must understand that I may have to act on what you tell me, whether you want me to or not.’

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 naïvety. ‘There’s an officer who works for the Sûreté — 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 Maître Labori sends his apologies, but he really does need to call the colonel as a rebuttal 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 Débâcle,¹ 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 pass. 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-Valérien and pass 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.