Chapter 23
Madame Soullant
When I despair, I remember that all through
history the way of truth and love
have always won.
- Mahatma Gandhi
“The Story of Marianne” video went viral on the Internet and generated a new flood of correspondence. Most contained stories of survivors or the stories survivors had told to their children or friends. A few helped fill in details here and there. The more information I gathered, the more I realized a serious publication would have to come from all of this investigation.
Various holocaust survivor groups donated funds to help build a memorial for Marianne at Natzweiler and to help reinter Antoine. I was going through some of the stories when a knock at the door to my hotel broke my concentration.
“Monsieur Hewitt? Special delivery,” M. Racine politely replied. I signed for the envelope and went back to my desk. I quickly opened the envelope. It contained a note and a train ticket from Caen to Paris for the following morning. The letter was polite and to the point.
Madame Soullant wishes the pleasure of your company at her residence in Paris Tuesday, April 6, at 1:00 PM. This matter will be of utmost interest to you. A car will be waiting at the train station in Paris for your convenience.
It was signed, Me. A. Lenoir. I had to ask at the front desk what the “Me” stood for, and the clerk replied “solicitor” - or attorney.
R
I boarded the morning train to Paris in the downtown station in Caen, and settled back for the two-hour ride. My curiosity was running high. Just what information would Madame Soullant have that would encourage her to send me the train tickets sight unseen?
As expected, a driver was waiting for me as I stepped off the train. We drove through the streets of downtown Paris a short distance, then disappeared in an underground private parking entrance. A few minutes later I was ushered through an elegant rooftop home to a beautiful garden, awash in the soft spring sunlight of Paris.
Tea was waiting as I arrived.
“Bonjour, M. Hewitt. I am so glad to have the opportunity to meet with you.”
Madame Soullant presented a gracious and well-mannered appearance. She was in her eighties, and obviously used to the finer aspects of life. She motioned for me to join her at the tea table. She offered me her hand, and I kissed it in the formal manner. I saw a tell tale tattoo of a red-orange comet on the inside of her wrist.
“Oh, my, you have been studying your French manners!” she exclaimed, displaying a playful nature I found wonderfully disarming.
“Please, sit and enjoy tea with me this afternoon.”
“Forgive me, madame, but I am curious about the tattoo. Is there a significance to the comet?”
“We are all foolish sometimes in our youth, monsieur,” and she smiled. Then she got straight to the point.
“I have read with a great deal of interest the stories in the newspapers about your so-called Juno Letters - I believe that is how they are called. I must congratulate you on unraveling such a mystery, and on documenting the stories of so many whose voices were left silent by the horror of the war. I myself have such a story you may find enlightening.”
“May I take notes, madame?” I carefully asked. I had found that many survivors of the Nazi horror would speak to me, but were reluctant to allow me to take notes as they spoke or record their conversations.
“Oh, but of course. You see, much like your elusive AriŽle, I was a young girl when the Nazis invaded France. I never knew what happened to my father. My mother was arrested by the French police and we were hauled off in the middle of the night. I was separated from my mother and never saw her again.
“I was sold to be servant and a concubine, and was moved to Paris. The German officer who bought me was a part of the northern defense control headquarters which were on the first floor of the chateau where I was imprisoned. The officer had a mistress. She was kind to me, and worked very hard to keep me away from the Colonel when he drank, which was often. As a result of her efforts, I survived the war still a maiden, a feat uncommon among the young girls taken by the French police for the Nazis.”
As I kept notes, I marveled at the lack of ambiguity in her descriptions. Most of the survivors I had documented had obscured much of the harshness of their treatment, using such benign words as “passing” and “housed” instead of murdered or imprisoned.
“Your recollections are especially vivid, madame. That is something I do not usually encounter.”
“I have had a lifetime to reconcile my feelings, monsieur. For years I refused to grieve for my mother or father. I would not give the Boche the victory of a single tear. Eventually I learned that to grieve for my lost family was a victory over my perpetrators for I have survived - and they have not.”
I could not help but admire this woman who had endured so much at such a young age, yet had triumphed over the terror. She continued her narrative.
“When the Allies invaded France, there was much frantic activity in the headquarters. The mistress of the house hid me away in a small anteroom in an office, and told me to stay very quiet, no matter what I heard. I lay very still, and in a few minutes I heard footsteps, then gunshots.
“I found out later that she was an informant in the resistance, spying on the headquarters unit, and passing information through the resistance to England. On that day, she hid me then opened a back door that was usually guarded - she had seduced the guard, and he was preoccupied elsewhere sleeping off a bottle of the colonel’s best commandeered cognac.
“Members of the resistance entered the headquarters through the abandoned back door and opened fire, killing the colonel and many others. They then fled out the back and into the streets of Paris.
“We fled the chateau, seeking refuge in a safe house. The drunken guard was shot in the chateau courtyard for his misconduct.”
She stopped and took a sip of tea, and chuckled slightly when she placed her cup down.
“Forgive me, for I know that God would disapprove of me showing amusement at another’s violent fate, but I could not help myself.”
I had to laugh at her obvious delight in telling of the guard’s execution. She composed herself and continued.
“We moved from house to house to hide from the police. We used assumed names and managed to avoid capture by the time the Americans and Free French liberated the city.
“After the war I stayed in Paris. I had the opportunity to attend a real school for the first time. A few years later, I met a beautiful young Frenchman who had a head for business, as you say in America. He built several successful businesses during the postwar period. We were married, and I became pregnant with the first of our three children. After my children were grown, I began to spend more time in his business offices and learned all I could about their operations.
“My love passed away thirty years ago, and I assumed control over his holdings. I found I had learned quite a lot more from him than I thought, and have been very successful in my own right.”
Her housekeeper came back to refill the tea cups, and she stopped to take a sip, then pushed an envelope across the tea table to me.
“I am most impressed by your efforts to raise the funds to re-inter your Antoine in a more fitting cemetery. Please accept this check for your organization. It should provide sufficient funds to guarantee a decent burial for your patriot.”
I was stunned by the unexpected offer, and stammered, “Thank you, madame. Your generosity is most appreciated.” I dared not look at the check.
“My motivations are not charitable, monsieur. On the contrary, they are quite personal. You see É”
She stopped to take a deep breath, her eyes starting to tear up slightly.
“My christened name was Bouchard.”
I looked at her in amazement, stunned, unable to speak for what seemed an eternity. I looked into her green eyes, and saw Marianne and Antoine smiling back at me. I drew back in my chair and whispered softly, “AriŽle.”
She smiled.
“As his daughter I will claim his grave and authorize his exhumation, monsieur. I have already made a contact in the government at the highest level to ensure you will have their cooperation.”
She handed me a second envelope.
“Inside you will find the contact information you will need to receive your authorization. The gentleman listed is expecting your call, and I can guarantee you will have his cooperation.”
I reached into my valise and pulled out the small gold cross. Mme Soullant let out a soft gasp as I extended my hand to her. She gently, reverently, took the cross in her hands.
“This was my father’s, and he wore it every day of his life. I used to play with it on his neck as a little girl.”
“Please accept this, with my gratitude.”
AriŽle smiled as a tear ran down her cheek. She reached forward and grasped my hands firmly.
“Thank you for finding my mother and father.”
R