Soudy described, rather incoherently, his disadvantaged childhood and adolescence. He defended individualism and illegalism, adding, “If I had been given a situation compatible with my tastes, I would not have been reduced to illegalism.” After contracting tuberculosis upon being released from prison, he told the court, he had turned to illegalism in order to survive. To the end, Soudy remained childlike, someone who could not say no when a comrade requested something of him, even if it led him to meet “La Veuve” (“The Widow”), the guillotine.20
When Monier dit Simentoff took the stand, the court president made a point of calling out the “bad company” he kept, in that one of his friends had been guillotined a week earlier in Vincennes. Monier replied, “It’s true! Not everyone can hang out with investigating magistrates.” He claimed that the telegram he had sent Dieudonné on February 28 (“This evening Mama’s health is very good”) referred to the fact that he had taken a train without a ticket and had arrived without any problem. That witnesses, including the wounded mechanic in the former attack, unanimously placed him at Montgeron and at Chantilly left Monier without much hope for an acquittal, despite his denials. In the end, he would admit only to having stayed with Antoine Gauzy before Bonnot arrived.21
Carouy, more effective than the others, vigorously denied being involved in any way in the murders in Thiais. He had been identified as being there by a woman to whom the police presented but one photo—Carouy’s—and he added that given his prominent nose, it was unthinkable that she had not made note of that. When asked why he had stopped working in Paris in July 1911, Carouy replied, reasonably enough, that as an anarchist, he could not find any work. Why had he gone under the name of Maury? It sounded more French than Carouy, he explained, and he had used it in an effort “to make myself more French. I love France very much!” This brought laughter to the solemn court.
Carouy’s lawyer insisted that Bertillon could be wrong in claiming that Carouy’s prints were on the armoire in the house in Thiais where the double murder had been committed; he reminded the court that Bertillon had been disqualified as a reliable witness during the Dreyfus Affair in 1894 because he had been unable to identify the bordereau (the sheet of paper containing detailed military secrets, the discovery of which had led to the Jewish captain’s arrest). The ever-more-famous Bertillon, who later testified, modestly admitted that the chance he could have misidentified the fingerprints was about “one in two billion.” Carouy had evoked the uncertainty of science, but not convincingly. At the end of his interrogation and testimony, Carouy seemed a beaten man.22
Metge, accused of involvement in the theft of the car used on rue Ordener, also denied participation in the savage murders of the two elderly people. He admitted to only one burglary, that in Pavillon-sous-Bois, and to giving thirteen hundred francs and some earrings to his Barbe Le Clerch. His explanation was that “a friend” had given him that amount. Who? He refused to say. He insisted that the weapons, burglary tools, and stolen tools found in the residence in Garches belonged to Valet.23
Antoine Gauzy claimed he knew nothing about the identity of his lodger, who had been sent his way by Monier dit Simentoff. Gauzy insisted that earlier that morning Bonnot had told him he was leaving, and that he did not know that Bonnot was still upstairs. Policeman Colmar, badly wounded by a bullet in the chest, contradicted Gauzy’s assertion, saying that a nervous gesture upon their arrival made Colmar sure in retrospect that Gauzy knew Bonnot was still there. Moreover, Gauzy had not attempted to aid the wounded policeman; instead, he had tried to flee. Inspector Robert firmly asserted that Gauzy was responsible for the death of Louis Jouin. Gauzy’s only break came during Xavier Guichard’s testimony, when Guichard was forced to admit that he had intimidated Nelly Gauzy, shouting, “You are young. You could be a whore! We will put your kids into an institution!”24
Before Léon Rodriguez was interrogated, the prosecution read out a long list of his previous brushes with the law. Rodriguez was indignant: “Excuse me, that’s not right. I have many more convictions than that!” At one point, he drew the laughter of the audience by saying that he was “in a state of inferiority here.”25
Once the prosecution had laid out its case, it was the defense’s turn. Relations between most of the defense lawyers and the accused then became almost cordial. On February 18 and 19, fourteen lawyers wrapped up the defense. For the most part, the defense lawyers spoke effectively and sometimes brilliantly. Dieudonné’s lawyer defended him with eloquence and passion, warning jurors to beware of public opinion: “Get rid of it, this prostitute who pulls the judge by his sleeve!”26
During breaks in the trial—which Soudy dubbed the “entr’actes”—the accused were grouped together in two small, adjoining rooms. Callemin had not changed—he gave little sermons and criticized the other defendants for things they had said during questioning. As the trial approached its end, Raymond la Science became “sentimental and lyrical,” remarking that “for a woman” he would cease to be “scientific.” He added, “It’s sad at my age to be reduced to marrying ‘the Widow’”—the guillotine. When given the chance to speak during the summation, he spoke vaguely, unconvincingly, finally saying, “I am not an orator. Indeed I have sort of lost my train of thought.”
Care had been taken to keep Rirette and Victor apart, but they exchanged letters when they could. Victor sent a message to Rirette: “I ask you on behalf of both us to resign yourself in advance to the worst outcome… and we know that whatever the outcome is we will find each other again one day.”27
On February 18, Attorney General Fabre boomed out his closing speech for the prosecution. He presented anarchism as the “vague appearance of a social and philosophical system,” behind which was “an association having no other goal but theft and murder.” The goal of all anarchists, Fabre argued, was to destroy society. The accused were proud of their crimes. The time had come to reassure the public with judicial condemnations. He told the jury, “You have before you vulgar criminals, but of an audacity and entitlement without precedent, and with a criminal organization without equal.” The next day, Fabre asked the death penalty for Callemin, Soudy, and Monier for the murders at Montgeron and Chantilly; for Carouy and Metge for the murders in Thiais; and for Dieudonné for having shot Caby. For most of the other accused, the prosecution demanded lesser but still harsh penalties, as prescribed by existing laws, including prison sentences and labor camps for life for those with prior convictions. Fabre insisted that “any indulgence toward such guilty people would neither be justified nor understood.” At the same time, he insisted that Gauzy was more than an accomplice in Jouin’s tragic death and that he knew perfectly well whom he was lodging in the rooms above his store. Perhaps because a municipal councilman from Ivry-sur-Seine and a deputy from the Gard testified to his integrity, the prosecution proposed extenuating circumstances for Antoine Gauzy.28
Following Fabre’s summation, the defense lawyers did what they could. The defense for Monier dit Simentoff and Soudy suggested that the witnesses had been influenced by photos of the two accused that had appeared in Parisian newspapers. Gauzy’s lawyer admitted that his client had lodged the anarchist Bonnot, but that he had done so because for him anarchism was a “generous” ideology and comrades were always welcome. He could have had no idea about the man staying above his garage. Carouy’s defender noted his client’s simple tastes, his love of nature, and his association of anarchism as an ideology for poor people such as himself. He had not been at Montgeron, place du Havre, nor Chantilly. Soudy’s defender again insisted that Soudy had not killed anyone and evoked his burden of tuberculosis, then an incurable disease.29
The jury began deliberating at three in the afternoon on February 25. They had 383 questions to consider, and they spent the rest of the day determining the fate of the accused. The twenty men and women waited nervously in their tiny cells. A nun brought Rirette tea with a little rum in it to help ease her nerves. At about eleven in the evening, the defendants w
ere brought into a large room and informed that the verdict would be delivered at about dawn. They waited among the strewn debris from the meal of the fifty municipal guards until five in the morning, their every movement closely observed. They talked in loud voices about nothing in particular. Waiting to be led into the courtroom to hear their fate at four in the morning, Callemin boasted: “I will die when I want to!”30
A guard suddenly summoned Madame Maîtrejean. Rirette blew a kiss to Victor, and then was led into a corridor. There she found Marie la Belge Vuillemin, Barbe Le Clerche, and Léon Rodriguez, who at five in the morning had been taken away from where the defendants were awaiting their fate. Rirette knew immediately that she had not been found guilty and that she and the other three would be released. Rodriguez had benefited from having provided useful information to the police.31
Raymond la Science was condemned to death for his role in the crimes of rue Ordener, place du Havre, Montgeron, and Chantilly. The jury found André Soudy guilty of being “l’homme à carabine” in Chantilly as well as being involved at Montgeron, and Monier was found guilty of the same crimes. Both were also condemned to death. And so was Eugène Dieudonné, who clearly had been misidentified by witnesses on the rue Ordener. When Dieudonné’s sentence was read, Callemin shouted violently, “Dieudonné is innocent, I was the one who fired!” He later wrote the prosecutor to insist again that it was Garnier who shot Ernest Caby on rue Ordener, adding that Monier was innocent of the robbery and murder in Chantilly. Édouard Carouy and Metge were condemned to life sentences of hard labor for their participation in the murder in Thiais, yet the absence of a death sentence revealed some doubt as to the conclusions of Bertillon. Victor despaired for Carouy, whom he believed innocent of the atrocious killings, suspecting an unidentified third man wearing gloves as having strangled one of the victims. Upon hearing the sentence, Carouy muttered, “Prison for life? Death is better!” Jean de Boe was sentenced to ten years of hard labor for having gone with the bandits to the Netherlands to try to unload the securities, Bélonie to six years in prison, Dettweiller four years, and Gauzy eighteen months. The fact that Gauzy had already spent ten months in jail may have played a role in Fabre’s decision to be somewhat lenient in the sentencing. Improbably, Victor Kibaltchiche was convicted of the murder of Louis Jouin, but with “attenuating circumstances.” He was sentenced to five years in prison, in part because he had refused to testify against the others on trial.32
Following the reading of the sentences, “the cold in the courtroom engulfed everybody.” The condemned men were led from the court, stopping at the sign from an official, who asked, “To what have you been condemned?” “To death” came several replies. Guards inventoried their possessions. Policemen escorted them in a wagon for the final ride across Paris for those condemned to death. At La Santé prison, they were stripped down to make sure they had no poison with them: “You are to die at the guillotine, and not in another way,” they were told.33
Victor resolved to survive. He found himself next to Raymond, and, probably because of his resolution a few seconds earlier, murmured, “You live and learn.” Callemin had not long to live, and Victor immediately regretted his words. Raymond replied, laughing, “That’s exactly right. Living is just the problem!” “Forgive me!” Victor replied. Raymond shrugged, “Of course! My mind’s set.”34 That evening Victor wrote a note to Rirette, expressing joy that she would be free and promising to return: “Retain for me the affection of Chinette. Profit from sunshine, flowers, good books, all that we love together.” And, he begged her, “Never, never return to that milieu.”
Later that evening, Victor heard sounds of monstrous breathing from the adjacent cell. Carouy had swallowed cyanide that he had hidden in the heel of a shoe. He died in agony. Carouy left a letter to his lawyer. He had relived, all through the night, “my entire little life.” He had had little joy, little happiness. To be sure, he had made some errors along the way. But “all my dreams of happiness collapsed at the moment I believed that they could become reality. This is why, not having known the joys of life, I am leaving this kingdom of atoms without regrets.” And as for the fingerprints found on the armoire in Thiais, he wrote, “Oh, Science! You have hit me with a dirty blow.”35
Most of the leading Parisian newspapers proclaimed their pleasure at the death sentences, and also of the sentence given to Victor Kibaltchiche. Yet La Bataille syndicaliste, for one, wrote optimisitically, “It is impossible that a pardon will not be given.”36 It never came.
L’Anarchie reflected on “the bloody verdict.” It lamented that neither the judge nor the jurors had managed to find pity for the accused, even though Callemin had, without question, killed. The anarchist newspaper saluted Carouy’s disdain for those judging him and Callemin’s “noble gestures” in the face of “the mighty bourgeoisie who believed they could humiliate and devastate all anarchists in striking this man.” Of Soudy they wrote, “His sarcastic defiance demonstrates his proud contempt for those who condemned him.” Yet in an editorial on April 24, Lorulot asked rhetorically if the newspaper had some indirect responsibility for what had transpired—not because it had preached illegalism, but rather “in calling for struggle, for revolt.”37
For their part, the major anarchist associations limited their energies to defending Gauzy, among others, who had been convicted of having lodged illegalists on the run. A Committee for the Defense of the Right to Asylum went to work. Gauzy emerged for anarchists as a hero of the “right to asylum,” despite the fact that he had lodged a murderer, whose identity he may well have known.38
Chapter 20
THE WIDOW (LA VEUVE)
In the prison of La Santé, those convicted in the trial, including the four who were to be executed, seemed generally in good humor. As during their trial, they remained for the most part reserved, demonstrating the same sangfroid with which they accomplished their acts. The prisoners impressed their guards with their attention to being clean, reflecting their obsession with hygiene and diet. It could be very cold in their cells, but they continued to wear only shirts and leave them unbuttoned, to spite the chill.1
None of the prisoners expressed any resentment of the investigating magistrate, the trial judge, or the jury, using expressions like “un brave homme.” It had been war between them and society. Society had won, and that was that. The perhaps understandable targets of their hatred were the informers who made a profession out of reporting to the police.
Émile Michon, a psychologist, was granted frequent access to the prisoners; he wanted to understand them, see what they had in common, and write a book about them. He found them intelligent and articulate. They spoke calmly and philosophically, despite having absolutely no illusions about their future. They were not afraid, and they took bad news with indifference. Michon contended that the only way to get them out of that calm was to contradict them. During a visit, one of them became angry, pounding his fist on the table and denouncing bourgeois society, pacing like a caged animal, his hand ready to grasp an imaginary Browning. It was an old song.2
One of the prisoners insisted to Michon that he had never liked carrying out burglaries and had never killed. He had used his pistol only once, to knock down with a blow to the head a “bonhomme” in their way. But he would have used the weapon to shoot to kill if he had been surrounded and on the verge of capture.3
Yet another of the bandits told Michon, “We settled an old debt with Society. No hesitation.… If one day we are on the point of being captured, well, they won’t take us alive and we will make them pay very dearly for our skin!”4 For his part, Victor had his own sense of how members of the Bonnot Gang were dealing with their fates: “When they knew that they were lost, they decided to get themselves killed, not accepting prison. ‘Life is not worth that!’” One prisoner—insisting that he never went out without his Browning—told Michon, “‘Six bullets for the guard-dogs, the seventh for me.’ You know, I am at ease. It’s difficult, to be light-hearted. The doctrin
e of salvation which is inside of us led us, in the social jungle, to the battle of one against everyone else.”5
On the last days of his young life, Raymond Callemin tried to win guards over to anarchism. He alone did not sign a request for a pardon and remained insolent to the end. Raymond la Science offered no regrets for what he had done. In his cell he wrote a piece he titled “My Memoirs: Why I burgled. Why I killed.” Like Bonnot, he proclaimed that everyone is born with “the right to live,” which stems from nature. He asked why on this earth there were people who managed to have all the rights. No one has the right to impose “his will under any pretext.” Why could he not eat grapes or apples found on the property of M. X.? He had the right “to take them according to his needs.” He asked why “this minority who possess so much is stronger than the majority who are dispossessed?” The majority of people were “ignorant and without energy. … These people are too cowardly to revolt.” It was “for all these reasons that I revolted.” Raymond wanted to live, but not in the kind of society in which he had suffered.6
He said of Ernest Caby, “Even wounded, this courier of funds maintained his sense of duty to defend the money of his bosses.” Callemin insisted that he and his friends were not any more bloodthirsty than “the financiers who often drive their clients to misery and suicide.”7
Soudy seemed more or less indifferent to his fate. He told a guard that during the trial he had hidden some prussic acid, which could kill someone in two seconds, and that he had kept it when he heard the sentence. On April 5, he wrote Rirette:
Rirette, do you remember,
Buttes-Chaumont,
The park in the sunshine, the suspended bridge,
The very shallow lake,
Ballad of the Anarchist Bandits Page 23
