Dear Mata Hari, your biggest mistake was having found the wrong man to do the right thing. Georges Ladoux, the head of counterespionage, who contacted you as soon as you returned to Paris, was a marked man by the government. He was one of those responsible for the Dreyfus case, a miscarriage of justice that still shames us today--condemning an innocent man to degradation and exile. After he was unmasked, he tried to justify his actions by saying his work "was not limited to knowing the enemy's next steps, but preventing him from undermining the morale of our friends." He sought a promotion, which was denied. He became a bitter man who urgently needed a cause celebre to make him well regarded once again in government halls. And who better for that than a well-known actress, envied by officers' wives and hated by the elite who, years before, used to deify her?
The people cannot think only of the deaths taking place in Verdun, Marne, Somme--they need to be distracted by some kind of victory. And Ladoux, knowing this, began to weave his degrading web the moment he first saw you. He described your first meeting in his notes:
"She entered my office as someone enters a stage, parading around in formal wear and trying to impress me. I did not invite her to sit, but she pulled up a chair and settled in across my desk. After telling me the proposition the German consul made her in The Hague, she said she was ready to work for France. She also ridiculed my agents that were following her, saying, 'Can't your friends downstairs leave me alone for a while? Every time I exit my hotel, they go in and turn the entire room upside down. I can't go to a cafe without them occupying the next table and this has frightened away the friendships I've cultivated for so long. Now my friends no longer want to be seen with me.'
"I asked her how she would like to serve the country. She replied petulantly: 'You know how. To the Germans I'm H21. Perhaps the French have better taste in choosing names for those who secretly serve the country.'
"I countered in such a way that my words had a double meaning: 'We all know you have a reputation for being expensive in everything you do. How much will this cost?'
" 'All or nothing' was her answer.
"As soon as she left, I asked my secretary to send me the 'Mata Hari dossier.' After reading all the material collected--which had cost us a fortune in man-hours--I could not find anything incriminating. Apparently, the woman was smarter than my agents and had managed to well conceal her nefarious activities."
In other words, even though you were guilty, they could find nothing to incriminate you. The agents continued to file their daily reports; when you went to Vittel with that Russian boyfriend blinded by mustard gas in one of the German attacks, the collection of "reports" bordered on the ridiculous.
People at the hotel tend to always see her accompanied by the war invalid, possibly twenty years her junior. By her exuberance and way of walking, we are certain she uses drugs, probably morphine or cocaine.
She mentioned to one of the guests that she was a member of the Dutch royal family. To another, she said she had a chateau in Neuilly. Once when we went out for dinner and returned to work, she was singing in the main hall for a group of youth and we are almost certain her sole objective was to corrupt those innocent girls and boys who, by then, knew they were before the woman they deemed the "great star of the Parisian stage."
When her lover returned to the front, she stayed in Vittel for two more weeks, always going for walks, lunching, and dining alone. We could not detect any contact by an enemy agent, but who would stay at a spa hotel by themselves unless they had dubious interests? Although she was under our watch twenty-four hours a day, she must have found a way to circumvent our surveillance.
And that was when, my dear Mata Hari, the vilest blow of all was struck. You were also being followed by the Germans--who were more discreet and more efficient. From the day of your visit to Captain Ladoux, they had come to the conclusion that you intended to be a double agent. While you strolled about in Vittel, Consul Kramer, who had recruited you in The Hague, was under interrogation in Berlin. They wanted to know about the twenty thousand francs spent on a person whose profile could not be more different than that of a traditional spy--usually discreet and virtually invisible. Why had he called on someone so famous to help Germany in its war effort? Was he also in cahoots with the French? How, after so long, had agent H21 not produced a SINGLE report? "Every now and then she was approached by an agent--usually in public transport--who asked for at least one piece of information, but she would smile seductively and say she had not yet obtained anything."
In Madrid, however, they managed to intercept a letter you sent to the head of counterespionage, that wretched Ladoux, which recounts in detail a meeting with a German high official who had finally managed to circumvent their surveillance and approach you.
"He asked me what I had obtained, if I had sent any messages in invisible ink, and if perhaps something had got lost along the way. I said no. He asked me for a name and I said I had slept with Alfred Kiepert.
"Then, in a fit of rage, he yelled at me, saying he was not interested in knowing who I'd slept with, or he would be required to fill out pages and pages with the names of English, French, Germans, Dutch, and Russians. I ignored the attack, and he calmed down and offered me cigarettes. I began toying with my legs seductively. Thinking he was before a woman with a brain the size of a pea, he blurted out: 'I'm sorry for my behavior, I'm tired. I need to focus all of my concentration to organize the arrival of ammunition that the Germans and Turks are sending to the coast of Morocco.' Also, I demanded the five thousand francs that Kramer owed me; he said he had no authority to do so and that he would ask the German consulate in The Hague to handle the matter. 'We always pay what we owe,' he said."
The Germans' suspicions were finally confirmed. We don't know what happened to Consul Kramer, but Mata Hari was definitely a double agent who, until then, had not provided any such information. We have a radio surveillance post at the top of the Eiffel Tower, but most of the information that is exchanged between them is in encrypted form, and impossible to read. Ladoux seemed to read their reports and not believe anything; I never knew if he sent someone to check on the arrival of ammunition on the shores of Morocco. But suddenly a telegram was sent from Madrid to Berlin in a code they knew had been already deciphered by the French, and it became the centerpiece of the prosecution, even though it said nothing beyond your nom de guerre.
AGENT H21 WAS ADVISED OF ARRIVAL OF SUBMARINE ON THE COAST OF MOROCCO AND SHOULD ASSIST IN THE TRANSPORT OF AMMUNITION TO MARNE. SHE IS TRAVELING TO PARIS, WHERE SHE WILL ARRIVE TOMORROW.
Ladoux now had all the evidence he needed to incriminate you. But I was not so foolish as to think a simple telegram could convince the military tribunal of your guilt, especially since the Dreyfus affair was still fresh in everyone's imagination; an innocent man had been convicted because of a piece of writing, unsigned and undated. So other traps would be needed.
What made my defense practically useless? In addition to the judges, witnesses, and accusers that had already formed an opinion, you did not help much. I cannot blame you, but this propensity to lie ever since arriving in Paris has led you to be discredited in each of your statements made to the magistrates. The prosecution brought concrete data proving you were not born in the Dutch East Indies or trained by Indonesian priests, that you were not single, and that you had falsified your passport to appear younger. In times of peace, none of this would be taken into account, but inside the War Tribunal you could already hear the sound of bombs brought in by the wind.
So every time I argued something like "She sought out Ladoux as soon as she arrived here," he contested, saying that your only objective was to get more money and seduce him with your charms. This displays unforgivable arrogance; the captain, short and twice your weight, thought you deserved it...that you intended to turn him into a puppet in the hands of the Germans. To reinforce that fact, he brought up the zeppelin attack that had preceded your arrival--a failure on the part of the enemy, as it did not hit any
strategic location. But for Ladoux, it was evidence that could not be ignored.
You were beautiful, known worldwide, always envied--though never respected--in the concert halls where you appeared. Liars, what little I know of them, are people who seek popularity and recognition. Even when faced with truth, they always find a way to escape, coldly repeating what had just been said or blaming the accuser of speaking untruths. I understand that you wanted to create fantastical stories about yourself, either out of insecurity or your almost visible desire to be loved at any cost. I understand that in order to manipulate so many men, experts themselves in the art of manipulating others, a little fantasy was needed. It's inexcusable, but that is the reality; and that's what led you to where you are now.
I heard you used to say you had slept with "Prince W----," the son of the kaiser. I have my contacts in Germany and all are unanimous that you never came within a hundred kilometers of the palace where he stayed during the war. You boasted you knew many people in the German High Commission; you said it loud enough for all to hear. My dear Mata Hari, what spy in their right mind would mention such barbarities with the enemy? But your desire to call people's attention, at a time when your fame was in decline, only made matters worse.
When you were on the stand, they were the ones who lied, but I was defending a publicly discredited person. From the beginning, the charges listed by the prosecutor are absolutely pathetic, mixing truths you told with lies they decided to interweave. I was shocked when they sent me the material, after you finally understood you were in a difficult situation and decided to hire me.
Here are some of the accusations:
1. Zelle MacLeod belongs to the German intelligence service, where she is known by the name H21. (Fact.)
2. She went twice to France since the start of hostilities, surely guided by her mentors, in order to acquire intelligence for the enemy. (You were followed twenty-four hours a day by Ladoux's men--how could you have done that?)
3. During her second trip, she offered her services to French intelligence when, in fact, as demonstrated later, she shared everything with German espionage. (Two mistakes there: You phoned from The Hague to arrange a meeting; this meeting took place with Ladoux on your first trip and absolutely no evidence of secrets "shared" with German intelligence was ever presented.)
4. She returned to Germany under the pretense of collecting the clothes she had left there, but returned with absolutely nothing and was arrested by British intelligence, accused of espionage. She insisted they get in touch with Captain Ladoux, but he refused to confirm her identity. With no argument or evidence to stop her, she was dispatched to Spain and immediately our men saw her heading to the German consulate. (Fact.)
5. Under the pretext of holding confidential information, she presented herself soon after at the French consulate in Madrid, saying she had news of the landing of ammunition for enemy forces, which was under way that moment by the Turks and Germans in Morocco. As we already knew of her role as double agent, we decided not to risk any man on a mission that everything indicated was a trap...(???)
And so on and so forth; a series of delusional points not worth enumerating, culminating in the telegram sent via open channel--or deciphered code--so as to forever smear a woman who, according to what Kramer later confessed to his interrogator, had been "the worst among our poor choices of spies to serve our cause." Ladoux even claimed you had invented the name H21 and your real nom de guerre was H44, who underwent training in Antwerp, Holland, at the famous spy school of Fraulein Doktor Schragmuller.
In a war, the first casualty is human dignity. Your arrest, as I said before, would serve to show the ability of the French military and divert attention from the thousands of young men dropping dead on the battlefield. In peacetime, no one would accept such delusions as evidence. In wartime, it was all the judge needed to have you arrested the next day.
Sister Pauline, who has acted as a bridge between us, tries to keep me updated on everything that happens at the prison. Once she told me, a little flushed, that she had asked to see your scrapbook with everything that was published about you.
"I was the one who asked. Don't go judging her for trying to scandalize a simple nun."
Who am I to judge? But from this day I have also decided to keep a similar album about you, though I never do that for any other client. As all of France is interested in your case, there is no shortage of news articles about the dangerous spy sentenced to death. Unlike Dreyfus, there is no petition or popular demonstration asking to spare your life.
My album is open next to me, to the page where a newspaper gives a detailed description of what happened the day after the trial. I only found one error in the article, regarding your nationality.
Ignoring the fact that the Third War Council was judging her case at that very moment--or pretending she was not worried about what was happening, since she considered herself a woman above good and evil, always aware of French intelligence's steps--Russian spy Mata Hari went to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to ask permission to go to the front to meet her lover, whose eyes had been seriously wounded and, even then, was forced to fight. She gave the city of Verdun as her location, a guise meant to show she did not know at all what was happening on the eastern front. She was told that the papers in question had not arrived, but that the minister himself was in charge of it.
The arrest warrant was immediately handed down at the end of the closed session, which was sealed to reporters. Details of the case will be made known to the public as soon as the trial is over.
The minister of war had issued and sent the arrest warrant three days prior to the military governor of Paris--office 3455 SCR-10--but had to wait until the charge was formalized before such a warrant could be executed.
A team of five people, led by the prosecutor of the Third War Council, went immediately to room 131 of the Hotel Elysee Palace and found the suspect in a silk robe, still taking her breakfast. When asked why she was doing that, she claimed she had had to wake up very early and go to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and at that moment she was famished.
While they asked the accused to get dressed, they searched the apartment and found a vast amount of material, mostly women's clothing and accessories. Also found were a permit to travel to Vittel and another to perform paid work in France, dated December 13, 1915.
Claiming it was all just a misunderstanding, she demanded they make a detailed list of what they were taking so she could sue them if they did not return everything to her room in perfect condition that same evening.
Only our newspaper had access to what took place at her meeting with the prosecutor of the Third War Council, Captain Pierre Bouchardon, via a secret source who used to provide us with information about the fate of people who had infiltrated and were later unmasked. According to this source--who provided us with the full transcript--Captain Bouchardon handed her the charges hanging over her head and asked her to read them. When she finished, he asked if she wanted a lawyer, which she categorically denied, and answered only:
"But I'm innocent! Someone is joking with me, I work for the French intelligence, when they ask me for something, which has not happened very often."
Captain Bouchardon asked her to sign a document that our source wrote and she did so willingly. She was convinced she would return that same afternoon to the comfort of her hotel and would immediately contact her "immense" circle of friends who would eventually clarify the absurdities of which she was accused.
As soon as she signed the declaration in question, the spy was led directly to Saint-Lazare prison, repeating constantly, already on the verge of hysteria: "I'm innocent! I'm innocent!" while we managed to secure an exclusive interview with the prosecutor.
"She wasn't even a beautiful woman, like everyone claimed," he said. "But her complete lack of scruples, her complete lack of compassion, led her to manipulate and ruin men, leading to at least one suicide. The person standing before me was a spy with her heart and soul."
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From there, our team went to the Saint-Lazare prison, where other journalists had already gathered to speak to the director general of incarceration. He seemed to share the opinion of Captain Bouchardon, and also ours, that Mata Hari's beauty had already faded with time.
"Only in her photos is she still beautiful," he said.
"The debauched lifestyle she maintained for so long meant the person who came in here today had huge dark circles under her eyes, hair that was already beginning to discolor at the roots, and very peculiar behavior. She said nothing, except, 'I'm innocent!' always shouting, as if she were back in those days when women, because of their nature, were unable to control their behavior properly. I'm surprised at the bad taste of some friends of mine who had more intimate contact with her."
This was confirmed by the prison doctor, Dr. Jules Socquet, who, in addition to testifying that she was not suffering from any disease--she had no fever, her tongue showed no signs of stomach problems, and auscultation of her lungs and heart showed no suspicious symptoms--released her to be placed in one of the cells of Saint-Lazare after asking the sisters in charge of that wing to provide a stock of sanitary napkins as the prisoner was menstruating.
And it was then, only then, after many interrogations at the hands of the man we call "Torquemada de Paris," that you contacted me and I went to visit you at Saint-Lazare. But it was too late; many of the statements given had already implicated you in the eyes of that man who, as half of Paris knew, had been betrayed by his own wife. A man like that, dear Mata Hari, is like a bloodied beast who seeks revenge instead of justice.
Reading your testimonies before my arrival, I saw you were much more interested in showing your importance than in defending your innocence. You spoke of powerful friends, international success, and crowded theaters, when you should have been doing just the opposite, showing you were a victim, a scapegoat for Captain Ladoux, who had used you in his own internal battle with his fellow colleagues to take over the general management of the counterespionage service.