yet shot,” I replied. “No,” he nodded, “all in good time. Will you read a book? We have German books in the library.” I asked for a French book, preferably a novel, and was given The Count of Monte Cristo. Ironically I enjoyed its pages as much as a free man would.
In the morning my clothes were returned and I was ordered into them. Two gendarmes came to the prison gate and conducted me across town to a public building. No one molested us on the way. The previous furore had died down.
Next the gendarmes guided me through a labyrinth of offices and one of them knocked on a door. I was made to enter a large room but they did not follow. Therein a gentleman was seated at a table. On it were cigars and refreshments. He was very polite and asked me affably, “Will you smoke a cigar?” “Thank you,” I replied. “Join me in a glass of wine as well,” he countered. I thanked him again.
With a fine Havana in one hand and a smooth old burgundy in the other, I listened, as he spoke to me, quietly, easily, and without any trace of official stiffness. He apologised for my awkward situation and repeated at length how he was there to help me extricate myself from it. He perplexed me. I wondered who he was and what sort of trap he was setting for me.
He looked at me and continued to speak with even greater warmth than before. “Sir, I am deeply interested in you. I am sorry that you were subjected to such harsh treatment. Prison is no place for a man of your intelligence and education. You are accused of being a Prussian spy, but I know, from information received, that you occupy a high position in the German army. You were sent here to make plans of the fortifications of Besangon and Belfort. You are a soldier who was ordered to do it. We shall treat you as such, as a prisoner of war, and not as a common spy. Confess and I promise you will be sent to a southern town, where you will be free to walk about provided you give your word of honour, as a gentleman, not to escape.”
This was a speech calculated to make a spy confess. He made me feel confident that if I told the truth, I would be granted my freedom. I was close to doing this when the sound of a quill on paper suddenly reached my sensitive ears. It came from behind a heavy curtain that divided the room, behind my inquisitor’s chair. There must have been a clerk hidden there, whose job was to copy down everything I said. This could then be used in evidence against me at my trial. I proved equal to the occasion. I thanked my would-be friend for his kindness and interest, and reiterated that I was a native of Strasbourg. ” But we can’t write to Strasbourg to confirm what you say is true.” “Why not?” I asked. “Because it is surrounded by the Prussians.” I expressed surprise and said I had heard this for the very first time.
The man relaxed his features. He seemed to think my story might be true. “You have lived in Paris? How long did you say? Who knows you there?” “Dr. Hertz,” I replied. “Leave me the doctor’s address. Enquiries will be made. In the meantime you must go back to prison.”
The die was now cast. I had given Dr. Hertz’s name without even knowing whether he was still in Paris. And if he were there would he know to say that I was a native of Strasbourg? And should he guess correctly, would his testimony be taken? All these questions now haunted my mind but, nevertheless, I felt I had done the right thing.
I found out later that when I visited the Hertzs prior to my departure from Paris, they were both at police headquarters. A detective had taken them there earlier because of the decree concerning German aliens. They had been questioned at length and the good doctor had become quite indignant. “When I became a naturalised Frenchman I never imagined that I would be molested in such a manner. I cannot find my papers of naturalisation just yet, but if you give me till tomorrow I promise to produce them for you. Would you have treated Heinrich Heine or Ludwig Borne in the same way?”
The Prefect was satisfied for the moment. Dr. Hertz was allowed to go home and rummage among his papers. As soon as he discovered the required documents, he and Emma returned to the station. The Prefect apologised, made an entry in a book, and allowed the pair of them to remain in Paris.
Back at home the good doctor became very pensive about the evils of war. “Emma,” he said, “I think I could do some good during this campaign.” “Surely, father, you are not going to fight?” “No, fighting is not my business. Even though I have not practised for twenty years, I could still be useful in alleviating the sufferings of the injured. There will be broken heads, broken limbs, a great deal of pain. I could join an ambulance corps. ” I was thinking of joining myself,” Emma replied, “but I thought it might displease you. Let us both apply to join the Internationale.”
The doctor then sat down and penned two applications to the Committee of the Ambulance Internationale. Emma continued, “I wonder whether Maurice is still in Paris. He has not called here since the day war was declared. I am afraid that something has happened to him.” “Emma,” interposed the doctor, ” he has left Paris. He is on his way to some country other than Germany.” “How do you know father? Has he written to you?” “No, my child, but don’t ask any questions?” Emma didn’t cross-examine him further. Perhaps she did not wish to arouse any suspicion in him as to how much she loved me.
Two weeks passed and father and daughter had joined the ambulance. They were enjoying their last meal at home, dressed in travelling attire, with a Red Cross band around their left upper arms, when the concierge entered and introduced a gentleman dressed in black. The detective presented his compliments and requested that Dr. Hertz give him some information concerning a young man, Monsieur Maurice Brodzky, who has been arrested in Dole on suspicion of being a Prussian spy. “He denies it. He says he is a native of Strasbourg, and that Doctor Hertz can testify to this.” The doctor gazed at Emma and saw her agitation. The policeman did not notice it. “He’s not a Prussian spy,” was the doctor’s calm and studied answer. “We know him well; he is an intimate friend of this house; his sentiments are entirely French.” “Would you then sign this document, in order to effect his release?” The doctor signed the document and the police agent departed. Emma fell on her father’s neck and covered him with kisses. “How did you know what to say father?” “Because I realised a fortnight ago what had happened, and I was prepared for it.” This time she did press her father for an explanation and he told her that the concierge had mentioned my visit of the 25th July.
For twelve more days various officials tried all manner of tricks with which to break down my story but I refused to budge from it. Finally, at nine o’clock on the thirteenth morning my persistence was rewarded. I was conducted to the office of the prison governor. “We have made enquiries about you,” the governor said. I held my breath. “We find that your statement is true, that you are a Frenchman. You will be liberated at once, but you must present yourself today at the Town Hall and enlist in the army. You are of age, you are able-bodied, and you must serve. You cannot leave France! The law prohibits it! Your country is in danger and requires that every young able-bodied Frenchman defends it.”
I left the prison and made straight for the Town Hall where hundreds of young men were awaiting their marching orders. I admit a temptation to try to escape. But I feared that someone might be secretly watching me and I did as I was directed.
The clerk informed me that I could only enlist for as long as the war lasts, on account of presenting myself to the wrong depot. Strasbourg was my proper depot and once the war was over I would have to go there and re-enlist for the remainder of my three-year term. The good news was that, for now, I could join the regiment of my choice. I consulted a placard on the wall that listed all the regiments and their depots. I chose the First Regiment of the Tirailleurs Algeriens at Blidah in Algeria. I hoped that by the time I arrived in Blidah the war would be over. I received the relevant documents. You can now appreciate why I fabricated the details on them. When enlisting in the French Army I could hardly be seen as being born in Prussia.
I was very happy to leave Dole but in no hurry to get to Marseilles. On the way there I passed through Dijon, Lyons, Vienne, Avignon and Orange and made a special point of seeing everything of interest in each place. When I finally presented myself to Fort St. Martin in Marseilles the last steamer had just left for Algiers. The next one was not due for three days, leaving