An Officer and a Spy

21 January 1895

My darling Lucie,

The other day, when I was insulted at La Rochelle, I wanted to escape from my warders, to present my naked breast to those to whom I was a just object of indignation, and say to them: ‘Do not insult me; my soul, which you cannot know, is free from all stain; but if you think I am guilty, come, take my body, I give it up to you without regret.’ Then, perhaps, when under the stinging bite of physical pain I had cried ‘Vive la France!’ they might have believed in my innocence!

But what am I asking for night and day? Justice! Justice! Is this the nineteenth century, or have we gone back some hundred years? Is it possible that innocence is not recognised in an age of enlightenment and truth? Let them search. I ask no favour, but I ask the justice that is the right of every human being. Let them continue to search; let those who possess powerful means of investigation use them towards this object; it is for them a sacred duty of humanity and justice. .

I reread the final paragraph. There is something odd about it. I see what he is doing. Ostensibly he is writing to his wife. But knowing his words are bound to pass through many hands along the way, he is also sending a message to the arbiters of his fate in Paris; to me, in fact, although he would never have guessed that I would be sitting at Sandherr’s desk. Let those who possess powerful means of investigation. . It does not alter my belief in his guilt, but it is a clever tactic; it gives me pause for thought: he certainly does not give up, this fellow.

Paris

January 1895

Fred, my dearest,

Very fortunately I had not read the newspapers yesterday morning; my people had tried to conceal from me the knowledge of the ignoble scene at La Rochelle, otherwise I should have gone mad with despair. .

Next in the file is a letter from Lucie to the minister, requesting permission to visit her husband on the Île de Ré to say goodbye. The request is granted for 13 February, subject to stringent restrictions, which are also listed. The prisoner is to remain standing between two guards at one end of the room; Madame Dreyfus is to remain seated at the other end, accompanied by a third guard; the prison governor will stand between them; they are not to discuss anything connected with the trial; there is to be no physical contact. A letter from Lucie offering to have her hands tied behind her back if she can approach a little closer is stamped ‘refused’.

Fred to Lucie: The few moments I passed with you were full of joy to me, though it was impossible to tell you all that was in my heart (14 February). Lucie to Fred: What emotion, what a fearful shock we both felt at seeing each other again, especially you, my poor beloved husband (16 February). Fred to Lucie: I wanted to tell you all the admiration I feel for your noble character, for your admirable devotion (21 February). Hours later, Dreyfus was on a warship, the Saint-Nazaire, steaming out into the Atlantic.