by Rebecca West
He turned and went back into the garden, and called out to the cabman who was unstrapping the bigger suitcase, ‘No, wait a minute.’ He was not sure whether he would ever take Ivy into this house. He thought not. There was a nice big villa opposite the station which called itself a Private Hotel, and they could stay there till he had settled up everything. There was a nice big garden where Ivy could sit. He suspected her of needing sun and fresh air as much as he did. He went to meet her as she came through the gate, took some of her packages, and began to lead her about the garden. ‘Here’s where a big clump of snowdrops comes up every spring,’ he said, and was touched to see that though nothing could be less interesting, she was interested for his sake. Abruptly he asked her if she would mind very much if they gave up being mediums, if they sold this house and went to somewhere like Swanage and kept a shop; and because he saw in her eyes the look of a trapped creature that feels at last kind fingers loosening the spring on its leg, he looked away and squeezed her arm and said, ‘That’s what we’ll do, then.’ Then his eyes went back to the patch of earth where the snowdrops came, and he said irrelevantly, ‘Poor Momma, poor Momma.’ He hardly knew why he said it, he was only filling in time while he wondered whether he would or would not tell her about the two pale blue envelopes, both readdressed, that he had found lying side by side on the hall table. But it did not matter, it would be all right anyway.
Madame Sara’s Magic Crystal
This savagely satirical short story lampoons the Allies’ attitude towards Yugoslavia and its factions during the Second World War, as Rebecca West perceived it. It was found in manuscript and typescript form in a file marked ‘Unpublished’. The reason for this is to be found, Diana Stainforth writes, ‘in Rebecca West’s diary/memorandum of 1942/44, where she says, concerning a visit to Buckingham Palace, “There I met Sir Orme Sargent, Assistant Under-Secretary of State for the Foreign Office, whom I had last seen when I lunched with him at the Ritz. He had persuaded me that the recognition of Marshall Tito was made by reason of our military necessities, and for no other reason. I had sent him ‘Marshal Pierrot’ (the alternative title), a parody of our press comments on Tito, which imagined the emergence of such a Communist puppet in France, and had informed him I was not publishing it, thus giving guarantee of my willingness to sacrifice myself to the needs of the country”.’
Marshal Pierrot
In the North of London a wedge-shaped block of flats balances on the top of an Express dairy which is situated between a cemetery and a reservoir much used by sea-gulls in time of storm. In the topmost of the flats Madame Sara, clad in a long robe of clairvoyants’ purple, is to be found sitting among that rickety kind of bamboo furniture which is so often found on the frontier between the worlds. She is much the least authentic crystal-reader I have ever discovered in a lifelong search for the psychically gifted, but I frequent her society less for the sake of her revelations of the future than for the beautiful example she affords of fidelity in love. At the turn of the century she had a love affair with a journalist, which she now dismisses lightly by remarking how bad and mad and sad it was, but oh! how it was sweet. All the same she never sees anything in her crystal except newspaper-cuttings. An occasional private letter may creep in, but very rarely. I consider that after forty-three years that is a feather to stick in Fleet Street’s cap.
Usually I get little entertainment from her crystal-reading. I can wait till next Sunday to read the cookery column from The Sunday Pictorial, which is the kind of thing her unconscious digs up from the future. But the other day I got something from her which interested me. I don’t, mind you, believe a word of it. It is plainly impossible that we should ever betray a number of French generals, and that we should ever impose on France first an unauthorized Commander-in-Chief and then a puppet Government. Yet, somehow, the whole thing seems to remind me of something. But I will let my readers judge for themselves.
(From the Daily News-Lamentations, 15 May 1944)
The present struggle will probably be known to historians as the Half-hearted War. It is unfortunate that the inertia which has always characterized the Prime Minister seems from the very outset to have left its mark on the enterprise, which is supremely important because it practically marks our first entrance into the fighting arena – of the Second Front. We start this enterprise with a black mark against us, in view of our inexplicable tardiness in embarking on it. Readers will remember that it is more than a year since a Gallup Poll of children under eight showed that seventy-five per cent of little boys of that age and seventy-two per cent of little girls could understand that to reach the Continent, it was only necessary to cross the Channel.
It must now be admitted that, though the invasion has now started, we are doing little to lift that black mark from our name. No detached observer can doubt that the Second Front is being grossly mishandled. For what reason it is hard to understand, there have been heavy casualties; and the failure to establish complete social order in the invaded areas, even after as long a period as three weeks has elapsed since the first landings, can only be ascribed to widespread Fascist sympathies in our military and administrative units. Progressive opinion must keep a vigilant eye on the course of events, and must remember that if we want an early victory against Fascism we must always be ready to blame without reserve every person who is holding any position of responsibility whatsoever, and outside that field of certainty must be ready to suspect everything, of whatever nature. The one source of satisfaction in an otherwise gloomy landscape is the emergence in France of what seems to be likely to be a real popular leader, in the person of Marshal Pierrot. His partisan troops have apparently done valiant work all over France, which it may be hoped will act as an inspiration to the British and French regular armies. His firm and manly proclamations, which declare that he and his men, who number about a hundred thousand alone, can claim to represent France, strike a sound democratic note.
(From any newspaper, Madame Sara couldn’t say which. 17 May 1944)
As well as the communiqués issued from the British and French military headquarters, there has been a bulletin issued by Marshal Pierrot. He states that his men have had brushes with the enemy at Tours, Orléans, Bourges, Clermont-Ferrand, and many other points in Central France. A bridge near St Etienne has been destroyed, and the Paris-Lyons railway has been blown up at several points.
(From the report of a correspondent attached to French Military Headquarters, published in any newspaper, 19 May 1944)
… Towards dusk a painful incident occurred. Some of the troops returning from the engagement I have just described made contact with certain French guerillas, believed to be followers of the so-called Marshal Pierrot. The regular troops hailed them as friends, but the guerillas opened fire and killed and wounded many of them.
(Again from any newspaper, 15 June 1944)
Marshal Pierrot’s Radio Station today broadcast yet another attack on the French Regular Armies now fighting on the Second Front. He declares that his partisans frequently find themselves attacked by German and French regulars acting in concert, and that they have found many documents proving that certain French Generals have signed pacts with various German commanders, promising them immunity from aggressive action, provided that they themselves are left free to hunt down Marshal Pierrot and his men.
(From the Daily Toiler, 17 June 1944)
We are able to give the text of an agreement between General de Chose, commander of the French armies in the Loire district, and General von Ding, commander of the German armies in the same area. This shameful document was apparently signed the day after General de Chose and his gang of traitors had landed on the shores of France in barges made by the blood and sweat of British working-men. It provides that General de Chose should hand over to the Germans twenty tanks, thirty Bren guns, a number of Wellington boots, and four thousand hand grenades, on condition that they permitted him to pass freely about the countryside to harass Marshal Pierrot and his men.
(From ‘Simon’s Diary’ in The New Simpleton, 30 June 1944)
I must own that I was very favourably impressed by the three French soldiers who arrived here last week in order to acquaint British public opinion with the treachery of the French generals. Unfortunately I speak no French, and they speak no English, but what they said was translated by interpreters whose impartiality was guaranteed by their membership of the Union of Democratic Control. But in any case the quiet, unassuming manner of the three soldiers spoke for itself. I do not know why some people have been doubtful of these men because they happen to have arrived in London via Sweden. They are obviously of peasant stock, and peasants very easily lose their way when travelling. It also seems to me quite unimportant that when they first arrived in London they went to Free French headquarters, expressed themselves as anxious to rejoin the French army in France, and accepted the usual allowances, returning only after a lapse of some days to say they had made a mistake and that all the French generals were traitors. This again seems to me a very natural error for peasants to make.
Certainly, I found their story of what they had seen going on in France quite plain-sailing and convincing, though sad enough in all conscience. According to them, the French Generals always greeted each other with ‘Heil, Hitler!’ ‘A bas les ouvriers!’ ‘Merde les pauvres!’ ‘Passez muscade!’ and other recognized Fascist salutes. They made no effort to fight the Germans, and constantly entertained the German higher command to extravagant lunches and dinners. They frequently shot large numbers of their own soldiers who were reported to have democratic sympathies, and regularly went out every evening to ambush Marshal Pierrot’s men, whom they brought home and tortured with utmost barbarity. All this seems very credible.
(From the Sunday Tory, 30 July 1944)
Reports from the British Military Mission attached to the headquarters of Marshal Pierrot which, under the leadership of Brigadier Prendergast Macwhirter, MP, and Major Thomas J. Smith, DCM, are very encouraging. They suggest that in Marshal Pierrot we at last have a French leader in whom we can feel full confidence as a representative of his people, and with whom we will at last find Anglo-French collaboration a happy and easy task. He is a typical Frenchman. Born in Alsace in 1892, he fled to another country in 1914, and remained abroad until 1928 when he entered France. There he has since led an active life as a strike-leader, often acting in opposition to the orthodox Trade Unionists. He freely opposed the present war in its earlier stages, speaking eloquently at many meetings held to discourage the workers from participating in an imperialistic struggle, but after June 1941 he revised his opinion of how to serve the real interest of France, and ever since has been the life and soul of all that was significant in French resistance.
This interesting career has made a truly magnetic personality. He is strongly built, with penetrating eyes and a firm chin, and his manner is at once simple and commanding. He is adored by his men, being stern but just. He rides on a white horse and is said sometimes to walk on the water.
(From any newspaper, 4 August 1944)
Toronto: The mystery of Thomas J. Smith, the Canadian Major fighting with Pierrot’s patriots, is today dispelled. A distinguished veteran of World War No.I, he has spent the time between the wars operating in the insurance business in Toronto.
In February of last year he was transferred suddenly to the Army with rank of Major.
Back here in his home town Mrs Thomas J. Smith insists that her husband, DCM, underground fighter, infuriator of the Germans, is fundamentally a little boy and all this is part of a game of cowboys-and-Indians.
(Telegram sent to the Rt Hon. Anthony Eden by Denis Saurat, Professor of French Language and Literature in the University of London, Directeur de l’Institut Français du Royaume Uni. 15 October 1944)
ON BEHALF OF VAST MAJORITY OF FRENCHMEN IN ENGLAND WISH TO RECORD HORROR AND DISTRESS FELT BY YOUR ANNOUNCEMENT MADE THIS AFTERNOON IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS THAT THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT HAS RECOGNIZED MARSHAL PIERROT AS LEADER OF FRENCH MILITARY RESISTANCE AGAINST THE GERMANS STOP WE ARE UNABLE TO UNDERSTAND WHY THE FUTURE OF OUR GREAT COUNTRY SHOULD BE DECIDED BY REPORTS DRAWN UP BY YOUNG ENGLISHMAN WHO SPEAKS RUSSIAN FLUENTLY AND WEARS KILT AND BY CANADIAN INSURANCE AGENT HOWEVER COURAGEOUS THEY MAY BE AND FIND IT DIFFICULT TO BELIEVE THAT THE CABINET CAN BE SERIOUS IN CLAIMING THAT SO MOMENTOUS A CHANGE OF POLICY HAS BEEN DETERMINED SOLELY ON THE ADVICE OF THESE TWO AGENTS STOP WE BEG YOU TO REMEMBER THE FREE FRENCHMEN WHO IN THE DARKEST DAYS OF 1940 DID NOT ABANDON THE STRUGGLE AGAINST THE NAZIS AND WERE PROUD TO STAND SHOULDER BY SHOULDER WITH THE BRITISH.
DENIS SAURAT.
(From the Daily Barometer, 24 October 1944)
… and those of us who respect Professor Saurat for his well-known History of Religion and his scholarly studies of the works of Milton will hope that in future he will realize that a cobbler should stick to his last. Meanwhile Marshal Pierrot is showing himself a figure well fitted to promote friendship abroad and unity at home. Scenes of enthusiasm are reported in all those parts of France where he has appeared on his white horse. I hear that he is introducing many reforms into his country which have been long overdue. There were till recently a surprising number of illiterates in France. All those in the area controlled by Marshal Pierrot have been taught to read and write during the fourteen months during which Marshal Pierrot has been in power. Indeed, he has visited many of the schools where these illiterates have been taught, and has personally given them their lessons. On these occasions, of course, he leaves his horse outside.
(From a newsletter called Seven Days, 27 October 1944)
Those who know smiled when they read of the basinful of scurrilous abuse of Marshal Pierrot which Professor Saurat emptied over Mr Eden last week. The explanation lies in the private interests of the Professor. He is a director of the French Institut, an organization which made itself notorious a few years ago by a function it held to inaugurate its new premises. The Princess Royal, the President of the French Republic, several peers, and many other notabilities of the same kidney sat on the platform, many of the women in the audience wore furs, and a large proportion of the audience arrived or left in motor cars and taxis; and there was a general feeling that there was something behind the party which left none too good a taste in the mouth. But the really amusing thing about the Professor is that when he took the trouble to write A History of Religion it was not for nothing. It was to get a reputation for superiority to worldly interests, which he badly needs. For as all his friends say, ‘he has given his whole life to Milton’. In other words he owns a controlling interest in Milton, the well-known disinfectant, and thinks of it first, last, and all the time. Hence, the famous telegram of last week. For nobody knows better than the Professor how urgently ‘Milton’ needs new continental markets, and he knows well enough that Marshal Pierrot will put an end to that kind of filthy exploitation.
(From a letter written by a Frenchman early in November 1944)
At last we have fuller details of the incident about which you had heard.
There is a pitiable mistake into which responsible people here are being pushed by someone unknown whose interest seems to be to rob the British of the immense moral prestige with which, after such a war, they could have renovated Europe. No nation, however great, can live on broken pledges. And the present mistake in the British policy is transcribed down there with the blood of the elite that has been and is and was bound to be the natural ally of Great Britain’s civilizing mission. These letters are so difficult to efface in history.
May I tell you that, in consequence of this mistake, we, the French, oppressed and starved by the Germans through so many years, have seen six thousand four hundred of our elite still left alive savagely massacred by so-called partisans in the second week of September, 1944. It was in the district of Lyons. There were eight thousand of them, amongst them twenty-eight seminarists, scores of students, the best boys of our peasant stock, who left their homes and went into the woods to wait for the Allies.
The Free French representative with a War-Council of regular officers was with them. The Allies did not come. But Marshal Pierrot’s partisans came, accompanied by Italian soldiers from the North of Italy, and armed with Italian guns, and massacred them down to 1500, who escaped into the Cévennes. That happened when there was not a single shot fired at the Germans, at a time when the BBC was saying that ‘Marshal Pierrot is mopping up the last pockets of enemy resistance’. It was with the applause of the BBC that men made mad by fanaticism killed the flower of the youth of our dying people. Such tragedies cannot be forgotten. Imagine the confusion of our people. They did not think that Great Britain and America would make it a condition of helping them that they would submit to a form of government to which Great Britain and America themselves do not submit.
I thought up to the present that this mistake was only a special form of tactics. I thought that Pierrot was only a tactical stroke in circumstances which impose a consideration of Pierrot’s political friends. But we have collected sufficient proof now that Pierrot is not tactics but a well-determined policy of the Conservatives over here. And now my mind is blank when I look at the future.
(A drift of these passed across the crystal)
M. et Mme Louis Delaye, Miles Yvonne et Thérèse Delaye, M. et Mme Delaugerre née Delaye, M. et Mme Stephane Négre née Delaye et leurs enfants, et M. et Mme Eustachy et leurs enfants, font part du décès de M. Robert Delaye, leur fils, frère, neveu, et cousin, survenu accidentellement à l’age de 17 ans. On ne reçoit pas.
(Extract from ‘Simon’s Diary’ in The New Simpleton, 30 December 1944)
The long and sorry tale of the French Generals has not yet come to an end. I hear these encumberers of the earth are still skulking with a remnant of their troops in the valleys of Auvergne, obstinately refusing to surrender to Marshal Pierrot and pay the just penalty for their collaboration with the Nazis. It shows how half-hearted our Government is in its democratic sympathies that no punitive expedition has been sent to wind up this intolerable situation. I think, by the way, there is a great deal of veiled Fascist propaganda in the criticism of Marshal Pierrot’s Government. I do not see that it is any matter for regret that it contains no well-known names. Such a vigorous leader as Marshal Pierrot can easily find new blood. I think too much has been made of the circumstance that an important Ministerial post is filled by the former crossword puzzle editor of the newspaper Mensonges de Paris. We English progressives are far too apt to have a soberside contempt for the recreational side of life. And it is certainly most unfair to reproach Marshal Pierrot for his inclusion of certain Ministers who collaborated with the Nazis during the period of occupation. Surely we fought the war in order that we might have the opportunity to make such gestures. The restoration of France by this great man is a great encouragement; and we can turn with lighter hearts to the international task of which I think all right-minded people have become more and more conscious as our special moral obligation. I mean the creation of some sort of Borstal system for the treatment of all our allies except, of course, Russia and America. They must be purged, and purged soundly, for their reluctance to accept social revolution; and our own humiliating failure to produce social revolution, which is entirely due to the refusal of the governing classes to allow the most able of the population to take control of the community, at least leaves us free to administer this purgation. I think we may look forward to 1945 as a happy and busy year.
