«So find it!» he shouted to his newspaper staff.
At the offices of La Libre Parole Simonini made the acquaintance of Major Esterhazy. Quite a dandy, Esterhazy continually boasted of his noble origins and his Viennese education; he mentioned past and future duels and was known to be heavily in debt. The newspaper staff avoided him when he approached on private business since they expected to be asked for a loan, and money lent to Esterhazy was never repaid. Slightly effeminate, he held an embroidered handkerchief to his mouth, and some said he was tubercular. His military career had been very odd: he first served as a cavalry officer in the Italian military campaign of 1866, then in the papal Zouaves, before joining the Foreign Legion, fighting in the Franco-Prussian War. It was rumored he had been involved in military counterespionage, but this was clearly not the kind of information anyone paraded on their uniform. Drumont held him in high esteem, perhaps to assure himself of a military contact.
One day Esterhazy invited Simonini to dinner at the Boeuf à la Mode. After ordering a filet mignon d’agneau aux laitues and discussing the wine list, Esterhazy came to the point: «Captain Simonini, our friend Drumont is looking for evidence he will never find. The problem is not finding out whether there are Prussian spies of Jewish origin in the army. Heavens above, there are spies everywhere in this world and we can hardly be scandalized by another one here or there. The political problem is to demonstrate they exist. And to nail a spy or a conspirator, there’s no need, you’ll agree, to find the evidence. It is easier and cheaper to create it—and if possible to create not just the evidence but the spy himself. We must therefore, in the national interest, choose a Jewish officer who might be open to suspicion through some weakness, and show he has passed important information to the Prussian embassy in Paris.»
«Whom do you mean by ‘we’?»
«I am speaking on behalf of the Statistics Department of the Service des Renseignements Français, directed by Lieutenant Colonel Sandherr. You may know that this department, with such an unassuming name, is concerned primarily with the Germans. It was interested at first in German internal affairs—information of every kind from the newspapers, from reports of officers there on business, from the police, from our agents on both sides of the frontier, trying to find out as much as possible about the organization of their army, how many cavalry divisions they had, how much their troops were paid—in other words, everything. But the department recently decided to look into what the Germans are doing here in France.
There are those who complain about the mixing up of espionage and counterespionage, but the two activities are closely linked. We have to know what’s going on in the German embassy, because it is foreign territory, and this is espionage; but there they gather information on us, and to find out about that is counterespionage. And so we have a Madame Bastian who’s a cleaner at the embassy.
She works for us and pretends to be illiterate when in fact she can read and understand German. Every day she empties the wastebaskets in the embassy offices and sends us the notes and documents that the Prussians believe they’ve consigned for destruction (you know how dull-witted they are). So we have to produce a document in which our officer gives highly secret news about French armaments. At that point it will be presumed that the author must be someone who has access to secret information, and he’ll be exposed. We therefore need a small note, a memorandum—we call it a bordereau. That is why we have come to you, who in such matters, we are told, are a master.»
Simonini didn’t ask how the Statistics Department knew of his skills. They may have heard from Hébuterne. He thanked Esterhazy for the compliment and said, «I imagine I’ll have to reproduce the handwriting of a particular person.»
«We have already identified the perfect candidate. His name is Captain Dreyfus, from Alsace of course. He is working for the department as a trainee. He’s married to a rich woman and fancies himself a tombeur de femmes, so his colleagues can hardly bear him and wouldn’t find him any better if he were Christian. He’ll arouse no feelings of solidarity. He’s an excellent sacrificial victim. After the document is received, investigations will be made and Dreyfus’s handwriting will be recognized. After that it will be up to people like Drumont to whip up public scandal, expose the Jewish peril and at the same time save the honor of the armed forces that have so masterfully uncovered and dealt with it. Clear?»
«After that it will be up to people like Drumont to whip up public scandal.»
Perfectly clear. In early October Simonini found himself in the presence of Lieutenant Colonel Sandherr, an ashen-faced man with insignificant features—the proper physiognomy for the head of an espionage and counterespionage service.
«Here we have an example of Dreyfus’s handwriting, and here is the text to transcribe,» said Sandherr, passing him two sheets of paper. «As you see, the note must be addressed to the military attaché at the embassy, von Schwarzkoppen, and must announce the arrival of military papers on the hydraulic brake for the 120-millimeter gun, and other details of that kind. The Germans are desperate for information like this.»
«Might it be appropriate to include some technical detail?» asked Simonini. «It would look more compromising.»
«I hope you realize,» said Sandherr, «once the scandal has erupted, this bordereau will become public property. We cannot let the newspapers have technical information. So down to business, Captain Simonini. For your convenience I have prepared a room with all the necessary writing materials. The paper, pen and ink are those used in these offices. I want it well done. You may take as long and try as many times as you wish, until the handwriting is perfect.»
And that is what Simonini did. The bordereau, written on onionskin paper, was a document of thirty lines, eighteen on one side and twelve on the other. Simonini had taken care to ensure that the lines of the first page were wider apart than those of the second, where the handwriting looked more hurried, since this is what happens when a letter is written in a state of agitation—it is more relaxed at the beginning and then accelerates. He had also taken into account that a document of this kind, if it is thrown away, is first torn up and would therefore reach the Statistics Department in several pieces before being reassembled, and so it would be better to space out the letter, to assist the collage, without straying too far from the writing he had been given.
All in all, he had done a good job.
Sandherr then had the bordereau sent to the minister of war, General Mercier, and at the same time ordered an examination of all documents circulated by all officials in the department. In the end his staff informed him that the handwriting was that of Dreyfus, who was arrested on the 15th of October. The news was carefully kept secret for two weeks, with just a few details allowed to leak out in order to whet the curiosity of journalists. Then a name began to circulate, first in strictest secrecy, and finally it was admitted that the guilty man was Captain Dreyfus.
As soon as Esterhazy had been authorized by Sandherr, he immediately told Drumont, who ran through the rooms of the newspaper office waving the major’s message and shouting, «The evidence, the evidence, here’s the evidence!»
On the 1st of November La Libre Parole ran the headline in block capitals: HIGH TREASON: ARREST OF THE JEWISH OFFICER DREYFUS. The campaign had begun. The whole of France burned with indignation.
That same morning, while the newspaper office was celebrating the happy event, Simonini’s eye fell on the letter with which Esterhazy had given the news of Dreyfus’s arrest. It was still on Drumont’s desk, stained by his wine glass but completely legible. And to Simonini, who had spent more than an hour imitating what was supposed to be Dreyfus’s handwriting, it seemed as clear as day that the handwriting on which he had worked so carefully was similar in every respect to that of Esterhazy. No one is more aware of such matters than a forger.
What had happened? Had Sandherr given him a piece of paper written by Esterhazy instead of one written by Dreyfus? Was that possible? Bizarre, inexplicable, but irrefutable. Had he done so by mistake? On purpose? But if so, why? Or had Sandherr been misled by one of his staff who had taken the wrong piece of paper? If Sandherr had been acting in good faith, he should be told of the mistake. But if Sandherr was acting in bad faith, it would be risky for Simonini to reveal that he knew the game Sandherr was playing. Inform Esterhazy? But if Sandherr had swapped the handwriting on purpose so as to harm Esterhazy, then if Simonini went to inform the victim, he would have the whole secret service against him. Keep quiet? And what if the secret service were one day to accuse him of carrying out the swap?
Simonini wasn’t to blame for the error. He
