Wine and War: The French, the Nazis, and the Battle for France's Greatest Treasure

by Donald Kladstrup

  There was one other demand by Kühnemann: no harm was to come to Uncle Louis; he was to be left alone after the troops departed.

  At 6:30 P.M. on August 26, French flags went up around the port to signal that an agreement had been reached. Eschenauer and Kühnemann were together at Louis’s home at that moment, saying their farewells over a bottle of wine.

  By the following day, the Germans were gone. Eschenauer breathed a sigh of relief.

  Four days later, he was arrested by the Resistance.

  Eschenauer’s arrest followed that of Marshal Philippe Pétain, who had resigned a week and a half earlier. Taken into “protective custody” by the Germans, who may have been trying to keep Vichy alive, the eighty-eight-year-old Marshal was forcibly moved to Germany from one castle to another. It was particularly humiliating because he had vowed he would never leave French soil. Before his departure, he was given one last chance to address the people of France.

  “When this message reaches you, I shall no longer be free,” he said. “I had only one goal, to protect you from the worst. Sometimes my words or acts must have surprised you. You may be sure that they were more painful for me than they were even for you. But I have never ceased to fight with all my might against all that threatened you. I have led you out of certain dangers; but there were some, alas, which I could not spare you.”

  Although the new French government under Charles de Gaulle hoped Pétain would stay away from France, the old Marshal was determined to return. He said he wanted to defend his role as head of the Vichy government. In June of the following year, he did return. He was promptly arrested, charged with treason and put on trial.

  Appearing before the High Court of Justice, Pétain, who had been ignored by de Gaulle when he offered to hand over his powers, put up a spirited defense, claiming that he had tried to act as a shield to protect the French people. “Every day, a dagger at my throat, I struggled against the enemy’s demands,” he said. “History will tell all that I spared you, though my adversaries think only of reproaching me for the inevitable. . . . While General de Gaulle carried on the struggle outside our frontiers, I prepared the way for liberation by preserving France, suffering but alive.”

  Many agreed with him and still do. May-Eliane Miailhe de Lencquesaing is one of them. “People say it was de Gaulle who liberated France, but de Gaulle was nothing without the Americans,” she said. “It was Pétain who stayed, who gave himself to the country, and who kept us from suffering much worse. Some people say he was on the German side. No; he hated the Nazis.”

  Nevertheless, Pétain was found guilty and sentenced to death. Several weeks later, de Gaulle commuted the sentence to life imprisonment. Others in the Vichy government, like Prime Minister Pierre Laval, were tried and executed.

  The prospect of spending the rest of his life in prison, or worse, had left Louis Eschenauer severely shaken. After helping to save Bordeaux from the Germans, being arrested had come as a great shock. If the court had been willing to sentence Marshal Pétain to death, what would it do to him? he wondered.

  As he languished in a prison cell awaiting trial, the seventy-five-year-old wine merchant learned of the summary judgments being handed down by various tribunals. Women who had consorted with Germans were given what Gertrude Stein called the “coiffure ’44”—their heads were shaved. Businessmen, especially those in northwestern France, who had committed the very crime Eschenauer was charged with—economic collaboration—were marched before firing squads and executed.

  It was a time of retribution, of settling old scores. At least 4,500 persons were summarily put to death by tribunals set up by the Resistance.

  “No Resistance historian should try to minimize the incidents of injustice, malicious indictment and personal vendetta,” said historian H. R. Kedward. “In the months following liberation, hardly a day passed without some new revelation of the horrors of torture, deportation and execution for which the Gestapo and Milice had been responsible. As the shallow graves of mutilated resistors were found in country areas surrounding most of the large towns, and the cellars of the Gestapo revealed their inhuman secrets, the popular demand for retributive justice against the collaborators grew more insistent.”

  In Bordeaux, according to one winegrower who knew Louis Eschenauer, “there was a ‘healthy’ denouncing of others. No one could be sure where the finger would point next.”

  As purges continued, about 160,000 people were formally charged with collaboration by the new French government. More than 7,000 were condemned to death, although the sentence was carried out in only 800 cases; another 38,000 were given prison terms.

  Fearing the situation was slipping out of control, a spokesman for the Minister of Justice, in March 1945, went on the radio to remind the people of France that doing business with the enemy did not necessarily constitute a crime. “Not all of it is of the same character,” he said. Some of it may be interpreted as “normal” and “legitimate.” The law against economic collaboration, the spokesman added, is “aimed at punishing the guilty and not disturbing the innocent.”

  In September, the regional director of Economic Supervision in Bordeaux went even further. In a letter to courts of law in his area, he encouraged them to “conclude their cases and investigations as soon as possible.”

  It was in that growing atmosphere of “let’s put this behind us” that the trial of Louis Eschenauer began on November 9, 1945. It had been just over a year since his arrest. Eschenauer appeared nervous and frail. A psychiatrist who examined him testified that he was suffering from severe depression. The only good news for Uncle Louis was that he would not be executed. An investigating magistrate had determined that Eschenauer’s crime of “trafficking with the enemy” had not affected the security of the state and that, therefore, he should not be tried in a military court or by any other body that could apply the death penalty.

  Eschenauer was charged with three counts of economic collaboration: first, that he “voluntarily entered into correspondence and relations with agents of the enemy”; second, that he “illegally conducted commerce” which provided France’s enemy with “important economic support”; and third, that he “knowingly gave direct or indirect assistance to Germany that could bring harm to the unity of the nation.”

  On the stand, Eschenauer denied the charges. “I am not a collaborator,” he said. “I did business with the Germans because I had to. I had to save my business. I also wanted to protect the interests of other négociants and winegrowers.”

  Eschenauer testified that his “intimate relationship” with weinführer Heinz Bömers enabled him to prevent the Germans from getting their hands on Bordeaux’s best wines, such as Châteaux Lafite-Rothschild and Mouton-Rothschild. His friendship with Ernst Kühnemann, he said, helped him persuade the Germans not to destroy the port of Bordeaux and other parts of the city. “I admit that I was well acquainted with many of the Germans here, but I also knew how to trick them and string them along,” he said. “I despised the Nazis; I never helped them. It was the Allies I was trying to help.”

  He also reminded the court of his role on a committee to help refugees in Bordeaux during the Phony War of 1939–40. His role, however, did not go much further than accepting a check from American banker Clarence Dillon and turning it over to certain charities.

  Eschenauer’s testimony seemed to be the desperate words of a tired and frightened old man, a man who, in a moment of weakness, was prepared to say anything to save his neck, even if it meant turning against Heinz Bömers, whom Eschenauer, just before his trial, described as a “close family friend.”

  In court, Eschenauer branded Bömers a “vulture,” a “violent man” who was trying to take over his business and who nearly caused him to have a nervous breakdown. “He thought that because I was an old bachelor, my business should go to him. He dreamed of becoming master of Maison Eschenauer after my death.”

  Eschenauer complained that he had been under constant pressure from Bömers to s
upply him with more wine. “He promised he would buy everything from me, but I said that was unfair and that he should buy from other négociants as well.”

  Portraying himself as a hero who “saved Bordeaux’s wines,” Louis explained that he tried to act as a buffer between Bömers and the wine community. “I prevented him from seizing the best wines,” he said. “Instead, I gave him duds, junk.”

  Junk? According to court records, some of the wines Eschenauer sold to Bömers in 1944 included: Château Margaux 1939 (2,400 bottles), Château Mouton-Rothschild 1939 (3,000 bottles), Château Ausone 1939 (3,600 bottles), Château Rausan-Ségla (4,500 bottles), Château La Lagune (6,000 bottles), Château Cos d’Estournel 1937 (2,400 bottles), Château Brane-Cantenac 1937 (2,000 bottles), Château Talbot 1939 (8,000 bottles).

  Although neither 1939 nor 1937 was a great year (indeed 1939 was to prove itself awful), these wines can hardly be called “duds.” They came from some of the greatest estates of Bordeaux. At the time Eschenauer sold them, they constituted a more than satisfactory drink.

  Eschenauer’s testimony was even less consistent and convincing when he was questioned about a company he set up, the Société des Grands Vins Français. Its purpose, he said, was to buy property for Bömers. In the spring of 1941, the company purchased Châteaux Lestage and Bel-Air, two Jewish-owned wine estates that had been seized and “Aryanized” by the Vichy government.

  When he was first asked why he bought the châteaux, Eschenauer testified that it was because he wanted to “avoid pressure” from Bömers, who was trying to take over his business; if Bömers got those châteaux, maybe he would not try to take Maison Eschenauer too.

  Under subsequent questioning, however, Eschenauer said the real reason he had bought the two properties was that he was “trying to save them” for their rightful Jewish owners. “I knew Germany would lose the war and that any promise I made to Bömers during the war would be null and void afterward.”

  The court judges were skeptical. When they asked Eschenauer for documents to back up his testimony, Uncle Louis said there were none, that everything had been handled on a verbal basis. “Bömers had complete confidence in me,” he said. Then he added, “The truth is, I actually had very little involvement in the company; everything was handled by my bookkeeper.” The bookkeeper claimed this was false.

  Florence Mothe said she was among those stunned by Eschenauer’s testimony. “Why would a man who had been denied nothing in life, from the smallest thing to the greatest luxury, behave in such a way? Turn on those who worked with him? That is what I cannot understand.”

  From the moment the trial began, it had been watched with growing anxiety throughout Bordeaux. Other négociants who had sold wine to Germany knew it could easily have been any of them on the stand. Some, in fact, had already been fined and seen their goods confiscated. Others had actively competed for Bömers’s attention and business by inviting him to parties and trying to demonstrate their interest in German music and literature. According to notes kept by Bömers’s secretary, the weinführer found all of this “ridiculous.” Now the Chartrons were worried, because soliciting business from the enemy was grounds for charging a firm or individual with economic collaboration.

  Consequently, although many in the Bordeaux wine trade had resented and were jealous of Eschenauer’s business connections during the war, most now rallied to his defense. Some wrote letters describing him as a “patriot” and a “man of integrity.” One supporter claimed Eschenauer helped the Resistance by loaning it trucks to haul food and weapons. Another said he had helped Jews escape from the Gestapo. Even Baron Philippe de Rothschild of Château Mouton-Rothschild wrote a letter in his behalf.

  As his three-day trial neared its end, Eschenauer denied any wrongdoing and reiterated that he was not a collaborator. He had joined Groupe Collaboration, he said, “just to please a friend,” adding that he never really had anything to do with the group itself. He admitted, however, that he had made a donation to the organization.

  His most important service, he said, was helping save Bordeaux from destruction. “Thanks to my good relations with Ernst Kühnemann and other German officers, I was able to persuade them, after many long and intense negotiations, not to carry out their plans for destroying the port and other parts of the city.”

  Uncle Louis’s trial ended on Armistice Day, the day marking victory over Germany in World War I. It was the first Armistice Day to be celebrated after the war. Once again it had been declared a national holiday and large celebrations were planned. No newspapers would be published. That was the best part as far as the court was concerned. Publicity would be minimal when the verdict was announced.

  The panel of judges retired to consider its verdict at 1:15 in the morning. By 3 A.M., they were back in the courtroom.

  The verdict: guilty on all charges.

  The judges dismissed Eschenauer’s claim that he tried to resist demands for wine by Heinz Bömers. “He willingly agreed to furnish Bömers with what he wanted and at no point did he ever refuse.” The court also dismissed Eschenauer’s testimony that his company, the Société des Grands Vins Français, had purchased two “Aryanized” Jewish-owned châteaux in order to save them for their rightful Jewish owners. “The company,” the court said, “was created for only one purpose, to do business with the enemy.” (Bömers had made no secret of the fact that he wanted to own a wine property in Bordeaux again after losing Château Smith-Haut-Lafitte in World War I. Several years after World War II, he bought Château du Grand Mouëys, which his firm still owns.)

  Uncle Louis was sentenced to two years in prison and fined more than 62 million francs for illegal profiteering. He admitted doing 957 million francs’ worth of business during the war, but it was the way he did that business that disturbed authorities most. His courting of German officials at his restaurant and at the racetrack and his flaunting of those relationships made him a natural target. As one Bordelais who knew him said, “Louis just went too far.”

  His property was confiscated and he was forbidden from doing business in Bordeaux. He also lost all rights as a French citizen.

  As Uncle Louis was led away, he broke down in tears. “After 1918, they gave me a medal for selling wines to the Germans, now they fling me in prison for doing the same thing,” he sobbed. “If Mama were to see me now!”

  De Gaulle intended that the purge process would be swift, that after the more notorious collaborators had been punished, the process of healing, restoring order and unifying the country could begin. He was especially eager to see this happen in Bordeaux, a region whose political support he considered important and whose economic resources—its wine and its port—were vital for the recovery of the nation. To that end, his government, in 1951, passed an amnesty law which allowed many businessmen who had been found guilty of excess profiteering to return to their offices.

  Louis Eschenauer was amnestied in 1952. He spent the remainder of his days in his château at Camponac in Pessac, just outside Bordeaux.

  Before Uncle Louis died, Heinz Bömers, Jr., son of Bordeaux’s weinführer, came to Bordeaux to learn more about the wine business. Uncle Louis was there to welcome him and take him to the races.

  “There is something I wish to tell you,” he said, taking Heinz by the arm. “I want you to know that I have always been a friend of your father. I was his friend before the war and I was his friend during the war. And I am still his friend today.”

  * * *

  ELEVEN

  I Came Home Not Young Anymore

  IT WAS LATE MORNING WHEN A BENT, elderly-looking man, a handmade knapsack on his back, came trudging through the mud and slush of a warm February.

  Gaston Huet was on his way home.

  After five years as a prisoner of war, Huet and the men of Oflag IV D finally had been released. It happened without warning. They had been awakened early in the morning by sounds they had never heard before and a sight they could never have imagined. Charging straight for the camp
were sword-wielding Cossacks on horseback, yelling at the top of their lungs. Huet and the other POWs watched in astonishment as the riders galloped through the gates and overran the guardhouses, sending the frightened Germans fleeing. Was it freedom, Huet wondered, or more captivity with different masters?

  Through the confusion, one of the Cossack leaders finally made himself understood. “Go,” he told the Frenchmen. “Take just what you can carry.”

  For Huet, it would not be much. There were letters from home, letters that helped sustain him through some of the worst moments of his captivity. There was also the piece of the French flag he had torn off in Calais just before he was taken prisoner in 1940. He had looked at it so many times, wondering if there would ever be a France again. The last thing Huet put in his bag was a copy of the program from the wine celebration he had organized, an affair that had done as much as anything to make his life as a POW bearable.