INNOCENT, BUT STILL A TRAITOR?
The conspiratorial woman turned out to be right about Poussin. Douglas Johnson asks if she was also right about Dreyfus WHO IS next for an official commemora- tion in France? As they congratulate themselves that the 1,500th anniversary of Clovis's baptism went off well, the people who run France must be puzzling over the next occasion when history can be called to their aid and create some flattering cer- emony for them. How about the canonisa- tion of St Louis, in 1297? No, that would be too risky. The Edict of Nantes, 1598? Obviously, but one mustn't make too much fuss of Protestants. Don't forget Jospin's a Protestant and Rocard used to be one, and the elections are in 1998. Of course, a lot of publishers are already thinking of Bonaparte. By the Treaty of Campoformio, October 1797, France is master of Europe; this is the turning point for Bonaparte. But it's a bit obscure and we mustn't upset the Austrians. What about Dreyfus? 18 January 1898, Zola's let- ter Taccuse'. No. Please. Not Dreyfus.
But why not Dreyfus? This was an important moment in French history. If it brought out the worst in the French, it also brought out the best. It is the story of how, in the end, right prevails. But in 1994 there was another commemoration — that of the birth of the great French artist, Poussin. It was arranged that the quarter-centenary of his birth should be celebrated by a magnifi- cent exhibition of his works at the Grand Palais, opening on 1 October 1994. It had been on 18 October 1894 that Dreyfus had been charged with high treason. The mar- vels of Poussin's art could not be displayed coincidentally with the complexities of the Dreyfus affair. In any case, there was no possible connection between Poussin and Dreyfus. But for me there was.
`You can see that third quarter earnings were — oh, sorry, that one's my love life.'
In 1964 I was preparing a book on the Dreyfus affair. I spent some time reading in the manuscript collections of the Biblio- theque Nationale, and when I returned to England I was surprised to receive a letter, written in French, which went as follows: 'I understand that you are working on the Dreyfus affair. If you wish to avoid the mistakes that others have made, you would be well advised to come and consult me.' The letter was signed by a lady, with the surname of an officer who had played a minor role in formulating the accusations that had been made against Dreyfus in 1894. I immediately replied that I would be glad to call on her, and by post a meet- ing was arranged. Not long afterwards, I found myself walking expectantly towards a flat in the 16th arrondissement of Paris.
The door was opened by an elderly, white-haired lady. She was polite but she was not at all friendly. I reminded myself that I was there to elicit information and I walked into the badly lit sitting-room. Before inviting me to sit down, the lady said that she had some questions to ask me, and in order that there should be no misunderstanding she would speak in English. And very good English she spoke. `Professor Johnson, are you Jewish?' she asked. I replied that to the best of my knowledge I was not. There was a long silence. I felt that I had to say something. `I was born in Edinburgh,' I said, realising after I had spoken that it was a foolish and irrelevant remark. But it did the trick. knew I could trust you,' she said. 'In any case, I have analysed your handwriting.' Analysed my handwriting? We were already in the Dreyfus affair, and we con- tinued to be since, when I was invited to sit down, I was told that the armchair in which I was sitting had belonged to Gener- al Billot, one of the ministers of war who had dealt with the affair.
She put into my hands a large volume. `Here', she said, 'is my father's account of the affair. No one has seen it but you. I typed it myself.' I turned the pages with a certain exultation. Did the secret of the affair lie in these pages? While I looked at the typescript, with some difficulty because the lighting remained poor, the lady told me about her father, Colonel Bertin- Mourot, his long and distinguished service, how he was ashamed by the humiliation of the 1938 Munich agreements, and much else. However, she suddenly stopped talk- ing and removed the volume from my hands. My exultation was short-lived. `Now,' she said, 'you have seen my father's papers. You must promise that in your book you will make no reference to them or to me.' I duly gave my promise but said that I would like to read the manuscript. She shook her head. My protests contin- ued, but to no avail. Until suddenly she said, 'You are disappointed.' I replied that
indeed I was. I had come a long way in the hope of learning things. 'Well, I see,' she said. 'Then I will show you something that will make your journey worthwhile.'
She picked up a lamp and told me to fol- low her. We moved into a narrow corridor. She held her lamp high and I saw a paint- ing. It was within a few inches of my face and I could make little of it. 'There', she said, 'is the Poussin. It is called "The Holy Family on the Steps". It is the real Poussin. That which was sold by the Jew Wilden- stein in New York is a fake.'
We returned to the sitting-room. 'Now,' she said, 'you can return to England and say that you have seen the Poussin that nobody wants to accept.' I asked why. `They're against me,' she said, 'there's a plot against me. Only the Russians recog- nise the work for what it is. Do you read Russian?' When I said that I did not, she picked up what looked like a review written in Russian, and to my astonishment she translated aloud a glowing tribute to her picture. I asked whether Anthony Blunt had given an opinion. She was scornful. `Do you think that the friend of the Queen would be on the same side as the Rus- sians?' she asked (a remark that was to gain a particular savour some years later).
I was determined to talk about Dreyfus. `Do you believe he was guilty?' I asked, as the prelude to a number of questions. To my astonishment she replied that Dreyfus was not guilty of the treason of which he was accused. But he was a traitor and had committed many other treasonable acts. 'My father knew all about it,' she conclud- ed. 'But,' I asked, 'if Dreyfus was not guilty of passing those documents over to the Germans, then who did hand them over?' She looked cunning. 'I would advise you to follow up Madame Weil,' she said; `she's the one to look out for.' (Since 1894, Madame Weil's liaison with General Saussier, the most senior officer of the French army, had frequently caused the anti-Semitic press to denounce her and her complaisant husband as spies.) The door was open and I was halfway out. But there was one last question I was deter- mined to ask: 'How did you know that I was working on Dreyfus and how did you know my address?' I have my information service,' she said, and the door shut.
As I walked away, I reflected that, how- ever bizarrely, I had been had. The manuscript was typed; I hadn't seen Bertin-Mourot's handwriting. The fact that the manuscript was typed and not written, and that it was not to be quoted, nor her name mentioned, meant that there was no reason why I should believe it to be genuine. And, after all, she did not want me to study it. Her invitation to me, the supposed analysis of my handwriting, her reference to General Billot's armchair, all this was simply mise-en-scene; as was her claim to have her own intelligence. And as for her advice to investigate Madame Weil, the Weils had been investigated countless times since 1894. But the clear- est indication that she was not to be taken seriously was the Poussin. Who could believe that a fabulous picture was tucked away in a dark corridor where no one could see it? Who would take seriously the story of a hostile conspiracy of experts, or the forgery successfully sold by 'the Jew Wildenstein'? In its strange way the Poussin story had echoes of the Dreyfus affair, with conspiracies, forgeries, secrets and mysteries, but this did nothing to make the interview useful or informative.
Yet, nearly 30 years later, on 1 October 1994, I stood in front of this same Poussin, 'La Sainte Famine sur les Marches'. The picture that I had looked at as well as I could, in semi-darkness, some ten inches from my nose, was genuine, and now belongs to the Cleveland Art Gallery, which had loaned it for this exhibition in Paris. Subsequently, I learned that there had been a conspiracy of sorts amongst experts to denigrate the picture. It was not clear why this had occurred. But after the death of Madame Bertin-Mourot, when her heir and nephew sold the picture to Cleveland, French experts then decided that the painting was genuine, and claimed that its owner did not have the right to sell such a masterpiece of French art and allow it to leave France. He was prosecuted, but after long legal arguments it was accepted that in the unusual circumstances he could not be heavily punished. Like Dreyfus, at his retrial, he was found 'guilty with exten- uating circumstances'.
So, Madame Therese Bertin-Mourot was right about the Poussin. Is it possible that she might have been right about Dreyfus?
The author is Professor Emeritus of French History at London University.
Previous page
