The Sixth Lamentation

by William Brodrick

  Miss Matthews, the Junior to Mr Penshaw, stood for the first time to ‘take’ a witness for the Crown. She called Doctor Pierre Vallon, an elderly French historian now resident in the United States who had previously been based at the Institut d’Histoire de Temps Présent in Paris. He was slightly stooped, with a kind, enquiring face. His hands held the witness box as if he were upon the bridge of a ship. He wore a dark, limp suit and a fat bowtie.

  Doctor Vallon explained that historians were largely divided on almost every question pertaining to the Occupation. After the armistice with Germany, he said, France had been divided into two regions: the ‘Occupied Zone’ in the north, under direct German control, and the Unoccupied Zone in the south which was managed by the new French government, based at Vichy The latter operated all governmental institutions in both zones but were obviously subject to their German masters. And it was at this early point that scholarly opinion began to divide. The most sensitive issue was participation in the deportation of the Jews. Crucially (for the purposes of the trial), the key question was whether those involved knew that the Nazi project was murder on a massive scale. Doctor Vallon believed that by 1943 many Vichy officials must have known what was happening in the camps. As for someone in the Defendant’s position, an SS officer based in Paris, there could be no significant doubt: such a one would have known precisely what happened to the victims when the freight carriages reached Auschwitz. SS memoranda expressly referred to the fact that the Jews were to be exterminated.

  At the conclusion of Doctor Vallon’s Evidence-in-Chief, the court rose for lunch. Cross-examination would begin at ten past two. Lucy quickly left the building and paced the streets for an hour. Then she came back to her seat beside Mr Lachaise, who again offered her a mint. Yes, please, she said.

  ‘Doctor Vallon,’ said Mr Bartlett as he stood up, ‘are you familiar with the expression “strong words”?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked puzzled by the curious question, as did the judge, as did the jury.

  ‘I suggest it is false. Words are weak. Do you agree?’

  ‘Possibly; I don’t follow you.’

  Mr Justice Pollbrook put down his pen, his baleful eyes resting on Mr Bartlett who said:

  ‘In the mouth of one they disclose; in the mouth of another they disguise. Words cannot resist corruption. Those who hear them can be easily deceived. Do you agree?’

  ‘Mr Bartlett,’ interrupted Mr Justice Pollbrook indulgently, ‘are you leading us to the pleasures of Wittgenstein?’

  ‘Oh no, my Lord, I very much doubt if that would assist the jury.’

  ‘They already look rather bemused, and I am among their number.’

  ‘All will become clear, my Lord, if I may continue.’

  ‘Please do.’

  ‘I’m most grateful.’

  Mr Bartlett then abruptly changed subject, the previous exchanges left suspended in the memory as a tidy, distinct cameo. ‘Doctor Vallon, you told my learned friend that in June 1942 Eichmann summoned his representatives from France, Belgium and Holland to Berlin in order to plan the deportations. He wanted to begin with France, is that right?’

  ‘Yes. It was to be a grand sweep across Europe, from West to East.’ The academic leaned forward, a fearless, authoritative stare fixed upon his interrogator.

  ‘And there had been a vast influx of Jews into France throughout the thirties, up to the spring of 1940?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Driven out by Nazi terror?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Doctor Vallon, is it right to say that the parlance of the day distinguished between “Israélites” and “Juifs”?’

  ‘Yes.’

  “‘Israélite” was a relatively polite term describing French— born Jews who were “assimilated”?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘And “Juif” had a pejorative overtone, referring to foreign-born Jews?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘The distinction did not exist, of course, in the refined vocabulary of the German authorities?’

  ‘Absolutely not. ‘

  ‘That said, would it be right to say Eichmann effectively exploited the distinction in order to commence his programme of expulsion with as little protest as possible?’

  ‘Yes, although I don’t know if he thought in those terms. He wanted to use the French administrative machinery in the planned deportations, so he began with the stateless Jews, the émigrés, knowing that the relevant officials were reluctant to pay their resettlement cost in France. ‘

  ‘That is a most unfortunate turn of phrase in the circumstances …

  ‘I meant no—’

  ‘Of course, it was innocently used. However, Doctor Vallon, the innocence of language is a subject to which we shall heavily return.’ Mr Bartlett frowned, looking at the jury. Then he said, ‘However, let’s stay with the word “resettlement”. Do you accept that the cooperation of the Vichy authorities relied upon an understanding that these Jews were being resettled in the East?’

  ‘That is too broad a question. At the highest level I don’t think reliance upon an understanding came into it. Several Vichy officials were openly anti-Semitic, and for them the removal of Jews from France needed little encouragement or explanation.

  Throughout the various government departments that carried out the orders, however, there were obviously shades of opinion and levels of knowledge.’

  ‘Is it fair to say that a substantial number of people — officials and members of the public — were unaware of the killings, and believed that “resettlement” meant just what it said?’

  ‘Many may have done so, yes, but only at the outset.’

  ‘Subsequently, did French cooperation, if that is the word, proceed in an untroubled fashion?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The general population were appalled by the mass arrests of 1942. Thereafter, State anti-Semitism, which had prevailed through indifference or agreement, was gradually undermined by civil resistance. Thus, when Eichmann wanted to move against the French Jews, the authorities refused, no doubt wary of how the public might respond. Official capitulation slowed down, under protest, and the deportation programme floundered. By this stage, rumours of what “resettlement” meant had begun to trickle through. Thousands went into hiding. By the end of the war there were still two hundred and fifty thousand Jews in France. But the scale of the killing was horrendous. A quarter of the Jewish population were murdered.’

  ‘My Lord,’ said Mr Bartlett, ‘may I suggest a short break? These are not easy matters for the jury to hear.’

  ‘Or indeed any of us,’ said Mr Justice Pollbrook. ‘Half an hour, ladies and gentlemen.’

  3

  Lucy stood with Mr Lachaise and Max outside the courtroom. Max had his hands thrust deep into his pockets and was staring at the floor. Mr Lachaise said:

  ‘What we are hearing is a prelude to the argument for ignorance. It is heartbreaking.’

  Lucy glanced at the small man with the ever—gentle manner, still wearing the same cardigan. Who was he, beyond his name? She dared not ask. In a peculiar way he frightened her. He spoke with chilling authority.

  ‘In 1941 Radio Moscow revealed that Soviet Jews were being massacred by advancing Nazi troops. In 1942 the BBC described large-scale transfers of Polish Jews from ghettos to camps. Reports of mass extermination in places like Chelimno got to London in May 1942. The Polish Resistance informed London about the gassings at Auschwitz in March 1943. You cannot annihilate a people without the world finding out.’

  Max, with his eyes still fixed on the floor, his shoulders pressed inwards, folding into himself, suddenly whispered, harshly: ‘The Defendant is my grandfather. I’m sorry. You can’t possibly want me anywhere near you … or to come to my studio … I think it’s best if—’

  ‘I know exactly who you are,’ said Mr Lachaise in the same dry, authoritative voice. ‘And I want to see your paintings.’

  The usher push
ed open the door to the court and called everyone back. Mr Lachaise took Max by the arm and Lucy followed.

  4

  Within minutes Mr Bartlett had referred to the reports of killing described to Lucy during the adjournment, some of which had not been publicised at the time of receipt. He then said: ‘As regards the population in France, they may have come across non-specific rumours that some people would not have believed?’

  ‘Unfortunately’

  ‘For the rumours were incredible?’ ‘That is part of the tragedy Yes.’

  ‘Reasonably rejected by any right-minded person?’

  ‘Not quite, Mr Bartlett. You appear to have missed the point I made before. Cooperation floundered because there were others who did believe the rumours.

  ‘But you do accept there was room for both positions —acceptance and rejection.’

  ‘Of course.

  Mr Bartlett stopped asking questions. Lucy sensed the turning of a lens, a movement away from the last words to a sharpening of focus on what was about to come next. He said: ‘Would you credit Mr Schwermann with the same beliefs and suspicions as a French policeman aged twenty-three based in Paris?’

  Doctor Vallon all but laughed. ‘The proposition is offensive. He was part of the machinery. He had daily contact with Eichmann in Berlin.’

  ‘There is no room for doubt?’

  ‘In my view, no.’

  ‘None whatsoever?’

  ‘None.’

  Lucy felt deep unease. Doctor Vallon was only saying what Mr Bartlett expected him to say

  Mr Bartlett said, ‘Would you be so kind as to consider Volume Seven, section A, page two.’

  Doctor Vallon was handed a ring-binder. He found the page and gave a nod of recognition.

  ‘This is a telex from Paris to Department IV B4 in Berlin, dated August 1942,’ said Mr Bartlett.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘From Mr Schwermann?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘To Adolf Eichmann?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Please tell the jury what this telex is all about.’

  ‘It reports that a thousand Jews had been transported from Drancy to Auschwitz.’

  ‘Turn the page, please. This is a memorandum referring to the same transport. What does it record?’

  ‘That sufficient food for two weeks had been provided in separate trucks by the French government. ‘

  ‘This was not an uncommon practice, Doctor Vallon, was it?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Don’t be grudging with the facts, Doctor Vallon; it is there in black and white. Provisions were being sent with these passengers .

  ‘I’m not being grudging with the facts—’

  ‘This is entirely consistent with resettlement, rather than extermination?’

  Doctor Vallon closed the folder and snapped, ‘None of the food was distributed. It was taken by the guards at Auschwitz.’

  Unperturbed, Mr Bartlett said mildly, ‘Answer the question, please. The texts are consistent with a perceived policy of emigration, and wholly inconsistent with a policy of execution upon arrival, are they not?’

  ‘As words on a page, possibly’

  ‘Don’t scorn ordinary meaning, Doctor. These are words, not runes.

  ‘I’m well aware of that:

  ‘Anyone reading these documents could have understood them to reflect a policy of resettlement outside France. Yes?’

  ‘An ignorant reader might think that fifty years after the event, but not the author. I keep stressing to you, he was a part of the machinery. There are other SS memoranda in these files which expressly state the Jews were to be ausgerottet — eradicated.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Mr Bartlett in a measured, patient voice. ‘And none of them were written by Mr Schwermann, were they?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘And there is not a shred of evidence that Mr Schwermann ever read them?’

  ‘Well, we don’t know. ‘

  ‘There is no suggestion that he used such language himself?’

  ‘Not as such, but it is an obvious inference that he—’

  ‘Doctor Vallon, we’ll leave the jury to do the inferring. Among this mass of documentation there is not a single sentence that demonstrates Mr Schwermann had explicit knowledge of extermination, is there?’

  ‘There isn’t a piece of paper that says so, no.

  ‘And there are lots of other pieces of paper that record very different terms to ausgerottet, terms that we know Mr Schwermann read and used.’

  Doctor Vallon had guessed the next direction of attack. He said, ‘Yes, and they’re all tarnung — camouflage.’

  Mr Bartlett opened a file. ‘Indeed,’ he said warmly ‘Perhaps now is the time to consider the innocence of language, whose ordinary use can so easily trap the unwary, even the likes of yourself. Please turn to File Nine, page three hundred and sixty-seven, and consider the words on the schedule.’

  A clerk brought the file to Doctor Vallon, who went on to agree that the German High Command were extraordinarily concerned about the vocabulary to be used when describing the process of deportation to Auschwitz. It was variously described as Evakuierung (evacuation), Umsiedlung (resettlement) and Abwanderung (emigration), or Verschickung zur Zwangsarbeit (sending away for forced labour) . Even the architects and engineers at Auschwitz referred to the gas chambers as Badeanstalte für Sonderaktionen (bathhouses for special actions) . Their memoranda recorded the phrase in quotation marks. And, of course, the entire apparatus of genocide was named die Endlösung (the Final Solution) .

  Mr Bartlett said, ‘The whole point of the exercise is to deceive the reader or listener, is it not? Someone somewhere is expected to believe the surface meaning?’

  ‘Yes, I accept that.’

  ‘There were three meetings held in Paris to plan the Vél d’Hiv round-up. Mr Schwermann attended two of them. The understanding was that those arrested would be deported “for labour service” — is that right?’

  ‘Yes — even though thousands of children would be taken.’

  ‘Phraseology that Mr Schwermann could reasonably have taken at face value?’ pressed Mr Bartlett.

  ‘I have already told you, he is one of the deceivers, not one of the deceived. He will have seen other documents that refer to extermination.’

  ‘Would he? Do you always read the notes of the meetings you miss or avoid?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I do.’

  ‘Do all your colleagues?’

  ‘No. No, they don’t, actually’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor Vallon.’

  Mr Bartlett promptly sat down.

  ‘That is enough for today,’ said Mr Justice Pollbrook with a weariness of having seen it all before.

  5

  Lucy went to Chiswick Mall and listened to the news with Agnes. There was a lengthy report on the evidence of Doctor Vallon. Agnes listened impassively while Lucy broke ice cubes in a saucer, feeding the melting fragments to her on a spoon. Agnes turned them over in her mouth like boiled sweets, her eyes glazed as one hearing a dull story on a wet afternoon.

  Time mocked the survivors, thought Lucy. Everyone who lasts long enough becomes an end point in history, and then they must listen to others pass judgment upon what they have not known. But even after all this time, could there be any serious doubt? Schwermann must have understood the circumlocutions of his masters, just as Pam had understood Freddie’s.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  1

  In the natural course of things, Father Andrew made many decisions, passed off as ‘suggestions’, that Anselm was unable to fathom. One such was the proposal that Anselm ‘might’ show Father Conroy the North Country on the way to finding Victor Brionne. To Anselm’s mind sightseeing did not blend with the task of confronting a fugitive collaborator. But the ‘suggestion’ had been made. There was some sense to the proposal: it transpired that Con was writing another book after all (only this time he intended to ignore its likely conde
mnation by Rome) . Frequent travel to the library at Heythrop College, London, and hours of drafting at Larkwood had worn him out. He needed a break.

  And so, on the day Lucy listened to the considered views of Doctor Pierre Vallon, the two men left Larkwood first thing after Lauds. With Conroy at the wheel they sped north, the skies getting wider and brighter, the horizon flatter and longer. Anselm’s mind opened like a plain and he saw scattered here and there, like totems, the outline of those who had recently crossed his path; and Conroy sang wonderfully mournful songs to himself about a betrayed woman and her abandoned child, a young father on a British prison ship and a ditty on violent child abuse. You had to cry; you had to laugh.

  Anselm turned his mind to the conversation with Father Chambray the night before, noting bitterly how apposite it was that the truth should finally have made its way out in a confessional. Father Pleyon, a monk of Les Moineaux, had betrayed The Round Table. Unforeseen executions had followed. And by an inexplicable, almost comic quirk of circumstance, Father Pleyon had become the new Prior. Why was it, thought Anselm, that chance so often assisted the wicked? Schwermann and Brionne had been handed a lifeline just when they might have been brought to justice: their accomplice had become the Prior and had lived long enough to secure their escape.

  But Father Chambray had pieced together some fragments. He had read the signs. He had told Rome and they had done nothing. And, in dismay, he had left his Priory and his church, a priest for ever in a wilderness without sacraments.

  ‘Con,’ said Anselm, ‘would you mind not singing for a moment?’

  ‘All right, so.’

  ‘Tell me again what Sticky Fingers told you.’ Anselm had already been told, but he wanted to place the little Conroy had found out in context now that he had spoken to Chambray

  Conroy pursed his lips, thinking. ‘The Vatican Secret Archive holds two reports from Les Moineaux, and both had been withdrawn by your man Renaldi in early April 1995.’