«How can I stop that cheat?»
«I’ll tell my German brethren to keep an eye on him and, if necessary, to take steps to deal with him. From what we know of him, he can be blackmailed in all sorts of ways. But now you have to turn the rabbis’ speeches into another document, with more references to current political events. Look at Joly’s satire. You have to bring out—how shall I put it?—the Machiavellian character of the Jews and the plans they have for corrupting governments.»
Bergamaschi added that, in order to make the rabbis’ speeches more credible, it would be worth looking again at what Abbé Barruel had written, and above all the letter Simonini’s grandfather had sent to him. Perhaps he had kept a copy of it, which could pass as the original sent to Barruel?
Simonini found the copy of the letter in the bottom of a cupboard, in its original small casket, and agreed on a sum with Father Bergamaschi as payment for such a valuable document. The Jesuits were avaricious, but they were obliged to collaborate. And that was how an issue of Le Contemporain was published in July 1878 containing the recollections of Father Grivel, a one-time confidant of Barruel, with much information that Simonini recognized from another source, and from his grandfather’s letter. «The Prague cemetery will follow later,» said Father Bergamaschi. «If you break a sensational story all at once, after the first impact people forget it. Instead, you have to parcel it out, and each new piece of news brings the whole story back to mind.»
Bergamaschi added that, in order to make the rabbis’ speeches more credible, it would be worth looking again at what Abbé Barruel had written, and above all the letter Simonini’s grandfather had sent to him.
As he wrote, Simonini found great satisfaction in this repêchage of his grandfather’s letter and, with a tremor of righteousness, convinced himself that what he was doing was in furtherance of a clear obligation.
He set to work with renewed energy to expand the rabbis’ speeches. Rereading Joly, he noticed that his attacks depended less on Eugène Sue than he had imagined on first reading it, and that he had attributed other iniquities to his Machiavelli-Napoleon that seemed ideally suited to the Jews.
In gathering this material, Simonini realized that it was too rich and too vast. In order to impress Catholics, the rabbis’ speeches had to contain lots of references to plans to corrupt public morals, and should perhaps borrow from Gougenot des Mousseaux the idea of the physical superiority of the Jews, or from Brafmann the rules for exploiting Christians through usury. As for republicans, they would be disturbed by references to greater control of the press, while for businesses and small investors, who were increasingly distrustful of the banks (which public opinion already considered the exclusive domain of the Jews), references to the economic plans of international Judaism would touch a raw nerve.
Thus he gradually developed in his mind an idea that, unbeknown to him, was very Jewish and kabbalistic. Rather than a single scene at the Prague cemetery and a single gathering of rabbis, he had to prepare different speeches, one for the priest, one for the socialist, one for the Russians, another for the French. And he didn’t have to fabricate all the speeches. He simply had to produce separate sheets that, when shuffled into a different order, would provide the basis for one or another speech; in this way he could sell the appropriate speech to a particular buyer according to the requirements of each one. In other words, it was as if, like a good notary, he were drawing up different depositions, witness statements or confessions which would then be supplied to the lawyers for them to defend this or that case. He therefore began to draft his notes as Protocols, and was careful not to show everything to Father Bergamaschi, allowing him to look only at those texts of a more specifically religious nature.
Simonini ends this brief description of his work during those years with a curious note: toward the end of 1878 he learned, to his great relief, that both Goedsche and Joly had died. Goedsche was probably asphyxiated by the beer that had been bloating him more and more each day, and poor Joly, desperate as ever, had shot himself in the head. May he rest in peace; he wasn’t a bad fellow.
Perhaps, in recalling the dear late departed, the diarist had drunk too much. As he wrote, his words become muddled and the page eventually comes to a halt, suggesting that he had fallen asleep.
The next day, waking when it was almost evening, Simonini found on his diary a note from Abbé Dalla Piccola, who had somehow entered his office that morning, read what his alter ego had written and, in moralistic tones, hastened to set the record straight.
Saying what? That the deaths of Goedsche and Joly ought not to have come as a surprise to our captain, who, unless he was intentionally trying to forget, was evidently incapable of any clear recollection.
After his grandfather’s letter had appeared in Le Contemporain, Simonini had received a letter from Goedsche, written in a French that was grammatically imperfect but quite explicit. «Dear Captain,» the letter said, «I imagine the material appearing in Contemporain is just a taste of other material you propose to publish, and we well know that part of that document belong to me, considering that I can show (Biarritz in hand) that I am author of the whole work and you have nothing to show, not even to have assisted in the tiniest detail.
Consequently, I require you first of all to desist and agree with me a meeting, preferably in the presence of lawyer (but not of your kind) to decide the ownership of the report on the Prague cemetery. If you fail to do so then I will publish news of your deception. Immediately afterward I will inform a certain Monsieur Joly, who is currently unaware of the matter, that you have robbed him of his literary creation. Unless you have forgotten that Joly is lawyer by profession, you will understand that this will also cause you serious inconvenience.»
Alarmed, Simonini immediately contacted Father Bergamaschi. «You look after Joly,» he said, «and we’ll deal with Goedsche.»
While he was hesitating over what to do about Joly, Simonini received a note from Father Bergamaschi informing him that poor Herr Goedsche had passed away peacefully in his bed, and urging him to pray for his eternal rest, even though he was a damned Protestant.
Simonini now understood the meaning of looking after Joly. He didn’t like having to do certain things, and he was after all indebted to Joly, but he could hardly compromise the successful outcome of his plans with Bergamaschi out of mere moral scruple, and we have just seen how Simonini wanted to rely heavily on Joly’s book, without having to worry about any threat of legal proceedings from its author.
So he went once again to rue de Lappe, and bought a pistol that was small enough to be kept at home, not very powerful but with the advantage of making less noise. He remembered Joly’s address and had noted that the apartment, though small, had fine carpets and wall hangings that would muffle loud sounds. In any event, it was better to act in the morning, when carriages and omnibuses clattered in the street below, coming from the Pont Royal and rue du Bac, or passing up and down the Seine embankment.
He rang at the lawyer’s door, taking him by surprise, but Joly immediately offered him a coffee and began to recount his latest misfortunes. In the eyes of most of those who read the newspapers—mendacious as always (both their readers and their editors)—despite having rejected violence and revolutionary notions, he was still regarded as a Communard. He thought it right to oppose the political ambitions of Grévy, who had stood as a candidate for the presidency of the republic and had made accusations against him in a manifesto, printed and posted at his own expense. He himself was then accused of being a Bonapartist who was plotting against the republic: Gambetta spoke scornfully of «venal writers with a criminal record behind them,» and Edmond About had portrayed him as a forger. In short, half the French press attacked him, only Le Figaro had published his manifesto, and all the others refused to print his letters defending himself.
He had, in fact, won his battle, since Grévy had decided to stand down as candidate, but Joly was one of those people who was never satisfied and would go to great lengths to ensure justice was done. After challenging two of his accusers to a duel, he began legal proceedings against ten newspapers for refusal to publish, defamation and public insult.
«I presented my case in person and can assure you, Simonini, that I denounced all the scandals that the press had kept silent, as well as those already talked about. And do you know what I said to all those scoundrels, including the judges? ‘Gentlemen, I did not fear the empire, which silenced you when it was in power, and now I care not a fig about you, who imitate it in its worst aspects.’ And when they tried to prevent
