Robert Harris - An Officer and a Spy

‘I’m just about doing my duty, Armand. It’s my responsibility to investigate potential spies and I seem to have found another — a traitor who somehow escaped detection when you were leading the Dreyfus investigation two years ago.’

Du Paty folds his arms defensively inside the wide sleeves of his robe. He looks absurd, like a wizard in a cabaret at Le Chat Noir. ‘I’m not infallible,’ he says. ‘I’ve never pretended otherwise. It’s possible there were others involved. Sandherr always believed Dreyfus had at least one accomplice.’

‘Did you have any names?’

‘Personally I suspected that brother of his, Mathieu. So did Sandherr, as a matter of fact.’

‘But Mathieu wasn’t in the army at the time. He wasn’t even in Paris.’

‘No,’ replies du Paty with great significance, ‘but he was in Germany. And he’s a Jew.’

I have no desire to be drawn into any of du Paty’s crazy theories. It is like becoming lost in a maze with no exits. I say, ‘I must allow you to get back to your work.’ I rest my briefcase on the escritoire for a moment so that I can put away the photograph. As I do so, my eye falls unavoidably on a page of du Paty’s novel. ‘ You shall not deceive me with your beauty for a second time, mademoiselle,’ cried the duc d’Argentin, with a flourish of his poisoned dagger. .

Du Paty watches me. He says, ‘The bordereau wasn’t the only evidence against Dreyfus, you know. It was the intelligence we had that actually convicted him. The secret file. As you remember .’ There is a definite threat in this last remark.

‘I do remember.’

‘Good.’

‘Are you trying to imply something?’

‘No. Or at least only that I hope you don’t forget, as you pursue your investigations, that you were part of the whole prosecution as well. Let me show you out.’

At the door I say, ‘Actually, that’s not entirely accurate, if you’ll allow me to correct you. You and Sandherr and Henry and Gribelin were the prosecuting authority. I was never anything more than an observer.’

Du Paty emits a whinny of laughter. His face is close enough to mine for me to smell his breath: there’s a whiff of decay about it that seems to come from deep within him and reminds me of the drains beneath the Statistical Section. ‘Oh, is that what you think? An observer! Come, my dear Georges, you sat through the entire court martial! You were Mercier’s errand boy throughout the whole thing! You advised him on his tactics! You can’t turn round now and say it was nothing to do with you! Why else do you think you’ve ended up chief of the Statistical Section?’ He opens the door. ‘Will you give my regards to Blanche, by the way?’ he calls after me. ‘She’s still not married, I believe? Tell her I would call upon her, but you know how it is: my wife wouldn’t approve.’

I am too angry to think of a reply, and so I leave him with the satisfaction of the last word, imagining himself a wit: smiling after me insufferably from his doorstep in his dressing gown and slippers and fez.

I walk back towards the office slowly, thinking over what I have just been told.

Is this what people say about me — that I was Mercier’s errand boy? That I only got my present job because I knew how to tell him the things he wanted to hear?

I feel as if I have walked into a mirrored room and glimpsed myself from an unfamiliar angle for the first time. Is that really what I look like? Is that who I am?

Two months after Dreyfus’s arrest, in the middle of December 1894, General Mercier summoned me to see him. I was not told what it was about. I assumed it must be in connection with the Dreyfus affair and that others would be present. I was right on the first point, wrong on the second. This time Mercier received me alone.

He was sitting behind his desk. A weak fire of brownish coal hissed in the grate. The bare facts of Dreyfus’s arrest had been leaked to the press six weeks earlier, at the beginning of November — High Treason. Arrest of the Jewish Officer A. Dreyfus — and people were agog to know what he was guilty of, and what the government planned to do about him; I was curious myself. Mercier told me to take a seat and then played his favourite trick of making me wait while he finished annotating whatever document he was bent over, giving me a long opportunity to study the top of his narrow, close-cropped, balding skull and speculate on what schemes and secrets it contained. Eventually he set down his pen and said, ‘Before I go any further, let me just be certain — you haven’t taken any part in the investigation of Captain Dreyfus since his arrest?’

‘None, Minister.’

‘And you haven’t spoken about the case to Colonel du Paty or Colonel Sandherr or Major Henry?’

‘No.’

There was a pause while Mercier scrutinised me through his eye slits. ‘You have literary interests, I believe?’

I hesitated. This was the sort of admission that could ruin one’s prospects of promotion. ‘To some degree; in private, General; yes, I take an interest in all the arts.’

‘There’s no need to be ashamed of it, Major. I simply want someone who can make a report for me that would contain more than just the bare facts. Do you think you can do that?’

‘I would hope so. Naturally, it would depend on what it’s about.’

‘Do you remember what you said in this office on the eve of Dreyfus’s arrest?’

‘I’m not sure what you mean, General.’

‘You asked Colonel du Paty: “What happens if Dreyfus doesn’t confess?” I made a note of it at the time. It was a good question. “What happens if he doesn’t confess?” Colonel du Paty assured us he would. But now it transpires he hasn’t, despite being held in prison for the past two months. In confidence, Major, I must tell you I feel let down.’

‘I can understand that.’ Poor old du Paty , I thought. I found it hard to keep a straight face.

‘Now Captain Dreyfus is going to stand trial next week in front of a military court, and the very same people who assured me he would confess are promising me with equal certainty that he will be found guilty. But I have learned to be more cautious, you understand?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘The government will be roasted alive if this trial goes wrong. You’ve seen the press already: “the case will be hushed up because the officer is a Jew. .” So this is what I want you to do.’ He put his elbows on his desk and spoke very quietly and deliberately. ‘I want you, Major Picquart, to attend the court martial every day on my behalf and report back to me each evening on what you’ve seen. I don’t just want “He said this, he said that. .” — any secretary with shorthand could give me that. I want the very nub of the thing.’ He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. ‘Describe it to me like a writer. Tell me how the prosecution sounds. Look at the judges, study the witnesses. I can’t attend the court myself. That would make the whole thing seem like a political trial. So you’ll have to be my eyes and ears. Can you do that for me?’

‘Yes, General,’ I said, ‘I would be honoured.’

I withdrew from Mercier’s office maintaining a suitably solemn expression. But as soon as I reached the landing I tipped my cap to the painting of Napoleon. A personal assignment from the Minister of War! But not just that — I was to be his ‘eyes and ears’! I trotted down those marble steps with a broad smile on my face.

Dreyfus’s court martial was scheduled to start on Wednesday 19 December in the military courthouse, a grim old building directly across the street from the Cherche-Midi prison, and to last three or four days. I very much hoped it would be over by Saturday night: I had tickets to the Salle d’Harcourt, to attend the first public performance of Monsieur Debussy’s Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune .