An Officer and a Spy

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 document 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, buttoned 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 passes 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, Maître 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, buttoning 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