Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: The Dreyfus Affair
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“Ambassador. A telegram has arrived from the home country.”
“Hmm. Hand it over.”
The British Ambassador to Germany, Frank Lascelles, scowled the moment he read the telegram his aide handed him.
The contents concerned a technology deal between Germany's premier steel giant Krupp and Britain's defense contractor Vickers.
Tech deals between companies were commonplace, but the issue was the technology involved.
12-inch naval guns.
The main armament used by the navies of Great Britain and other great powers on their battleships.
Krupp had paid a hefty sum to acquire the manufacturing technology for these 12-inch guns from Vickers.
It was bizarre.
Because the German Imperial Navy, the Kaiserliche Marine, didn't use 12-inch guns.
Current German naval doctrine emphasized high-rate fire over raw firepower, sacrificing some punch for speed in shell delivery.
As such, unlike other powers, Germany's ocean-going battleships used smaller-caliber main guns.
The latest battleships in service, the Wittelsbach-class, mounted 9.4-inch (24 cm) guns.
Even the Braunschweig-class battleships slated for construction this year had only 11-inch (28 cm) guns—a step up, but still modest.
Part of it stemmed from Krupp's lack of experience with large-caliber naval guns, but that didn't justify buying the tech outright.
“Steam turbines the other day, and now 12-inch guns.”
He could understand buying steam turbine tech from Parsons.
Even Britain's proud Royal Navy was experimenting with turbines on new destroyers, and interest was growing worldwide.
But 12-inch guns were different.
These were unmistakably battleship weapons.
“Come to think of it, the Imperial Navy recently suspended all its planned battleship constructions.”
He'd initially chalked it up to design issues, but now it seemed suspicious.
Lascelles' instincts screamed that these events were 99% connected.
“A new battleship design?”
Ever the seasoned diplomat, Lascelles grasped the Imperial Navy's intent.
The Kaiserliche Marine was planning battleships with 12-inch guns and steam turbine propulsion.
“But why cancel existing plans to pursue this?”
12-inch guns were standard for many navies, including Britain's. It wasn't revolutionary enough to warrant such secrecy.
Turbines, too, were only on small ships even in Britain.
Would they make much difference on battleships? Lascelles doubted it.
“There's something I don't know.”
He drummed his fingers on the armrest, lost in thought.
Things were getting fishy.
“The Kaiser's will is clearly involved here.”
Having a friendly, intimate rapport with Wilhelm II, Lascelles knew well the emperor's naval obsession.
This was too big for the navy alone; it screamed Kaiser's orders.
“But I can't fathom his intentions.”
A lifelong diplomat, Lascelles had some naval knowledge from Britain's naval tradition, but he wasn't an expert.
“Better leave this to the navy.”
The Royal Navy would have insights into whatever the Kaiser was building.
Sipping tea, Lascelles began drafting his report home.
Since Wilhelm II's accession, the Imperial Navy's rapid growth had already strained Anglo-German relations.
Any major shift in German sea power was Britain's problem.
Knock knock!
“Come in.”
“Pardon the intrusion, Ambassador.”
His aide entered the office, face grave, clutching something.
“What is it?”
“Yes, sir. Take a look at this first.”
The aide proffered a newspaper—not German.
“A French paper? Yesterday's, even.”
“Rushed from the Paris embassy. They thought our mission should know.”
“From Paris to us?”
France and Germany.
With relations as they were, it felt ominous.
“Sigh. Let's see.”
Donning spectacles, Lascelles read. French was the lingua franca of European diplomacy; he managed fine without a translator.
[Exclusive Interview with Hans Choi, the Boy Who Saved the Kaiser: Dreyfus Is Innocent! Esterhazy May Be a Double Agent. Special Pardon a Plot to Cover France's Ugly Truth?]
“Pfft?!”
Less than a minute in, Lascelles spat out his tea.
“What the devil is this?!”
He knew Hans Choi—the Eastern boy shaking Berlin lately. How could he not?
But what was the kid spouting?
The Dreyfus Affair? That madness gripping France for years?
“Bloody hell...”
Reeling, Lascelles cursed involuntarily, forgetting the battleship report entirely.
Paris, Élysée Palace.
“Everyone, speak up.”
Émile Loubet, seventh President of the French Third Republic, spoke in a voice cold enough to freeze.
“How do we handle this mess?”
“Well...”
Military brass and cabinet ministers mumbled, faces ashen, on the verge of collapse.
Even they were stumped on a response.
In 1899, Dreyfus had accepted a special pardon after Devil's Island broke him, seeming to end the affair quietly.
Who could've foreseen this resurgence?
“Confiscate all copies of Le Petit Parisien, the culprits, and gag further reporting...”
“They'll scream press suppression! Are you seriously peddling that idiocy as a solution?!”
Bam!
Furious, Loubet slammed the desk.
“Get a grip! Dreyfus—the Dreyfus Affair! Paris—no, all France—is ablaze again!”
Outside the palace, true to form, massive protests demanded truth on Dreyfus.
The affair was that grave for the Third Republic.
“Latest: Émile Zola and Georges Clemenceau have contacted Dreyfus' family.”
Icons of the pro-Dreyfus camp, who'd battled the government for his innocence.
“They'll push for retrial now.”
Impetuous fools, Loubet grumbled softly.
Did he not know Dreyfus was innocent?
He himself was a progressive pro-Dreyfus politician.
But as President, I must prevent more chaos.
Hence the special pardon—to quiet things somewhat.
Acquittal could wait.
But now, some Eastern boy had ruined it.
“What did the German ambassador say to our 'protest'?”
The Foreign Minister sighed.
“None of their business. No government involvement in that yellow boy's interview.”
He omitted the ambassador's snide 'Just a kid talking—why so serious? Scared of a child? Lol?' wrapped in diplomatic polish—for the President's health.
“So a mere 9-year-old Eastern brat toyed with France alone? Rotten cabbage-eaters with rotten brains. Tell them to shut their mouths!”
Hans Choi—mere figurehead for saving the Kaiser. Nothing more.
The Kaiser or Berlin was surely behind it.
Sane Émile Loubet could only assume—and believe—that.
“And what's this about Esterhazy maybe being a double agent?”
Wasn't that nonsense from the traitor who'd fled to Britain?
Now it fueled claims his pardon hid ugly truths—absurd.
“That's...”
Military men hemmed and hawed.
Can't even answer, huh?
Loubet glared murderously.
He itched to purge these France-eating vermin, but no discord now.
For peace, endure.
After brief deliberation, Loubet decided.
“...Esterhazy wasn't a double agent.”
“Pardon?”
“He's a traitor who colluded with Germany. It must be so.”
“U-understood, sir!”
Whether true didn't matter.
Admitting it would be worse than Dreyfus' innocence: proving no leak occurred, yet framing an innocent Jew.
That exposed, Loubet's career and government credibility ended.
Thus, Esterhazy must be the traitor.
“And tell Zola and Clemenceau: If Dreyfus himself demands retrial, the government will accept.”
“But sir...!”
“Oh? You military won't object, surely. If you can think.”
His piercing glare silenced them.
He'd already covered for Esterhazy—generous enough.
Cross the line, and bloody purge.
“...The military raises no objection to Dreyfus' retrial.”
“Good choice.”
They accepted; their rice bowls mattered.
“But conservatives like Catholics will rebel.”
“Not your worry.”
Loubet planned to uproot Catholics from politics anyway.
Their Dreyfus stance made them politicized cancer, useless to France.
As in history, strip state religion status, erase secular influence over years.
But now it's different.
This crisis was a chance to accelerate separation of church and state.
Great politicians turned crises to opportunity.
Though internal cleanup first, for years.
Fortunately, the Belle Époque.
Peaceful times.
War in Europe? Unthinkable.
Author's Note
Whenever Germany scores, France suffers. That's the truth.