But when Simonini explained the truth (the only truth in what was otherwise a pack of lies), Sandherr, more ashen-faced than usual, appeared not to want to believe it.
«Colonel,» Simonini said, «surely you have kept a photographic copy of the bordereau. Take a sample of Dreyfus’s writing and one of Esterhazy’s, and let us compare the three texts.»
Sandherr gave an order, and after a short while there were three sheets of paper on the desk. Simonini made several observations: «Look here, for example. In all the words with a double ess, such as adresse or intéressant, in Esterhazy’s hand the first of the esses is smaller and the second larger, and they are never joined up. This is what I noticed this morning, because I was particularly careful about this detail when I wrote the bordereau. Now look at Dreyfus’s handwriting—this is the first time I’ve seen it. Astonishing! The larger of the two esses is the first, and the second is small, and they are always joined up. Shall I continue?»
«No, that’s enough. I have no idea how this mistake has happened. I’ll investigate. The problem now is that the document is in the hands of General Mercier, who can always compare it with a sample of Dreyfus’s writing. But he’s not a handwriting expert, and there are also many similarities between these two hands. We simply have to make sure it doesn’t occur to him to look for a sample of Esterhazy’s handwriting, though I don’t see why he should even think of Esterhazy—providing you keep quiet. Try to forget all about this business, and I ask you not to return to these offices. Your payment will be adjusted accordingly.»
From then on, Simonini didn’t need to rely on confidential information to find out what was happening, since the newspapers were full of the Dreyfus affair. Some people, even at military headquarters, were acting with caution, asking for clear proof that the bordereau was by Dreyfus. Sandherr sought the opinion of the famous handwriting expert Bertillon, who confirmed that the calligraphy in the bordereau was not exactly the same as Dreyfus’s, but, he stated, it was a clear case of self-falsification—Dreyfus had slightly altered his own writing so it would be thought to be the writing of someone else. Despite these tiny details, the document was certainly written by Dreyfus.
Who would have dared to doubt it, especially when La Libre Parole was bombarding public opinion every day and raising the suspicion that the affaire would be hushed up, since Dreyfus was a Jew and would be protected by the Jews? «There are forty thousand officers in the army,» wrote Drumont. «Why on earth did Mercier entrust national defense secrets to a cosmopolitan Alsatian Jew?» Mercier was a liberal who had been under pressure for some time from both Drumont and the national press, who accused him of being a Jewish sympathizer. He could not be seen as the defender of a Jewish criminal. So he did nothing to impede the investigation, showing himself, on the contrary, to be pursuing it.
Drumont hammered on: «The Jews had long been kept out of the army, which had maintained its French purity. Now that they’ve infiltrated the nation’s armed forces they will be masters of France, and Rothschild will direct their mobilization…And you understand to what ends.»
Tensions had reached their height. The captain of the dragoons, Crémieu-Foa, wrote to Drumont telling him he was insulting all Jewish officers, and demanded satisfaction. The two of them fought a duel, and, to add to the confusion, whom did Crémieu-Foa choose as his second? Esterhazy. Then the Marquis de Morès, one of the editors of La Libre Parole, issued a challenge to Crémieu-Foa, but the captain’s superiors refused to allow him to take part in another duel and confined him to barracks, so Captain Mayer took his place, and died of a perforated lung. Heated debates, protests against this rekindling of religious war…And Simonini sat back, contemplating with great satisfaction the cataclysmic results of his single hour’s work as scribe.
The council of war met in December, and at the same time another document was produced, a letter to the Germans from Panizzardi, the Italian military attaché, which referred to «that coward D,» who had sold the plans of various fortifications. Did the «D» stand for Dreyfus? No one dared doubt it, and only later was it discovered that it was a man called Dubois, an employee at the ministry, who had been selling information at ten francs apiece. Too late. Dreyfus was found guilty on the 22nd of December, and in early January was stripped of his rank at the École Militaire. In February he would sail for Devil’s Island.
Simonini went to watch the degradation ceremony, which he describes in his diary as being extraordinarily dramatic. The troops were lined up around the four sides of the courtyard. Dreyfus arrived and had to walk for almost a kilometer between the lines of valiant men who, though impassive, managed to express their contempt for him. General Darras drew his saber, a fanfare sounded, Dreyfus marched in full uniform toward the general, escorted by four artillerymen under the command of a sergeant. Darras pronounced the sentence of degradation. A giant of a gendarme officer in a plumed helmet approached the captain, ripped off his stripes and buttons and regimental number, removed his saber and broke it over his knee, throwing the two halves to the ground in front of the traitor.
Dreyfus appeared impassive, and this was taken by many newspapers as a sign of his treachery. Simonini thought he heard him shout «I am innocent!» at the moment of the degradation, but in a dignified manner, still standing at attention. It was as if, Simonini observed sarcastically, the little Jew identified so closely with the (usurped) dignity of his role as a French officer that he was unable to question the decisions of his superiors—as if, since they had decided he was a traitor, he had to accept the matter, not allowing any doubt to cross his mind. Perhaps he really felt he was a traitor, and the declaration of innocence was, for him, just a necessary part of the ritual.
A giant of a gendarme officer in a plumed helmet approached the captain, ripped off his stripes and buttons and regimental number, removed his saber and broke it over his knee, throwing the two halves to the ground in front of the traitor.
That was how Simonini thought he remembered it, but in one of his boxes he found an article by a certain Brisson in La République Française, published the following day, which was quite different:
At the moment when the general pronounced the sentence of dishonor, he raised his arm and shouted: «Vive la France, I am innocent!»
The officer finished his task. The gold that had covered his uniform lay on the ground. Not even the red ribbons, the emblem of the armed forces, were left. With his dolman now completely black, his kepi suddenly dark, Dreyfus appeared already clothed as a convict…He continues to shout: «I am innocent!» The crowds on the other side of the gates, seeing only his outline, erupt into jeers and catcalls. Dreyfus hears their curses and shows his anger once again.
As he is passing a group of officers, he hears the words «Good riddance, Judas!» Dreyfus turns around furiously and repeats: «I am innocent, I am innocent!»
We can now distinguish his features. We study him for several moments, hoping to gain some supreme revelation, some insight into that soul whose deeper recesses only the judges have until now been able to come at all close to scrutinizing. But what dominates his face is anger, anger bordering on paroxysm. His lips are strained into a frightening grimace, his eyes are bloodshot. And we realize that if he is so resolute and walks with such a military step, it is because he is so ravaged by fury that his nerves are strained to breaking point…
What is hidden within the soul of this man? Why does he continue to obey, to protest his innocence with such desperate energy? Does he perhaps hope to confound public opinion, to inspire doubt, to raise suspicion about the integrity of the judges who have condemned him? A thought comes to us, clear as a flash: if he is not guilty, what fearful torture!
Simonini appears not to have felt any remorse. Dreyfus’s guilt was certain, given that it was he, Simonini, who had decided it. But the difference between his recollection and the newspaper article showed just how much the affaire had troubled the whole country, and each person had seen what they wanted to see in that sequence of events.
In the end, though, Dreyfus could just as well go to the devil or to his island. It was no longer any concern of Simonini’s.
The payment for his services, which reached him in due course through discreet channels, was indeed much greater than he had anticipated.
Keeping an Eye on Taxil
While these events were taking place, Simonini well remembers that he had not lost touch with what Taxil was doing, especially as Drumont’s group had much to say about it. The Taxil affair was seen first of all with amused skepticism, then with scandalized annoyance. Drumont was considered
