On the 1st of November La Libre Paroleran 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 wanted to make sure this was clear, and above all that his forgery was, so to speak, genuine. He decided to take the risk and went to see Sandherr, who seemed reluctant to talk to him at first, perhaps because he feared an attempt at blackmail.
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 t
he 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 to be an anti-Mason, an anti- Semite and a devout Catholic — and in his own way he was — and could not bear his cause being supported by a charlatan. Drumont had regarded Taxil as a charlatan for some time, and had attacked him in La France juive, claiming that all his books had been published by Jews. But during this period their relations had deteriorated further, for political reasons.
As we have already heard from Abbé Dalla Piccola, both Drumont and Taxil had stood as council candidates in Paris, seeking support from the same group of voters. Their battle had therefore already begun.
Taxil wrote a pamphlet, titled Monsieur Drumont, étude Psychologique, in which he criticized his rival's anti-Semitism with excessive sarcasm, observing that hatred of Jews was more typical among the socialist and revolutionary press than among Catholics. Drumont replied with Le testament d'un antisémite, casting doubt on Taxil's conversion, recalling the mud he had thrown on religious issues and raising disturbing questions about his lack of belligerence toward the Jewish world.
If we consider that 1892 had seen the creation of two publications — La Libre Parole,the campaigning political newspaper that succeeded in exposing the Panama scandal, and Le diable au XIXe siècle,which could hardly be described as a reliable publication — it is understandable that Drumont's editors should treat Taxil with contempt, and that his increasing difficulties should be followed with malevolent sneers.
Taxil's position was being damaged, Drumont observed, not so much by criticism as by unwelcome support. In the case of the mysterious Diana Vaughan, dozens of dubious opportunists were boasting their familiarity with a woman whom they had probably never seen.
A certain Domenico Margiotta published Souvenirs d'un trentetroisième: Adriano Lemmi, chef suprème des Francs-Maçons and had sent a copy to Diana, declaring his support for her campaign. In his letter, Margiotta described himself as Secretary of the Savonarola lodge in Florence; Venerable of the Giordano Bruno lodge of Palmi; Sovereign Grand Inspector-General, thirty-third degree, of the Ancient and Accepted Scotch Rite; Sovereign Prince of the Rite of Memphis-Misraim, ninety-fifth degree; Inspector of the Misraim lodges in Calabria and Sicily; Honorary Member of the National Grand Orient of Haiti; Acting Member of the Supreme Federal Council of Naples; Inspector General of the Masonic lodges of the Three Calabrias; Grand Master ad vitam of the Oriental Masonic Order of Misraim or Egypt, ninetieth degree, of Paris; Commander of the Order of Knight-Defenders of Universal Masonry; Honorary Member ad vitam of the Supreme General Council of the Italian Federation of Palermo; Permanent Inspector and Sovereign Delegate of the Grand Central Directory of Naples; and Member of the New Reformed Palladium. He ought to have been a senior Masonic dignitary, but said that he had recently left Freemasonry. Drumont said that he had converted to Catholicism because the supreme and secret leadership of the sect had not passed to him, as he had hoped, but to a man named Adriano Lemmi.
Margiotta described how this murky character Lemmi had started his career as a thief in Marseilles when he forged a letter of credit in the name of Falconet & Co. of Naples and stole a bag of pearls and three hundred gold francs from the wife of a doctor friend of his while she was making a tisane in the kitchen. After serving time in prison he sailed to Constantinople, where he entered the service of an old Jewish greengrocer, saying that he was ready to repudiate his baptism and be circumcised. With the help of the Jews he was then able to rise, as we have seen, through the orders of Freemasonry.
This, concluded Margiotta, is how "the damned Jewish race, who are the cause of every human evil, have used all their influence to ensure that one of their own people, the most villainous of them all, is promoted to the Supreme Universal Government of the Masonic order."
These accusations delighted the ecclesiastical world, and Le Palladisme: Culte de Satan-Lucifer dans les triangles maçonniques, published by Margiotta in '95, opened with letters of praise from the bishops of Grenoble, Montauban, Aix, Limoges, Mende, Tarentaise, Pamiers, Oran and Annecy, as well as from Ludovico Piavi, the patriarch of Jerusalem.
The trouble was that Margiotta's information involved half the politicians in Italy, and Crispi in particular, who had been Garibaldi's lieutenant and was by that time Italy's prime minister. As long as phantasmagorical stories about Masonic rites were being written and sold, everyone was reasonably happy, but as soon as they touched upon the real connections between Freemasonry and political power there was a danger of upsetting some very vindictive personalities.
Taxil ought to have realized this, but was clearly trying to regain the ground that Margiotta was taking from him, and so he published, in Diana's name, a book of almost four hundred pages, Le 33ème Crispi, in which he mixed well-known facts, such as the Banca Romana scandal involving Crispi, with news about his pact with the demon Haborym and his participation in a Palladian gathering during which the ubiquitous Sophie Walder had announced that she was pregnant with a daughter whose child would in turn give birth to the Antichrist.
"The stuff of operettas," exclaimed Drumont, scandalized. "That's no way to carry out a political campaign!"
Yet the work was favorably received in the Vatican, which infuriated Drumont even more. The Vatican had a score to settle with Crispi, who had unveiled a monument in a Roman square dedicated to Giordano Bruno, a victim of ecclesiastical intolerance, and Leo XIII had spent that day in prayer of atonement before the statue of Saint Peter. We can imagine the pope's joy at reading the allegations against Crispi: he directed his secretary, Monsignor Sardi, to send Diana not just the usual "apostolic benediction" but also heartfelt thanks and encouragement to continue her meritorious work of unmasking the "iniquitous
sect." And the iniquity of the sect was demonstrated by the fact that, in Diana's book, Haborym appeared with three heads, one human with hair aflame, one of a cat and one of a snake — though Diana pointed out with scientific rigor that she had never seen it in that form (on her invocation he had appeared only as a refined old man with a flowing silvery beard).
"They don't even bother to respect plausibility!" spluttered Drumont. "How can an American girl who's only just arrived in France know all the secrets of Italian politics? It's obvious, people don't notice these things, and Diana is in the business of selling books, but the Supreme Pontiff . . . the Supreme Pontiff will be accused of believing any old claptrap! The Church must be defended against its own frailty!"
La Libre Parole was the first to openly express doubt about Diana's existence. It was immediately joined by publications with an avowedly religious viewpoint, such as L'Avenir and L'Univers. Other Catholic groups, though, did everything they could to prove Diana's existence. Le Rosier de Marie published a declaration by the president of the Order of Advocates of Saint-Pierre, Lautier, who stated that he had seen Diana in the company of Taxil, Bataille and the artist who had produced her portrait, though it had happened some time ago when Diana was still a Palladian. Yet her face must already have been radiant with her imminent conversion, since the writer described her as follows: "She is a young lady of twenty-nine, charming, refined, above average height, outgoing, sincere and honest, eyes brimming with intelligence, showing resolution and a commanding disposition. She dresses elegantly and with taste, without affectation and without that abundance of jewelry that so ridiculously characterizes the majority of rich foreigners . . . Unusual eyes, now sea blue, now bright golden yellow." When she was offered a glass of Chartreuse, she refused out of hatred for everything related to the Church. She drank only cognac.