Robert Harris - An Officer and a Spy

‘But the bordereau wasn’t written in April.’

Before I can answer, Labori is on him in a flash. ‘Yes it was — or at least so it has always been said by the ministry.’

‘Not at all,’ insists Pellieux, although there is a tremor of uncertainty in his voice. ‘I appeal to General Gonse.’

Gonse comes forward and says, ‘General Pellieux is correct: the bordereau must have been written around the month of August, since it contains a reference to a note on the invasion of Madagascar.’

Now Labori pounces on Gonse. ‘So when exactly was the note on Madagascar drawn up by the General Staff?’

‘In August.’

‘Wait.’ Labori searches through his bundle of documents and pulls out a sheet of paper. ‘But in the original indictment of Captain Dreyfus, which was read out at his trial, it is alleged that he copied the Madagascar note in February, when he was in the relevant department. I quote: “Captain Dreyfus could easily have procured it then.” How do you reconcile those two dates?’

Gonse’s mouth flaps open in dismay. He looks at Pellieux. ‘Well, the note was written in August. I don’t actually know if there was a note in February. .’

‘Ah, now, gentlemen!’ mocks Labori. ‘You see how important it is to be exact?’

It is such a trivial discrepancy, and yet one can feel the change of mood inside the courtroom like a drop in barometric pressure. Some people start to laugh, and Pellieux’s face turns rigid and flushes with anger. He is a vain man, a proud man, and he has been made to look a fool. Worse, the whole of the government’s case seems suddenly fragile. It has never been tested properly by an advocate of Labori’s quality: under pressure it is starting to appear as fragile as matchwood.

Pellieux requests a brief recess. He stalks back to his seat. Quickly the officers of the General Staff, including Gonse and Henry, form a huddle around him. I can see his finger jabbing. Labori sees it too. He frowns at me, spreads his hands and mouths, ‘What is this?’ But all I can offer is a shrug: I have no idea what they are discussing.

Five minutes later, Pellieux marches back to the front of the court and indicates that he wishes to say something.

‘Gentlemen of the jury, I have an observation to make concerning what has just taken place. Until now, we on our side have kept strictly within the bounds of legality. We have said nothing of the Dreyfus case, and I don’t wish to speak of it now. But the defence has just read publicly a passage from the indictment which was supposed to stay behind closed doors. Well, as Colonel Henry says: they want the light; they shall have it! In November of ’96 there came into the Ministry of War absolute proof of the guilt of Dreyfus. This proof I have seen. It is a document, the origin of which cannot be contested, and it contains roughly these words: “A deputy is going to ask questions about the Dreyfus case. Never admit the relations that we had with that Jew.” Gentlemen, I make this declaration on my honour, and I appeal to General Boisdeffre to support my testimony.’

There is a collective intake of breath around the court which then subsides into an exhalation of muttering as people turn to their neighbours to discuss what this means. Again Labori, baffled, stares across at me. It takes me a few seconds to work out that Pellieux must be referring to the letter supposedly retrieved from the German Embassy — the one that turned up so conveniently just before I was removed from Paris, and that Billot read out but wouldn’t show me. I nod vigorously to Labori and make a grabbing gesture with my hands. Pellieux has made another blunder. He must seize this moment before it is lost.

Already Gonse, recognising the danger, is on his feet and hurrying forward. He calls out anxiously to the judge, ‘I ask for the floor.’ But Labori is too quick for him.

‘Excuse me, but I have the floor, General. A matter of exceptional gravity has just arisen. After such a statement, there can be no restriction of the debate. I point out to General Pellieux that no document can have any scientific value as proof until it has been discussed openly. Let General Pellieux explain himself without reserve and let the document be produced.’

The judge asks, ‘General Gonse, what do you have to say?’

Gonse’s voice is a high croak. He sounds as if he is being strangled. ‘I confirm the testimony of General Pellieux. He has taken the initiative, and he has done well. I would have done the same in his place.’ He rubs his hands nervously up and down the sides of his trousers. He looks utterly wretched. ‘The army doesn’t fear the light. To save its honour, it doesn’t fear at all to tell the truth. But prudence is a necessity, and I do not believe that proofs of this character, though they are indeed real and absolute, can be brought here and made public.’

Pellieux says bluntly, ‘I ask that General Boisdeffre be sent for to confirm my words,’ and ignoring both the judge and the hapless Gonse he calls out to his aide-de-camp, standing in the aisle: ‘Major Delcassé, take a carriage and go for General de Boisdeffre at once.’

During the recess, Labori comes over to where I am standing. He whispers, ‘What kind of document is he talking about?’

‘I can’t tell you — not in any detail. It would breach my oath of secrecy.’

‘You have to give me something , Colonel — the Chief of the General Staff is about to walk in.’

I glance over to where Pellieux, 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.’