An Officer and a Spy

afternoon, and so I stroll along the embankment, past the big construction site on the quai d’Orsay where a new railway terminus and grand hotel are rising beside the river. The first great international event of the twentieth century will be held here in Paris in less than four years’ time – the Universal Exhibition of 1900 – and the giant skeleton of the building swarms with workers. There is a definite energy in the air; there is even, dare one say it, optimism – not a quality that has been in wide supply in France over the past couple of decades. I amble along the Left Bank and on to the pont de Sully, where I stop and lean against the parapet, looking west along the Seine to Notre-Dame. I am still trying to work out how best to deal with the coming meeting.
    Such are the vagaries of public life that General de Boisdeffre, firmly in Mercier’s shadow barely a year and a half ago, has now emerged as one of the most popular men in the country. Indeed, for the past three months it has scarcely been possible to open a newspaper without reading a story about him, whether as head of the French delegation at the coronation of the Tsar in Moscow, or relaying the President’s respects to the Tsarina while she vacationed on the Côte d’Azur, or watching the Grand Prix de Paris at Longchamps in the company of the Russian ambassador. Russia, Russia, Russia – that is all one hears, and Boisdeffre’s strategic alliance is considered the diplomatic triumph of the age, although privately I have reservations about fighting the Germans alongside an army of serfs.
    Still, there is no denying Boisdeffre’s celebrity. His schedule has been printed in the newspapers, and when I arrive at the gare de Lyon, the first thing I encounter is a crowd of admirers waiting to catch a glimpse of their idol disembarking from the Vichy train. When at last it pulls in to the platform, several dozen run along its entire length trying to spot him. Eventually he emerges and pauses in the doorway for the photographers. He is in civilian dress but unmistakable nonetheless, his tall and erect figure made even loftier by a beautiful silk top hat. He doffs it politely to the applauding throng, then descends to the platform, followed by Pauffin de Saint Morel and a couple of other orderlies. He progresses slowly towards the ticket barrier, like a great stately battleship passing in a naval review, raising his hat and smiling faintly at the cries of ‘ Vive Boisdeffre! ’ and ‘ Vive l’armée! ’, until he sees me. His expression clouds briefly while he tries to remember why I am there, then he acknowledges my salute with a friendly nod. ‘Ride with me in my automobile, Picquart,’ he says, ‘although I’m afraid I’m only going as far as the hôtel de Sens, so it will have to be brief.’
    The automobile, a Panhard Levassor, has no roof. We sit up on the cushioned bench seat, the general and I, behind the driver, and trundle shakily over the cobblestones towards the rue de Lyon, watched by a small group of passengers queuing for taxis, who recognise the Chief of the General Staff and break into cheers.
    Boisdeffre says, ‘I think that’s enough for them, don’t you?’ He takes off his hat and places it in his lap, and runs his hand through his thinning white hair. ‘So what is all this about another 1894?’
    Although this is hardly the kind of interview I had rehearsed, there is at least no danger of our being overheard: he has to turn and shout his question into my ear and I respond in a similar way. ‘We believe we’ve found a traitor in the army, General, passing information to the Germans!’
    ‘Not another! What sort of information?’
    ‘So far it seems to be mainly about our artillery.’
    ‘Important information?’
    ‘Not particularly, but there might be other matters we don’t know about.’
    ‘Who is he?’
    ‘A so-called “Count Walsin Esterhazy”, a major with the 74th.’
    Boisdeffre makes a visible effort of memory, then shakes his head. ‘Not a name I would have forgotten if I’d met him. How did we get on to him?’
    ‘The same way we did with Dreyfus, though our agent in the German Embassy.’
    ‘My God, I only wish my wife could find a cleaner half as thorough as that woman!’ He laughs at his own joke. He seems remarkably relaxed; perhaps it is the effects of his hydrotherapy. ‘What does General Gonse say?’
    ‘I haven’t told him yet.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I thought it best to