Jean Moulin, 1899-1943: The French Resistance and the Republic

Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 The French Resistance and the Republic Alan Clinton Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 Jean Moulin, 1899...

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Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 The French Resistance and the Republic

Alan Clinton

Jean Moulin, 1899–1943

Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 The French Resistance and the Republic Alan Clinton

© Alan Clinton 2002 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London W1T 4LP. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The author has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2002 by PALGRAVE Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS and 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010 Companies and representatives throughout the world PALGRAVE is the new global academic imprint of St. Martin’s Press LLC Scholarly and Reference Division and Palgrave Publishers Ltd (formerly Macmillan Press Ltd). ISBN 0–333–76486–2 This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Clinton, Alan. Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 : the French Resistance and the Republic / Alan Clinton. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0–333–76486–2 1. Moulin, Jean, 1899–1943. 2. World War, 1939–1945 – Underground movements – France – Biography. 3. Statesmen – France – Biography. I. Title. DC373.M67 C55 2001 944.081¢6¢092 – dc21 [B] 2001036403 10 11

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8 7 6 5 4 3 2 09 08 07 06 05 04 03

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham, Wiltshire

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Contents List of Plates

viii

Preface

ix

A Note Added in Proof

xii

List of Abbreviations

xiii

1

The Resistance in the Pantheon

2

A Republican Upbringing, 1899–1919

10

3

A Jacobin in the Prefectures, 1919–34 Left and right in inter-war France Administration and politics after the war, 1919–21 Prefects in France – their role and history The ladder of preferment, 1920–5 Marriage and divorce, 1926–8 The youngest sub-prefect: Albertville, November 1925–January 1930 A sub-prefect in Brittany and Paris, February 1930– June 1933 Thonon, and Paris, June 1933–June 1934

19 19 21 22 23 24

Fascism and Anti-Fascism, 1934–6 The 6th of February After the storm, February–July 1934 Secretary-general of the Somme, Amiens, July 1934–June 1936

39 39 43

The Popular Front, 1936–8 Pacifism and war in France in the 1930s The Popular Front – class conflict and the exercise of power Moulin and the Spanish War The Air Ministry and French rearmament, 1936–40 Aviation populaire – flying for all The end of the Popular Front, 1937–8

49 50

4

5

v

1

27 30 36

45

51 53 57 59 61

vi

6

Contents

The Youngest Prefect, 1938–9 The prefect of Aveyron, April 1938–January 1939 A prefect at Chartres in the shadow of war, February 1939–June 1940

64 65

7

War and the First Resistance, 1939–40 Living through the phoney war The fall of France, 10 May–22 June 1940 The invasion seen from Chartres, 10 May–14 June Confronting the invaders, 15–18 June 1940 A prefect under occupation, June–November 1940

76 77 81 82 86 92

8

From Resister to Resistance, 1940–1 ‘Doing something’, September 1940–October 1941 The French resistance in the autumn of 1941 The ‘Free French’ before October 1941 Jean Moulin in England, 20 October–31 December 1941 The impact and mission of Monsieur Mercier

100 101 106 109 113 121

9

Mission Rex, 1942–3 Falling to earth, 2 January 1942 Meeting the resisters Creating the institutions of resistance Broadening the base, April–August 1942 ‘Operation Torch’ and its consequences War and resistance after 11 November 1942

123 125 126 131 135 144 147

The National Resistance Council, May 1943 Politics and resistance, December 1942–February 1943 Moulin in London, 14 February–20 March 1943 Compulsory labour and the maquis, 1942–3 Moulin versus Brossolette – a battle for the soul of the resistance The final steps to unity, March–May 1943 The day of the CNR, 27 May 1943 After 27 May

151 151 158 161

The Tragedy of Caluire – and After The road to Caluire 21 June 1943 Calvary The resistance after Moulin A world that might have been, 1944–79?

177 178 182 184 186 189

10

11

69

163 168 173 175

Contents vii

12

A Contested Legacy, 1943–2000 One martyr amongst many, 1943–58 Moulin as republican icon, 1958–64: Socialist or Gaullist? From resistance leader to national icon, 1963–99 Frenay against Moulin – and Daniel Cordier Klaus Barbie, Jacques Vergès and the ‘betrayals’ of the resistance Communist ‘conspiracy’ and the ‘great recruitment’, 1988–93 The ‘Vichy syndrome’ and Moulin after sixty years

192 193 196 198 199 203 204 208

Notes

213

Bibliography

237

Index

255

List of Plates 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Photograph of Jean Moulin, taken by Marcel Bernard, probably in January 1940 Moulin’s father, Antoine (known as ‘Antonin’) Moulin (1857–1938) Moulin’s mother, Blanche Pègue (1867–1947) Moulin at the age of 9 at Béziers Moulin in his uniform as a member of the French army (April 1918) Moulin at Valras-plage (1920) Moulin with a group of fellow students at Montpellier University (1920) Moulin and Pierre Cot at Megève (1935) Café life in Montmartre in the 1930s – a sketch by Romanin (alias Jean Moulin) A sketch representing unemployment and hunger during the Depression years – by ‘Romanin’ Studio portrait of Moulin (1938) Moulin’s identity card (September 1939) Moulin with his sister Laure in 1939 Moulin with Colonel von Gütlingen, 27 September 1940 The verdict at René Hardy’s acquittal (8 May 1950) Pierre de Bénouville defending Hardy at the second trial in 1950 The oration of André Malraux, de Gaulle’s Minister of Culture, on 19 December 1964, outside the Panthéon before the transfer of Moulin’s ashes

All photographs courtesy of Keystone/Corbis/Sygma.

viii

Preface This book aims to provide a full account in English of the life of Jean Moulin, republican prefect and martyr of the French resistance. I have been convinced of the need for such a work by the great interest, in the English-speaking world, in the French resistance, and the enormous literature in France which is little known beyond its borders. No individual life is easily summarised, and there are special difficulties in constructing the biography of someone who has assumed the status of a secular saint. This was a life and death that has provoked myth-making and controversy, but there is also a necessary story to tell. I have attempted to explain Moulin’s background and motivation, and to set out his activities before and during the resistance as clearly and coherently as possible. I am less interested in Moulin’s private life than in his public and resistance activities, which I have tried to place in their ideological and political context. This has made it necessary to devote some attention to the history of his reputation, and at times to refer to the more outlandish of the theories about his political attitudes, even where serious scholars have refuted them. I have sketched the pre-history and origins of the resistance, and have generally looked at the ‘high politics’ of the resistance in which Moulin was involved, rather than to the day-to-day actions of thousands of militants. I have tried to produce a comprehensive account incorporating the main secondary sources, which have rarely been summarised in this way, even in French. I am grateful to the British Library for providing most of these, and to the Bodleian Library in Oxford and the library of the Institut Français in London for providing more, as well as for the useful reference and periodical materials in the Institute of Historical Research. There are many printed sources and numerous secondary works, including several biographies, some hagiographic, others highly tendentious, on which it is possible to base a straightforward narrative. In addition to these publications, I have also made use of primary sources of various kinds. It may seem surprising that a study of resistance can be based on public archives, but I have found much of value in a number of major collections. This has included documents from Moulin’s life collected by his sister and deposited in the Bibliothèque Nationale de France as the Fonds Laure Moulin. I have also studied materials in the Archives ix

x Preface

Nationales, especially the archives of BCRA, and the AJ 72 series collected initially by the body now known as the Institut d’Histoire du Temps Présent. I have also benefited from the helpful librarians of the Institut, as well as from those at the Centre d’Histoire de la Résistance et de la Déportation in Lyons, at the Centre National de Jean Moulin in Bordeaux and at the Memorial Museum in Caen. I am grateful for the help I received from all these institutions, and also at the Public Record Office in London. It is here that I feel I have been able to add something to the numerous French works by studying records little used before for this purpose. Only Jean-Louis Crémieux-Brilhac in his excellent study of La France Libre was able to utilise what was then available. I have been able to add to this from the HS series of SOE files, some released as recently as 1999, which tell something of Moulin, the British and the Free French. I am most grateful to Duncan Stuart, the SOE historical adviser at the Foreign Office, for providing me with the bulk of the SOE Personal File on Jean Moulin, and for helping me to locate relevant files in the Public Record Office. There are some private papers, as well as sources on the various positions held by Moulin throughout France, which I did not feel needed additional study. This is because Daniel Cordier extensively reproduces them in his mammoth, though still uncompleted, multi-volume biography, which presents printed versions of every document of any significance up to the end of 1941, and many subsequently, often still in private hands. In this work I have obtained very limited subvention from any of the academic institutions for which I worked while doing it. I have, however, received help and support from academic colleagues and friends. Professor Rod Kedward was most encouraging about the project, and turned me in the right direction. Dr Martin Thomas gave me the benefit of his knowledge of some important issues, and I also profited from discussion with Professor Douglas Johnson and Dr Hanna Diamond. I received helpful comments when I read a paper on Moulin to the Society for the Study of French History at the University of York in April 1998, especially from Dr Maire Cross of the University of Sheffield. I was also grateful for the hospitality of the Sherborne branch of the Historical Association in October 1998 when I presented another paper. I was particularly fortunate to meet all the leading historians and witnesses at the Colloque Jean Moulin held in the Salle Lamartine of the French National Assembly in June 1999. I am most grateful to the redoubtable Daniel Cordier for answering my questions. His personal knowledge and careful study of everything to do with Jean Moulin is

Preface xi

even more impressive in person than in the pages of his encyclopaedic publications. I was also encouraged by Jean-Pierre Azéma, now the leading French authority on the wartime period, and honoured to meet Madame Brossolette who spoke to me most forcibly about her father. Madame Denise Vernay of the Association Nationale des Anciennes Déportées et Internées de la Résistance also recalled for me much of interest. It was moving to hear members of Moulin’s family recall a smiling uncle and cousin, and to listen to Robert Chambeiron and Stéphane Hessel, who still carry with them the echoes of many past battles. It was valuable to hear from a new generation of resistance historians, notably Alya Aglan, Guillaume Piketty and Robert Belot, and I am especially grateful to Sabine Jansen who most helpfully discussed with me her ongoing work on Pierre Cot. I would also like to thank Jean-Marie Guillon of the Université de Provence for putting me right on some bibliographical issues and for telling me of another Colloque held in Béziers in October 1999. The papers were subsequently published in 2000 jointly by the Ville de Béziers and the Presses Universitaires de Perpignan as Jean Moulin et Son Temps (1899–1943), edited by Jean Sagnes. I am also grateful to Christine Levisse-Touzé, Director of the Jean Moulin Museum in Paris for telling me something of Moulin’s family papers, to which few people have had access. Valery Rose has also been most helpful in seeing this book through production. Many others, especially personal friends, have participated in this enterprise over the years. Carol Clinton came with me to many of the Moulin lieux de memoires in Saint-Andiol and elsewhere in the French Midi. B. B. Walker was most helpful during visits to Paris, and commented on much of the text. Peter Catto kept me up to date with the literature, and Gillian Brear tracked down an illusive reference. Others have been burdened with the task of reading or commenting on numerous drafts, and helping in other ways. They include Jon Amsden, Alison Appleby, Angela Cornforth, Tom Hawkins, Peter Murray, Sheila Tremlett and Pete Willsman. I am grateful to them all, and though I have accepted the advice of every one, I remain entirely responsible for all remaining errors and interpretations. Islington, London

Alan Clinton

A Note Added in Proof While this book was in the press, the papers of the 1999 Colloque have been published by Flammarion in 2000 as Jean Moulin face l’Histoire, edited by Jean Pierre Azéma. There has also appeared in 2001 an excellent general account based on all the recent literature of the resistance, including its ‘high politics’, by Julian Jackson in France: The Dark Years, 1940–44 (Oxford University Press).

xii

List of Abbreviations (Full details of books and archives are given in the bibliography.) AJ 72 AN BCRA

BIP CI, CII, CIII CAB CB CC CDL CDR CFTC CGE

CGT CND CNR

COMAC D&M FGDS

Second World War papers in the Archives Nationales in Paris Archives Nationales Bureau Central de Renseignement et d’Action (militaire) – general name for the Free French intelligence and secret action organisation from 1940, though with various other titles Bureau d’Information et de Presse (Press and Information Bureau) Daniel Cordier (1989–93), Jean Moulin: L’Inconnu au Panthéon, volumes 1, 2 and 3 Cabinet Papers, Public Record Office Jean-Louis Crémieux-Brilhac (1996), La France Libre Daniel Cordier (1999), Jean Moulin: La République des Catacombes Ceux de la Libération (People of the Liberation) – northern resistance group Ceux de la Résistance (Those who Resist) – northern resistance group Confédération Française des Travailleurs Chrétiens (Christian Trade Union Confederation) Conseil Général d’Êtudes (General Studies Committee), Resistance think-tank and organiser of post-liberation administration set up by Moulin in October 1942 Confédération Générale du Travail (Trade Union Confederation) Confrèrie Notre-Dame (Confraternity of Our Lady) – northern resistance network Conseil National de Résistance (National Resistance Council), set up in May 1943, though not known by that name until a few months later Comité d’Action Militaire (Military Action Committee of the CNR) Charles de Gaulle, Discours et Messages, 1940–1949 Fédération de Gauche Démocratique et Socialiste xiii

xiv

List of Abbreviations

FLM FNC FO IHTP HS LM LNC MI5 MI6 MUR

NAP

OCM PC PF PCF PREM PRO RUP SFIO SOE

STO

3AG 2

Fonds Laure Moulin, collection in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris French National Committee (September 1941–June 1943) – London-based proto-government led by Charles de Gaulle Foreign Office papers in the PRO Institut d’Histoire du Temps Présent (Contemporary History Institute), Paris Special Operations Executive papers, Public Record Office Laure Moulin (1969), Jean Moulin Charles de Gaulle, Lettres, Notes et Carnets, 1905–1970 British internal intelligence organisation British external intelligence organisation Mouvements Unis de la Résistance (United Resistance Movements) – grouping of southern resistance organisations from January 1943 Noyautage des administrations publiques (Public administration network), Resistance organisation of public servants set up by Moulin in October 1942 Organisation Civile et Militaire (Military and Civilian Organisation) – northern resistance group Jean Moulin (1947), Premier Combat (Éditions de Minuit) Jean Moulin’s Personal File supplied by the SOE advisor Mr Duncan Stuart Parti Communiste Française (French Communist Party) Prime Minster’s papers in the Public Record Office Public Record Office, London Rassemblement Universel pour la Paix (Universal Assembly for Peace), 1936–9 Section Française de l’Internationale Ouvrière (French Socialist Party), 1906–71 Special Operations Executive (1940–46) – secret British organisation to co-ordinate sabotage in Europe. Section F was the ‘country section’ for France and Section RF worked with the Free French. Service de Travail Obligatoire (Compulsory Labour Service), introduced by the Vichy authorities in late 1942 to force people to work in Germany Archives of BCRA in the Archives Nationales

List of Abbreviations xv

Note on pseudonyms and noms de guerre I have generally used real names, whatever the resistance or cover names in the sources. Thus I have written Jean Moulin, rather than Joseph Mercier or Max, even where the record gives something else. Similarly, I have given Frenay rather than Chavence, Delestraint rather than Vidal and so forth. I have made an exception in cases where the given names are generally forgotten, such as for Passy and Lucie and Raymond Aubrac.

1 The Resistance in the Panthéon

On a bitingly cold Parisian December day in 1964, at the Panthéon, temple of French republican remembrance, a large turnout of military and civilian leaders including Charles de Gaulle, President of the Republic, came to lay in their final resting-place the remains of Jean Moulin, resistance leader and martyr (see Plate 17).1 The event is preserved for posterity in grainy black-and-white television film. De Gaulle is seen shuffling in the background surrounded by ageing resistance heroes including Emmanuel d’Astier, Jean-Pierre Lévy and Henri Frenay. Jean Moulin’s sister Laure also attended, along with virtually anybody who counted in the French political establishment of the day. The ceremony culminated in an oration from Minister of Culture André Malraux, which reached an extraordinary pitch of dramatic histrionics.2 Malraux ascribed to Moulin the creation of the ‘army’ of resistance from the ‘regiments’ of resisters. Intoning at something approaching fever pitch, he reached his peroration with drumbeats rising poco a poco crescendo to the strains of the Chant des Partisans from a male-voice choir. Recalling other martyrs killed on the soil of France and in the concentration camps, he addressed ‘our brothers in the Order of the Night’ and Moulin’s ashes: This is the funeral march of these ashes. They lie with those of Carnot and the soldiers of the Year II, next to Victor Hugo with the Misérables, and those of Jaurès watched over by the spirit of justice. They follow a long procession of tortured shades. Young people! Imagine today that you can hold the battered face of this man on his final day, and touch the lips that would not speak. On that day this was the face of France. 1

2 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943

Malraux made Moulin represent to the next generation the tortured and heroic visage of fighting France. He also placed him in a republican apostolic succession with others buried in the Panthéon, including Lazare Carnot, who organised the armies of the great Revolution; the writer and republican Victor Hugo; and Jean Jaurès, the assassinated founding father of French socialism and advocate of left-wing cooperation. De Gaulle found it all ‘most moving’, and expressed admiration for Malraux’s ‘remarkable speech’.3 With this event, Jean Moulin became a particular symbol of the struggle against foreign occupation in 1940–44 that re-established the French Republic. Others had participated in propaganda and military action, but nobody had done more to organise and bring together the disparate elements of resistance. Many died in the struggle, but few were subject to so painful a death. The name of Jean Moulin became associated not only with leadership of the resistance but also with almost every political viewpoint from moderate republicanism to proto-Gaullism. Scores of schools, public buildings and streets throughout France are named after him. Yet his actions as the agent of de Gaulle and the creator of the National Resistance Council caused many bitter controversies then and since.4 Yet there is much to say about Moulin and his historical significance. This was a life worthy of record for its own sake and for what it tells us about France when he lived and since. It is a pity that a name so ubiquitous in France is less known in the English-speaking world.5 For many it represents a tradition of enlightened and rational French republicanism based on democracy and human rights. Against such views in the 1930s were ranged those who denigrated the Third Republic, and following military defeat in the 1940s, advocated a reactionary ‘National Revolution’ of dictatorship, anti-semitism and collaboration with Nazi Germany. Those who saw an alternative path of resistance in 1940 were at first very few, and were led by General de Gaulle who had to be slowly converted by Moulin and others from a purely military perspective to the building of an inclusive mass movement. As Allied victory seemed more likely, French people began to identify themselves with de Gaulle, and young people escaping conscription to German factories provided the base for mass resistance. In this way a broad-based movement was constructed to join the Allied war effort and to rescue France and its democracy. The life of one of the main players in this drama merits a documented account, placed in the context of the French republican and administrative tradition to which he so firmly belonged. From his cradle, Jean

The Resistance in the Panthéon 3

Moulin absorbed the principles of the Revolution of 1792, and the democratic ideals of political liberty, equality and fraternity that France had given to the world.6 He became a ‘high official’ of the Republic, working throughout France and at the centre of power in Paris. He moved from a semi-pacifist position in the 1920s to militant antifascism at the time of the 1936 Popular Front. The further transition to ‘resister of the first hour’ against German invasion in 1940 was not preordained, but could perhaps have been anticipated. The ‘Jacobin prefect’ became ‘organiser of the resistance’. The civil servant of the Popular Front worked as the agent of de Gaulle and set up the National Resistance Council in 1943. Though killed soon after, he had already passed on those very republican aspirations and institutions with which he began. It is the aim of this book to describe in English the unfolding of this process, as expressed through Moulin’s powerful personality. Moulin’s family roots were in Provence in the ‘Midi Rouge’, the Red South. He was born in Languedoc on 20 June 1899 in the Mediterranean town of Béziers. He frequently boasted republican antecedents, occasionally embroidered by family myths whose existence indicated the intensity of a shared tradition. His father Antonin, a republican schoolteacher and political activist, was elected to the city council and the conseil général of the Hérault Department and opposed monarchism and dictatorship from the time of Boulanger, and the anti-semitism of the Dreyfus Affair. Like most republicans of his day, Antonin Moulin was a freemason and a member of the Radical Socialist Party from its foundation in 1900. Jean inherited an ardent but tolerant republicanism. His mother Blanche was a Catholic throughout her life, and despite his secularism, Jean always respected this. His was a comparatively quiet childhood, punctuated only in 1907 by the riots and demonstrations in Béziers of winegrowers who had lost their crops, and by the death of his elder brother. The main talent he showed as a child was in drawing, but he passed enough of his examinations to be pushed by his father onto the lower rungs of the local civil service. Moulin became a soldier of the Great War only in the summer of 1918, too late ever to reach the front line. This experience undoubtedly left him with a special kind of regret. Moulin returned from the War in 1919 to a successful career in the administration of the French state. He displayed enough talent to rise rapidly in the hierarchy, to become consecutively the youngest subprefect and prefect in France. He was firmly associated with the radical left and its allies, initially through his father, but later with a series of patrons and political friends. He worked in Brittany with Charles


Daniélou, Catholic Radical member and Minister. His next great influence was Pierre Cot, the Air Minister and ‘Young Turk’ of the Radical Party, with whom he developed a close friendship linked both to politics and to winter sports. Finally there was Maurice Violette, active freemason and intransigent republican from Eure-et-Loir, who helped him to secure his last position as prefect in Chartres. Moulin’s journey began in his early twenties in the mountains of Savoie, where he saw in practice the success of the Cartel des Gauches agreement between Radicals and Socialists, bringing together warring elements of the left to form a government in 1924. His support for this alliance created his first political difference with his father. During the 1920s, he displayed the anti-war sentiments of many in his generation, and supported the peacemaking efforts of Aristide Briand through the League of Nations and negotiated disarmament. During this period, Moulin obtained his first significant promotion in 1925 to sub-prefect, the youngest in France. He also went through an unsuccessful marriage and quick divorce in 1926–8. He had a number of female relationships subsequently, though much of the detail is speculative.7 Moulin’s Briandist attitudes continued into the early 1930s. Meanwhile, his career flourished. While acting in Brittany on behalf of Daniélou, he publicly proclaimed his credo as ‘an atavistic republican’. Moulin enjoyed the company of the small colony of avant-garde artists in Brittany, particularly of the poet Max Jacob. However, he was often away from the area, and was soon persuaded to join the ministerial office of Pierre Cot. Working with Cot, Moulin abandoned his pacifism for militant anti-fascism. This was burnt into his soul by the aggression of the fascistic ‘leagues’ against democracy, which he closely witnessed in the National Assembly building on the never-to-be-forgotten night of 6 February 1934. Like many others on the Republican left, he now felt strongly that counter-violence was necessary to defend the Republic. He also supported the joint endeavour of left-wing forces expressed through the Popular Front. In the mid-1930s, Moulin worked at the centre of political power in Paris, where he identified closely with the Popular Front, with its intoxicating atmosphere of campaigns for social justice, for the Spanish Republic and for collective security against war. Some of those who worked with him were close to the Communist Party and the Russians, but, despite much speculation, there is no evidence whatever that Moulin took the same view.8 Moulin worked with Cot for good republican reasons, to send aeroplanes to the Spanish Republic, often away from the gaze of hostile opponents of Spanish democracy. He was also


involved with the Rassemblement Universel pour la Paix (Universal Assembly for Peace, RUP), an organisation set up by Cot and the British Conservative and Nobel Peace Prizewinner Robert Cecil. The RUP was a pond within which the Communists tried to swim, but their influence fluctuated and had almost disappeared by the time of the Nazi–Soviet pact in 1939. The organisation was not a manipulated conspiracy, but part of a broad though unsuccessful left-wing project to defeat fascism and reaction.9 Against this political background, Moulin worked in the office of the Minister for Air within a team attempting to expand and popularise the French air force. These activities were controversial then and since, and they are considered in their proper place in this book. By 1938 the aspirations of the Popular Front were buried under an unhappy series of decree laws and unsuccessful strikes, with the growth in the extreme right, including terrorist elements in the Cagoule. Those who now advocated support for the Spanish Republic, or who opposed the Munich accommodation with Nazi Germany, like Cot and others in Moulin’s ‘political family’, were accused of being war-mongers and supporters of Communism. Nevertheless, Moulin became the youngest prefect in France. His first post was at Rodez in the Aveyron Department in the South-east, where he assembled considerable force against the extreme right. In the final months before the war, as prefect in Chartres, Moulin spoke publicly, rather against the political grain, for unity and patriotism in the face of imminent war. Meanwhile, as prefect he welcomed floods of Spanish refugees, and arrested local Communists after the Nazi–Soviet pact in August 1939. During the German invasion of France in May 1940 Moulin began to take on the role for which his life until then had prepared him. Perhaps to compensate for his unsuccessful efforts to join the armed services before the war, he demonstrated outstanding courage when faced with German invaders in June 1940. One retreating military commander found no other prefect in post between the Belgian border and Chartres. Moulin received confused and contradictory instructions from a government in flight from Paris, along with a significant section of the French population. In Chartres he issued calls for fortitude and continuing struggle, while attempting, despite the desertion of senior clergy and right-wing politicians, to preserve as much as possible of ordinary life. He worked not only with his courageous friend Maurice Violette, Mayor of Drieux, and with those of his staff who could be persuaded to remain. He also recruited nuns, schoolteachers, and a dentist, together with those few priests and politicians who stayed in their posts. He was


thus able to meet the German invaders on the steps of his prefecture as a representative of the state together with a churchman and an elected politician. He was told to sign a paper saying that black members of the French army, large numbers of whom had been shot in cold blood, were responsible for atrocities. He refused to do so under torture and tried to commit suicide to avoid further pressure. He was then released to act as prefect for a further four months, when the Vichy authorities dismissed him. Moulin, like very few others, said ‘No’ to the Germans on 18 June 1940. He displayed a ferocious sense of duty and real physical courage. He would need much more of this for the remainder of his life.10 Before leaving Chartres for the last time, Moulin had decided that he wanted to ‘do something’. It was not easy at first to discover what that was, or, having done so, to find the means to do it. The first steps in the passage from Republican prefect to ‘Rex’ of the French resistance were taken before the end of 1940, but the next part of the journey was painfully slow. Moulin undertook the complex process of contacting fledgling organisations of resistance, and then the even more difficult task of travelling to London to offer his services to the Free French. He found some spirit of resistance in the demonstration of lycée and university students on 11 November 1940 in Paris. However, in the occupied Northern Zone opponents of occupation usually formed tiny groups with little contact with anyone else. In the unoccupied South, ‘movements’ were emerging that could operate more openly, and Moulin knew something about them by the time of his departure from France in September 1941. By then the Communists had begun to fight the Germans, following the German invasion of the Soviet Union on 22 June. Moulin finally reached London via Spain and Portugal in October. He thus created the first real contact between the Free French in London and the internal resistance. He also persuaded de Gaulle to express support for the restoration of democracy, and then to provide resources and leadership for the struggle within France. Moulin returned on the second day of 1942 to act as a link between the ‘London’ French on the one hand and the developing resistance on the other. Moulin did not at first find it possible to carry out his mission by getting the various ‘movements’ of the Unoccupied Zone to merge. This was not only because those who had initiated the struggle did not want to hand over power to ‘outsiders’. It was also because resisters did not see themselves as part of a conventional army, especially one commanded from London. There is something to be said for the view that de Gaulle – and Moulin – were insufficiently aware of the nature of guerrilla war and popular political struggle. Certainly de Gaulle began with


the concept of a Secret Army to which he could send commands, but he was not so rigid about that as was sometimes argued. Moulin convinced him of the need for popular action, demonstrations and the development of political propaganda, and frequently negotiated compromise on organisational structures first proposed in London. He also accepted the need to mobilise the escapees from compulsory labour service in Germany, though he thought they needed to be properly trained and equipped to participate in the Allied war effort. There was less to be said for the view of many resisters that they could build a ‘pure’ political system distanced from the parties of the Third Republic, who were blamed for all its shortcomings. This argument was not sustainable against efforts to build a viable alternative government or to avoid the excesses of civil war that developed in much of the rest of Europe. While these discussions proceeded during 1942, Moulin concentrated on setting up organisations that created a sense of generic resistance, such as those dealing with the press, propaganda and the creation of post-liberation institutions. He slowly built the necessary basis for joint work in the Unoccupied Zone, but the entire position was transformed in November 1942 with the Allied invasion of French North Africa and the German occupation of all of France. The Americans supported Admiral Darlin and then General Giraud, while virtually all resisters saw this as siding with those who had betrayed France. In early 1943 Moulin managed to bring together the southern resistance group as Mouvements Unis de la Résistance (Unified Resistance Movements). By then it was obvious to Moulin and de Gaulle that it was necessary to present to the outside world a united resistance embodying the broadest support for an alternative France and including not only the emerging resistance but also the political parties of the Third Republic. This proposal created further fierce disputes within the resistance. For some the idea of association of any sort with the Third Republic was unacceptable. Despite all that was said in later years, the objection in 1943 was not so much to involving the Communists, who were clearly very active resisters, but more to those political parties of the right which had displayed little inclination to challenge occupation. For the resistance the case for the creation of political and consultative institutions involving all who agreed with its aims was overwhelming, not simply to impress outsiders, but also to provide a moral and constitutional basis for a new regime. In November 1942 de Gaulle told Henri Frenay, leader of Combat, the largest resistance organisation, that in creating a broad and inclusive resistance ‘France must choose between you and me.’ Clearly history


exonerated de Gaulle – and Moulin. In the end a democratic system emerged with a broader basis of support than in 1940, which avoided in great measure the civil violence that was seen in many other parts of Europe. The last mission of Jean Moulin in the summer of 1943 was to set up a national council incorporating resistance bodies, political parties and trade unions. He had to work against resistance chiefs who wanted to be all that there was. He was also faced with Henri Frenay of Combat, who wanted to control the military wing, and the Communists who wanted to dominate everything. Against all the odds, however, Moulin finally succeeded on 27 May in convening the first meeting of the National Resistance Council, held in Paris. This provided the basis shortly afterwards for a Consultative Assembly based in Algiers, leading to a Provisional Government and the new Fourth Republic, which, with all its faults, embodied French democracy. Moulin did not live to see the results of his last mission. He was apprehended by the Gestapo at Caluire near Lyons on 21 June 1943 before a meeting that was intended to replace the head of the Secret Army, Charles Delestraint, who had recently been arrested. The circumstance of these arrests and the precise details of Moulin’s final Calvary and death will never be known. What we can be sure of is that each new investigation will produce another conspiracy theory, but the combination of murderous intentions of the hunters and human errors of the hunted probably goes most of the way to explain what happened. What is clear is that the French resistance was decapitated, and lost its most effective leader. It took some years after liberation for the nature of Moulin’s role to become known, and his subsequent reputation has been the subject of fierce and apparently endless argument. Details of these debates are set out in this book: they are often based on wilful misrepresentation of the history of the left in France, and of its republican tradition. On the other hand, the elevation of Moulin above other resistance leaders, and the cult created around his name, have certainly been used to distract attention from uncomfortable issues about collaboration and resistance. Yet the Moulin cult is based on steadfastness culminating in a courageous death. It cannot but celebrate his belief in democracy and his fierce opposition to racism and anti-semitism. The rest of this book is devoted to setting out the full story. There is also a complex human personality to be rescued from much cloying hagiography, and some virulent abuse. One could begin with the dreamy teenager who drew caricatures of his teachers before joining


the last groups of young Frenchmen in the army of the Great War. During the career that followed, in widely dispersed prefectures and ministries, photographs show a close attention to fashionable dress and appearance, with hardly a hair out of place (see Plate 11). He is said to have been mean about money, and drank very little, as he skilfully negotiated his career path. There was a bohemian side also. As a young man he visited cafés in Montmartre and sketched the people he saw around him (see Plate 9). He mixed with poets and artists in Brittany and Provence. He did not shy away from the violent and reckless enjoyment of winter sports. And there was a more prosaic and familial side. All his life he was in continual and almost daily contact with his parents and sister, even when far away and travelling. His personal life has already been mentioned along with the speculation about it. His discretion in personal matters is sometimes linked to clandestinity, but it is more likely that he wanted to keep private life private, certainly from his mother, and perhaps even from posterity. Despite that famous picture of 1940 (see Plate 1), Moulin was not so much a man of great mystery as a successful civil servant clearly displaying a great deal of initiative, culture and humanity. In 1942 it was suggested that he might become a colonial administrator. His own choice was to become Minister for Fine Arts. Had he lived, he might well have been destined for more than that. As the French resistance recedes into history and diminishing numbers of people directly remember anything of it, it is inevitable that its role and activities will be subject to scrutiny and criticism. Its level of support, its errors and divisions will be picked over. Yet its moral value should not be forgotten either, nor those who contributed to resistance at every level. In a way that is at least partly accidental, Jean Moulin came to represent them all. That is why we can do no better than to conclude by quoting the eloquent eulogy of Moulin’s sometime secretary.11 By his sacrifice Jean Moulin became the symbol of the Resistance, by his martyrdom he entered into legend. But by his activity in bringing together the military and political Resistance, he belongs to History. It is this history that the rest of this book attempts to recall, and to explain.

2 A Republican Upbringing, 1899–1919

Throughout his life Jean Moulin regarded himself as heir to a set of moral beliefs and political attitudes that were quintessentially French, and as a result, determinedly universal. As a young sub-prefect he told one audience, ‘I am an atavistic republican without any other heritage, and I say with modesty and with the greatest dignity, that it was this belief that brought me into public life.’ Moulin’s paternal grandfather was ‘imprisoned by the henchmen of the prince president [Napoleon III] for having protested indignantly against the infamous coup d’état’. As prefect in Chartres he still boasted that he was the ‘great grand-son of a soldier of the revolution, a grandson of a man who became acquainted with the prisons of the Second Empire because of his attachment to the Republic’. Even if the truth was more complicated, he insisted on referring to this lineage in public statements made when he was a servant of the French state. Not only that, he stoutly maintained it as a badge of honour when interviewed by the British Secret Service.1 The ancestors of Jean Moulin were peasants and artisans from the ‘Midi Rouge’ – the southern part of France known for its support for the political left from the time of the 1848 Revolution until the 1960s.2 The ‘family home’ where he spent a great deal of his youth was at SaintAndiol, a large Provençal village in the plain of the River Durance between Avignon and Cavaillon just over the border of the Vaucluse Department in Bouches-du-Rhône. All the male members of the family were born there between 1784 and 1857. The first of these was Jean’s great-grandfather François-Xavier Moulin (1784–1861). Despite the claims of his descendants, François-Xavier was hardly of an age to be ‘a solder of the Revolution’. He was, however, a decorated member of Napoleon’s navy. The male head of the next generation, Jean’s grandfather, was Alphonse Moulin (1826–82) who started working life as a 10

A Republican Upbringing, 1899–1919 11

weaver, and then became a barber. He thus lived through the Revolution of 1848 and the December 1851 coup d’état of Louis Napoléon. Despite Jean’s repeated claims, there is no certain evidence that Alphonse Moulin was imprisoned for republican activity during the Second Empire. He was, however, briefly incarcerated, with a number of local republican activists, in Tarascon gaol during the agitation following the failed attempt of President MacMahon on 16 May 1877 to impose a government that did not have support in the National Assembly. In republican tradition this event was regarded, with some justification, as an attempted coup d’état. If the details of the lives of the Moulin family are lost in misty family legend, their content and direction give some insight into the atmosphere of intense republican fervour on which they were based. There can be little doubt about the views of Jean’s father Antoine-Émile (known as Antonin) Moulin (1857–1938) (see Plate 2). He was clearly a powerful influence on every aspect of the attitudes and lives of his children. Jean described him as ‘the best of fathers, the firmest of friends, the most delightful of companions’.3 As a provincial schoolteacher of the Third Republic and a political activist, he could almost be seen as an archetypal republican evangelist, rather like the resolutely anticlerical father represented in the novels of Marcel Pagnol. Antonin Moulin was a man of culture, known personally to the novelist Alphonse Daudet and the Provençal poet Frédéric Mistral. He was also a local political propagandist and representative articulating a viewpoint roughly parallel to that of Georges Clemenceau – strong on issues of democratic rights and their defence, but unsympathetic to movements articulating the grievances of the poor. His was the republicanism of Léon Gambetta, War Minister in 1870 and militant opponent of aristocracy and reaction. Antonin Moulin supported the policies of the imperialism and educational expansion associated in the 1880s with Jules Ferry and the later anti-clericalism of Waldeck-Rousseau and Émile Combes, as well as the mild social reforms of Alexandre Millerand, who defected from socialism. He also identified with the liberal rhetoric and social conservatism of Aristide Briand of the period before 1914. Antonin Moulin was closely associated with Louis Lafferre (1861–1929), another republican schoolteacher, who was Radical Socialist deputy for Hérault from 1898 to 1918, and then Senator until 1924. Lafferre was president of the Radical Socialist Party executive in 1908, Minister of Labour in 1910–11, and Minister of Public Instruction in the Clemenceau administration from 1917 to 1920. He was a leading freemason, at a time when this was closely associated with active repub-

12


licanism, and was President of the Council of the Grand Orient in 1903–5 and 1907–9. He was uncompromisingly ‘anti-religious and anticlerical’, supporting ‘the fall of all dogmas and the ruin of all churches’. In 1919 Lafferre wrote that there were ‘governments that pass, but Masonry, and the Republic, remain’.4 Like Lafferre, Antonin Moulin was a radical, a republican, and from 1902 a freemason, though not especially active. Along with Lafferre, he grew increasingly conservative on social issues. He was firmly anti-clerical, though not to the point of violence or intolerance. He was hostile to the burgeoning Socialist movement of his day and showed little sympathy with the 1907 revolt of discontented winegrowers. To his school pupils he recommended ‘Instruction, Work, Justice, Truth, Tolerance and Solidarity’, while opposing ‘the follies and crimes of political intolerance which becomes exclusion, or religious intolerance which is fanaticism’.5 Antonin Moulin moved in 1880 from Provence to join the ranks of republican teachers at the Collège Henri IV in Béziers, a significant and historic town in the Hérault Department on the Mediterranean coast, just over 100 kilometres from the Pyrenees and the Spanish border. Béziers in that period, with a population of 42,900, was a thriving centre of trade and commerce, mostly linked to viticulture. Antonin preached republican values to his pupils. He was also a radical journalist and a member of the municipal council in 1884–5 and 1893–4. He actively opposed General Boulanger’s threat of military dictatorship in 1889 and strongly supported the unjustly convicted Captain Dreyfus. He was a founder member in 1899 of the Béziers branch of the League for the Rights of Man, and secretary of the Society for Popular Education. He was elected as a Radical member of the conseil général of Hérault (roughly equivalent to a county council) in October 1913, and re-elected in 1919. Classic statements of civic virtue were undoubtedly heard in the Moulin household. This went beyond the doctrines of republicanism, secularism and freemasonry to an adherence to the rituals and symbols of those faiths. Thus Antonin was active in efforts, ultimately successful in 1907, to have a statue erected of the 1848 Mayor of Béziers, Casimir Péret, who was deported and killed in the aftermath of the 1851 coup. It may well have been the frustrations of the political activism of his father, and perhaps also his inevitable absences from home, that decided young Jean against pursuing such a life. Jean was clearly less interested in the theoretical debate and conventional oratory that were important for his father, and he was perhaps discouraged by close acquaintance with the petty intrigues and tedious meetings that inevitably go with


local politics. If he did not follow his father along these paths, Jean Moulin certainly remembered them. He was also affected by events in 1907 to which he sometimes referred in later years. This was the discontent expressed through southern France following the devastation of viticulture by phylloxera. The occasionally violent movements of dissatisfied winegrowers marked a watershed in relations between the bourgeois republicanism of the ‘Midi Rouge’, and the social protest and revolt which were to dominate the following decades, ultimately leading to greater support for Socialists as against Radical Republicans. On 12 May, large groups of demonstrators stormed the Béziers mairie, fighting with the police. The leader of the protest, Marcellin Albert, on 9 June called a mass meeting in Montpellier and persuaded many local government representatives to resign their seats. On 20 June local regiments of soldiers mutinied and marched to Béziers. Prime Minister Clemenceau sent troops, and serious incidents followed, with some fatalities. In Béziers, there was ‘violence and property damage’ during clashes between soldiers and up to 100,000 demonstrators. Antonin Moulin defended the rights of the demonstrators, but did not approve of their efforts to disrupt local government. When protesters and soldiers filled the streets, he kept his children firmly at home.6 The mother of Jean Moulin was Blanche Pègue (1867–1947) (see Plate 3), who married Antonin in 1885. She was the daughter of a butcher in Cavaillon in Vaucluse, and bore four children. Of these, one daughter did not live beyond infancy, and the eldest son, Joseph, died of peritonitis in March 1907, at the age of 19. Many years later Jean recalled the great sadness that followed and his father’s words that he would prefer Joseph to have ‘been killed in the war, so that his death would have served some purpose’.7 The surviving children were Laure (1892–1974) and Jean, the youngest. They remained close and affectionate for the whole of their lives, and in continuous contact. Blanche Moulin was a practising Catholic throughout her life, and made sure that her children were baptised and went to communion. Jean’s sister later wrote that their father, though firmly secular, did not oppose all religious ideas. Jean inherited a similar attitude. Years later his wife wrote that, although Jean regarded belief in the deity as the equivalent to accepting the existence of Santa Claus, he did not condemn those who took another view. The Moulin family was perhaps like the one portrayed by the right-wing literary critic Jules Lemaître in 1899 where ‘the average Frenchman’ was distinguished by the fact that ‘he does not care much for priests, but he is not intolerant; he lets his wife and children attend Mass’.8

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Jean Pierre Moulin was born just before midsummer, on 20 June 1899, in a small third-floor apartment at 6 rue d’Alsace in Béziers.9 In 1904 he started school, later advancing to the Collège Henri IV where his father taught. He made his first communion in 1910, without, according to his sister, much enthusiasm. The bureaucratic machinery of French education in the Third Republic was such that it is even possible to-day to retrieve Jean’s school reports and some examples of his work. These show that he did not display the academic promise of his elder brother Joseph, or the pedagogic interests of his sister Laure. In the lycée where his father taught, he grew less interested in academic subjects. He was more attracted to fine arts, where he showed some talent, as well as to music and visits to local historical monuments. This may have provided an escape from the academic grind for a boy whose shyness was manifested in a nervous tic until the age of fifteen.10 The outbreak of war in August 1914 meant that young Jean produced scholastic exercises that revealed a conventional but thoughtful patriotism occasionally mixed with mild cynicism. In October 1915 he wrote: I think more than ever that we will have to work to replace our brothers who have fallen at the hands of the enemy. If, one day, our country has need of us, we must be ready and able to serve. But the hour of victory is near! We have right on our side, and the necessary strength. At the same time as he was writing this, young Jean’s drawings mildly ridiculed the quasi-Napoleonic demeanour of his teachers. One cartoon published in La Guerre Sociale mocked the school playground boycott of a little girl with a German cousin.11 The schoolboy Moulin was expected to produce essays replete with conventional patriotic sentiments. He compared the heroism of French soldiers at the ongoing battle at Verdun to their predecessors who pushed back the Prussians at Valmy in 1793. He was even asked to choose a hero from French history. While quoting liberally from a textbook firmly echoing the Revolutionary eulogies of historian Jules Michelet, he chose, like de Gaulle, to praise an ancient Gaul who unsuccessfully opposed invasion from Rome. ‘Vercingétorix,’ he wrote, ‘holding firm amid general consternation, brought his companions together. He told them that because he alone had caused the war, he alone should die, and he would be killed as an example.’ It is tempting to read such sentiments as foreshadowing Moulin’s own treatment at the hands of the Gestapo two decades later, but he did not at this time


show an unthinking desire for danger or martyrdom. Had he been so inclined, or strongly susceptible to peer pressure, he might have gone straight into the army on attaining the age of 18 in June 1917. In later years, he may have regretted not doing this. However, instead of joining the army in the summer of 1917, the young Jean Moulin began his career. Having passed his baccalaureate examination in 1916 and 1917, he enrolled in the law faculty of Montpellier University. At the same time, his father found him a position in the office of the prefect of Hérault, also in Montpellier. It is not difficult to reconstruct the motives informing the first career decision of the eldest remaining male of the younger generation in the Moulin household. This shy and sensitive teenager was never inclined to follow his father as a political activist. Nor was Jean encouraged to consider any career utilising the talents he showed as an artist, or to teach. However, he had not shown much liking for academic study, so should he not then play his part in ensuring that there were fewer reactionaries inside the Republic’s prefectoral corps? Perhaps he had already in some way manifested those attributes that were later to make him a successful administrator. At any rate, his parents surely made use of the contacts that were available to them to set their surviving son on a secure if unglamorous career. Thus in the autumn of 1917, Jean Moulin stepped onto the bottom rung of an administrative ladder on which he toiled for most of the rest of his life.12 The office of the prefect of Hérault (population 480,000) was in the centre of Montpellier, the main town of the Department and also of the entire Languedoc region. In the early years of the century, this old Huguenot centre was economically dominated by viticulture, but also known for textiles and chemicals. Moulin worked there during the months from October 1917 to April 1918, suffering all the pains of an adolescent living away from his family for the first time. If he also experienced any of the pleasures, they were not revealed in his letters to his parents.13 He was in any case living through stirring and historic times. These were weeks of the most bloodthirsty industrialised warfare ever seen, with searing social conflict, mutiny and socialist revolution. Such events cannot but have had an effect on an educated and politically aware adolescent. Jean Moulin spent much of this period in the prefecture at Montpellier performing the lowly tasks that might be expected of the latest recruit. He taught himself to type, and made press cuttings for his superiors. He may well have collected information on public attitudes at a time of growing disillusionment with the war after the failure of

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the summer 1917 ‘Nivelle Offensive’, and the subsequent mutinies in the French army. For French republicans, the Russian Revolution in March was undoubtedly to be celebrated. However, the Russian withdrawal from the War after the Bolshevik Revolution in November was most unwelcome. This was the background to the formation of the new administration in mid-November led by the former Dreyfusard journalist and ‘destroyer of governments’ Georges Clemenceau. Young Moulin must have followed the new Prime Minister’s speech of 20 November, with its famous ‘appeal to the historic virtues that have made us French’. Clemenceau called for ‘total war’ to be waged on the home front as well as on the battlefield, and denounced all those expressing weariness with the War, or any desire to end it. He insisted that there should be ‘no more pacifist campaigns, no more German intrigues’, and urged that for the moment we will have to fall silent on party divisions. . . . We must turn aside from the old passions that have made us fight one another, and for a moment, for an hour, create a common front against the enemy.14 These ringing phrases were surely still echoing when Moulin made his political and personal choices over two decades later. Antonin Moulin’s close associate and friend, Louis Lafferre, now Minister of Public Instruction, wrote to a local paper in September 1917. He attacked the Pope for proposing compromise between the ‘innocent’ Western Allies, who were fighting ‘to guarantee the rights of the peoples’, and the ‘guilty’ Central Powers, Austria–Hungary and Germany, who ‘wanted world domination’. Not everyone saw the issues in these simple terms. These were the days when former French ministers, most notably Joseph Caillaux, were tried and imprisoned for contacting Germans to discuss ending the War. Indications of unhappiness were by no means confined to politicians: there was evidence all around. Jean Moulin undoubtedly contributed to a report on public attitudes written in January 1918 by the Hérault prefect, which said that discontent in their Department was increasing, especially because of the rising price of food.15 Despite all this, the National Assembly voted on 11 January 1918 by 490 to 7 against any peace negotiations, and decided to rally the ‘class of 1918’. Thus all those born in 1899 were conscripted, and Jean Moulin ‘joined the colours’ on 17 April 1918 (see Plate 5). Jean Moulin’s military career did not prove especially onerous or dangerous. He joined a local regiment at Montpellier as an engineer, second


class, and left Avignon by train for the front on 18 September 1918. A few days later he found himself in the Moselle valley. Waiting to be sent to the front line, he wrote home of unexpected sunshine, ‘almost like at Saint-Andiol’. He made friends with a corporal from Carpentras with whom he conversed in Provençal. Moulin arrived exactly when, for the first time in four long years, the front was rapidly moving eastwards. Germany’s allies were deserting her, and her armies were in retreat. By 11 November the Armistice was agreed. As a non-combatant, Moulin did not take part in the numerous victory parades that followed, which were notably devoted to celebrating the return to French jurisdiction of Alsace-Lorraine. One can imagine feelings of disappointment and regret that twenty years later were to lead to his numerous efforts to rejoin the armed forces. Young men of Moulin’s age and attitude suffered regrets of a particular kind after 1918. As a late conscript he was ordered to remain in the army, where he was directed to perform tasks he thought disagreeable, working as a navvy, and as a telephone operator. At least one experience clearly lived with him – the task of burying dead soldiers from the last battles. Some of this can be seen in the horrifying drawings that he did years later to accompany the poems of Tristan Corbière.16 He was sent on a rapid series of postings along the former western front. In March 1919 he paid his first visit to Paris, when it had become the ‘capital city of the world’, hosting a Peace Conference with representatives from around the globe. The year 1919 was also important for the Moulin family. The pater familias Antonin, now 63, retired from teaching, though not from political activity. Laure Moulin reached 27, and spent time in London preparing for a position as English teacher in Béziers. Jean spent August as usual with his family at Saint-Andiol, but it took some effort on the part of his father to get him discharged from the army in October. He returned to the prefect’s office at Montpellier on 1 October, and resumed his studies at the University. Jean Moulin was now in his twentieth year. The most conspicuous talent he had so far displayed was his facility for drawing, but he was launched on a safe and secure career in the French civil service. He was only later to show outstanding abilities as an administrator and a candidate for preferment. Nor was he yet noted for strong opinions. The family letters of the period do not reveal Moulin expressing particular views about the world historical events in which he was a minor participant. Undoubtedly, this was because the attitudes absorbed from his family and schooling had become so much part of his way of looking at the world that he hardly needed to state them. He was a strong

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though unfanatical French republican and patriot. He was not a militarist, but neither was he a pacifist. He had firmly adopted, and for good, those classic republican attitudes which were severely tested in the France of the next two decades. This made him in later years a vigorous defender of democratic values and human rights, and a convinced opponent of dictatorship and anti-semitism. He was now firmly of the view that such values were embodied in the structure and institutions of the French republican state. Moulin reached manhood instilled with the ideology and culture of France’s ‘Midi Rouge’ – or ‘Red South’ – in the years before the Great War. His childhood did not end, as it did for so many of his near contemporaries, with a catastrophic baptism of fire, nor yet with a terrible and violent death. Jean Moulin now devoted his life and energies to being a servant of the Republic. He had a long way to go to show how good and faithful a servant he could be.

3 A Jacobin in the Prefectures, 1919–34

Jean Moulin returned from the war in November 1919 to the prefect’s office and the University in Montpellier. During the next two decades, he moved through the ranks of the prefectoral corps and became a member of the administrative elite, eventually playing a part at the very centre of French politics. To succeed to the extent that he did, Moulin had to be more than an apolitical civil servant, a dispassionate representative of central government in various parts of France. He had to be an active participant in a system of place and patronage full of personal and political rivalries. When he began his ascent on the ladder of preferment, he was associated with the attitudes and contacts of his father. As he climbed up the rungs he developed a circle of friends and contacts, growing close to Pierre Cot, Radical member of the National Assembly and occasional minister. This took Moulin to the top of the French system of politics and administration by the mid-1930s.

Left and right in inter-war France The inter-war period in France is often described as seeing the ‘decline of the Third Republic’, with a bewildering succession of ministries and a political system considered corrupt or even decadent. Such notions were certainly common at the time among politicians of the right like André Tardieu, who eventually lost patience with the existing system and took up a position of ‘bitter and reactionary pessimism’.1 There were also many forces on the right actively attacking democratic values and institutions. During the 1920s and 1930s, such people largely operated outside the constitutional system. In 1926, the royalist and pro-Catholic Action Française of Charles Maurras, founded in the wake of the Dreyfus Affair, was subject to the temporary interdict of the Papacy. By now 19

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regarded as passé by a younger and more impatient generation, Action Française was overtaken by more militant organisations, such as the Jeunesses Patriotes of Pierre de Taittinger, or François Coty’s openly fascist Solidarité Française. During the 1930s similar attitudes were displayed by the ex-servicemen of the Croix de Feu of François de la Roque, later known as the Parti Social Français. Other opponents of democracy were associated with the ‘neo-socialism’ of ex-socialist Marcel Déat or the ex-communist Jacques Doriot.2 In 1940, these proponents of the ‘new order’ joined ‘old guard’ conservatives in the short-lived Vichy regime. If this was the dénouement of the Third Republic, it was most certainly not its inevitable outcome. There were many people who attempted in their different ways to find a means to bring together the supporters of popular democracy. The Radical Party, formed in 1900 to unite political tendencies remaining ‘faithful to the spirit of the Revolution’, included a disparate group of parliamentarians and local organisations but was nevertheless considering new ideas. The Socialists, though wounded by the split with the Communists in 1920, sought, under the leadership of Léon Blum, to rebuild what they called their ‘old house’, and to take their section of the working-class movement into the republican political family. The Communists spent over a decade preaching the destruction of the Republic, but changed direction in 1934, claiming to defend democracy against the threat of fascism. An early effort to breathe new life into the left was the electoral arrangement between Radicals and Socialists known as the Cartel des Gauches, which gained power after the 1924 general election. The Cartel proved unable to sustain a left-inclined government, and subsequently there emerged in 1927 the so-called ‘Young Turks’ of the Radical Party, arguing for new policies and alliances. This grouping was most notably associated with the names of Édouard Daladier and Georges Bonnet, and with such younger politicians as Jean Zay, Pierre Mendès France and Pierre Cot.3 For those on the left in the inter-war period who identified with democratic values and wanted to incorporate concerns for social justice and economic planning, there seemed to be no choice but to advocate co-operation between Radicals and Socialists. In 1932 Pierre Cot wrote that Radicals had ‘no enemy on the left’, and that given the choice ‘between capitalism and socialism in the name of individualism, we choose socialism: we are radical-socialists, not radical capitalists’.4 For those of the generation and political attitudes of Jean Moulin, there was inevitability about such unity. This distinguished them from

A Jacobin in the Prefectures, 1919–34 21

a generation politically formed before 1914 when Radical Party leaders, notably Briand and Clemenceau, mobilised the French state against syndicalists and anti-militarists. The distinction between radicalism and socialism remained important for the Radical Party leader Édouard Herriot, and also for Antonin Moulin. The elder Moulin opposed the Cartel alliance of 1924, and even more the Popular Front ten years later, which led to a government of Radicals and Socialists with the support of the Communists. Differences on these issues did not cause the breakdown of familial relations, though in 1936 Jean Moulin strongly supported the Popular Front, and was a significant backroom participant.

Administration and politics after the war, 1919–21 Immediately on his return to the Hérault prefecture in 1919, Jean Moulin had to officiate in a series of elections in which his father was actively involved, and which provided hard lessons for the Republican left.5 The first of these elections, for the National Assembly, on 16 November 1919, was organised under an electoral system that increased the size of constituencies, usually avoiding the second round of voting. As a result, deals between parties could not be arranged in the traditional way.6 Alliances, which in the past had sustained ‘republican unity’ behind the best-placed candidates on the left, could not operate. This exposed the divisions amongst Radicals in Hérault and caused the loss of Louis Lafferre’s Assembly seat to adherents of the right-wing ‘Bloc National’, who dominated the new Chamber. However, two Socialists were elected in the Department. The municipal elections in November allowed the traditional deals, giving greater success to the Radicals. The same ‘republican discipline’ also operated in the departmental contests in December, and these saw the re-election of Antonin Moulin to the conseil général. In a further election on 21 January 1920, Louis Lafferre was returned to the Senate with the support of an alliance of Radicals and Socialists. Whatever disputes were developing within the left elsewhere, it was notable that in Hérault at least, following the electoral defeats of 1919, there was co-operation between the various republican forces. Following the strike movements of the summer of 1920, Socialists and Radicals in Béziers still joined in September to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the Third Republic. When the SFIO split in December, the Department’s Socialist deputy Édouard Barthe remained firmly on the side of Blum and the ‘reformists’. With the right-wing ‘Bloc National’ in the ascendancy on a national level, progressive radicals like

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Louis Lafferre were inevitably pushed closer to the Socialists. This unity on the left characterised politics in Hérault over the following years, where a strongly republican tradition could only succeed if it brought Radicals and Socialists more closely together than in many other parts of France. While at university, Moulin joined in January 1921 the only political organisation to which he openly adhered in his life, the ‘Committee of Secular and Republican Youth’, the youth wing for the Radical Party.7 During this period Moulin also became a member of the Students’ Union committee at Montpellier. He no doubt followed general political developments and would have noticed that, in response to the right-wing national government, there was increasing talk of ‘unity on the left’. This was a central theme on 5 May 1921 when Antonin and Jean Moulin attended a reception for Gaston Doumergue, the regional Radical leader who was later President of the Republic. Jean would have noticed that though the National Assembly was full of monarchists and reactionaries, his superior, Prefect Pierre Lacombe, felt able to raise a toast to ‘immortal France, inseparable from the Republic’. Moulin was even more explicit in the expression of such sentiments at later stages in his career. He may even have learnt something when he took part in organising a three-day visit to Montpellier of the President of the Republic in November 1921. This was the ex-Socialist Alexandre Millerand, who was now a rather reactionary political figure, but admired by Antonin Moulin.

Prefects in France – their role and history It was his position within the system of prefects that was the making of Jean Moulin, and this now needs consideration.8 Prefects were centrally appointed and locally based government officials. They were first appointed by Napoleon I to control each of the eighty or so territorial departments set up by the Revolution. The prefects survived changes of regimes after 1815, acting on behalf of a centralised state and gradually replacing local hereditary notables. Perhaps the most famous prefect was Baron Haussmann of the Department of the Seine, who organised the building of the Paris boulevards during the Second Empire. After 1815, prefects took on responsibility for explaining government policy and acting as agents of central government by securing the return of electoral candidates favourable to the administration of the day. They sometimes became members of the National Assembly, or more often, worked on behalf of local politicians. They were also given


the duty of assessing local opinion for national government and acting against political opposition, as well preserving public order. In the early years of the Third Republic, administrations were suspicious of the prefects because of their association with past dictatorships, so they were often replaced with each change of administration. Soon it was found perfectly possible to use them to enforce republican policies. As local officials were increasingly subject to voting, prefects had more work in organising elections and their outcomes. They were also given new functions on public health and welfare issues. In Montpellier in 1919, the prefect’s role in Hérault was described as being: representative of the executive power in the department. He has to carry out the laws, decrees and regulations of government. He can suspend mayors and deputy mayors. He monitors all aspects of public administration. He is in addition responsible for disseminating information which affects the department, as well as carrying out the decisions of the Conseil Général and the departmental commission.9

The ladder of preferment, 1920–5 Within this world Moulin began to pursue his career on the lower rungs of the prefectoral ladder. In November 1920 he was promoted to chefadjoint in the prefect’s office of Hérault, and in the following July he obtained his legal qualifications at the University in Montpellier. At this time his prefect said that he ‘gave proof of his devotion and activity and of a prudent political attitude’, despite the well-known activities of his father.10 However, it was now time to move on. Following the informal traditions of the period, when Antoine Mounier, family friend and prefect of Hérault, was promoted to prefect of the Savoie Department in February 1922, he took young Moulin with him to Chambéry as his chef de cabinet – the head of his office. This move in mid-winter from the Mediterranean coast to snowbound Alpine France came as something of a shock. Even Moulin’s wartime experiences had not prepared him for this inhospitable world. However, the young man was taken in hand by Prefect Mounier and his Italian-born wife. He soon displayed a determination to make the best of the new opportunities he was offered. Even in provincial Chambéry in 1922, there were diversions. It was possible to see the plays of Sacha Guitry and to attend concerts, including one conducted by the great Maurice Ravel. Jean Moulin obtained the composer’s autograph in return for a drawing.11 He was able to employ his artistic

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talents, producing sketches of political figures and social types in humorous cartoons. He also painted watercolours of rugged landscapes and characteristic buildings.12 At the 1922 ‘Salon’ of the Savoie Beaux Arts Society, Moulin exhibited drawings he described as being ‘without any pretensions whatever’. The name he used was ‘Romanin’, after a ruined castle near his family home at Saint-Andiol. Politics in 1922 were dominated by national fiscal problems. These largely arose from the refusal of successive administrations to raise funds to pay war debts, on the argument that German reparations would suffice. When the Germans defaulted on these payments, the ‘Bloc National’ Prime Minister Raymond Poincaré responded in January 1923 by sending French troops into the Ruhr. In the prefecture at Chambéry, Jean Moulin had to tell Paris about local reaction. He reported that there was limited interest in international affairs, and that active opposition to the invasion was confined to a small band of communists, mostly Italian migrants. He also noted that there was little fascism or anti-fascism in Savoie. By April however, the conseil général meeting revealed opposition to the Ruhr invasion among Radicals, and in August the leader of the mainstream left-wing Radicals Paul Painlevé spoke locally, attacking the Versailles treaty for isolating German democrats. Eventually popular opposition to the Ruhr invasion contributed to the electoral defeat of the ‘Bloc National’. It may also have been, as hinted in the reports to which Moulin contributed, that increasing unemployment also contributed to the defeat of the right in 1924. Moulin was certainly sympathetic to the joint arrangements of Socialists and Radicals in the Cartel des Gauches which produced this outcome. This led to his first political disagreement with his father. Young Jean told his father that the Radicals in Béziers lost support by associating themselves with political tendencies further to the right.13 None of these political opinions affected Jean’s prospects of promotion – indeed they may have helped them. It was clear that his administrative talents were coming to the attention of his superiors. In November 1925 he was transferred 40 kilometres from Chambéry to head the sub-prefecture at Albertville. At 26, he was the youngest sub-prefect in France.

Marriage and divorce, 1926–8 At this point Jean Moulin embarked on a course in his personal life whose outcome, even in distant retrospect, remains difficult to explain.14 He was evidently eager to seek out a wife, perhaps because


this was what was expected of him, though it would not be surprising if he felt lonely in this unfamiliar environment. In 1923 he proposed marriage through his father to one Jeanette Auran. The parents of this young woman would only consider a match with this impoverished public servant if he took up a business position in Paris. Such a step was beyond anything expected in the Moulin family, so the liaison was abandoned. Two years later, in 1925, at a ball in the prefecture at Chambéry, Jean met Marguerite Cerruti, a seventeen-year-old member of a conservative Catholic family distantly related to Pierre Cot. Marguerite’s father was dead, but her mother was a dominant figure. The young couple quietly pursued a developing relationship of eighteen months, and in the summer of 1926 Jean told his family that they wished to marry, and persuaded his father to write to Madame Cerruti to propose a wedding on the grounds of ‘the mutual affection of our dear children’.15 Madame Cerruti took some weeks to respond. However, consent finally came, and the couple were married on 27 September 1926 in Marguerite’s home village of Betton-Bettonnet near Albertville, with a religious ceremony included. On that day, both his sister Laure and his wife Marguerite saw Jean in tears. The former interpreted this as a manifestation of unhappiness, but the latter thought it indicated joy. In autumn 1926, the couple set up house in the Albertville prefecture. Jean passed a driving test and bought an ‘Amilcar’ sports car, in which they travelled south at Christmas to see the Moulin family. On their return they visited Madame Cerruti, who had spent the holiday alone. Her unhappiness with the liaison was manifested when she turned on Jean and accused him and his family of being ‘atheists, and leftist political manipulators who had stolen her child and coveted her fortune’. According to the later account of his wife, Jean simply refused to respond. Over the next few months, the young couple made the best of things. There were dinner parties, events for local children sponsored by the wife of the sub-prefect, and even a fancy dress ball in April 1927. There was an official opening of a resort facility at the village of Avenches, where Jean took his wife and a young friend on his first hair-raising trip on a bobsleigh. This was an early indication of the great delight that Moulin took in winter sports over the next few years. At this point, however, things went seriously wrong with the marriage. On 21 July, a tyre blew out when they were travelling together in their car. Jean was unhurt, but Marguerite seriously injured her leg, later suffering from pneumonia. Madame Cerruti took charge of her daughter, taking up

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residence close to the marital household and filling the mind of her immobile daughter with bile about the Moulin family. To this Jean simply muttered about a ‘reactionary spirit’, and tried to humour his wife by paying for her singing lessons, and by buying her a radio receiver. He took Marguerite to Paris in January and March 1928. She did not return with him from the second trip, and he then sued for divorce on the grounds of desertion. This was granted on 19 June 1928. In her account almost fifty years later, Marguerite described the end of the marriage as ‘the revenge of a mother-in-law’. It may well be that when the young Marguerite came under the influence of her mother, she was persuaded to act to secure legacies due from her late father.16 It is perhaps inevitable that such painful events produced varying recollections in later years. Laure Moulin was of the opinion that Marguerite was too young and naive to deal with the complexities of Jean’s character. Marguerite may well have been more interested in staying in Paris to promote her singing career than in becoming immersed in the administration of a small provincial town. However, Jean and Marguerite remained in touch, meeting for example in Paris in December 1932 and on subsequent occasions. Years later, Marguerite said that she had continued to follow his career, and saw him for the last time in Paris in the spring of 1942. Jean Moulin never married again, and he seems to have abandoned any effort to attain the domestic life he strived for in his mid-twenties. His sister hinted that he had a number of affairs, and some evidence has recently been produced of more long-term relationships, notably with Antoinette Sachs, who had good political contacts and worked closely with him in the resistance. There has been speculation about possible relationships with other women with whom he worked, such as Colette Pons, who ran his ‘cover’ in an art gallery in Nice during the resistance. However, the evidence on these matters is thin and speculative. In fact Moulin made some effort to keep his private life private, both before and during his period of clandestinity, so it is unlikely that it will ever be possible to present an accurate account of these matters.17 Emotional ties and close human relationships remained very strong within Moulin’s own family, and though he clearly led an independent social life, his primary focus was on public affairs. His leisure time was to some extent devoted to the arts, and also to the boisterous dangers of winter sports. One companion of the period wrote years later that Jean was forthright in his leftist political opinions, but somewhat secretive in personal and administrative matters.18 Some of this judgement


may be made in post-resistance retrospect, but it is clear that his personal relationships outside the family were entirely conducted beyond public view.

The youngest sub-prefect: Albertville, November 1925–January 1930 Jean Moulin moved on 20 November 1925 to Albertville to take up his new appointment. His erstwhile patron, Prefect Mounier, was replaced by Paul Mouchet, with whom Moulin appears to have been on reasonable terms. Moulin spent four years in this mountainous area, a district with around 33,000 inhabitants, dominated by the looming presence of Mont Blanc, and subsisting mainly on forestry and the sale of a local Gruyère cheese. There was a hydroelectric plant at Ugine and the early development of winter sports tourism was being encouraged. At Albertville, the course and collapse of Moulin’s marriage was undoubtedly his first major preoccupation. He was now in his own house, a Second Empire mansion with its own grounds. The large rooms were virtually unheatable, and his mother-in-law partly attributed her daughter’s illnesses to this. Jean lived in a set of rooms on the second floor, and purchased modern furniture. Family and friends visited him in the summer months. Moulin’s duties as sub-prefect included conveying government instructions to paid officials and elected representatives, monitoring communal budgets, and reporting to his prefect. He learnt how to act out the role of smiling public man on the borders between politics and administration. According to his sister, he was never as good a public speaker as their father, though he seems to have improved over the years.19 In May 1926 he spoke on the ‘day of French mothers’. For many decades the male establishment had called for more children, to defend the nation, and in 1920 draconian legislation against abortion and the dissemination of information about birth control was passed in the National Assembly without serious opposition.20 Jean sought advice from his father before making a speech praising the joys of motherhood. He emphasised the recognition and allowances that childbearing women could obtain and ended as follows: Young women of France who, in peril of your lives and despite current difficulties, increase the birth rate of our dear country and fill the spaces left by the great slaughter, be praised for your bravery

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in peace as well as in war and for the new and healthy generation you are preparing which – we firmly hope – will never know the days of agony through which their fathers lived. This speech seems to have been a success, though Moulin may have felt a little more comfortable in greeting local firemen as ‘good Frenchmen and indestructible republicans’. He also took part in a reception held at Chambéry, meeting the British Foreign Secretary Austin Chamberlain and King George V.21 He felt obliged to reply to claims in a local paper that he was too closely associated with Socialists and Radicals. Such assertions were perhaps an inevitable part of political debate at a time when the Cartel des Gauches government led by Radical leader Édouard Herriot was replaced by a more right-leaning administration under Poincaré pledged to economic austerity and fiscal rectitude. As Moulin grew in confidence and maturity, he became less concerned about such challenges to his political sympathies. In April 1928, Moulin performed the important task of organising new legislative elections in his area. The larger voting units of 1919 and 1924 were now abandoned, and there was a return to voting in Departments divided into constituencies, usually creating second-round contests. This allowed arrangements between party groups, including the traditional ‘republican discipline’ of alliances on the left. In the given political circumstances, this created difficulties for mainstream Radicals, who over the past four years had participated in the Cartel des Gauches government of Herriot and then in the rather different administration under Poincaré. Their solution was to re-invent themselves in a leftist direction, with Édouard Daladier taking over as president of the Party in 1927. As a result, the Socialists had little option but to ally with the Radicals against the right. In Savoie, left and right were evenly divided, but in Albertville the left was usually successful. Moulin privately told his father that he hoped that this would dispense with the need for a second round of voting in his area, partly to benefit the Radical Party, but also to save him extra effort.22 Antoine Borrel, the main Radical candidate in Albertville, praised the financial austerity of Poincaré, while mouthing routine phrases about the great Revolution. Despite Moulin’s hopes, he did not obtain a majority in the first round on 22 April. However, the local Socialists could hardly fail to support Borrel in the second round, even on minimal conditions, and he was elected. Not all Radicals were so successful, and on a national level they lost 15 seats, reducing the overall total on the left to 284, against 324 for the parties of the right. The representation of the Communists, currently


rejecting all alliances, fell from 44 to 14, though they defeated Socialist leader Blum in his Paris constituency. Another election result against the trend was in nearby Chambéry. Here the well-established right-wing deputy suffered defeat at the hands of an eloquent and brilliant 37-year-old Radical lawyer, Pierre Cot. Cot had once participated in Catholic youth movements, and stood in 1924 in the Hautes-Alpes as an opponent of the Cartel des Gauches. He first met Moulin in 1925, when he was changing his political opinions enough to stand as an official Radical candidate. Under these colours he secured his first electoral success. Cot wrote thirty years later that Moulin then was a ‘radical of the left’ with opinions ‘very close to mine’. He also described him as ‘a charming comrade’ who became ‘one of my best friends’, sharing as they did ‘a taste for the mountains, for skiing, for open air sport’.23 Pierre Cot was a significant figure in French politics from the 1930s to the 1950s. His political career saw extraordinary fluctuations, from distinguished service in the Great War and a position close to pacifism, to very controversial high ministerial office in the 1930s, developing after wartime exile in the United States into close association with Communism. Aristide Briand predicted that he would be Prime Minister many times, but he managed somehow to attract a virulent hostility, starting on the pages of Action Française and continuing to this day in historical texts.24 Cot’s relationship with Jean Moulin was crucial for both of them, at the same time personal, political and professional. On a political level, it may well have been Cot who, without the same traditional Radical baggage, pushed Moulin further towards the general leftist political project to which he became committed. This always involved working closely with other groups on the left, especially the Socialists at that time, and later with the Communists. When they first met, they were both strong supporters of the League of Nations and of the policies set out in the so-called triptych espoused by Aristide Briand of ‘security, arbitration and disarmament’. Similar policies were advocated by most of the moderate left at the time, including for example by Ramsay MacDonald in Britain. In 1930, Cot wanted France to give a lead in disarmament through peace agreements ‘more juridical than mystical’, with sanctions enforcing arms control. In 1932–4 Cot was a delegate at the Geneva Disarmament Conference, though in later years he recanted his opinions, explaining that as convinced democrats . . . we thought that we could solve the social and international problems inherited from the war by the worldwide

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extension of the principle of democracy. To-day I can see that this notion was more idealistic than practical.25 After the 1928 elections, Moulin went skiing with Cot and his family. He then devoted some effort to his own advancement. One of Moulin’s best biographers wrote that Moulin had ‘no taste for intrigue and kept himself outside backstairs manoeuvres’.26 In fact, even at this early stage, he worked with a will to secure his promotion from sub-prefect, third class, to second class. He first got in touch with his father, and then visited everyone he knew in Paris. In addition to Cot, he also went to see Louis Germain-Martin, a former teacher at Montpellier, who was now Minister in Posts and Telegraphs. With Poincaré again leading the administration, and André Tardieu as Minister of the Interior, there was little chance of support in high places. However, Moulin eventually made progress through other personal contacts. In the summer of 1929, he travelled to Finistère in Brittany for the wedding of his friend the lawyer and writer Georges Izard to Catherine Daniélou, daughter of the local Radical National Assembly member. Charles Daniélou (1878–1953), though Breton and Catholic, was also a Radical Socialist, a former under-secretary and future minister. One day his son would be a Cardinal, but for the moment he needed support. Moulin made himself known, and created enough of an impression to obtain the promise that Daniélou would ‘make it his business’ to see if he could ‘get something done’ to help the career of this young man, whatever the inevitable hostility of Tardieu. Daniélou was frequently detained in Paris by ministerial duties, and his Assembly seat, with a tradition of close contests between clerical and republican candidates, was what might nowadays be described as marginal.27 He thus felt the need for trustworthy local agents to watch his political back. So it was that when Tardieu moved in October from the Interior Ministry to become Premier, Moulin’s chance for promotion came. On 8 January 1930, he was nominated second-class sub-prefect at Châteaulin in the Finistère Department, and after a leisurely drive across France, arrived to take up his new duties on 2 February 1930.

A sub-prefect in Brittany and Paris, February 1930– June 1933 Moulin spent three and half years at Châteaulin deep in Brittany in the extreme North-west of France, not far from the naval port of Brest. The area for which he was now responsible had a population of 115,000


within a Department of 774,000. This was a land of mixed agriculture, but was also characterised by networks of small islands and fishing ports very different from his native Béziers, over 1500 kilometres away. He was never very happy there, finding Châteaulin ‘quiet, even too quiet’, and referring privately to ‘Breton apathy’.28 Ubiquitous wayside crosses attested to attitudes rather different from the radicalism of his native ‘Midi Rouge’. Moulin’s duties reflected the character of this posting. He officiated at ceremonies on the death of fishermen, and he found that he had to take a strong stance against ‘certain publications which public morality does not tolerate’. On another issue of public morality, he found it necessary early in his new posting to dismiss the clerks of some mayors for drunkenness and indolence. Another of Sub-Prefect Moulin’s duties during 1930 was to attend meetings of the conseil général of Finistère. He found the debate less passionate than in Hérault or Savoie, and discovered regional sentiment manifested in the wearing of Breton ‘waistcoats’, which he thought a form of ‘inverted snobbery’, and perhaps anti-republican. At the same time, Moulin saw an interesting expression of national attitudes in the attention given to the centenary of the acquisition of ‘that other France’ in Algeria. In response to conventional welcomes, the new sub-prefect pledged his ‘complete devotion to the interests of the local area and of the Republic’. He made public statements in support of the League of Nations and the Geneva Disarmament Conference along lines then upheld by Briand, as well as by Cot and Daniélou. Moulin was also favourably disposed to the proposals for European federalism launched by Briand in September 1930. Even if in retrospect such efforts to avoid another war can be seen to have failed, a good deal of hope was invested in them at the time. In October 1930, Moulin was part of the official Finistère reception party when he again met Gaston Doumergue. This was his third encounter with a President of the Republic. Moulin did not find ‘agreeable’ the plumed hat, sword and scabbard that he had to put on, but he undoubtedly shared the ideas that Doumergue expressed. The President proclaimed that France, being ‘democratic and republican, did not have any aggressive designs against the peace of the world’, and that ‘French military policy was not to provoke aggression or start a war, but to try to avoid it.’29 Moulin’s continued support for such attitudes as well as for the work of the League of Nations was expressed most strongly in a tribute to Aristide Briand, the ‘apostle of peace’, following the latter’s death in 1932. It was then that he spoke publicly of

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the glory of having an apostle whose name cannot be uttered without emotion, someone who only sought to be a man of good will and who will stand before history as one of the great servants of humanity. I have described Aristide Briand.30 The growing impact of the world slump and the baleful shadow cast by Nazi electoral successes on the other side of the Rhine were creating an international atmosphere where such sentiments were being rapidly undermined. While doing his duty in Finistère, Moulin worked in the interests of Charles Daniélou. He grew friendly with his son Louis, who later died as a member of the wartime navy. When new legislative elections were called in May 1932, he took on his accustomed role as an organiser. He now went well beyond seeing that the election was conducted legally and correctly. The local press was in full flood against Daniélou on the grounds of his leftist views and frequent absences from the area. Support was growing for a candidate standing for the right-wing Union Républicaine Démocratique (URD) named Larvol. Moulin threw himself into the electoral battle, touring the area openly advocating support for Daniélou, who came a poor second on the initial round of voting on 1 May, with 4850 votes against 5771 for Larvol. However, if the votes of another Radical Socialist (1769) and of a Socialist (1576) were re-directed then Daniélou could win in the second round. At this point the local press shifted its attack not only to the candidate, but also to the person it later called with heavy sarcasm ‘the honest sub-prefect’.31 As work began for the second round, Moulin was ‘summoned to Paris’ by Prime Minister André Tardieu, who had become his sworn enemy. The sub-prefect was ‘ordered to stay until after the election’. He was even ushered into the presence of Albert Mahieu, Minister of the Interior, who, according to Moulin’s own account, was charming but embarrassed at the task he had been given. Moulin expressed some astonishment that Tardieu, at one time an ally of his father, ‘could interest himself personally in so insignificant an individual as myself’. However, he knew very well that he was being treated in this heavy-handed way in an effort to undermine Daniélou, and that since this could not be done directly, Tardieu had to wreak ‘his tiny vengeance on his sub-prefect’. Perhaps surprisingly, Moulin did not seem much troubled by this, and spent the following days in a hotel at the Boulevard Raspail, visiting the Archives Nationales on behalf of his father.32


While Moulin was in Paris, President Doumer was assassinated, and the second round of voting led to defeat for the right. It was hardly surprising that Moulin’s activities ceased to concern his political superiors. Tardieu had seemed for a moment close to obtaining powers greater than those of his predecessors, but was now out of government for good, and engaged in an economic and constitutional crusade that soon placed him beyond the democratic mainstream.33 Meanwhile, Daniélou was re-elected at Châteaulin by 7331 votes against 6548. Moulin returned from his brief exile as the local Radical hero of the hour, guest of honour at a victory celebration in October. Hostile local papers now spoke of him ‘soliciting’ on behalf of Daniélou and claimed that in some way he had been acting improperly as his ‘election agent’. Instead of the embarrassed rebuttals he had felt necessary at Albertville, Moulin now gloried in such criticism, publicly speaking of himself as an ‘atavistic republican’ and declaring it his ‘agreeable duty’ to join the celebration of ‘the fine victory of the parties of the left’.34 Moulin was now openly allied with the Radical Party, and especially with the section that wanted to cooperate with the Socialists. Finistère was now represented entirely by Socialists and Radicals as part of a grouping of 346 seats in the new Assembly against 259 for the right. Another government led by Édouard Herriot soon followed, but it fell before the end of 1932, largely because Assembly members did not think it protested enough when the German government finally suspended reparation payments. Herriot was replaced by Joseph Paul-Boncour who had recently broken from the Socialists because he wanted to pursue a more active defence policy.35 Paul-Boncour decided to be his own Foreign Minister, but as the production of a balanced budget was his main priority, he appointed an active Under-Secretary of State in the person of Pierre Cot. On 18 December 1932, Cot asked Jean Moulin to come from Finistère to head his private office. This summons was the first of a number that Moulin received. The practice of members of the prefectoral corps moving into central government was common at that time and continues. Moulin’s friends thought the offer a significant step in his career. However, in view of the limited life of ministries of the time, he made special provision for a temporary secondment. This proved a wise precaution. Moulin’s tasks in Paris included supporting Cot in discussions with Senate members, and attending with him a dinner for Savoyards in Paris. He then spent a few days back in Finistère, and returned to Paris just in time to see the administration defeated in the Assembly on 28 January 1933 by 401

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votes to 71. It had proved impossible to gain support for austerity measures dealing with the chronic budget deficit. Paul-Boncour was only ‘forty days in power’, a brief period even by the standards of the Third Republic. The responsibility for setting up a new government was now passed on to Édouard Daladier, in a game of musical chairs that contributed to ‘the disaffection of the French people with their Parliament’. This was the moment that Hitler became Chancellor of Germany. The activity of the extra-parliamentary extreme right in France was growing, with helpful funding from perfume manufacturer François Coty and even from André Tardieu when he was in government.36 At this point, on 31 January 1933, Daladier appointed Pierre Cot to the Air Ministry. This had only been established in 1928 to deal with both civilian and military sides of a new industry. Cot held this office through a number of changes of ministry until 27 January 1934, and then from 4 June 1936 to 18 January 1938. Initially Moulin declined to follow him into his new office and returned to Châteaulin, partly to see to his prefectoral career. It was now time for another promotion, but his prefect was unhappy with his frequent absences from Brittany. Moulin was also needed in the area to look after the interests of Charles Daniélou while he was Minister of Health.37 Moulin found that the economic problems preoccupying the administration for which he had worked in Paris were now affecting farmers and fishermen on the western shores of France. Under the instructions of his prefect, he observed demonstrations around Châteaulin, where there were fears about the involvement of elements on the extreme right.38 Early in 1933, Moulin felt increasingly isolated from the rush of events unfolding far from Brittany. His absences grew longer. Though not officially on his staff, Moulin worked for Cot, in March going on his behalf by plane to Casablanca. Soon afterwards he replaced his ‘Amilcar’ with a Citroën C4, and used this to travel on a number of occasions to Megève in Savoie during the skiing season. On these trips he usually met Cot (see Plate 8), but he was sometimes alone, when he went dancing. During this period he spent time amongst the artistic community in Montparnasse. Behind these activities there may perhaps have been an effort to seek personal encounters that were never reported in the frequent letters to his family.39 During his visits to Paris, Moulin expanded his appreciation of the visual arts. In 1930 he attended a retrospective of the work of the impressionist painter Camille Pissaro. In the following year Moulin wrote that the Toulouse-Lautrec Exhibition showed him to be ‘one of the great artists of the modern period’. Attending the ‘Great Colonial Exhibition’ of 1931, Moulin was very


interested in what was then described as ‘negro art’. During that same period his own sketches and drawings appeared in such periodicals as Le Rire, Candide, and Gringoire, despite the latter’s very right-wing editorial content (see Plates 9 and 10). He also began to buy paintings, at first mostly of local views. While in Brittany, Moulin sought out the symbolist poet known as Saint-Paul-Roux, or ‘The Magnificent’. Like Moulin, Roux was born on the south coast, in Marseilles. He was long part of the avant-garde, and admired by the surrealists. Having retired to Brittany, he was over 70. Moulin also befriended the poet and painter Max Jacob, who originated from nearby Quimper. Jacob was associated with the movement away from representation and towards simultaneity in painting and poetry. He was a leading figure in French artistic life, particularly renowned for his prose poems. There are photographs of Moulin with Jacob in smiling social groups. In July 1931, after a meal in a former mill converted into a restaurant, Jacob wrote a punning verse on Moulin’s name: Je suis ce soir, la chose est claire L’heureux meunier de Finistère. J’ai le moulin de Pont-Aven Et le Moulin de Châteaulin. (This evening it’s clear that I am the happy miller of Finistère. I have the mill of Pont-Aven, and the Mill of Châteaulin) These members of the artistic community moved Moulin beyond the conservative aesthetic tastes of his youth. Max Jacob not only gave him a new outlook. He also contributed the last nom de guerre, by which Moulin was known. Despite being a Catholic convert living in a monastery, Jacob died in 1944 as a deported Jew in the Drancy concentration camp. Saint-Paul-Roux also died in the War, in October 1940, from wounds sustained in defending his home against the German invaders. Despite the lively development of his artistic circle, it was obvious by the middle of 1933 that Moulin was losing interest in his position at Châteaulin. This was in part because he was becoming frustrated with the remoteness of this corner of the country, but also because, for the only time in his prefectoral career, he fell out with his superior. Finistère Prefect Charles Larquet began to question his claims for travel expenses, and his requests for days away from his duties. He was often in Paris in any case, where he had even received a personal promise of help from

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Camille Chautemps in his efforts to secure promotion. However, since it would take some time to get a posting as a first-class sub-prefect, he was prepared in June 1933 to accept, through the good offices of Cot and the local prefect, another second-class position, at Thonon-les-Bains in Haute-Savoie.

Thonon, and Paris, June 1933–June 1934 Moulin took three days to drive from one side of the country in Finistère via Paris to Thonon, within sight of the Swiss border, near the source of the Évian springs. He arrived on 9 June 1933, to find himself close to Geneva, where the League of Nations disarmament conference was moving to a shuddering close, while the four-power agreement between France, Britain, Italy and Germany was just about to be signed in Rome. These were the last weeks of serious hope that the great European powers would co-operate to avoid another war. The atmosphere had greatly changed since Moulin’s previous sojourn in eastern France. No longer was he reporting on a lack of interest in international issues. During June meetings were held in the area, of International Red Aid and a local Anti-Fascist Committee. He instructed those who hired out boats on the lake to stop German schoolchildren replacing French tricolours with swastikas. On Sunday, 11 June, two days after his arrival, Moulin attended a local meeting on aviation with Pierre Cot. Cot also spoke on 15 July in Chambéry to ‘600 Republicans’, telling them that he believed in expanding the air industry of France, both civilian and military. Paradoxically, but typically for the period, he also described himself as ‘an unrepentant pacifist’, with a ‘continuing belief in the unity of the left’. This was at a time when the Socialists’ Annual Conference had voted, against the advice of Party leader Léon Blum, to refuse any governmental alliance with Radicals. When Cot now asked Moulin to head his ministerial office in Paris, there was no question of a refusal. However, Moulin stayed in Thonon while Cot prepared for the first ever French ministerial visit to the Soviet Union. This trip was made in September as part of efforts by a succession of French governments from every part of the political spectrum to tempt the Soviets away from their previous alliance with Germany. Radical leader Édouard Herriot, then out of government, had gone in November 1932, and initiated a non-aggression agreement. Eventually Pierre Laval concluded a military alliance in May 1935. During his 1933 visit, Cot noticed the keenness of the Russians for close co-operation on


aviation matters, and he took what seems to have been his first step in the direction of the strongly pro-Soviet stance that he maintained for the rest of his life. However, in 1933, before the Popular Front was conceived, or the term ‘fellow traveller’ was bandied about, Cot worked closely with other senior French politicians. While talking of ‘mutual respect for one another’s institutions’, he wanted to secure for France the diplomatic and economic benefits which were already being exploited by German and British visitors.40 As for Moulin, he managed to secure the full support of his prefect for an arrangement that allowed him to leave his position in HauteSavoie on 7 October 1933 to work part-time heading Cot’s ministerial office in the rue Saint-Didier. He found himself part of a lively and talented group of people. He was welcomed back by his friend Louis Daniélou as well as by an engineer called Daniel Haguenau. Years later, Haguenau told one of Moulin’s biographers of a team of technical experts and political appointees that was ‘closely knit, thanks to the ascendancy of Pierre Cot, who was loved and admired by all’. In the months following the arrival of Hitler they worked long hours ‘under the greatest pressure’. Haguenau thought Moulin difficult to get to know at first, but he soon found him ‘imbued with a passion to serve the Republican State’. He also considered him energetic, objective about the difficulties he faced, and a ‘prototypical man of action’. Moulin’s chef-adjoint (deputy) was Louis Joxe, later a major Gaullist politician. In retrospect, he described Moulin as ‘straightforward, charming, capable, honest’, with ‘an attachment to authentic Jacobinism’.41 These were exciting times to be at the centre of French aviation.42 Ever since Louis Blériot had flown across the English Channel in 1909, the French people seemed engaged in a love affair with the new technology of flight and with the daring of the aviators. In 1918, France had the most advanced aviation in the world, but this lead was lost. It was the American Charles Lindbergh who first crossed the Atlantic in 1927, when he was greeted with extraordinary enthusiasm in France. Lindbergh’s achievement was emulated three years later by a flight in the opposite direction by French aviators Costas and Bellonte. Further French achievements in setting up the first airmails in South America were celebrated in 1931 in the best-selling Vol de Nuit, (‘Night Flight’) by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Despite extravagant enthusiasm, the organisation and technology of French aviation were already falling behind, especially on the military side. This was often because of the conservative attitudes of military leaders and the erratic subsidisation of civil aviation. The new Air

38


Ministry badly needed strong leadership to assert its role. It secured this when the radical and enthusiastic Pierre Cot became Minister, at the age of 38, in 1933. His first aim was to enforce co-operation between the various sectors of civil aviation by the creation of a single Air France with a 25 per cent state shareholding. Moulin attended the founding ceremony at Le Bourget airport on 7 October 1933. Cot also wanted to develop the five-year-old military air force into a more autonomous armée de l’air (a phrase he was the first to use), with its own regional and command structures. However, powerful military opposition frustrated his efforts. Cot also confronted hostility when he initiated the first significant state-sponsored military aviation building programme. Known as Plan I, this was designed to produce 1010 planes by 1936. It took some time to have it agreed, and its implementation was left to Cot’s successors, who had not completed it when he again became Minister in 1936.43 These policies were vigorously implemented against a background of high political drama and crisis in France. Daladier was replaced as head of the administration by Albert Sarraut on 26 October 1933. Camille Chautemps, following him on 26 November, pushed through some of the unpalatable budget cuts that had so far been blocked. Nevertheless, Chautemps was replaced on 30 January by Daladier, who once again was given the task of forming an administration. Throughout all these changes, Cot retained his ministerial post, and the head of his office. Moulin still had to keep in touch with Thonon, whence he returned during much of November. Armistice Day provided an opportunity to reflect on the fact that, while the government of France wobbled, the new Nazi regime in Germany took decisive action. In October 1933, Germany withdrew from disarmament negotiations and from the League of Nations. Briandist hopes for peace and reconciliation were being shattered by the day.

4 Fascism and Anti-Fascism, 1934–6

The world economic crisis that began in 1929 came late to France. When it did, after 1932, it was manifested not just in increasing social distress and bankruptcies. It also had a significant impact on political life. This period saw the growth of the far right and changing of attitudes on the left, with the re-orientation of the Communist Party and the development of new ideas elsewhere on the left. For Jean Moulin and those of his political persuasion, there was a decisive break from the pacifism of the Briand period to new attitudes on issues of war and peace. This especially took the form of a militant anti-fascism, which took hold of all sections of the left.

The 6th of February In France during 1934, ministerial alliances became increasingly difficult to construct, and political divisions intensified. The crisis began late in 1933 with serious, but only very partially justified, charges of corruption in high places. It culminated on 6 February 1934 in the most widespread politically motivated street violence that Paris had seen since the Commune in 1871.1 Jean Moulin was very much in the thick of these events, and like everyone politically conscious in his generation, his attitudes were changed utterly. On Christmas Eve 1933, the director of the Municipal Bank at Bayonne was arrested and charged with ‘the misappropriation of public funds’ having issued bonds secured by jewellery that was stolen or false. Immediately, the ultra-right-wing daily Action Française set the agenda by declaring this to be ‘a new republican scandal’. On New Year’s Day 1934, Jean Moulin returned with Pierre Cot from a brief Austrian skiing holiday to find Action Française claiming that the instigator of the crisis 39

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was a Russian émigré called Alexandre Stavisky, who was found dead in mysterious circumstances on 8 January. The deputy Mayor and Radical deputy for Bayonne, Jean Garat, was then arrested. In the columns of Action Française more action was demanded, notably against the Minster of Colonies Albert Dalimier, who as Minister of Labour in 1932 had endorsed the bank. Following pressure from Cot and others, Dalimier resigned on 9 January. The right-wing and fascist leagues now held daily demonstrations under such slogans as ‘Down with the Robbers!’ Their new target was Prime Minister Camille Chautemps, ferociously hated as an active freemason. On 12 January, the National Assembly agreed to an enquiry, and passed a vote of confidence in the Chautemps administration. The heat was now turned onto Pierre Cot, who, according to a rumour started by André Tardieu and repeated in Action Française, had been a friend and associate of Stavisky. On 19 January the paper was forced to publish a full refutation by Cot of these allegations. Nevertheless, the pressure of daily demonstrations, and the flood of new ‘revelations’, many false and some not, forced Chautemps to resign. On 30 January he was replaced by the Radical strongman Édouard Daladier. It was now a year since the Nazis took power in Germany, and there were many French people who were appalled or inspired by the prospect of some similar group taking over in France. To construct a political alliance to deal with this, Daladier leaned to the left politically. He won support from the Radical ‘Young Turks’ including Pierre Cot, and attempted to win over former Socialists, notably Joseph Paul-Boncour who became Minister of War, and his new Interior Minister Eugène Frot. An essential condition for this support was the dismissal of Paris Police Prefect Jean Chiappe, known for his sympathy for the far right. This in turn provoked a protest demonstration by organisations of exservicemen, including the ultra-right Croix de Feu. They were joined by veterans’ bodies aligned with the Communists, who at this point were directing their political fire at Radicals, Socialists and others on the left. The demonstration gathered on Tuesday, 6 February, when the new administration sought a vote of confidence in the National Assembly. As crowds of veterans and fascists arrived in the Place de la Concorde on the afternoon of 6 February, Republican servant Jean Moulin was at his post. Acting as the eyes and ears of his Minister Pierre Cot, he watched every turn of the unfolding crisis. Cot was at the centre of events, both in the disposition of the forces of order, and in the political consultations. Initially he decided, with Foreign Minister PaulBoncour, that military forces under his command should be unarmed

Fascism and Anti-Fascism, 1934–6 41

and kept in reserve, well away from the demonstrations. It was never intended, despite much subsequent speculation, that troops moved later in the day should be involved.2 The parliamentary confidence debate on the new administration began at 3 p.m., and more demonstrators arrived during the bleak and foggy evening that followed. They called for the reinstatement of Chiappe and the overthrow of the government. According to later accounts, some of the ultra-right-wing leaders met, but Croix de Feu leader de La Roque opposed this.3 Though keeping his supporters away from direct confrontation with the police, the shouted speech of de La Roque was hardly designed to induce calm. Any government supported by the Assembly would, he said, fly ‘the red flag that would reduce you to slavery’. Nor was the language of those inside the Chamber more conciliatory. Daladier tried his best to appeal for support for his administration. ‘Scandals come and go,’ he said, ‘Problems remain! For the Republic to continue it must resolve them.’ The small group of Communist deputies unhelpfully chanted ‘Set up soviets!’ André Tardieu, who had already called the new administration ‘a gang of double dealers’, asserted that he would have Communist leader Thorez arrested. With the noise growing outside, of violence and gunfire, Léon Blum responded with characteristic courage. The situation required, he said ‘not a vote of confidence, but a vote of struggle’. He accused the right of attempting to reverse a one-year-old electoral verdict, and led his Party in voting for the Daladier administration, which was endorsed by 360 votes to 222. During these events in the Chamber, Jean Moulin stood from 6 p.m. on the Concorde Bridge watching the arrival of contingents of the Croix de Feu and the Camelots de Roi.4 His firm view was that the first gunfire was directed from these groups at unarmed policemen, and that the legs of police horses were cut with razor blades. The subsequent Commission of Enquiry agreed that from 6 p.m. missiles were thrown at the police, and that from 7.10 p.m. shots were heard from barricades at either end of the bridge. At 7.30 a group of around 1500 supporters of the openly fascist Solidarité Française began charging the barricades shouting ‘To the Chamber! Chuck the cops into the water!’ At this point the garde mobile police fired into the air but towards the crowd, killing four people. By the end of the night there were 14 demonstrators and one policeman dead, with 328 people hospitalised and over 1000 others injured. Following the vote of confidence, Daladier held a late night meeting with Interior Minister Frot and other ministers and officials. Frot wanted to proclaim a state of siege, which would place responsibility for public

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order on the army. He also advocated preventative arrests, not just from the ultra-right groups, and the suspension of the Chamber. Pierre Cot, advising on the legal viability of these proposals, believed that the defence of democracy required these very tough measures. Daladier then wrote, but never published, a statement maintaining that a coup was planned. His wife repelled men carrying clubs who threatened their home. As the night wore on, the scale of the deaths and disruption grew clear, and rumours spread of preparations for greater and bloodier violence. Frot then began to fear, perhaps because of his contact with Chiefof-Staff Maxime Weygand, that army leaders would not support action against the extreme right, especially if veterans’ organisations were involved. The military leadership also argued that movements of troops and tanks would inflame matters and that a ‘state of siege’, designed to deal with a war, was hardly appropriate against unsubstantiated rumour. Daladier feared ‘risking the lives of young men conscripted to defend their country . . . to save instead the life of the ministry’. Such concerns caused Frot, along with Cot and others, to reverse their views overnight. They now wanted the government to resign. Daladier was initially surprised, but he found that he had lost the support of President Lebrun as well as the presidents of National Assembly and Senate. By afternoon, the only significant advocate of staying on was Socialist leader Blum, though even he could not guarantee the votes of his party. Daladier decided that he could not risk more bloodshed, so he submitted his resignation.5 For some this was a heroic self-sacrifice of a selfless statesman. For others it was a symptom of cowardice in the face of public disorder, displaying the same weakness later shown by Daladier in the 1938 Munich agreement with Hitler, and even the military defeat of 1940. Daladier’s decision was a blow against French democracy. For the first time in the Third Republic, a constitutional government with demonstrable support based on a democratic election was forced from office by street violence. The far right later saw the events of the evening as a missed opportunity to impose their kind of regime. They had their chance in 1940. Some of those involved, such as Socialist leader Léon Blum, remained convinced that there was a concerted plot by the far right to seize power. Daladier tended to the same view. Others saw the riots as an attempt to destroy democracy, and became convinced of the need for the joint action from the left, so woefully absent on the night of 6 February. From every viewpoint there was a sea change in French political attitudes and alignments that became a reference point for decades. Afterwards, it was not just a matter of whether you had been


present on the 6th of February, nor even which side of the barricades you had occupied, but where you were in the line-up on that night and later. On the right there were recriminations against the Croix de Feu for being insufficiently violent. On the left there were arguments against the Communists, who almost immediately changed their line to cooperate with others on the left. All participants in these events were greatly affected by them, as also were many who were not there. Moulin’s private conclusion in the immediate aftermath was that ‘the most regrettable aspect of all this was that the responsible head of the government (i.e. Daladier) did not restore order as was his duty’.6 This was a harsh verdict, but Moulin had not only watched the initiation of the violence by the right-wing demonstrators. He also answered a succession of telephone calls threatening to murder Pierre Cot. One witness saw Jean Moulin in the corridors of the National Assembly ‘sobbing with despair’ and ‘shaking with emotion that I had not known’. Léon Blum said the 6th of February ‘gave birth to new men. . . . Jean Moulin was ready for the exceptional.’7 Moulin’s strong emotion perhaps owed something to the concern his father had shown in 1907 when he saw the winegrowers rioting against the republican authorities in Béziers. His ‘atavistic republicanism’ grew apace. By 1936, when the supply of arms to the Spanish Republic was seen by Daladier and others as the prelude to a possible civil war in France, the position of Cot – and Moulin – was the most intransigent of those within and around government. Whether greater force in 1934, or 1936, would have produced the dire consequences predicted by some can only be the subject of speculation. At any rate Moulin supported the use of violence in defence of democracy and developed a hostility to Daladier, which he maintained during later crises. There were parallels with the extreme and violent measures that Moulin felt it necessary to take against those who abandoned democracy after 1940. These attitudes were shared at this time by Pierre Cot, who now had the reputation as the toughest man within the late government, and as a result was routinely the object of vitriolic denunciation from the far right.

After the storm, February–July 1934 The installation after 6 February of the Doumergue ‘government of national unity’, including not only Tardieu in a nominal role, but also Pétain as Minister of War, meant that during the following months France was ruled by a series of right-wing administrations. They pursued a conservative domestic agenda combined with an alliance with the

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Soviet Union. On the left, the lessons of disunity were painfully learnt. The Socialists edged slowly towards the Daladier wing of the Radicals, and the Communists towards joint action with the Socialists. For those in Moulin’s ‘political family’, this was a period of changing attitudes, leading to new alliances that culminated in the formative political experience of the Popular Front. On 12 February a famous scene was enacted in Paris when separate groups of Socialist and Communist demonstrators united to sing the International. There were large demonstrations on the same day throughout France. By 5 March a change of political mood was further indicated by the conscious echo of the Dreyfus Affair in the setting up of a ‘Committee of Anti-Fascist Intellectuals’ made up of people identified with radicalism, communism and socialism, all of them calling on workers to unite against fascism. While these first steps in forging anti-fascist unity were in progress, Cot and Moulin went far from Paris. On Monday, 12 February, they reached Thonon, where Moulin wrote to his parents giving his assessment of what had happened. Their vantage-point deep in provincial France provoked some reconsideration. In the local Savoie press they could read accounts of an alleged Masonic plot involving Daladier, Blum and Cot. Clearly, the proposed Daladier government was not universally popular, and some of the mud thrown at Stavisky had stuck to all left-wing politicians. There was even a positive response to the rhetoric of national unity from Doumergue, however false its reality. This may help to explain the somewhat hesitant line on the Doumergue administration taken by Cot. No doubt chastened by these discoveries, Cot and Moulin went together to ski in the Austrian Alps at the end of February. From there Cot returned to Savoie to meet his constituents, while Moulin went to Paris. He rented a ‘studio’ in 26 rue des Plantes, a modern apartment block in the unfashionable 14th arrondissement, on the southern extremity of the city, which he continued to use into the 1940s. To-day this leads to an avenue Jean Moulin. From his Parisian base Moulin kept in touch with Thonon. However, he was now taken up with a project that had become a ‘veritable family enterprise’. Antonin Moulin, who had written some local history, now decided that at 75 he should narrow his concern to a biography of the last descendant of the seigneurs of Saint-Andiol, Ernestine de Castellane, who in 1815 became the second wife of Joseph Fouché, when she was 27, and he 56.8 Fouché, who began as a member of the Revolutionary Assembly voting for the execution of the King, became a member of the Directory, and subsequently the feared Police Chief of Napoleon. He even briefly served the Bourbons in 1815, then went into


exile, and died in 1820, leaving his widow to return to France. She died in 1850. Jean Moulin worked on every aspect of the biography of ‘Ernestine’ from 1933 until it finally appeared in 1937. He studied documents in the Archives Nationales and elsewhere, met the descendants of his subject, negotiated with the elderly lady who ran the Perrin publishing house, and read proofs and reviews. An extract appeared in the Revue de France, and the Académie Française awarded the author a prize of 500 francs.9 Apart from the local connections, this was perhaps a strange subject for the staunchly republican Antonin, aided by his equally republican son and daughter. The distorting mirror of the secondary participation in the production of a biography by one who is himself so often the subject of biography creates a complex image when reflecting back on Jean Moulin. Yet Ernestine and her family remained faithful to the memory of a servant of the state who, like many others, negotiated their way through the shifting sands of passing regimes and took their own choices. Perhaps there was something to learn there of state service many generations later, with loyalties to choose and secrets to keep. Another project that might be thought surprising from a political point of view was also undertaken by Moulin at this time. This was the illustrated edition he published with the work of the Breton poet Tristan Corbière (1845–75). Interest in a writer known for anti-militarism and anti-republicanism may have been surprising, but it was the choice of Moulin’s friends in Brittany, especially Max Jacob. The illustrated edition, full of disturbing nightmarish etchings and drawings done as ‘Romanin’, was published in October 1935, and the originals were exhibited in 1936.10

Secretary-general of the Somme, Amiens, July 1934–June 1936 Moulin’s unceasing efforts to advance his career continued while he worked in Cot’s office. In January 1934, he obtained through the good offices of Chautemps an appointment as sub-prefect, first class, at Montargis in the Loiret Department south of Paris. He was too busy to take up this post, and after the collapse of the ministry he returned to Thonon. However, he spent most of the next few months in Paris, and on 19 May his next promotion was announced. He was now to be Secretary-General at Amiens, in effect the deputy of the prefect of the Somme, André Jozon. Cot thought this an excellent promotion to a major town within striking distance of Paris. The only disadvantage

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was that Moulin lived in a rented room rather than the luxurious mansions of his days as a sub-prefect. Moulin took up his new duties on 1 July 1934 in a world of growing international danger. This was the day after the ‘night of the long knives’ in Germany when over seventy Nazis and others were murdered by the new regime. In the following months Hitler renounced the Treaty of Versailles, while in France, the Radical majority in the Assembly supported a series of right-leaning administrations. The Doumergue government lasted until November 1934, followed by a ministry of Pierre-Étienne Flandin to May 1935, of Pierre Laval to January 1936 and of Albert Sarraut until June 1936. These administrations were increasingly repressive, and Laval took powers to issue decrees without reference to the Assembly. They were faced with menacing international events including the Italian invasion of Ethiopia, and the collapse of French diplomacy leading to the German–Italian alliance. At the same time, the financial problems of government increased, while public opinion opposed such measures as extending military service. As the world depression hit France, production fell rapidly and unemployment rose. The mid-1930s saw a new wave of strikes and lockouts, and physical fights between the fascist leagues and the left. It was a time of anguish in Moulin’s political ‘family’. Pierre Cot still advocated peace negotiations even with the German Nazis, and was so concerned with the threat of an ultra-right-wing coup that in a notorious article of November 1935, he called on the ‘republican soldier’ Marshal Pétain to take power.11 For most of this period, Jean Moulin worked quietly in the Somme Department. This was an area of some industry including textiles, sugar refining and aeroplane manufacture, and was generally on the left politically, electing Radicals and some Socialists. Many of Moulin’s tasks reflected the political and social flavour of the times, with ‘orthodox’ economic management causing declining production and rapidly falling prices. In Amiens and the surrounding area in the summer of 1934, there were demonstrations of the unemployed, usually led by Communists. Prefect Jozon gave Moulin the particular duty of arranging a 1935 Christmas party at the prefecture for children of the unemployed. The Secretary-General was also given policing tasks. In April 1935, he was responsible for confronting one demonstration of about 1400 people with no fewer than five companies of republican guards, three on horseback, together with 100 policemen and 30 gendarmes. The prefect and his officials were more conciliatory during industrial disputes, in one case arranging the reinstatement of dismissed workers.12


Such a deployment of force, and a negotiating role, must have taught some useful lessons to the future president of the National Resistance Council. Jean Moulin had other duties, including deputising for the prefect at meetings of the conseil général. On one occasion, 13 May 1935, he presented the annual departmental budget to a group of sceptical and penny-pinching elected members, who agreed that his effort showed him good enough to be a prefect. In June, Moulin deputised for the prefect at a banquet during a conference of doctors. He wrote to his parents with some black humour about the outcome. The meal resulted in a serious outbreak of food poisoning, including one death, and Moulin himself took some time off work to recover. His most significant task, however, was to organise a series of elections in the Somme Department. He does not seem to have been in a position to support any candidates, though he would have been pleased with the results. The first elections were the cantonal contests in October 1934, when, despite clear divisions on the left, the Radical Socialists managed to hold onto power. The municipal elections of May 1935 saw what the Somme prefect described as a ‘slight movement to the left’, with a few authorities taken over by Radical Socialists and a significant increase in the Communist vote. Stronger gains for the left were recorded nationally, especially where the parties co-operated, and there were similar results in elections to the Senate in October. In the Somme, however, Radicals narrowly lost two of the four seats to more right-wing candidates. During 1935, the forces on the left began to coalesce and win support. Success in the May municipal elections followed the acceptance of the Franco-Soviet pact.13 The massive Paris demonstration of 14 July saw the leaders of the PCF march side by side with Blum and Daladier behind tricolours pledging ‘unity to defend democracy, to disarm and dissolve the fascist leagues’. They also promised ‘bread for the workers, work for young people and peace for the world’. In the autumn, growing confidence on the left was shown in an agreement to oppose Laval’s efforts to conciliate Mussolini following the invasion of Ethiopia. On 13 February 1936 a gang of fascists beat up Léon Blum in the street. Two days later, a large anti-fascist meeting was organised in Amiens, and on the next day 500,000 demonstrators assembled in Paris. On 3 March, the National Assembly voted 353 to 164 to endorse the Franco-Soviet Treaty, and on 7 March German troops marched into the Rhineland. The long-expected legislative elections followed on 26 April and 3 May 1936. The campaign was marked by large and noisy demonstrations usually organised by the Communists. The Radicals were too

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divided to present a national line, and even Pierre Cot failed to mention the Popular Front in his election literature. Instead he described himself as a ‘faithful disciple of Briand’, favouring the ‘general reduction and control of armaments’. The electoral campaign indicated genuine enthusiasm for the Popular Front. The right-wing parties had nothing positive to propose, concentrating their fire only at the ‘Red Threat’ allegedly posed by their opponents. Even if the actual turnover of votes in the end was not spectacular, the outcome was remarkable, especially because of the operation of ‘republican discipline’. In the Somme, the Radicals won only one seat, losing that of the Mayor of Amiens, Lucien Lecointe. However, there were five supporters of the Popular Front elected, including two Socialists and two Communists. Nationally, Communist representation increased from 10 to 72, and the Socialists from 97 to 147. Other left-wing parties increased their representation by 14 seats to 51, but the Radicals lost 51 bringing their total below that of the Socialists at 106. The combined parties of the Popular Front had 376 seats, and the right 220. Through these significant developments, Jean Moulin was acting, without any difficulty or controversy, as an election official. He deputised for his prefect later in May, when strikes and sit-ins swept across his Department, as throughout the whole of France. As the election victory became clear, Léon Blum announced on 4 June that he would form his government. He put Daladier into the Ministry of National Defence, and he in turn asked for Pierre Cot to be restored to the Ministry of Air. Cot announced that he wanted to re-establish the team in his personal office that had so suddenly been dispersed in February 1934. For Jean Moulin this was followed by an offer he could not refuse. He was set to be part of the long-awaited victory of his political ‘family’, the united republican left. What could be better than to be in Paris, implementing the political project of the Popular Front, bringing about what all those involved believed to be the work of peace and social improvement?

5 The Popular Front, 1936–8

After May 1936, France experienced an extraordinary period of political and social turbulence. The political left with which Moulin was associated travelled from the pinnacle of power and achievement to defeat and marginalisation. The high point for the left followed the election victory of the Popular Front, the strikes and sit-ins that accompanied it and the reforming legislation that came immediately after. The downfall of the government in which Moulin and many others had invested fervent hopes was followed from 1938 to 1940 by the sharpest political reaction and the slide to war. Jean Moulin was emphatically a man of the Popular Front. On 14 July 1936, with the initial euphoria still strong, he joined the massive demonstrations in Paris and danced the night away afterwards. There is a photograph from that summer of a rally held in the Paris suburbs with delegates from the Catalonian Parliament. In the centre of the picture, making the clenched-fist salute, is André Malraux, with his trademark cigarette. Joining in nearby is Pierre Cot, and discreetly behind is his chef de cabinet Jean Moulin, happily smiling.1 Beyond such glimpses, it is not easy to distinguish Moulin’s own enthusiasms from the Minister for whom he worked, but there is no reason to believe that, as he enacted Cot’s purposes, he was anything other than committed and engaged. Even if we cannot always distinguish his personal role, it is clear that working for the Popular Front was his most important public experience before the resistance. When Cot was re-appointed Air Minister, Moulin returned to the Boulevard Victor as chef de cabinet. He later described his job.2 My assignments never went beyond carrying out the directives of the minister or the office director. They included political and parlia49

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mentary relations, the management of secret funds under the direct control of the minister, labour issues at the beginning of the Blum Ministry, aviation expansion and popular aviation except on technical matters (choice of machines etc.). There was in the Office, as in other ministerial offices, a permanent body called the ‘office bureau’, which included a section on parliamentary correspondence. When the correspondence arrived, those who worked in this section distributed it; and it was my job to submit the most important matters to the minister, who gave his directives after consulting the services. This work was more than a succession of bureaucratic tasks. Placed at the centre of the Popular Front administration, Jean Moulin was involved in major aspects of policy including the reform programme, rearmament, and the efforts to prevent another war. He was involved in a number of major aspects of government policy, at the heart of the industrial relations negotiations in the summer of 1936. He later played a significant supporting role in the nationalisation of the aircraft industry, taking the lead in the key policy of aviation populaire. Most significantly of all, he was part of the leading group of civil servants who provided arms to the embattled Spanish Republic. This was not just when military aid was the official policy of the French government, but also when support was to some extent organised outside the publicly stated line. Moulin’s actions in conditions of some clandestinity manifested certain parallels with his later activities.

Pacifism and war in France in the 1930s For Jean Moulin, as for many others on the left, the mid-1930s saw an end to pacifist illusions. The disintegration of the post-war peace process perhaps began with the unprovoked Japanese aggression against China in 1932, and the coming to power of the German Nazis in 1933. After the events of February 1934, many on the French Republican left became ardent anti-fascists. The peaceful hopes of idealists of the left had vanished by the time of the election of the Popular Front government in 1936. The Disarmament Conference met again in 1937, but for the last time. Although Moulin and Cot continued to talk of peace and to associate themselves with what was described – even at times by Cot himself – as pacifism, they were now firmly committed to rearmament, and to preparations for war. Whatever the failures of Cot’s efforts as Minister to augment the French air force, there can be no doubt of his

The Popular Front, 1936–8 51

belief in the policy. Because of Cot’s support for co-operation with the Soviet Union, it was sometimes argued, notably in the Riom show trial of 1942, that he in some way opposed French rearmament. Nothing was further from the truth: Air Minister Cot wanted a strong offensive air capacity. Within government, he advocated involvement in the Spanish Civil War to challenge the dictators who threatened further war. This is not to say that Cot and Moulin adopted any sort of mindless militarism. Moulin and those in his circle were much involved in the Rassemblement Universal pour la Paix (RUP, Assembly for Peace), which was set up in March 1936 by Pierre Cot and the maverick British Conservative Lord Robert Cecil, who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1937. They aimed initially to campaign for sanctions against Italy following its invasion of Ethiopia.3 Because the RUP was said, at the time and since, to have been ‘infiltrated’ by communists, clandestine and otherwise, this organisation has become a starting point for some on the nether reaches of historical inquiry who take a special interest in spies and agents of international Communism.4 Louis Dolivet (1908–89), of Romanian origin, was Secretary-General and described by Cecil as ‘a Communist of a kind’. He was known to Moulin and certainly worked with the famous Comintern agent Willi Münzenberg, though he broke away after the Nazi–Soviet pact and later worked for American intelligence.5 While looming large in many later accounts, the Comintern link was merely one of many in the 1930s, because the RUP was part of the general opposition on the left – going well beyond the Communists – to the aggressive actions of fascist and right-wing regimes. Thus the RUP supported China against Japanese aggression, advocated sending arms to the Spanish Republic, and opposed the Munich agreement. The RUP also organised the 400,000-strong demonstration in Luna Park on 9 August 1936 when the slogans were for ‘Arms for Spain!’, and when Blum pleaded the case for non-intervention. Moulin organised the RUP ‘peace pavilion’ at the Great Universal Exhibition and was present when Léon Blum himself inaugurated it on 9 July 1937. This activity was said to be the RUP’s most successful effort, but its influence was by then waning.6 It still advocated military action against aggression in 1939, by which time the issues of war and peace were posed very differently.

The Popular Front – class conflict and the exercise of power The Popular Front alliance of Socialists, Radicals and Communists, constructed following the unhappy events of February 1934, created

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unprecedented enthusiasm and massive expectations from all sections of its supporters amongst the poor and the political left. The results of the elections of May 1936 were received with extraordinary delight.7 The electoral swing was not as sharp as it appeared, but public attitudes moved enough to the left to produce the first government which included Radicals and Socialists, supported by the Communists. It seemed to many that long-awaited reforms could at last be secured. For the far right this was perceived at the time, and even more in retrospect, as a period of indulgence of the working class at the expense of French national interests. For the left, the Popular Front was, and became in retrospect, a model in the construction of a progressive political alliance, but also a time of frustrated hopes and unfinished business. On 11 May 1936, a week after the elections, and before the new government was installed, workers at the Bréguet aviation factory in Le Havre staged a ‘sit-in’ to protest against the sacking of two of their number. This dispute was soon resolved, but many similar actions followed. Another successful strike, this time for higher pay, followed at the Bloch aviation factory at Courbevoie on the northern outskirts of Paris, and there were soon strikes and sit-ins throughout the metallurgical industry. By early June such industrial action spread beyond factories to building sites, department stores and hotels, with almost two million people participating throughout France. The new government was formed on 4 June, and on the next day negotiations began at Prime Minister Blum’s official residence, the Palais Matignon. Around the table were leaders of the recently reunified trade union movement and a hastily assembled group of employers’ representatives. On 7 June agreement was reached to grant higher wages, shorter hours and trade union recognition. Strikes and sit-ins continued however, even in the face of the famous exhortation by the Communist leader Maurice Thorez on 11 June that workers should know when to end strikes. The actions did not finally peter out until August. The movement was described at the time as a great ‘explosion of joy’, without clear aims, characterised by the singing of popular songs rather than revolutionary anthems. Well-heeled sections of the population feared the worst, while there were high hopes amongst the poor and the political left. Communist dockers in Marseilles typically argued that strikers should show that ‘our wishes are demonstrated in mass action obliging the deputies and the government to fulfil their promises’.8 For those at the centre of government the strikes presented particular problems. The Matignon agreement brought considerable gains to workers, including the forty-hour week and holidays with pay. Minis-


ters and officials with responsibility for the aviation industry were under particular pressure to secure a return to work to pursue essential military needs. This provided a baptism of fire within hours of appointment for Air Minister Pierre Cot and his chef de cabinet. Moulin was directly involved, at the elbow of his Minister, in a forty-eight hour stretch of continuous negotiations, which culminated on 11 June in the first-ever collective contract for the aircraft industry. Moulin was then the designated person in Cot’s office to whom detailed points of implementation were referred, including arbitration on dismissals. It is interesting to notice how the embattled protagonists saw this. Moulin and Cot were certainly men of the left, but did not automatically take the side of workers in dispute. The general view of employers at the time was that it was necessary to make significant concessions to avoid something worse. In retrospect, however, and especially when they were collaborating with the German war effort and presenting testimony to the Riom tribunal, employers adopted a different stance. They then asserted that in 1936 Cot’s staff in general, and Moulin in particular, had given much greater access to trade union representatives than to employers, and shown a marked bias towards the former.9 Despite the manifestly partisan origin of such statements, there may have been some truth in the notion that Moulin was operating under instructions that he should adopt a helpful attitude towards workers, whose good will was badly needed. This was not to fulfil some hidden Marxist purpose, but for good French republican reasons: to ensure increased production in all parts of the aircraft industry. Nor was the policy new. Cot’s two predecessors as Air Minister had put pressure on aviation employers to make concessions for almost two years. Though Cot and Moulin were regarded by both sides as being more sympathetic to the workers, it was not as one-sided as the Riom evidence claimed. According to Moulin’s own account in 1937, workers from one of the Henry Potez factories declared that those in the Minster’s office, especially Moulin, were ‘dictators and fascists’. Such reactions are to be expected by any intermediary, and it was not the last time they were experienced by Jean Moulin.10

Moulin and the Spanish War While the new collective contract in the aircraft industry was being finalised, a new and even more divisive issue arose. On 18 July, a military revolt began against the Spanish Popular Front government.11 Following a personal request from his opposite number José Giral on

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20 July asking for ‘arms and planes’, Prime Minister Léon Blum, with his Foreign Minister Yvon Delbos and Defence Minister Édouard Daladier, agreed that support should be given. Blum then visited London, and on his return on 24 July was met at Le Bourget airport by Camille Chautemps, Minister of State and Radical grandee, who told him that details of arms shipments were being reported and attacked in L’Echo de Paris and other right-wing papers. Chautemps urged the abandonment of the policy, as did other Radicals, like Senate President Jules Jeanneney, and Édouard Herriot, then Assembly President. They argued that since France had not taken action over the illegal remilitarisation of the Rhineland in March, they should not get involved now, especially considering likely domestic repercussions. Despite this advice, on that same evening Blum met ministers who still at that stage favoured intervention, including his Socialist Finance Minister Vincent Auriol, as well as Cot and Daladier. They agreed to continue sending supplies. The Cabinet meeting on the next day, 25 July, nevertheless issued a public statement saying that in view of ‘possible international complications’, the transport of war materials would be suspended, though unarmed commercial aircraft would still be sent. This policy was flexibly interpreted. On 30 July the press reported that bombers used by the rebels had Italian markings painted out. This news produced opposed reactions within the government coalition. For Pierre Cot, it was clear proof of the need to expand support for the Spanish government. Further sales were initiated, and Moulin was given the task of organising the transport of Potez planes. However, opposition was growing. The conspicuously cautious Foreign Minister Delbos became convinced that the dispute was being dangerously internationalised. Daladier was also persuaded by moderate Radical colleagues that no further action should be taken, partly because of growing domestic discord and partly because of the danger to relations with other European powers. Thus the Cabinet meeting on 30 July called for a general non-intervention policy. This was not done under British pressure, as was sometimes said, though the Conservative-dominated ‘National’ government certainly sympathised with the military rebels and later on did put pressure on France and others not to intervene, despite the open defiance of Italy, Germany and the Soviet Union. In the meantime, the French government, notwithstanding the official policy, sent planes to Spain, mostly through the Mexican and other governments. The pressure increased by the day, and when the Cabinet met on 8 August Blum supported non-intervention, thinking it the only policy


‘which would allow him to keep the crucial Parliamentary support of the Radicals’. For Blum the choice ‘was now not between intervention and non-intervention but between intervention and the collapse of the Popular Front coalition’.12 The government now announced the closing of France’s frontiers to all supplies. There were still ways to circumvent the declared policy, however, and over the next two months 46 more planes were sent. Evidence was still mounting of Italian and German involvement, and the rebels on 6 September captured Irún, close to the French border. On the same day, at a Socialist rally in Luna Park, Blum argued emotionally for non-intervention, which he said had ‘in one or two particularly crucial hours saved Europe from conflagration’. He later apologised many times for this policy, which in retrospect failed, declaring that as ‘Calais’ was said to be engraved on the heart of Mary Tudor, so on his there was ‘Spain’.13 While the non-intervention policy was developing, a number of means of avoiding it were devised. For one thing, there were the periods when the ban on supplies did not operate. Between 22 July and 7 August, Jean Moulin was part of an implementation team with Gaston Cusin, head of customs and an official in Auriol’s office, and Jules Moch, head of Blum’s office. This group with some others was later described by one writer as les espagnols – the Spaniards. They saw themselves as covertly supporting a legal government against illegitimate rebellion. They organised the transport of planes and other materials, the recruitment and training of those who would work them, and liaison with third parties, including other governments. Cot later calculated that they probably altogether sent 129 aircraft, including 89 warplanes. Large quantities of materials of Soviet origin were conveyed through France and other supplies were sent through the agency of the Mexican and Lithuanian governments. Between October 1936 and June 1937, hundreds of people were allowed to cross the French frontier to join the international brigades.14 The espagnols were particularly busy in the days before the Cabinet meeting of 8 August decided on the official ban on shipments. Moch and Moulin worked through the night monitoring planes passing through Toulouse airport, telephoning the various customs and airport authorities on the route to check that the items were on their way. Some say that Moulin personally travelled with the shipments, though evidence is limited. He seems to have had a particular responsibility for keeping Cabinet members in Paris informed on the progress of the shipments.15 In the latter part of 1936, during the months of what Blum called ‘relaxed non-intervention’, he was prepared to agree with Cot that

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despite the public policy, ‘we could do everything it did not specifically forbid’. Moulin again had a significant role in implementing this brief, including a number of activities from which Cot probably preferred to be slightly removed.16 Moulin negotiated the transfer of planes and other supplies with third governments. He drew up lists of qualified pilots to fly French planes and arranged their leave from the French forces, meeting them first to warn then they were not participating in ‘a sort of crusade, like a knight’. In that capacity he probably came into contact with Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, who took some planes to Spain in the spring of 1937. Moulin certainly met André Malraux, who recruited pilots given leave of absence from the French armée de l’air.17 Much subterfuge was needed to carry through these policies, whose details are now difficult to trace. It was impossible, for fear of being accused of reducing the limited numbers already available in France, to send more than a few recently constructed planes. However, some were only two or three years old and older observation planes had some value. There were also difficulties caused by having to transport machine-guns separately from fighter planes. Naturally recollections on these matters are coloured and partisan. One delegate to the 1937 Socialist Party Congress sneered at ‘the joke about hidden and important aid’. Whatever the technical and political limits on what was possible, French aid was certainly welcomed by Spanish anti-fascists.18 The statements at the Riom trial of 1942 accused Cot, with Moulin and others, of conspiring against French national interests. Some even accused Moulin of having gone beyond the brief he had from his chief. Cot later defended himself and his chef de cabinet – as fighters against fascism. He felt it necessary even in 1945 to say that ‘we never sent to Spain any plane belonging to the French armée de l’air’. He also believed that by then Moulin ‘would have been happy to have his role remembered’, even if it would have been dangerous to draw attention to this record during war and occupation.19 Although Moulin was never in a position to make any public assessment of his actions, it is reasonable to assume that he shared the views of those with whom he worked. This included not just Cot, but also the Socialists Jules Moch and Vincent Auriol, later President of the Republic. Customs chief Gaston Cusin later maintained that they were supporting the legal government against a rebel force without any legitimacy. Cusin also recalled ‘a profound friendship, a fraternity’ amongst this ‘Spanish group’, whose links continued into the resistance. Moulin shared in the abuse heaped then and later on the head of Pierre Cot. In pursuing clear political aims at one step away from warfare, he


underwent ‘an apprenticeship in clandestinity’.20 The rhetoric of the Cold War has pursued Moulin as well as Cot beyond the grave. Within that discourse, Moulin would surely have been happy with the label of premature anti-fascist. Undoubtedly he would have defended his activity on behalf of a democratic republic against the forces of international reaction.

The Air Ministry and French rearmament, 1936–40 Beyond these matters, Moulin as chef de cabinet dealt with all aspects of aviation policy at a time of great controversy about French rearmament, especially on the production and use of aircraft.21 In 1936 it was widely thought that the French air force lagged behind in numbers and technical development its equivalents in Germany, Britain and the Soviet Union. Cot’s abrasive style and radical politics brought significant change in 1932–4, when he devised plans to construct 1010 new planes by 1936. On returning to office, he discovered little progress from the intervening administrations, with his construction programme less than half-completed and budgetary provision in decline. The last Air Minister before the return of Cot, neo-socialist Marcel Déat, experienced the same frustrations, and attacked the manufacturers for refusing to coordinate their plans, and blaming their own workforce.22 These were times when the sharp political division and strong views on international affairs were not easily separated, as the Spanish conflict showed. Ordinary politics was conducted with verbal fury and at times physical violence. The rhetorical style of the widely read Action Française can be gathered from its description of leading politicians of the period – Louis Barthou was a ‘self-confessed sex maniac’, Albert Sarraut ‘a debauchee of the lowest sort’, and Paul Reynaud ‘vermin’.23 In April 1935 Charles Maurras wrote in the paper that the ‘German Jew’, Socialist leader Léon Blum, was someone ‘to be shot, but in the back’. The verbal attacks on Cot were even more violent, the far right blaming him for the riot deaths of February 1934, and accusing him of selling military secrets to the Russians and constructing an alliance for war, with the Czechs.24 In this political atmosphere Cot tried to rebuild the air force. He had a formidable range of opponents. Not only did he face a Senate that challenged every expenditure proposal of the Popular Front. The military establishment also opposed Cot’s enthusiasm for air force independence and strategic air power. They were especially unhappy about his advocacy of working closely with the Soviet Union. On this matter, as on many others, the views of military chiefs were to

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a considerable degree ideologically determined. Maxime Weygand never forgot that he had fought the Russians in 1920, Henri Giraud was obsessively anti-communist throughout his life, and the supreme army commander Maurice Gamelin actively obstructed the Franco-Soviet pact.25 Faced with so many implacable opponents, Cot was not the best person to be the Air Minister of the Popular Front, and he had to be persuaded by both Daladier and Blum to take the position. He returned to the Ministry with his ardent and committed staff, including not only Moulin as chef de cabinet, but also Pierre Meunier as personal secretary, and the only left-leaning general in the armée de l’air, Jean-Henri Jauneaud.26 This group was seen as the leftist fringe of a left-wing administration, and to this day is described in some demonologies as a tool of the Soviet Union. Since previously holding the position of Air Minister, Cot had become an advocate not only of more independence for the armée de l’air, but also for strategic bombing by large planes as its main purpose. In the hectic summer of 1936, following the agreement with the workforce, he moved much aircraft production from the Paris suburbs to Toulouse and elsewhere to protect the factories in the event of war. He then brought forward the legislation to nationalise sections of the industry, as laid out in the electoral programme of the Popular Front, and favoured by many independent observers. Moulin was involved in the detailed dayto-day work on legislation and briefings for this major policy initiative, which passed though the National Assembly with little opposition in July 1936.27 However, output did not grow and critics blamed this on shorter working hours or even the sympathy shown by Cot, Moulin and others to the workforce. Most objective judgement was that relocation had created difficulties for 1936–7, but had also provided the basis for rapidly increased production between 1938 and 1940.28 Cot’s task was not made easier when Blum announced in February 1937 that there would be a ‘pause’ in welfare reforms to pay for more armaments. By then Cot could only accept with reluctance the view from the military high command that ‘there was no cause to modify or extend the plan of the Air Force at the present time’. In March, Cot realised that even the limited funds available could not be spent, and he turned to preparing future expansion.29 He grew increasingly frustrated, and when Camille Chautemps became Prime Minister in June 1937, he considered resignation, holding back only for fear of disturbing the political balance within the governing coalition. He faced hostility at the Radical Party Congress and from the extreme right in the Chamber of Deputies, yet he still tried to convince Chautemps of the need for rapid expan-


sion of the armée de l’air. Early in 1938, one air force general believed that ‘if a conflict breaks out this year . . . the French air force would be obliterated in a few days’.30 When the government was reconstituted in January 1938, Guy La Chambre replaced Cot as Air Minister. He developed Cot’s expansion plans without his radicalism, but was also accused at the Riom show trial in 1942 of neglecting the air force expansion.31 Historians have often repeated the critical verdicts on Cot as Air Minister, usually on grounds of political ineptitude and technical oversight rather than Communist conspiracy. However, letters received by Moulin show clearly that at the time many aviation enthusiasts, including industrialists, greatly appreciated the efforts of Cot and his chef de cabinet.32 Cot’s later comments were measured. He did not seek ‘to blame the French military authorities who failed to realise the importance of aviation in modern warfare’. He wished ‘only to show that these problems are difficult and complicated’. Others subsequently accepted that ‘the French aviation problem of these years was endemic rather than the result of Cot and his policies’, and that it fell foul of intractable problems including ‘inter-service rivalries’. Despite the criticism and later political differences, Jean Moulin remained a faithful advocate of his former chief. In May 1941, he told the lawyers at the Riom show trial that ‘M. Pierre Cot was the most unfairly judged man of his time’.33 There is certainly a case for echoing this verdict in historical retrospect, and that is a view that Moulin would clearly have articulated at any later time.

Aviation populaire – flying for all The policies of the Popular Front in culture and leisure represent its most characteristic and enduring achievements. They provide the context for the major project performed by Jean Moulin for Pierre Cot – the effort to democratise aeronautical skill and enthusiasm through what was known as aviation populaire – ‘flying for all’. Until then, people who joined the private clubs to learn the skills of this new technology were usually rich, and often associated with the political right. The fascistinclined Croix de Feu urged its members to run their own flying clubs, and even to have fly-pasts at their rallies.34 Pierre Cot proclaimed that ‘the moment had come to call broad sectors of society into aviation’. The aim was quite consciously to create a counter-culture that was democratic and frankly leftist. Cot’s ministerial predecessor Marcel Déat started a ‘National Council of Youth for Aeronautics’, which Cot renamed ‘Aviation populaire’.35 Cot later called Moulin ‘the creator of the

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policy’, taking charge of its implementation. Moulin said he wanted ‘to put an end to a social injustice which reserves solely for the privileged and wealthy the joys of aerial sport’ and ‘to give to the masses’ the means of learning the necessary skills. This would provide enjoyable tourism, and contribute to national defence. Through the state schools Moulin organised examinations in aviation skills for teenagers. Up to the age of 14 they studied models and learnt the laws of aerodynamics. From 14 they went up in light planes, and by 18 they were able to obtain a pilot’s licence. It was not easy to show results quickly, though within months students were graduating, a few taking up military aviation. The enthusiasm transmitted by the older generation can be gathered from a letter from a club of worker–aviators in Toulouse who wrote to their counterparts in Versailles glorying in ‘the syndicalist and revolutionary spirit that inspires us all’.36 In August 1937, Moulin organised two events aiming to popularise aviation. The first was an international race from northern Italy to Damascus and back to Paris. This proved disastrous from a French viewpoint, with Italian teams taking the first three places, an English team coming fourth, and French teams from fifth to seventh. This outcome was used as yet another stick to beat Pierre Cot in the anti-semitic scandal sheet Je Suis Partout. Cot was unwell at the time, so Moulin, very much against his anti-fascist inclinations, had to go to Le Bourget to greet the successful aviation envoys of Italian fascism. His speech was nevertheless described by his friend André Labarthe as ‘very fine, very measured’.37 During that same month Moulin undertook a more pleasant duty in arranging a reception for the celebrated 32-year-old woman aviator Maryse Bastié, after she made the first flight across the Southern Atlantic from Brazil to Dakar in twelve hours. He arranged transport home for the virtually penniless heroine, and then hosted a reception at Le Bourget. A newsreel company recorded the event, leaving posterity with the one piece of film showing Jean Moulin. The picture differs from that of the grim scarf-swathed figure, endlessly reproduced from the photograph taken by Marcel Bernard (see Plate 1). Instead there is a snappily dressed man in a light suit following the latest contemporary fashion; ‘with a voice alive and warm’, energetically glorying in his role as representative of the government for which he worked with so much enthusiasm.38 In September 1937 Cot officiated at a well-attended air show celebrating the first anniversary of Aviation populaire. This set the standard for events that continue to this day, not just in France. The same enthusiasm for aviation was also displayed at the Great Universal Exhibition – ‘Expo 37’.


By now the Popular Front was fading fast. When Cot went out of office in the Air Ministry early in 1938 his successor Guy La Chambre abandoned aviation populaire for préparation militaire aérienne. The entire enterprise was closed down in April 1939. La Chambre later realised his mistake, and tried to re-establish Moulin’s school training system days before the outbreak of war. By then it was too late. Moulin later thought that aviation populaire had not been properly tried. It was certainly a typical product of the Popular Front: generous, democratic, and full of hope for the future. As a result, witnesses condemned it at the wartime Riom show trial as a sort of Communist plot. Historians have often ignored its significance, so important to Jean Moulin. For those in the office of Pierre Cot, the overwhelming priority was to establish the mechanisms – financial, organisational and otherwise – to build planes of all kinds and to prepare France for war. Cot and Moulin found it difficult to work closely with those they once saw as militarists and ‘merchants of death’. Cot’s eventual reaction was to move close to Communism. Moulin did not go the same way. Within three years of his crusade to win recruits to military aviation, he was working with generals and others to recruit to a shadow army instead.

The end of the Popular Front, 1937–8 As Europe began the slide to war there was continuing political and social turmoil in France, with a relentless attack on the social and political gains of the Popular Front.39 The reformed fascist leagues continued to operate though large and violent demonstrations, which inflicted serious injuries and death.40 Despite being banned by the Popular Front, the Croix de Feu became the Parti Social Français (PSF) and to this was added the Parti Populaire Français of the ex-Communist Jacques Doriot. In the shadows, a right-wing terrorist organisation, the Cagoule, made up of dissident PSF members, which was said to be in touch with sections of the military high command, collected arms and funds from Mussolini with which they set off bombs and spread terror. In June 1937 they murdered the Italian anti-fascist Rosselli brothers in Normandy. In September they detonated bombs at the Confédération Générale du Patronat Français, the employers’ organisation, killing two policemen. They then initiated press stories to implicate the Communists. In October 1937, the Socialist Interior Minister Marx Dormoy publicly denounced the Cagoule following the discovery of hidden arms. In 1941, when Cagoule leaders were released from gaol to take part in the Vichy administration, others planted a bomb that killed Dormoy.

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Against this background of violent words and deeds the ‘Clichy massacre’ of 17 March 1937 in northern Paris occurred: 1000 left-wing demonstrators attacked a meeting of 400 of de la Roque’s followers. The police opened fire, killing five demonstrators and wounding about 300 others. These were the first deaths in street violence since 6 February 1934. At Rodez, in the southern Department of the Aveyron, Jean Moulin had just arrived for his first appointment as a prefect. This was immediately north of his home Hérault Department, and much more conservative, although the best known local Assembly member was Paul Ramadier, an office holder in the Popular Front administration. As was the way of these things, Moulin received his promotion to prefect when he still held his post in Cot’s office. On 26 January 1938, he was appointed prefect, the youngest in France. On 26 February he was made a chevalier of the Légion d’Honneur. He travelled to Rodez to take up his post on 20 March, just three days after the events in Clichy. It may be that the governmental authorities in Paris wanted to ensure that they had someone, however limited his commitment to the place, who would not hesitate to wield republican authority in this distant and perhaps not quite reliable area. The one issue that Moulin had to deal with during a brief tour of duty was a meeting between the PSF and de la Roque scheduled for Rodez on Sunday, 25 April 1937. Before he arrived, the local press noted his ‘profoundly republican’ reputation.41 As the date of the meeting approached, the local right wing rallied to de la Roque, while the left called for strikes and demonstrations. Following consultation with the national government and with Ramadier, on 16 April, Prefect Moulin banned the PSF meeting. On 19 April he met the conseil général, where, despite the presence of a number of PSF sympathisers, Moulin vigorously defended the Popular Front government and his actions.42 It is perfectly possible, of course, to disagree about the forms and methods of government, and it is the strength of a great and free nation to allow all such criticism. But do you think it is necessary to take this to extremes? Do you think it useful to multiply violent demonstrations? . . . My strongly held view is that whatever the conflict of opinions, it is essential to preserve a level of debate and dignity, which never forgets that in referring to the government, you are talking of the government of France and of the Republic. Despite such pleas for tolerance, about 6000 people did assemble elsewhere in the Department to hear de la Roque ironically thank the


prefect for compelling them to use so pleasant a rural retreat. Moulin may have experienced some frustration sitting behind the walls of his prefecture and looking out at the spring sunshine, with 600 gardes mobiles kicking their heels. Some sections of the local press, such as L’Union Catholique, praised de la Roque for his patriotism and anticommunism, and condemned the heavy-handed prefect. However, there was no reason for Moulin to be upset at upholding republican legality and avoiding anything approaching the sort of violence that had so recently occurred elsewhere.43 The day after the visit of de la Roque to the Aveyron, Moulin gave up his post and returned to Paris. He still had work to do at the Air Ministry, being responsible for the preparation of the Peace Pavilion at the Great Universal Exhibition. By then Blum had already ceased to be Prime Minister and in January 1937 the Socialists left the Chautemps government. The Popular Front was dying. In the new administration Pierre Cot was Minister of Commerce. Although Moulin urged Cot not to take on this ‘consolation post’, he nevertheless remained his faithful chef de cabinet, while rarely appearing publicly on his behalf.44 In March, there was a brief effort by Blum to form another administration, but this rapidly foundered following the refusal of the Senate to grant the requisite financial powers. These powers were conceded to a new ministry formed on 10 April by Édouard Daladier, with support from the right, and without any Socialists. One can surmise that another discussion about Cot’s position now took place, and this time nobody argued the case for ministerial or political solidarity, for him to serve in a government which was rapidly distancing itself from the Popular Front. Thus Cot ended his ministerial career at the age of 43. For Jean Moulin at 38, this meant moving from the centre of government to the provinces with the status of prefect. Moulin, who had not hesitated to use the strongest forces against the French proto-fascists, was now returning to the interior of the Republic’s institutions to work for their defence.

6 The Youngest Prefect, 1938–9

When the Popular Front government disintegrated in 1937, Moulin returned to work in local prefectures, where he was now in charge. He then served for three more years, reaching the peak of his career in the service of the French state. During this time he observed major political and international developments, on which he took a clear view within the limits imposed by his position. Compelled to accept the defeat of the left, he called with increasing urgency for unity and patriotism in the face of the enemy. He could not have known that once war began, his prefectoral career would soon finish, and he would then launch into new activities directed to the same political ends. When Moulin’s job in Paris ended, he tried to get a post with Cot in Haute Savoie, or in a prefecture nearer Paris. However, many other casualties of the former administration were jockeying for position, and new ministers had limited sympathy for Moulin’s record and reputation. Nevertheless he managed on 20 April 1938 to secure reappointment as the prefect of the Aveyron Department. There was a short delay in taking up the post because three days earlier his beloved father had died, at the age of 80. A secular funeral followed, but the large attendance included many local Catholics. Antonin Moulin had lived to see his son as a prefect. In his declining years, when resting from his labours as a local historian, he carefully charted the progress of his son, collecting press cuttings on every aspect of his official career.1 In the end Antonin was less concerned to debate the finer points of republican politics in a time that had gone beyond his own. But he was proud of his son, the Jacobin prefect, on whom his influence was still manifest. During the following months Prefect Moulin made numerous public statements accurately reflecting the changed attitudes of all those in his 64

The Youngest Prefect, 1938–9 65

‘political family’. Thus he advocated a new ‘union sacrée’, as in 1914, and the union of all in order to give to those who carry the heavy burden of the nation’s destiny, the strength and the faith necessary to act firmly against a barbarism which threatens not only the integrity of our country, but also our inheritance of honour and liberty.2 In the late 1930s such were the sentiments of the republican left, far removed from the softer tones of a decade earlier. This typically included a certain admiration for the Soviet Union and support for centralised planning – forms of ‘fellow travelling’ typical of the left, which Moulin followed, but abandoned when the Nazi–Soviet pact was signed in August 1939.3 There was a minority on the left, led by Socialist Party secretary Paul Faure, who took the logic of pacifism as far as collaboration after the invasion of 1940. However, the most vociferous pacifists of the late 1930s were those on the right of the political spectrum, whose slogan was ‘Better Hitler than Blum’. The acrimonious attacks on opponents of the Munich accord in September 1938 from the far right created the battle lines of the bitter divisions that ensued. On 4 May 1939, it was the ex-socialist rapidly moving to National Socialism – Marcel Déat – who questioned in his famous article whether Frenchmen should ‘die for Danzig’. Attitudes such as these, far removed from those of Jean Moulin or Pierre Cot, laid the basis for active collaboration with the occupying enemy power in 1940.

The prefect of Aveyron, April 1938–January 1939 Jean Moulin travelled on 1 June 1938 from Montpellier to Rodez to reassume his position as prefect, third class. Over the next seven months, he gave the job more of his undivided attention than he had in his earlier posting there. This did not prevent frequent visits from his mother and sister, who were now living in a flat he had arranged in nearby Montpellier. There were also visits from Pierre and Néna Cot and other friends such as André Labarthe, whom he had known in the Air Ministry and the RUP. Moulin was less inclined to slip off to Paris, though he still paid rent on his flat in the rue des Plantes.4 On arrival in Rodez he found ‘a clean and orderly prefecture’, where he worked hard at all the formal aspect of his role. He notably gained the confidence of a wide range of local politicians. Not only was he on good terms with Paul Ramadier and other supporters of the Popular Front,

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but also with the Mayor of Rodez, a supporter of de la Roque’s Parti Social Français. He also cultivated good relations with the local Church hierarchy. Taking advantage of a task he privately described as ‘forced labour’, he welcomed the Cardinal Archbishop of Paris to Rodez by diplomatically saluting ‘the civilising power of the Church, which welcomes men of good will without any distinction of race or frontier’. Moulin was given another opportunity to refer to republican values at the commemoration in June of the recently deceased Radical deputy. There is a photograph of this event showing him in full prefectoral regalia, clearly radiating a new self-confidence, notably as a public speaker.5 His oration at the prize-giving in the Rodez lycée on a conventional republican theme was reported enthusiastically in the local press. M. Moulin gave an address that all who heard thought had a rare and majestic quality. In language of admirable purity, M. Moulin praised the study of the classics, and showed that the study of Greek and Latin created in the literary and artistic sphere, the magnificence of the Renaissance and, in politics, the Revolution of 1789. Moulin had more to say in public about current concerns. As a public servant he was supposed to reflect the policies of the current administration, but there were some clear themes set out in his various public speeches that show how he saw the major political developments. Thus Prefect Moulin had to echo in September 1938 the gratitude expressed by his conseil général to Daladier for the Munich agreement. However, this did not prevent him from making statements which, while sounding conventional enough, rather went against the grain by taking up themes of unity in the face of a common threat. Thus in a speech at the conseil général on 3 November he spoke in terms that produced a stunned silence. I think it is time to rally all material and spiritual forces to restore the honour of civic virtue and the sense of national solidarity. . . . It is essential that whatever their political, social or religious ideas, French people do not see their countrymen as enemies, but as brothers, working at the same task, struggling for the same cause, and sharing the ideal of the unity, the security and the grandeur of France. Nor did Moulin hesitate to reflect the same theme at a celebration on 29 November of the patron saint of music, St Cecilia. He advocated ‘the


harmony of hearts, in a union needed now more than ever between the children from the same native land’. Not that Moulin simply spoke on such implicitly political themes. At the St Cecilia gathering he also spoke of the musical culture of his native Béziers, which he claimed had inspired ‘Maître Saint-Saëns’ and helped to produce the virtuoso pianist Yves Nat with whom he had shared a teacher. Moulin continued sketching, and was able to report the sale of a drawing for 30 francs to the magazine Rire, one of the last of such efforts. He also found time to take interest in a local poet called Paul Viala and to continue with those Tristan Corbière drawings that showed the heaps of bodies that had haunted him since 1918. Much more of his time was taken up with the routine tasks of a prefect. Behind the scenes he kept an eye out for people described as subversives, who appeared mostly to be anarchists of Spanish or Italian origin. He had to organise a by-election for the conseil général and no doubt applauded the success in the poll on 25 July of the candidate supported by the parties of the Popular Front against Raymond Bonnefous, the right-wing Mayor of Rodez. Another issue was the increasing flood of refugees from the Spanish Civil War. Some of them he had repatriated, perhaps to re-join the struggle. However, by the beginning of 1939 the numbers were rapidly increasing and special provision had to be made, including restrictions on movement and the opening of transit camps. On the night of 29 January Moulin requisitioned accommodation for 800 Spanish refugees who suddenly appeared in Rodez, mostly women and children. Like all prefects, Moulin also sent regular reports to Paris on the state of public opinion. In July 1938 Moulin’s office wrote that people welcomed the visit of the British Royal Family to Paris as ‘reinforcing Anglo-French links’.6 However, he also reported anxieties about the course of the Spanish Civil War and what he described as ‘German–Czech tensions’. He naturally drew attention to the popularity of the Munich agreement in September, which was manifested throughout France. Over the following weeks he reported the reaction to the ‘decree laws’ of Reynaud and especially to the general strike of 30 November. In this remote and rather conservative part of the country it was possible for the prefect to report to Paris a ‘complete calm’, with few public servants involved, though there was an 85 per cent turnout among dockers in Decazeville. He also had to arrange for their wages to be deducted, hardly in the spirit of unity that he was so often preaching. The Munich agreement on 30 September 1938 had already proved to be not only a major step towards war but also a defining moment in domestic French politics. There was widespread and fervent support for

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the settlement. It greatly strengthened the position of Daladier and his administration, adding a further nail to the coffin of the Popular Front. Beyond that, individual stances taken in support or opposition defined a position for many in France that continued into the later period of war and occupation. As in Britain, it was generally only those outside the political mainstream who expressed opposition to the Munich agreement. The young Catholic journalist George Bidault was unusual in describing ‘the abandonment’ of Czechoslovakia as ‘without honour’, and ‘without profit’. The right-wing journalist and deputy Henri de Kerillis, who had opposed intervention in Spain, now spoke out against a ‘diplomatic Verdun’, and was the only right-wing deputy to vote against accords. He later became a heterodox supporter of resistance. There seems little doubt that Moulin had similar opinions, though the evidence is retrospective and hidden by the discretion of a public servant.7 Most elements of the political right not only argued in favour of Munich. They also stigmatised all those who opposed the agreement. They overreached even the acrimony of their anti-communism during the Popular Front period by attacking the Communists who voted against Munich in the National Assembly, describing them not only as subversives and tools of Moscow, but also as war-mongers. The Action française on 29 September 1938 responded in characteristic style with a verse that can be translated as follows: ‘If these cannibals are determined to make us into heroes, our first bullets should be for Mandel, Blum and Reynaud.’ As usual, similarly venomous attacks were made on Pierre Cot. Even in his new role, Moulin did not forget his friend and patron. Thus in speaking of the deceased local Radical Eugène Raynaldy, he clearly had Cot in mind. ‘Like all of the great’, said the prefect, ‘he was not spared the slings and arrows that come from slander, the worst example of human baseness.’ A local Catholic paper in the Aveyron district also accused Cot not only of ‘sabotage’ of France’s air force, but also of leading the charge for war. He was further accused of avoiding military service. This was the reverse of the truth, as Cot had already said he would join the army despite being exempt by age and parliamentary immunity. Prefect Moulin felt the need to respond, defending Cot as a much-decorated soldier of the Great War. His intervention was not a success because disclaimers designed to undermine its impact surrounded his published letter. As a state servant, he was not in a position to continue this discussion, but he had at least displayed loyalty to his friend. The attacks on Cot increased. In a letter to Moulin on the day of the Munich conference he said he was ‘sickened and disgusted’ by ‘the


greatest victory of Germany since the time of Charlemagne’, which would lead to ‘France becoming fascist’. Though he voted with the Radical Party and the Socialists in the 535 to 75 vote for the accords in the National Assembly, within days he was writing publicly about Munich as a ‘surrender’, ‘more ill-fated than Sedan’ – the French defeat of 1870. For this he was attacked by Marcel Sableau, a Radical well known for hostility to the Popular Front, for daring ‘to intervene in a debate of the parliamentary group in favour of immediate war’. Cot absented himself from the parliamentary vote giving special powers to Daladier, and Sableau described him as ‘a criminal against his country’. Cot met organised catcalls at the Radical Congress in Marseilles in October, which Moulin also attended. Cot to some extent rescued his reputation when he published his book L’Armée de l’air at the beginning of 1939. This was seen in some quarters as an eloquent account of his record, described by Paul Ramadier as ‘a magnificent defence’. Another admirer of Cot, the Radical ex-senator for Eure-et-Loir and Minister of State in the Popular Front, Maurice Violette, now had a role in promoting Moulin’s career. Violette had originally met Moulin in 1927 at Albertville and remained in touch. He was a freemason and exactly the sort of contact to make recommendations for the post of prefect in his Department. The prefect whom Moulin had replaced at Aveyron went to Eure-et-Loir and, following serious illness, retired. The position thus suddenly fell vacant, and though still at the third-class level was thought more desirable because it was much closer to Paris. Moulin’s friend Pierre Meunier, who was still working at the Finance Ministry, contacted the right people in Paris, and Moulin was appointed on 21 January 1939. He left Rodez on 18 February. It is of interest to note that among the conventional expressions of gratitude for his work was one from the College of St Mary of the Assumption, thanking him for his ‘constant kindness’ which they would ‘never forget’. There was another farewell from a Radical member of the conseil général, thanking him for displaying ‘the necessary tact to defend our little band of republicans against the power of reaction’. Thus at Rodez Moulin had displayed – not for the last time – the ability to placate those who might otherwise be thought irreconcilable.

A prefect at Chartres in the shadow of war, February 1939–June 1940 Jean Moulin started work as prefect of the Eure-et-Loir Department when, after a few days skiing in the Megève, he arrived on 21 February

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1939 in the beautiful cathedral town of Chartres. He remained there for twenty months in his last – and longest held – post as a high official of the French state.8 Moulin found himself in another agricultural Department, with a population of around 250,000. The area was politically dominated by Radicals, who by the time he arrived mostly opposed the Popular Front. He found the large and forbidding prefect’s residence, which still stands in the shadow of the Cathedral, ‘comfortable enough’, but ‘at the same time ostentatious and in bad taste’. His aesthetic interests were engaged by the Cathedral, whose stained glass and interior so often strikes other visitors, especially from Britain.9 However, in the increasingly polarised politics of those months, Moulin found it more difficult to engage with local Catholics than he had in Rodez. The new prefect was very quickly thrown into a series of public events where he displayed his increasing skills as diplomat and public speaker. On 25 February 1939, five days after his arrival, he had to attend a banquet of the ‘Republican and National Union’. The main speaker was the Minister of Merchant Marine, Louis de Chappedelaine, supported by local senators who had been elected in the previous autumn against candidates supporting the Popular Front. In these circumstances, there was little that Prefect Moulin could say in opening the proceedings, except to welcome the 250 people attending, and to praise the merchant navy. He then sat down to listen to denunciations of the Popular Front for undermining the ‘peace diplomacy’ of the current government. A week later, on Sunday, 5 March, Moulin was in more congenial company. This was at another banquet, to honour a general of the First Republic, François Marceau, who was born in Chartres in 1769 and died in 1796 at the age of 27, in action against the advancing Austrian army. Marceau fought the counter-revolutionary Vendée and gained a reputation not only for military success but also for humanity in victory. He led the capture of Coblenz from the Prussians and émigrés in December 1793. The cult of Marceau became part of Revolutionary ritual as early as 1801 when a statue was erected in Chartres. A few years later Lord Byron found a memorial to Marceau at Coblenz, and wrote about it in Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage: Brief, brave, and glorious was his young career: His mourners were two hosts – his friends and foes – And fitly may the stranger lingering here Pray for his glad spirit’s bright repose; For he was Freedom’s champion, one of those, The few in number, who had not o’erswept


The charter to chastise which she bestows On such as wield her weapons; he had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o’er him wept.10 This cult continued in Chartres over the years and the banquet had long been an annual event. In 1937 Moulin attended with the guest of honour Pierre Cot. The 1939 guest was Albert Bayet, Professor at the Sorbonne and President of the League for the Rights of Man, later a leading member of the Franc-Tireur resistance organisation. This was a meeting that took place at a time of crisis with military mobilisation well under way. Moulin spoke in terms that perhaps expressed more of his philosophy and ideals than any other statement attributed to him. It was often quoted later.11 I am one of those who thinks that the Republic must not repudiate its origins, but that it should instead consider faithfully and respectfully the great events that brought about its birth. That is why I am particularly pleased to see that in this department people come together every year, united in a fervent desire to keep alive the memory of a man who has sown the seeds of our ideal. Gentlemen, at a time when, throughout the world, spiritual values, the principles of liberalism and even the dignity of the individual, are constantly vilified in the name of I know not what political realism, it is with some emotion that we evoke the memory of this young man, who came spontaneously and without forethought from the bourgeoisie to the people to work for their liberation with all the enthusiasm he possessed and the strength of his patriotism. I understand, gentlemen, that you are proud of Marceau, as one of the finest and most attractive figures of the French Revolution. As for myself, the great-grandson of a soldier of the Revolution, grandson of a man who knew the prisons of the Second Empire for having dared to proclaim his support for the Republic, I add my homage without hesitation to your great Marceau. And if you will allow me to add to this ardent wish, as storm clouds gather on the horizon, I would like only to assert that someone like Marceau should encourage us to forge once again a new and generous soul for France such as existed when those admirable volunteers from Eure-et-Loir rushed to the frontier to fight and die for liberty. Even if this account of his ancestry was somewhat embroidered, Moulin nevertheless placed himself firmly in the camp of militant republican-

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ism. He could hardly have imagined that within seven years, at the same commemoration, he himself would be added to the canon as a ‘hero of modern times’ who ‘attests to the longevity of French virtue’.12 He would have been even more astonished at the literature later devoted to arguing that his numerous public and private statements on these lines were a mere smokescreen designed to hide his designs as the agent of a foreign power! In addressing the conseil général three days later on 8 May, Moulin explained his thinking more exactly: we are living at a time when there is the strongest obligation to serve one’s country, in whatever capacity. All men of good will have to find the strength to do their duty. . . . I have never sought to hide my political views, and though I intend to serve without qualification the ideal that is close to my heart, I assure you that my administration will treat everybody equally and without any sectarianism; and if it is necessary one day to bend the rules it would only be on behalf of those who have been punished or are in pain. Gentlemen, at a time when the people of France are giving a fine example of hard work and national dignity, at the very moment when men are leaving their homes to give service to the Nation, I think such sentiments should be reasserted with even greater force. He was again able to express such sentiments later in the year through the state-sponsored celebrations in July of the 150th anniversary of the French Revolution. On 18 February the Minister of Education Jean Zay issued instructions to all prefects to set up local representative committees to organise events around the anniversary.13 On 7 April Moulin presided over his local committee, which included elected representatives and the departmental archivist, with whom he worked closely on an exhibition of 592 items in the newly opened Chartres museum. At a smaller exhibition in the library at Drieux, where his friend Maurice Violette was Mayor, Moulin lauded a ‘grandiose past which acquired the great and generous humanitarian ideas that have guided free men for 150 years’. Moulin also referred to ‘excesses’, ‘which allow its enemies to reject the Revolution as a whole’. In his view, however, it was ‘essential not to forget that behind all those hatreds and quarrels there lies a great thought, a great desire: defence of the Nation’. His continuing concern to bring all support to France in the imminent war was also reflected in a speech at the Lycée Marceau in July when he referred to


France’s colonies and to the ‘profound attachment of the native peoples to their motherland’. As the weeks passed, the thoughts of people across Europe were increasingly turning to the imminence of war. French recognition of the Franco regime in Spain in February 1939 was followed by the fall of Madrid in March. As a result, even Departments as remote from the Spanish border as Eure-et-Loir were flooded with Spanish refugees. More than 2000 arrived in the first two weeks of February, and Prefect Moulin thought the local population generally sympathetic. On 15 March, German troops marched into Prague, thus putting an end to the illusion that there could be a binding agreement with Nazi Germany. In his routine May 1939 report to Paris on public opinion in his Department, Moulin wrote of the ‘calm’ of the population, and their ‘indifference’ to the speeches of Hitler and Mussolini, but at the same time of their ‘close attention to exterior events’. He noted support for a return to ‘the politics of collective security’, and ‘mutual assistance’, particularly between France and Britain. He also said that the recent decree laws, which had increased working hours in the armaments industry to 60 per week, were ‘accepted without a great deal of resentment’. This was ‘even though the people of this department know that a rise in the cost of living is inevitable, they accept the greater burdens out of patriotism’.14 Moulin continually referred to duty and patriotism, but he was not out of line with the general attitudes of French people. Despite Marcel Déat’s notorious article ‘Mourir pour Danzig?’ on 4 June, the newly established public opinion polls showed that 76 per cent of French people supported the use of force to prevent a German take-over. Clearly, there was increasing support for a war that was looking ever more likely. During that last summer of peace, Moulin had time for leisure and family pursuits. In July Moulin spent a few days at Saint-Tropez with Pierre Cot and other friends. During the August holiday he went with his mother and his sister Laure on his last untroubled holiday – his first visit to London. They travelled on the Boulogne–Folkestone ferry, where he was charmingly photographed in a trilby hat with his arm round his mother. They stayed in London in what was then called the Imperial Palace Hotel and were active tourists. The Moulin family went to the Tate Gallery, and also visited the Wallace Collection, which then as now was no doubt full of French paintings and French tourists. They also went to the National Gallery, and travelled by car to Windsor Castle.15 On 23 August Moulin was back in his prefecture to receive the devastating news of the Nazi–Soviet pact. This came as a bolt from the blue

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to most people, unaware of the chaotic negotiations conducted by French and British envoys over recent weeks. Just as the German march into Prague had forced a reassessment for people on the right, for those on the left, the pact was a defining moment. The French Communists were initially thrown into confusion, with eleven Assembly deputies resigning from the Party, and the rest displaying a notable lack of enthusiasm for what Louis Aragon described as ‘a victory for Soviet peace policy’. The Communist deputies were soon condemning both sides in the war. The French government was thus provided with a distraction from preparing for invasion, and began persecuting the Communists. For those on the left who had been favourably disposed to the Soviet Union and the Franco-Soviet alliance, the Nazi–Soviet pact produced a particular feeling of betrayal. They had to accept that the Communists were now fighting ‘against the war and against France, with a clear conscience’. Moulin’s local patron Maurice Violette thought that the only prospect now was ‘a terrible war’. For his later resistance comrade, the Socialist Pierre Brossolette, it was ‘an ignominious gesture’, a form of ‘perjury’. Léon Blum described the pact as ‘a defeat for public morality’.16 Pierre Cot might perhaps have been expected to take a different attitude. He was even thought of as a possible intermediary to try to rescue the situation. Like many others, Cot considered that recent Anglo-French diplomacy had been conducted ‘with extraordinary clumsiness’. However, ‘nothing could excuse this treason’. Cot was unambiguous in his condemnation of Soviet policy. The whole world is shocked by the Soviet volte-face. Those who are fighting against fascism feel as if they have been stabbed in the back. . . . Stalin has not acted from sentiment, but from cold calculation. In my view this is false calculation. By collaborating with the peace front he would have made war impossible, ensuring the prompt collapse of Hitler. He prefers a war where the democracies with the Germans and their allies exhaust themselves. . . . The future will show how much suffering for Russia and for humanity as a whole will be needed to pay for this error.17 Though there is nothing in writing from the period, there can be little doubt that Moulin shared these opinions. When Cot was rushed to the American hospital a few days later as a result of complications following an appendectomy, Moulin was immediately at his bedside. Their close political and personal confidence clearly continued.


The Nazi–Soviet pact was rapidly followed by the German invasion of Poland on 1 September, and then by the Anglo-French declaration of war on Germany. For Jean Moulin and all French people, their world was being turned upside down. The months that followed brought new choices for everyone in France. There were few who, like Jean Moulin, had already firmly decided which side they were on.

7 War and the First Resistance, 1939–40

After the declaration of war in September 1939, French people experienced the ‘phoney war’ and then the ‘strange defeat’ in the summer of 1940. There was then the mixture of relief and uncertainty associated with the installation of the collaborationist Vichy regime and the first attempts to oppose it. Nobody was more affected by these developments than Jean Moulin. His courageous actions during the invasion became known and admired. In November 1940 he was dismissed by the new regime from his position as a ‘high servant’ and resolved, like a few others, to pursue the purpose upon which he had already decided: to construct a united opposition to the occupation of his country. He devoted himself to contacting others of like mind, and in October 1941 he travelled to London to meet another element of an alternative France, represented by Charles de Gaulle. In 1938, attitudes to the Munich agreement with Germany from the French right created a fault line in political attitudes that continued into the war years. When war was declared in September 1939, many voices predicted defeat. They included Pierre Flandin and Philippe Pétain from the political and military elite, and others on the right like Senate VicePresident and Eure-et-Loir representative Jean Valadier. On the other side were those who opposed appeasement in 1938, whether from the left like Cot, Brossolette and Moulin, or in a few cases from the right, as with Charles de Gaulle and Henri de Kerillis. Such people became opponents of collaboration after June 1940. Those who argued most passionately in 1938–40 for unity against a common enemy, and who recalled historic battles against the Germans, opposed capitulation in 1940 and then organised against it. Opinions expressed in public and private in the summer of 1940 by Jean Moulin, Pierre Cot and Maurice Violette did not emerge or disappear suddenly. Moulin’s circle shared 76

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some of the attitudes of those ministers who wished to fight to the end, like Charles de Gaulle, Georges Mandel, and Paul Reynaud, Prime Minister at the time of the invasion. In 1938 Jean Moulin was part of the anti-Munich minority. In 1939 he was for unity against invasion. By the autumn of 1940 he wanted to ‘do something’.

Living through the phoney war The Anglo-French declaration of war on Germany on 3 September 1939 did not initially have much impact in France. For the prefect of Eureet-Loir, the first result was a sudden influx of new refugees from areas near the German frontier. The tolerance with which refugees had previously been received was weakening. During 1938, decree laws limited immigration. In 1939, associations of immigrants were closed, and internment camps were established for those considered undesirable. At the same time, refugees were allowed to join the army.1 Moulin and his staff worked long hours to deal with these issues. He made numerous visits to Chartres railway station, securing food and accommodation for refugees. He was keen to display a welcoming attitude, placing pressure on unsympathetic railway managers. Moulin defended his staff against accusations of unfriendly treatment of one group of 430 who arrived on 8 September at 4 o’clock in the morning. On the following day the prefect described the difficulties, in his regular monthly report. For example, the refugees had gas masks, unlike many in the local population. He also reported on ‘incidents’ arising from billeting single males with families where the only adult male had been mobilised into the armed forces. In the reticent language of the day, the prefect feared that this might have undesirable ‘moral effects’. On 13 December Moulin wrote to the Charente Department about the difficulties faced by the refugees. Unlike other prefects, he tried to keep them in family groups. The Interior Ministry decreed that they should be sent to areas where they could work on the land and replace the mobilised population. Moulin suspected that they were not being paid subsistence wages, and he allowed people to go only when they had jobs and accommodation.2 While dealing with these issues Moulin was in the thick of a personal battle which says much about his own attitudes and character – utterly remote from the far-fetched accounts of his activities sometimes imagined in later decades.3 Many people were being mobilised for military service, including his own subordinates and he was determined to join them. Though over conscription age, and with a job that exempted him

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in any case, he had already made preparations to join the air force. At the Air Ministry in 1937, Moulin had laid the ground by qualifying as a reserve corporal. He was promoted to sergeant in December 1938. Immediately after the Munich agreement in September 1938, he wrote directly to Interior Minister Albert Sarraut asking to be allowed to enlist. The Minister replied in March, saying that Moulin’s ‘presence in the post which you occupy’ was ‘absolutely indispensable to the working of the service’, including mobilisation to the armed forces. However, the letter did not say that the interdiction was permanent, so Moulin sought a replacement as prefect.4 As soon as war was declared in September, Moulin again wrote, this time to the director of personnel at the Interior Ministry, saying that he had arranged for a retired prefect to replace him, and he intended to join the 117th Air Battalion at the end of the month. He told his sister Laure that he expected because of his age to be given the task of photography and observation. Thus he might have ended in a noncombatant role rather like his contemporary Jean-Paul Sartre. He wrote to Antoinette Sachs on 27 September that his efforts to ‘do my duty’ were being frustrated by the Minister, and, sure enough, the Interior Ministry again instructed Moulin to stay at his post at least until 12 December.5 At this point he asked for help from his former colleague, Air Force General Jauneaud. He wrote again to the Interior Ministry on 15 November, saying that he had been appealing ‘to the patriotism and sense of sacrifice of the population’, and did not feel able to exempt himself. On 6 December he received a personal letter from Albert Sarraut decreeing that all people in his position ‘were protected for an indeterminate period’. Despite this, the personnel section of the Ministry with which Moulin had previously communicated arranged a medical test on 9 December, and on 13 December allowed him to join the 117th Air Battalion at Issyles-Moulineaux, south-west of Paris. Before his departure Moulin took the precaution of informing the Minister. On the same evening he wrote in some excitement to his family that he was now in uniform and about to take further medical tests. These indicated that his hearing and sight were not quite perfect. He then received a telegram from Sarraut repeating his earlier ruling. Moulin replied on 22 December arguing that his colleagues had overcome these restrictions, and in any case he had now taken up his new position. The next day the Air Ministry told him he could not continue. On Christmas Eve, Moulin visited Sarraut personally to ask him to reverse his decision. Two days later he was told by the director of personnel of the ‘irrevocable decision’ that he must leave


the air force and return immediately to Chartres. On 28 December he resumed his functions, though he told his mother that he might still rejoin if fighting started. When war did begin, he found quite enough to do as prefect. Moulin’s efforts to take on a military role were relentless, though his motives may not have been absolutely clear even to himself. As a soldier of the Great War who had never seen action, he must have harboured regrets of a particular kind, perhaps especially because he did not join the earlier conflict as soon as he could. He may also have wanted to underline his break from the pacifist attitudes of the 1920s and early 1930s. Though above the age for military service, he was only forty, and considered youthful. The next Interior Minister but one, Charles Pomaret, who served for ten days in 1940 in the first Pétain Cabinet, wrote years later of being told by Sarraut that Moulin was not only the youngest prefect in France, but also one of the two best. He was distinguished ‘by his calm lucidity, and his shining humanity, which impressed all who came into contact with him’. Pomaret wanted to invite Moulin to join his office in June 1940, but he was in the Occupied Zone. The other prefect mentioned was Pierre Voizard, who had worked for Sarraut in 1936 and continued to serve under Vichy, later becoming a colonial administrator. Though described as from a different generation from Moulin, he was in fact only three years older.6 Thus, despite his best efforts, at the beginning of 1940 Moulin was compelled to resume his duties as prefect of Chartres. He spent a few days with his family at Montpellier in January when his friend Marcel Bernard took some photographs, including the celebrated picture in the Peyron gardens of Moulin in scarf and hat standing in front of a white wall in the weak winter sunshine.7 Nobody could have predicted that this image (see Plate 1), initially created for friends and family, would be endlessly reproduced as the romanticised symbol of resistance clandestinity. However, it was carefully posed from the start, very much like the fashionable and well-dressed appearance he nearly always presented. Another photograph taken in Montpellier showed Moulin, without a hair out of place, in a suit very much à la mode, at his desk perusing a book. Back in Chartres, Moulin immediately found much to do. The changing atmosphere was indicated in a Christmas Party at the prefecture for children from Finland, a country recently invaded by Soviet forces. One of Moulin’s first duties as prefect was to enforce decrees against the Communist Party. On 27 September the Party was dissolved by decree. Moulin wrote a private memorandum to explain his attitude.

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during my entire career I have never given in to anti-communism. . . . But since the beginning of the war in 1939, in the light of the attitude of the Communists, I could not simply accept defeatist and demoralising activities without reacting as all French people already had. Two days after the Nazi–Soviet pact, on 30 August 1939, Moulin followed instructions by seizing copies of the PCF paper Humanité at Chartres railway station.8 Early in 1940 he proscribed the departmental Communist Party, and ordered the arrest of its local leader Pierre Maurice for distributing propaganda reflecting the official PCF line. Maurice was imprisoned for three years, and a number of his comrades were also incarcerated. Moulin clearly shared the view of those parliamentary deputies of all parties who voted on 20 January to deprive the Communists of their electoral mandates. Cot, still convalescing from his recent illness and absent from the vote, wrote that this could be justified ‘not because of the anti-capitalism of the CP, but because of their anti-French and pro-Hitlerian attitude’. Albert Bayet of the League for the Rights of Man, with whom Moulin also identified, attacked ‘treason against democracy’. As the results of the pact became manifest, with the partition of Poland and the Soviet invasion of Finland, French attitudes, including those on the left, became more hostile. However, the continuing persecution of the Communists, whose deputies were imprisoned in April, caused some disquiet. Moulin had no hesitation in arresting Communists in his own area, but his friend Maurice Violette asked why ‘so much less effort is being devoted to dealing with Hitlerian propagandists’.9 As the war in Eastern Europe ran its course, French attitudes were at best uncertain and at worst defeatist. Prefect Moulin had to act not only against Communists who were opposing the war effort, but also against Spanish anarchist refugees who prophesied further victories for fascism. Nor was morale improved by leaflets dropped from German planes asking French soldiers whether they wanted to ‘add new cemeteries to those of the last war’. Moulin heard Violette at the conseil général on 6 November calling for anti-Nazism ‘without ambiguity’, and hoping that when the occasion arose they would respond ‘as had the Republic of 1793’. Privately Violette reported defeatist talk he heard in the corridors of the National Assembly. From the army he was shocked to hear ‘antirepublicanism’ and even ‘exasperated Hitlerism’. Moulin’s personal morale cannot have been improved by a local conference of March 1940


where he heard an air force general once again blaming Pierre Cot for the insufficient number of aeroplanes now available.10 However, there were also efforts to stiffen French resolve. Britain’s First Lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill, visited France and met Moulin at a lunch with Gamelin. Churchill referred to him favourably as ‘le jeune Préfet de Chartres’.11 On 22 March the anti-Munich Paul Reynaud replaced Daladier as Prime Minister. A week later the French and British governments agreed not to make a separate peace, and on 9 April German forces invaded Denmark and Norway. British and French troops sent to confront the invasion in Norway met with disaster. British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain was then replaced by Churchill, who had much the same reputation as his French counterpart, Reynaud, on the right politically but strongly anti-Nazi. None of this had much immediate impact in Eure-et-Loir. In retrospect local concerns seem petty when compared with the searing experiences that were to follow so soon. The prefect was busy carrying out instructions about mobilisation and reduced opening hours for food shops. At the conseil général on 6 May, he had to defend himself from charges of insufficient zeal on the first of these measures, and to accept modifications in his shop closures. He was notably criticised by Jean Valadier, the local representative recently elected Vice-President of the Senate. This was the man who urged the removal of Prefect Moulin later in the year. After the longest debate of the session, the conseil decided that it could not agree to any reductions in the length of the hunting season. The members then adjourned for dinner at the prefecture. This was the last meeting until 29 October 1945, when they reopened with a eulogy led by Maurice Violette for their late lamented prefect.

The fall of France, 10 May–22 June 1940 On 10 May 1940, German troops invaded Holland, Belgium and Luxembourg, and within three days they entered France. In just over five weeks, French forces were routed, and the French government agreed a humiliating armistice.12 For all the passionate speeches of Premier Reynaud and the heroism of ordinary French soldiers, numerically sufficient but ill-prepared military forces soon crumbled. The popular mood passed from fear to deep demoralisation. At a time when it was impossible to know what was really happening, speculation and rumour were often more credible than radio broadcasts and newspapers describing spurious French victories.

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On the night of 14/15 May, German troops forced back French soldiers at Sedan, where Napoleon III had been defeated in 1870. The people of Paris knew little of this, but profound fears were stimulated by the sight of billowing smoke from the grounds of the Foreign Ministry building at the Quai d’Orsay, with the burning of archives to prevent them falling into enemy hands. To use a phrase which had earlier been applied to the mass panic after 1789, a grande peur spread through the land, and the trickle of refugees which had recently so preoccupied local officials grew to a flood of unimagined proportions. This was the exode – a movement of population the like of which had not been seen for many centuries. On 16 May the same fear seized the Cabinet when they discussed fleeing from Paris. Reynaud did his best to revive spirits that evening in a radio broadcast denying any such plan. Winston Churchill arrived on the same day and was appalled at the manifest defeatism he saw, but promised support to continue the fight. On 18 May, Reynaud tried to stiffen the resolve of his ministers by appointing Georges Mandel, Clemenceau’s sometime chef de cabinet, as Interior Minister, and Marshal Philippe Pétain as deputy Premier. Mandel did all he could to prosecute the war, but Pétain had already accepted defeat. Reynaud also brought out of retirement a distinguished military leader, the 73-year-old Maxime Weygand, as army commander. He too soon advised capitulation. Meanwhile the morale and performance of the French army went from bad to worse. There were further retreats, and on 21 May the enemy occupied Arras and Amiens. There was no repeat of the 1914 Battle of the Marne, which stopped German advances at roughly this stage. On 27 May the Belgians capitulated, and the British Expeditionary Force began its evacuation from Dunkirk. Sections of the French army still tried to confront the invading Germans. There was the determined but unsuccessful push on 28 May by a force of tanks commanded by Colonel Charles de Gaulle, aiming to hold back the advance at Abbeville.13 On 5 June, the government was again re-enforced, now including de Gaulle as Under-Secretary for War. Five days later government members left Paris, and on 14 June the Germans arrived. On 16 June, Reynaud resigned, to be replaced by Pétain who immediately proposed an armistice, which was agreed on the 22nd.

The invasion seen from Chartres, 10 May–14 June From the prefecture at Chartres, and even more in the streets outside, few of these military or political events were known. Until 14 June,


Prefect Moulin received increasingly impractical Interior Ministry instructions; so that much of what he did was on his own initiative. He later followed the example of others by burning documents before the invaders reached his city. As a result it is only possible to trace his activities from public statements and the personal account of the events of 14 to 18 June which he wrote during the following winter. This was published, with some modifications, in 1947 as Premier Combat.14 It was clear from all he did in those days that Jean Moulin, like very few others, was determined to stick firmly to what he saw as his duty, and to encourage others to do the same. With almost manic determination, he refused to accept the defeat that he could see taking place all around. During the invasion, Moulin regarded it as his task to stiffen the morale of the local population, and to preserve as much as possible of the structure of civil society. As the days went by, this grew increasingly difficult. Like many others, Moulin became preoccupied with false rumours spread by the activities, real or imagined, of a ‘fifth column’. This phrase – invented by the right-wing Spanish General Mola as recently as October 1937 – was in constant use during that summer to describe those thought to be undermining the war effort on behalf of the enemy.15 On 13 May 1940, Moulin banned open-air demonstrations, and the next day he decreed ‘grave punishment’ for those helping the enemy by ‘passing on news of doubtful origin’. His biggest problem was the columns of refugees, now mainly made up of French people fleeing the advancing German army, trying desperately to travel further south and west. On 21 May, shortages of bread and meat compelled the prefect to withdraw all restrictions on their sale. On 25 May, refugees arrived from Amiens, including not only women and young children, but also dispirited French soldiers. Amongst them was Dr Antonin Mans, an old friend of Moulin from Montpellier, who was later an active resister.16 The war moved every day closer to Chartres. On 5 June, German air raids killed eight people and injured many others. The prefect took it upon himself to visit the wounded in hospital, where his attitude was described as ‘serious and solicitous’, with words of comfort to all. The raids were much worse 35 kilometres to the north at Drieux, where Mayor Violette reported over 100 fatalities between 9 and 11 June, and much of the centre of the town was destroyed, including most hospital facilities. Moulin frequently drove to Drieux during those days, but he found that there was much to do in Chartres also. Local morale suffered a serious blow on 10 June, when a group of high-ranking military officers and civil servants in retreat from Paris passed through the town. On that same day the radio reported that Italy had joined the Germans

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in the war. During that afternoon, Moulin drove with his friend Antoinette Sachs on a whirlwind return trip to his flat in Paris, from which he recovered papers belonging to Cot and himself. Antoinette later travelled away with the papers, finally boarding the liner Massilia with a number of ministers and others in a futile attempt to establish a government in exile in Algiers. She got back to France at the end of June, but the papers disappeared.17 On the next day, Tuesday, 11 June, Moulin issued a statement calling on all public servants and food producers to stay at their posts, but to little effect. He also arranged for a desperate but strongly felt proclamation to be printed as a poster over his name, headed ‘An Appeal to the Inhabitants of Eure-et-Loir’. This consisted partly of statements by Interior Minister Georges Mandel, with phrases added by the prefect. It read as follows.18 Your children are victoriously resisting the German onslaught. Be worthy of them and stay calm. No order has been given to evacuate the Department because nothing would justify it. Do not listen to the scaremongers. They are already being punished, and this will continue. It is essential for everyone to remain at his or her post. Economic life must continue. Elected members and public servants must set an example. Any desertion will not be tolerated. I am well aware of the wisdom and patriotism of the people of this Department. I am certain that we will be victorious. When the poster was printed, Moulin and a nurse called Jane Boullen pasted it on the walls. However, his injunctions were widely disregarded. It is true that there were some examples of heroic effort, notably at Drieux by Mayor Violette and Secretary-General Jean Decote. However, most of the population, including public servants and shopkeepers, joined the flight west and south. On 12 June, a general military order for withdrawal was issued. As a result, the nearby air base was deserted, and sirens stopped warning of air raids. Aerial bombing continued, and Moulin spent much of the day arranging the care of hospital patients arriving from Rouen. On 13 June, Moulin received a letter from the local


commander, Colonel du Tillet, saying that the military high command had ordered the evacuation of the Department’s civilian population. When confirming this by telephone the following morning, the Colonel said that Moulin was the first prefect he had found at his post since leaving the Belgian frontier.19 Overnight a broadcast from Premier Reynaud, while not conceding defeat, appealed desperately for help from ‘other democracies’. He spoke of ‘great sacrifice’ and asserted that ‘the soul of France was not defeated’, but ‘the day of rescue will come’. This was hardly calculated to improve morale, and two days later Reynaud resigned.20 On 14 June, Moulin abandoned his efforts to stem the flow of refugees. By now in any case, Chartres was rapidly emptying of its population. The last instruction he received from his superiors before the armistice, told him that everyone in reserved occupations should withdraw beyond the River Loire. Moulin decided to modify ‘the letter of the governmental decision’ by sending away most of his staff, but staying behind with his Secretary-General Jean Decote and two subprefects, even though they were all in the reserved category. Contact with the outside world was now lost, as bombing cut gas and electricity supplies and thus access to the radio. The local firemen fled with their equipment, along with the director of the local water works, who blocked off much of the supply. Surprise bombing destroyed much of the centre of Chartres, including houses and bridges, with at least 33 deaths. As Moulin inspected the damage, he saw ‘demoralisation growing all around me’.21 He then felt compelled to close the railway station, and promised refugees that meals would be provided at the prefecture in the evening. During the afternoon at the height of the bombing, news filtered through from refugees that German troops had entered Paris for the first time since 1815. Moulin next went to Drieux to inspect the latest devastation. Driving round with Mayor Violette and Sub-Prefect Ressier, they noticed the destruction of many new buildings. As Moulin later wrote, ‘nobody said a word, but each of us had the same thought. So. It is over.’22 Returning to Chartres that evening, the prefect saw a cloud of smoke above the town and his entire staff lined up at the prefecture to leave. Panic now gripped even decorated soldiers from the Great War. While there was little Moulin could say, he was nevertheless furious. His anger grew when he heard that Bishop Harscouët was also leaving, along with the right-wing mayor and Senator Raymond Gilbert, who had lost his sister and daughter-in-law in the air raids. The prefect thought he was ‘merely seeking a cover for his flight’.23 Even Moulin, however, now had

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to accept the order for military retreat beyond the Loire. Late that evening he wrote two letters. The first was to Interior Minister Georges Mandel, saying that he was staying at his post, even though it would have been easy to justify leaving with so many others. The Minister, already in Bordeaux, never received this news. Moulin wrote a second letter to his mother and sister, which did arrive.24 It says a lot about his mood of desperate resignation. When you receive this letter, I will undoubtedly have performed my final duty. On government orders, I will have received the Germans in the chief town of my Department and I will be a prisoner. I am sure that our future victory will deliver me – with the help of the rising indignation of the rest of the world and the heroism of our soldiers (who deserve much better treatment than they have received). I did not expect it to be so easy to do one’s duty when faced with danger. . . . If the Germans – they are capable of anything – force me to say anything dishonourable, you will already know that it is not true. This letter shows that Moulin’s mind was already racing ahead. Earlier in that same hectic day, he had been visited by his friend the left-wing aviation officer Frédéric Manhès. Years later Manhès claimed that Moulin predicted ‘a long occupation’ and the possibility that ‘we would become franc-tireurs [guerrillas]’. Subsequent biographers have argued that it was too early to make such statements, but it seems certain that Moulin and Manhès together swore to continue the struggle, which they both did. Like de Gaulle and a few others in different circumstances, Moulin was already considering various possible futures when he could participate in the defeat of the invaders.25

Confronting the invaders, 15–18 June 1940 With German forces advancing towards Chartres, Moulin was still determined to ‘do his duty’ by ensuring that when the invaders arrived they would meet properly constituted French authority. He perhaps knew that when the Prussians reached Chartres in 1870, the prefect fled and was replaced by a German official. This did not happen in 1940. To achieve his aims, Moulin co-operated with anyone who shared them. Thus he sought the aid of Pierre Besnard, the only elected municipal councillor still in Chartres, whom he designated mayor. There was also


Maurice Vidon, a former mayor and supporter of the political right, of whom Moulin later wrote that ‘we were a long way apart politically’, but without considering this ‘he assured me of his absolute collaboration . . . something rare during the days that followed’.26 Moulin also praised as ‘good angels in our misery’ the Sisters of St Vincent de Paul who stayed to fend for the sick, and the Vicar-General Monsignor Lejards, who also stuck to his post, going ‘everywhere where there was danger’. By now Moulin was practising the maxim of the Catholic writer Charles Péguy that he was heard to quote during this crisis: ‘In time of war, whoever does not surrender is my man, whoever he is, wherever he comes from, and whatever his party.’27 On the morning of Saturday, 15 June, Moulin contemplated what he could do to repair a shattered ‘social edifice’. He estimated that about 700–800 of Chartres’s 23,000 people remained. With the help of the nuns and a military dentist called Captain Foubert, he kept the municipal hospital going. This was now largely looking after refugees and local people too ill to travel. He arranged the removal of sick people from appalling conditions in the Cathedral crypt. The prefect also organised, with a particularly French priority, the baking of 800 kilos of bread at Blois and its transport to Chartres. Moulin was seen walking through the streets carrying the loaves. This food was largely for people he described as ‘the monstrous flow of the Paris region’, now filling the town. Driving around later that day in his Citroën, Moulin grew increasingly troubled. He saw soldiers aimlessly wandering, uninterested in the progress of the war. There were civilians desperate to escape, including a woman who thrust a fistful of notes into his face, screaming ‘I’ll pay you’ and demanding to be driven further south. Walking around in the afternoon, the prefect saw the results of looting, and witnessed petty pilfering in hotels whose staff had nearly all departed. By 5 o’clock his car was stolen from outside the prefecture by French soldiers. He could not decide whether to be more upset at the loss of his vehicle or at ‘the state of certain elements of the French army’. Nevertheless he found some ordinary soldiers from his native Languedoc who were ‘in good spirits . . . despite our defeats, despite everything’. When he finally got to bed at 3 a.m., Moulin could at least console himself that the Germans had not arrived.28 Sunday, 16 June began with a violent thunderstorm, which made life difficult for the refugees, but at least extinguished the fires caused by bombing. Moulin arranged to move sick people to college buildings near the prefecture. He then went on his rounds by bicycle, presenting,

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according to one witness, a ‘somewhat picturesque sight’.29 He first saw Commandant de Torquat, now installed in the girls’ school, and was told that German troops were 27 kilometres from Chartres. Returning to the prefecture, he persuaded a local schoolteacher called Damestoy to organise the burial of 45 bodies brought to the hospital following recent bombing. The prefect was still preoccupied with obtaining bread, especially when an ugly crowd appeared at the prefecture demanding food. He dealt with this by appearing in his uniform and appealing to their patriotism. Another group refused to be pacified when he arrived in his shirtsleeves. The mob was now led by a man with an artificial leg, who asserted that things would be better when the Germans arrived. Moulin found that the best way to disperse this ‘fifth column’ activity was to speed up food distribution. Returning to the army command post, he was surprised to find himself decorated ‘for civic courage’ by Commandant de Torquat and designated ‘honorary brigadier’ of his battalion. In return he dubbed the military commander an ‘honorary citizen’ of Chartres. The prefect then arranged for the man with the artificial leg to be taken into military custody along with a few others. Moulin was relieved to record that his disability had not resulted from military service. During the afternoon, Moulin found a soldier who was willing to repair one of the many abandoned cars – a Renault saloon. Later he was himself stopped and accused of being a fifth columnist for possessing such a vehicle, but managed to extricate himself by showing his prefect’s card. A group of soldiers marching from Paris said ‘we have been ordered into continual retreat. For a fortnight we’ve done nothing else. And for what?’ During the night he shouted to another group to see if perhaps they were Germans. No, they were French. They said they had been ‘in continuous retreat . . . without order, without purpose and often without leaders’. They would have ‘done their duty’ in a counteroffensive but it was now ‘much too late’. On the following morning of Monday, 17 June, Moulin heard that the Germans were temporarily prevented from entering Chartres by the gallant efforts of a group of Senegalese members of the French army. Soon German motor bikes roared though the streets of the town. The prefect positioned himself in front of the prefecture with Monsignor Lejards and acting Mayor Besnard – representatives of Church and State. At 7 a.m. the first set of German soldiers disembarked from their car. Moulin later reported his statement as follows.30 The fortunes of war have brought you as conquerors to our town. We present ourselves under the laws of war, and I promise you that


civil order will be maintained if you give us your assurance that your troops will respect the civilian population, especially the women and children. The German officer replied, You can be assured that German soldiers will respect the population. I consider you, Monsieur Le Préfet, responsible for the maintenance of order. Tell all those under your orders that for them the war is over. Later in the day the prefect made the first of many protests to the occupying forces against the illegal seizure of motor vehicles. He was able to reinforce civil authority by appointing Maurice Vidon to the office he had previously held as Mayor. During the afternoon, Moulin refused to leave the prefecture when ordered to do so by German troops.31 By now news began to filter through, mainly from German soldiers, that Reynaud had resigned – perhaps fleeing to England – and had been replaced by Pétain whose noon broadcast – unheard in Chartres – included the statement that ‘it is necessary to call an end to the battle’. Walking through the town later, Moulin heard that at nearby Luray a woman of 83 named Madame Bourgeois had resisted German soldiers requisitioning her home, and was tied to a tree and shot. Her corpse was then publicly displayed for a day, and her daughter was compelled to dig her grave. Moulin also saw looting in Chartres, some of it conducted by French civilians on behalf of German soldiers.32 At 6 p.m., Prefect Moulin sat down to eat, when another group of German soldiers came and arrested him.33 They took him first to the Hôtel de France and demanded that he sign a ‘protocol’ to say that black French troops had raped and murdered a group of French women and children. His first reaction was that it was inconceivable that French soldiers would do this. According to his later account, he said that ‘as a Frenchman, who had the duty as a high official of representing his country to the enemy, he could not sign any such infamous statement’. He was then accused of ‘insulting the great German army’, and was punched, kicked and hit with firearms. He provoked the German soldiers by then demanding an end to these ‘infamous proceedings’ and asserting that they were dishonouring their own uniforms. His recent poster about the French army ‘resisting the German onslaught’ was then quoted at him and he was accused of calling on the population to resist. He replied that he was simply doing his duty. The reported exchanges now took a turn that reflected the ideological gulf between those infected with Nazi racism and the republican

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prefect, son of a man who had defended Captain Dreyfus and protested before 1914 against the crimes of European imperialism in Africa. When asked to provide proof that black soldiers had been involved, the Germans replied that the massacre displayed ‘the characteristics of crimes committed by negroes’. The prefect could only find such a statement ludicrous, and his smile on hearing it provoked another beating. He then said that he had remained in Chartres to do his duty under the authority of his superior, the Interior Minister, and this led to another attack against him as a ‘hireling’ of ‘the Jew Mandel . . . [who] wanted to unleash war against Germany’. Moulin had no truck with antisemitism, and asserted that he was in no sense hired by his Minister, but followed his instructions. He was told he was fighting for ‘a land of Jews and negroes’. As a passionate protagonist of the principles of fraternity and equality, and an admirer of at least some of the politics of Georges Mandel, Moulin was quite prepared to plead guilty to all these charges. His tormentors soon tired of this discussion, and abruptly dragged the prefect into a car to the site of the alleged massacre about ten kilometres away at the hamlet of La Taye. He was shown the grisly remains of eight women and children. He had seen enough of such awful sights in recent days to assert that ‘you do not have to be a great scholar’ to see that these people were ‘the victims of bombing’. The infuriated Germans then locked Moulin into a cellar with the most mutilated of the corpses. Still refusing to sign anything, he was shot while making a feeble attempt to run off. He was taken back to Chartres, beaten again, and delivered to an isolated house in the hospital grounds, which had been partly destroyed by bombing. The house contained one room that served as a cell. He was thrown inside, where, ‘as he liked negroes so much’, he found a Senegalese soldier. The latter took pity on the muchbattered prefect, giving him the only mattress, and promptly falling asleep. Jean Moulin reviewed his situation, in a way which he later described as follows. For seven hours I have been subjected to physical and moral torture. I know that to-day I reached the limits of resistance. I know that if it starts again to-morrow, I will sign in the end. The dilemma remains: to sign or to disappear. It is impossible to flee. Whatever happens, I cannot sign. Death? . . . Since the war began, like millions of Frenchmen, I have accepted it.


For a few days, if I am taken, there will be a gap here in the ranks of resistance. At this point I have fulfilled my mission. . . . My duty has been completed. The Boche will see that a Frenchman is also capable of destroying himself. . . . I know that the only human being to whom I still owe anything, my mother who gave me life, will forgive me when she knows that I acted so that French soldiers would not be treated as criminals and so that she would not have to be ashamed of her son. There is much of the deepest recesses of Moulin’s being in this remarkable statement: his intense patriotism, filial piety, and the acceptance of death as the price for his integrity. He now set about cutting his throat with the panes of glass that littered the floor, losing much blood. At 5 a.m. he was found by a German patrol and desperately tried to stand to attention. A German doctor then examined him. He was taken into the hospital to the same Dr Foubert whom he had persuaded to stay, and Sister Henriette, who had tended many patients at his behest. After he had been given some preliminary treatment, German soldiers compounded their brutalities by telling the Sister that the black soldier with whom he had spent the night had inflicted the wounds. The soldiers then took Moulin away by car and, following some arguments amongst themselves, dropped him at the prefecture.34 There has inevitably been some speculation about why there was such pressure on Prefect Moulin to sign the ‘protocol’. The answer seems to lie in the events of the recent bloody battles on the outskirts of Chartres, which had resulted in the killing of up to 180 Senegalese troops, many of them after they surrendered. It appears that Moulin’s signature was sought to provide a justification for these atrocities. However, there was nobody at the time to speak up for the dead black soldiers. Thus the original incident, along with the bombing at La Taye, and the treatment of the prefect, were soon forgotten. The mutilated corpses were quietly buried and the German authorities never again directly referred to these matters.35 Meanwhile, Jean Moulin lay on a made up bed in the flat of the concierge at the prefecture, as the German military authorities had occupied the prefecture itself. Moulin was feverish and hardly able to speak or eat. All his staff had gone, and a small boy brought him water and milk. He was then looked after by Maurice Violette and his wife, who later remembered his pale and drawn features and his faith in ‘the final defeat of the Germans’. By the following Saturday, 22 June, the prefect

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had sufficiently recovered to resume his duties. For the remainder of his life he usually covered the signs of injury on his throat with a bandage, or with a scarf such as appeared on the subsequently celebrated photograph, prophetically taken in the winter before (see Plate 1). Without any encouragement from Moulin himself, his demeanour, his torture and his attempted suicide became widely known over the following weeks. The nationally circulated Catholic paper La Croix on 21 July praised his ‘heroic conduct’, and it was through this source that his family heard what had happened. Pétain himself was told in August by the President of the Association of Prefectoral Administrators that the prefect’s attitude under torture showed ‘real civic courage’. Though the Head of State did not see it like that, Moulin’s actions were later bracketed with those of de Gaulle and a few others, placing him in the ranks of the first resisters.36

A prefect under occupation, June–November 1940 In the meantime, the prefect of Eure-et Loir returned to his duties. It might perhaps be asked why this self-styled ‘atavistic republican’ continued for a further twenty weeks as a high functionary of the French state. The most obvious reason is that like everyone else, he decided to wait on events because he was unable to see into the future. It took a little time for the details of the armistice agreement to be known, and it was only on 10 July that the same National Assembly which had been elected to support the Popular Front voted full powers to Pétain, by 569 votes to 80. On that same day, Interior Minister Charles Pommart, who had considered taking Moulin onto his staff, was replaced by another parliamentarian, the neo-socialist Mayor of Bordeaux, Adrien Marquet, who acted to a degree independently of the German occupiers. In his one circular to prefects on 7 August, Marquet called for inclusiveness and dignity and said that prefects would further their careers by displaying ‘initiative’ and ‘conscience’, ‘in your love for your wounded country’. At this stage it was still possible for Moulin to continue with his purpose of maintaining French administration and looking after the interests of his compatriots under military occupation.37 On 6 September Marcel Peyrouton, a colonial administrator of ultra-right views, replaced Marquet as Interior Minister. At this point Moulin began to think seriously about a new course of action, including a trip to London. However, following discussion with his friend Pierre Meunier, he decided that a resignation would draw attention to himself, and it was better to wait for his inevitable dismissal.38 This came soon enough on


2 November. Moulin later linked this directly to his refusal to accept the disbanding of local democratic bodies. However, though he certainly objected to Vichy policy, it does not seem to have been the pretext for his dismissal. Soon afterwards there was a broader purge of prefects, and the powers of those now occupying the office were increased, especially against local democratic bodies.39 Before this happened, there was much for Prefect Moulin to do on behalf of the local population. When he was up and about again after 22 June, an ‘exodus in reverse’ was already well under way. Refugees were returning, many of them shamefaced and bewildered. They included Senator/Mayor Gilbert and Senate Vice-President Valadier, who had to do some explaining to justify their recent actions. After that, they had scores to settle. Moulin was soon busy restoring public health and basic services. He organised the removal of rubbish left by bombs and looting, and the disposal of human and animal remains. It took some time to restore the water supply and to re-establish the fire service. On 26 June, acting Mayor Vidon went to Paris to obtain banknotes to pay municipal employees. The electricity supply was restored on 4 July, allowing people in Chartres to receive news again from the outside world. It soon became obvious that the prefect had to display a very different spirit from that shown during the invasion. On 25 June the German commandant told Moulin of the armistice terms, including the undertaking that the French government ‘would invite all authorities and administrative services to follow the rules of the German military authorities and collaborate with them in a correct manner’. The prefect could not but consider this an instruction from his superiors, and he soon urged the civilian population to act with ‘dignity’, to return to work, and to ‘help one another’. Such statements persuaded the Germans on 8 July to suspend the barbaric practice of issuing lists of hostages, mostly consisting of local councillors and Socialist activists. When the postal system was restored on 2 July, Moulin summoned all 426 mayors in the Department to a conference. While appealing for ‘calm and dignity’, he also sought their ‘loyal and correct’ execution of ‘French laws and regulations’, which would ‘continue to apply to departmental and municipal life’. He urged the mayors to restore order, to reopen the schools and look to the food supply and public health.40 On Friday, 5 July, Moulin travelled to occupied Paris for medical treatment. He met the Rector of Paris University, Gustave Roussy, who had secured agreement for the trip from the German authorities. Roussy was subsequently dismissed following the famous student demonstration on

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11 November. Moulin also saw an old friend, Roger Langeron, Prefect of Police, who was to be arrested by the Germans in the following January. For the moment, in such company there was no doubt a briefing on changes in French government and administration, on the imminent German invasion of Britain, and on courses of action they might themselves pursue. Langeron was shocked at Moulin’s heavy bandages. Despite his continuing health problems, Moulin declined his sister’s advice to go for a rest to old haunts in Brittany. Instead he stayed in Paris over the weekend, no doubt at the rue des Plantes, returning to Chartres on Tuesday, 9 July.41 Prefect Moulin was now in a position to compile the first postoccupation edition of his regular reports to the Interior Ministry.42 In this he outlined the main events in Chartres since 9 June, specifically indicating ‘silence . . . aimed at reconciliation’ over the events of the night of 17 June. He was proud to have maintained ‘the continuity of French administration’ in the face of shortages of petrol, electricity and even water. He concluded that, despite the lack of contact with the Government, despite the low level of economic activity and of essential public services, despite the heavy costs of occupation, the department is able to survive to this day, certainly with difficulty but without too much danger. Alongside this rather upbeat assessment, Moulin unsuccessfully requested a personal meeting with the Minister. He continued to file reports and to disseminate the flood of decrees from the French government, but he was especially concerned with relations between the occupying forces and the French population. He made a detailed study of the 1907 Hague Convention as it applied to armies of occupation.43 There were some shocking incidents. The worst was probably the rape of two girls of 14 and 16 and the attempted rape of a number of others in the commune of Marceville by German soldiers on the night of 5–6 July.44 The prefect sent protests to the German authorities over these incidents and numerous other issues. The most common complaints related to the seizure of property, especially cars, but also livestock, furniture and radio sets. In response to one lengthy list, the German Field Commander accepted that Moulin was ‘quite right to protest about this incident’, and local commanders would be instructed to restore goods that had been seized. However, a later protest about the removal of refrigerators from a workshop was rejected on the grounds that this was an economic exaction allowed for in the armistice. Sometimes the


prefect had to act as an intermediary. When a schoolmistress reported that Germans had taken over her classrooms, he replied that it might be best to teach somewhere else. When the Mayor of Nogent-le-Retrou, with the support of the prefect, refused to surrender thirty radio sets to German soldiers, he was arrested. Moulin immediately got him released, but the sets were not returned. Another prisoner he liberated was a bookseller from Drieux found to have twenty ‘forbidden’ books in his shop. The prefect protected one municipality from paying for portraits of Hitler and Göring. He must have felt some satisfaction on 20 September in personally commending ‘the intelligence and spirit of initiative’ of two gendarmes at Berchères-les-Pierres who arrested a German soldier for theft.45 By firmness and tact, Moulin won respect from both occupiers and occupied. He gained concessions on such issues as payment for requisitioned goods, even though the Germans had the legal right following the armistice to seize a great deal. He also received protests from the Germans, usually about their telephone lines being cut by persons unknown, and about the defacing of their propaganda posters. The Germans also objected to the appearance of ‘anti-German tracts’, but at this time they mostly came from passing RAF bombers. Because the German occupiers had more practical control than the distant authorities in Vichy, Moulin had to strike a difficult balance. Some instructions he simply ignored. Thus the occupation authorities were not helped to remove people from homes occupied by German billets. Moulin vigorously protested about a poster published on 14 July over his name but without his agreement, threatening the relatives of incarcerated French troops who failed to help with the harvest. In August he refused to arrange for translations into French of all German statements to officials, on grounds of practicality, and also because such stipulations were not in the armistice agreement. On 19 October the prefect again called together all the mayors, who were also addressed by the German authorities. Those present later remembered this event for the speech from Moulin that showed a ‘firm and patriotic attitude’, and went ‘right to the heart of all who took part’.46 As the days went by it became necessary to look beyond the activities of German occupying forces to the authorities of the French state, who were now constructing their administrative system. The message of Interior Minister Adrien Marquet to prefects, on 7 August, was largely consistent with what Moulin was doing on his own initiative. However, on 10 August a Pétain broadcast alleged that a ‘culture of discontent’ had caused the recent military defeat and this showed the need for a

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‘purge of administrators’. This, it was said, caused demoralisation, which had ‘spread like gangrene’ and led to ‘laziness and incompetence and at times even systematic sabotage aimed at creating social disorder and international revolution’. The broadcast was followed on 13 August by a decree banning ‘secret societies’, principally the freemasons. On 27 August the Loi Marchandeau, which had restricted anti-semitic journalism, was repealed. Further measures followed when Peyrouton took over the Interior Ministry in September. On 3 October the infamous Statut des Juifs legalised systematic racial exclusion in French institutions. Another message from the Head of State, dated 10 October, asserted that the recent military defeat was caused by ‘the shortcomings of the former political regime’, which had to be replaced. On 12 October, conseils généraux were suspended, and on the 14th, prefects were instructed to join a ‘programme of national reconstruction’ as the only alternative to a ‘final catastrophe’. The next day, Interior Minister Peyrouton told prefects that ‘the former political regime, the cause of all our disasters is dead’. He ordered them to be propagandists ‘for the truth, for hope, for the defence of France murdered by years of errors and follies’. Moulin could hardly respond positively to this vacuous and reactionary rhetoric, but in line with his recent decision, he remained in Chartres for what he expected to be a short period. Uppermost in his mind was to arrange a visit to the Unoccupied Zone, and he was already trying to obtain a false passport. In the meantime, he simply ignored unacceptable parts of new decrees. He told local elected members that as far as he was concerned they continued, and nobody was dismissed. Nor was there any reaction from Moulin to increasingly abusive statements against the Vichy regime from Mayor Violette in Drieux. In sending out information during September about new decrees, he used the headed paper provided by the État Français (the title newly effected by the Vichy regime), but added a sheet headed ‘Prefecture of Chartres – French Republic’, which he drew to the attention of his subordinates. He did nothing to implement anti-semitic and other measures, but spent a good deal of time in an unsuccessful effort to secure recognition for people who had helped him in June. He worked hard to regularise the residential status of a Jewish schoolteacher called Daniel Zwiebel who was soon afterwards dismissed for distributing pro-Gaullist leaflets. Moulin’s attitude contrasted with that of the local bishop whose local paper described the Statut des Juifs on 26 October thus: ‘Nothing is more normal, more just, or more French than this law against the illegitimate agitations of the Jews.’47


Other indications of Moulin’s stance during his last period at Chartres can be seen in three further reports to the Interior Ministry, dated respectively 12 July, 30 August and 15 November. Though he was asked to give a full analysis of public opinion, his August report simply said that the ‘population remained calm and dignified despite the considerable difficulties following the occupation’. His sub-prefect proposed a phrase contained in many other prefectoral reports, about Pétain being ‘venerated by all’, but Moulin never included any such statement. While other prefects talked of the ‘National Revolution’ and measures of antisemitism, such matters were ignored by Moulin.48 It is notable that the surveys made by the German military authorities in the group of Departments including Moulin’s found that German propaganda was having little impact because it was ‘too little in line with the French mentality’. The Germans found ‘faith in British victory’, and perceptible support for de Gaulle well before the end of 1940.49 By October 1940 it was clear that the new regime was losing confidence in Moulin. Unknown to him, his fate was already decided when he travelled to the Unoccupied Zone. On 20 October he sent a card to his sister Laure signed under his artistic nom de plume Pierre Romanin, saying that ‘cousin John would come to Saint-Andiol on Thursday 23rd and stay there until Monday. I am very pleased about this.’ Moulin was the first prefect allowed to cross the demarcation line. On the way back on 27 October, he sent a card to his mother from La Palisse, 20 kilometres from Vichy itself. He may perhaps have tried to contact people in the administration.50 While he was away, a crucial event occurred which affected the subsequent attitudes of many French people. This was the Hitler/Pétain encounter at Montoire on 24 October, with the famously photographed handshake. The traditionally right-wing paper Le Figaro thought that this would ‘create a Europe . . . which will have as its supreme purpose the interests of all its peoples’. Such could hardly be Moulin’s view. For the first time now the term ‘collaboration’ came to have a negative connotation. In a BBC broadcast Maurice Schumann defined it as ‘the systematic pillage of another country who accepted it’, and condemned ‘all association direct or indirect between France and its mortal enemy’. At Brazzaville on 27 October, de Gaulle called ‘to war, that is to combat, all men and women from French lands who rally to me’.51 On 29 October the Interior Minister’s delegate in the Occupied Zone asserted that prefects must follow ‘the principle of collaboration’, working with the Légion Française of ex-servicemen loyal to the regime.

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On the next day Pétain broadcast that he had not been the object of any diktat at Montoire, and appealed to the French people to have confidence in him. However, there were indications that such confidence was fading. On 31 October, Moulin received a letter, that he kept in his possession, from an anonymous Alsacian. Describing himself as a ‘true Frenchman’, his correspondent expressed ‘respect and admiration for the proud French attitude that you adopted . . . in confronting the German authorities’, and concluded: ‘Long Live French Alsace-Lorraine! Long Live France! Long Live heroic England! Long Live de Gaulle!’52 Moulin’s attitude was clear enough for Senator Valadier to make secret representations to Vichy that he should be dismissed along with his friend Maurice Violette on the grounds that they were ‘furthering the policies of the Popular Front in the Department’. Another prefect, named Ingrand, concluded that Moulin was a ‘valuable functionary, but a prisoner of the former regime’. It cannot have come as a surprise when, on Sunday, 2 November, Pétain signed a decree relieving Moulin of his functions.53 The dismissal occasioned a number of interesting reactions. The German authorities were informed in advance. One local Fieldkommandantur argued that in the current political uncertainties his services should be retained for a further three months because of his ‘political skill and high intelligence’. Other German approbation for Moulin was indicated publicly. When Colonel von Gütlingen left Moulin’s prefecture on 27 September, he insisted on being photographed in front of the building next to Moulin, who was still bandaged, and whose demeanour appears cold and distant (see Plate 14). Gütlingen spoke of their ‘agreeable’ relationship, and said he ‘respected you as a Frenchman and you respected me as a German officer. Each of us had to serve our country.’ When Moulin’s dismissal came, the current Fieldkommandantur, Ebmeier, said, ‘I salute you for the energy with which you have known how to defend the interests of your administration and the honour of your country.’54 The local newspaper said he had proved ‘a very great administrator’, who had become ‘a citizen who loves his city’. This paper was run by Senator Valadier, who had intrigued against him behind the scenes, but did not dare to say anything unfavourable now. Other tributes came from the Countess de Leusse, who saluted his ‘brilliant and courageous conduct at the entry of the Germans into our beautiful city’, and Abbé Bergonier spoke of his ‘heroic conduct in the tragic June days’. At a special private event organised by Maurice Violette, Moulin was presented with an edition of Jean-Christophe by Romain Rolland on behalf


of the conseil général members, inscribed to ‘their great prefect and friend’. This novel had appeared in 1903 long before Rolland was involved in many of the same anti-war and anti-fascist organisations as Moulin had supported during the 1930s. It was ‘the tragedy of a generation’, that told the story of a man of high ideals and self-sacrifice killed on a May Day demonstration shielding a child from the sword of a soldier. Violette naturally drew parallels. Moulin’s loyal SecretaryGeneral, Jean Decote, said ‘your name belongs to history’, and ‘will be for everyone a symbol of goodness, of energy, of courage, of loyalty, of honour, and of patriotism’. In reply, Moulin recalled that ‘in difficult days, we worked, struggled and suffered together’, expressing ‘immutable faith in the destiny of France’.55 After Moulin left Chartres for the last time, on 16 November 1940, he devoted some effort to obtaining a full pension. The matter was not finally resolved until 1947, well after his death. This gives some possible indication that he did not consider, or did not wish to make it appear, that his dismissal was final. On 2 May 1941, he wrote to Vichy that he was still ‘at the disposal of the Minister of the Interior’, perhaps to draw attention away from his other activities and to allow him to present his evidence to the Riom hearings. A year later, in April 1942, the Vichy administration was comprehensively restructured, with Pierre Laval as Deputy Prime Minister and Interior Minister as well as Foreign Minister. The zealots of the ‘national revolution’ were partly replaced by parliamentarians who had at least obtained electoral mandates in the past. Desperate to gain some new adherents, Laval summoned Moulin to Vichy on 21 May 1942 with a view to him resuming his duties. However, Moulin was by then busy in his role as delegate of de Gaulle. He politely declined the offer, explaining that he was ‘against collaboration and the national revolution’, and that he preferred ‘farming in the South’. In reporting this to London, he hoped that ‘my refusal will not have any consequences’.56

8 From Resister to Resistance, 1940–1

When Jean Moulin left Chartres on 15 November 1940, the results of military defeat were evident everywhere. The armistice line divided France. To the North and the West, collaboration meant dealing with occupiers who were stripping the population of resources and dignity, inflicting terror without hesitation. In the South, the Vichy regime was dismantling democratic institutions while persecuting political opponents, refugees, and Jews. For most French people these early months of occupation were experienced as the worst of the ‘black years’, a time of shortages, hunger and cold. This made it difficult to envisage a viable political or military alternative. Nevertheless, Moulin had already conceived the possibility of working to contact those outside France who had raised the standard of revolt. He soon found some of those who wanted to ‘do something’ in France itself, and then took it upon himself to contact the disparate elements of opposition to collaboration. He thought the way to do this was to operate with, but not for, the British, and to work for unity under de Gaulle. After overcoming many obstacles, Jean Moulin saw Charles de Gaulle on 25 October 1941, a date subsequently recalled as symbolic and historic. This meeting has been portrayed as the reconciliation of right and left, of French military and political traditions, of state service and rebellion, and finally of external and internal resistance. It linked different aspects of an ‘alternative France’ and had a significant impact on their evolution. Diverse elements claiming to be the ‘real’ France came together to present an alternative to surrender and collaboration. De Gaulle’s Free French received a new legitimacy, and the scattered bands of active resisters obtained a place on the national and international stage. Jean Moulin, the sometime ‘high official’, was transformed into ‘Rex’. Thus Moulin came to personify the fusion of roles he wanted to 100

From Resister to Resistance, 1940–1 101

develop, linking external and internal opposition, the representative, the paymaster, and the ‘unifier’ of resistance. His overall aim from then on was to set down the first building blocks of a new democratic state.

‘Doing something’, September 1940–October 1941 As early as September 1940 Moulin attempted to obtain false identity documents so he could travel to London. He was soon arguing for unity in the struggle against the Germans, telling friends that there was ‘no other course of action’ than to support de Gaulle. He came to argue that ‘French weakness’ derived from being ‘too divided between right and left’, and that there should be unity from far right to socialists and communists.1 Some French people had already beaten a path to London. They included his old RUP associate, the brilliant maverick scientist André Labarthe whose broadcast Moulin heard on 29 December.2 Pierre Cot was the first parliamentarian to arrive. He offered to perform any task, even ‘sweeping the stairs’, but his unhappy political reputation excluded him from the Free French, and, after a short period in cheap Kensington hotels, he travelled on to the United States in August.3 Moulin found numerous obstacles to taking the same road out, some caused by the inherent difficulty of traversing Spain and Portugal, others by obstruction from Vichy and delays on the part of the British. In the end it was more than a year before he finally reached London. He used the time at his disposal to write about his recent Chartres experiences and to defend Pierre Cot in his absence at the Riom show trial of prewar leaders. Moulin also tried to contact as many as possible of the scattered and varied groups of people who were seeking to continue the struggle against the Germans. His efforts in that direction achieved limited but significant success. Moulin stayed during the last fortnight of November 1940 in his Paris flat, seeing old friends including Antonin Mans and Frédéric Manhès, who shared his view of the need to work with de Gaulle. He also met Georges Cusin, customs officer and trade unionist, a fellow ‘Spaniard’ from the days of arms-running to the republicans, with whom he dined at the Deux Magots. They discussed Cusin’s work in the Vichy bureaucracy and his British contacts, as well as clandestine life.4 No doubt they also discussed the demonstration of around 3000 students at the Arc de Triomphe on 11 November and the arrest of about 200 of their number.5 This event was amongst the first indications of a clear – if still inchoate – hostility to occupation. Even the forlorn shouting of slogans, not to mention cutting telephone cables, could lead to summary executions

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announced in public notices. At this stage, opposition to German occupation nearly always took the form of individual action, as it had for Moulin. ‘Advice to the Occupied’, secretly distributed by the Socialist Jean Texcier in August and subsequently much quoted, urged French people in defiant but rather impotent exhortations to ‘display a fine indifference; but maintain a secret anger’. The first set of people in Paris who thought in terms of an organised group were already being organised at the Musée de l’Homme under the charismatic leadership of Boris Vildé. On 15 December they produced a duplicated sheet headed Résistance, urging readers to ‘organise so that you will be able, when you receive the order, to resume the battle’. They also gathered military intelligence and sent people to London, but were betrayed by a Catholic priest, and the leaders were arrested by the following February. Nineteen were tried, and seven of them shot in February 1942.6 In November 1940, Moulin asked two friends from the RUP, Robert Chambeiron and Pierre Meunier, to see if they could contact people who wanted to ‘do something’ in the Occupied Zone. When he returned to Paris in April 1941, they had found nobody. As Meunier later put it, it was ‘like looking for a needle in a haystack’. The very term ‘resistance’, though used by de Gaulle and Vildé, had not yet assumed its later generic meaning.7 The first examples of resistance to the occupying forces were on a very small scale. It was hardly surprising that Moulin’s friends failed to track down the first edition of the northern version of Libération, typed by Christian Pineau in Paris on 1 December 1940. Only seven copies were produced. Nor did they make any contact with Vildé, though Manhès did contact the Cagoulard Maurice Ripoche and the group later known as ‘Ceux de la Résistance’.8 Those coming together at that time were typically coteries of friends known to one another from ‘personal or professional relationships’, with confused aims and limited resources. Even in the more relaxed Southern Zone, only groups of a few dozen emerged by the winter of 1940.9 Henry Frenay, still working in military intelligence at Vichy, began to recruit in Marseilles in August. He wrote a ‘Manifesto’ for his Libération Nationale organisation which advocated a ‘secret army’ while declaring itself ‘profoundly attached to the work of Marshal Pétain’. Attitudes slowly changed when the group published its own propaganda. Frenay’s friend Bertie Albrecht produced Vérités for the Unoccupied Zone, and in the North an associated paper called Les Petites Ailes (Little Wings) expressed grudging respect for de Gaulle.10 In Marseilles on 25 November a Catholic university professor, François de Menthon, assembled enough people to produce Liberté,


which said that they were ‘at the service of nobody, sacrificing our lives to-day as yesterday in battle, we merely continue to fight for France’. Initially they had no intention of going beyond propaganda against collaboration, and they supported ‘the great work of renovation to which the Marshal invites us’. During 1941 they joined Frenay to set up Combat, which became the largest grouping. Before the end of 1940, another group, quite distinct from its namesake in Paris, emerged in the Unoccupied Zone with a paper called Libération. This was characterised by a leftist political orientation and hostility to Vichy, initially contacting the Socialist Daniel Mayer and the veteran trade union leader Léon Jouhaux. It took time for outsiders to discover that the leader was a former naval officer called Emmanuel d’Astier de la Vigerie, who became one of the leading figures of the resistance. A further group emerged in 1941 with a leftist orientation and a paper called La Dernière Colonne (The Last Column). It became, under the leadership of JeanPierre Levy, Franc-Tireur.11 Little of this was known to Moulin when he travelled to the Southern Zone on 1 December 1940 to see his mother and sister. He established himself at his Saint-Andiol ancestral home, describing himself as a farmer, while pursuing his efforts to travel to London. Through his friend Louis Daniélou, he obtained identity papers in the name of Joseph Mercier, a French university professor resident in America, who was born in 1896 in Péronne, where birth records had been conveniently destroyed. On 7 December Moulin presented himself at the Toulouse prefecture. By coincidence he encountered Secretary-General Ressier, his former subordinate as sub-prefect of Drieux, who took it upon himself to inform his superiors of Moulin’s plans. As a result, a circular was sent to ports and frontiers.12 Moulin returned to Saint-Andiol for the 1941 New Year holiday, which was notably cold and snowbound. Early in January he visited Manhès at Cagnes-sur-Mer near Nice, and together they obtained an exit visa in the name of Mercier. However, he needed more documentation. With the long-distance help of Pierre Cot, Moulin secured a medical certificate from the United States consulate in Marseilles to allow him to travel to the USA and he also obtained more of the papers of Joseph Mercier.13 While waiting for permits to travel through Spain and Portugal, he decided to write an account of the events of the previous June, posthumously published as Premier Combat. Around March, he contacted Pierre-Henri Teitgen, a professor of law at Montpellier where he had studied, and he may have helped to distribute the clandestine journal Liberté in Montpellier, probably the only time he took

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such direct action. He may also have contacted the F2 resistance network of Polish exiles, which was already under surveillance and was soon afterwards destroyed by the police. It was perhaps also at this time that he saw Abbé Krebs, the priest from Alsace who set up the Combat resistance group in Avignon.14 In April 1941, Moulin returned to the Occupied Zone to contact politicians of the Third Republic. He was now working closely with his friend Antoinette Sachs. She put him in touch with former Prime Minister Paul-Boncour, whose home at Saint-Anignan-sur-Cher near Tours happened to be on the armistice line, and who made it his business to keep in touch with the 80 parliamentarians who had voted against giving powers to Pétain. He contacted the British, who were impressed by his ‘clear vision of what is possible and not possible in any Provisional Government that might take over in France’. Moulin met Paul-Boncour with his friends Manhès, Chambeiron and Meunier, and discussed uniting resistance groups. Moulin sent a postcard to his sister on 7 April, and later wrote to Cot in America passing on the greetings of Paul-Boncour.15 Returning to Paris, Moulin contacted opponents of Vichy including freemasons and former activists from the League for the Rights of Man, probably through Antonin Mans and Maurice Violette. Towards the end of April, Moulin again returned to Saint-Andiol to prepare his deposition on behalf of Pierre Cot to the Riom trial, arguing the case for his former chief, whom he continued to support ‘on a political as well as an intellectual and moral basis’.16 By the end of May, Moulin was back in Marseilles, living as Joseph Mercier at the Hôtel Moderne on the main boulevard, the Canebière. Marseilles at this time had something of the atmosphere of the classic film Casablanca. It was a place of safety and onward travel for numerous refugees, with consuls from China, Czechoslovakia and elsewhere helping people on their journeys. Within this world, Jane Boullen, the nurse he had met at Chartres, put Moulin in touch with some sympathetic Protestant clergymen and diplomats, and he may well have met the American Relief Committee of Varian Fry, now internationally recognised following his efforts to help artists and Jewish refugees. Moulin saw the American vice-consul Hiram Bingham, who was strongly anti-Nazi and keen to help refugees. Through past contact with the Czech consul, he was able to see Bingham’s superior, Hugh Fullerton. He in turn recommended Moulin to the British.17 By these means, Moulin finally secured a visa for Portugal on 19 August. ‘The French’, according to one of Moulin’s biographers, ‘have no


sense of clandestine life; they do not even know how to be silent or to hide.’ Moulin had already shown discretion in his private life, but his early efforts to hide his resistance activity included some farcical elements. Thus he sometimes refused to answer to his own name. It is said that Antoinette Sachs walked behind him with an alternative set of identification papers, and he soon adopted a series of pseudonyms. Yet as time went by he mastered the techniques of clandestine life, achieving some success until the last fatal days when he was discovered by the actions of others.18 For the moment, Antoinette Sachs was living in the same hotel and kept a key to his room to make it look occupied in his absence. Together they worked to improve his English. At the same time Moulin continued with his self-appointed task of searching for opposition groups. The ever-helpful Jane Boullen put him in touch with the Libération Nationale movement. Through her he contacted Dr Marcel Recordier at whose house in 67 rue de Rome he met for the first time the redoubtable Henri Frenay, probably in May.19 At the time, Frenay’s ‘impression of Moulin was really excellent’. He found himself confronted by ‘a man of middle height, his hair slightly greying, his face heavy, his eyes direct’. Frenay told of his plan to bring together all resisters into a secret army led by himself, and boasted of his contacts within Vichy’s intelligence services. Moulin was ‘calm but reacted passionately’, taking careful notes in pencil. He told Frenay that he would act as his ‘advocate’ when he saw de Gaulle. However, it was some time before Frenay got to know ‘that this day had been of capital importance to the French resistance and its relationship to London’. During the summer Moulin also met François de Menthon, leader of Liberté, and was in touch with Liberation Sud, though not yet with its leader d’Astier. He placed himself in a position to be able to act on behalf of these organisations.20 This period saw some initial resistance activity. In March 1941, the British Special Operations Executive (SOE), with what they described as ‘rather nebulous plans’, made their first successful landing of agents taking part in ‘Operation Savannah’ to attack German pilots. Despite the failure of its initial purpose, the survival of parachuted agents was thought to show what was possible, meriting ‘the highest praise’. In May, miners in northern France went on strike in defiance of the occupation authorities.21 After 22 June the German invasion of the Soviet Union brought the Communists into opposition to the Germans. On 12 August a radio broadcast of Pétain denounced a ‘wicked wind’, based on ‘false rumours and intrigues’.22 On 21 August, the Communists began assassinating German officers, provoking ferocious reprisals,

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culminating in the execution of 98 hostages at Châteaubriant and elsewhere on 23 October. By then Moulin had finally reached London. Taking the precaution of bringing his prefect’s identity card torn into eight pieces, he left Marseilles by train and crossed the Spanish frontier on 9 September 1941. However, he can hardly have expected six more weeks to pass before reaching his destination.23 He reached Portugal on 12 September, setting himself up in a guesthouse in Lisbon. He immediately contacted the American consulate, which had expected him for some time. He met British representatives, and found he was dealing not with consular officials, but with the SOE. On their behalf he was interviewed by Major L. H. Mortimore, a British businessman recently based in France. Mortimore reported that Moulin ‘created an excellent impression’, and he later told his sister that ‘his shining patriotism and personality commanded attention’. He contacted London and proposed that it should be accepted that he would join the Free French, who were already ‘anxious to see him and had expressed great interest’.24 The SOE wanted to recruit as many French nationals as possible to their ranks, and having discovered his contacts and assessed his significance, attempted to include Moulin. He had long since decided that he would offer his services to the Free French. De Gaulle later claimed that he had to persuade Foreign Secretary Eden to have Moulin sent on from Lisbon, but delays were probably due less to obstruction than to poor weather and the unavailability of transport.25

The French resistance in the autumn of 1941 While waiting in Lisbon, Moulin heard news of the proclamation in London on 25 September of the French National Committee. This step towards the formation of an alternative government must have given him pause for thought, along with the promise of democratic institutions in the form of a consultative assembly. On 11 October he compiled a report for the British authorities and the Free French which had a significant impact at the time and has often been reproduced as a definitive statement of the early resistance.26 Moulin’s report is the work of a trained bureaucrat, thorough, diplomatic and skilfully addressed to its various audiences. It is written in the early language of ‘resistance to the invader’, not yet the Resistance. While carefully measured, it concedes nothing of those who retained any faith in Pétain and everything about the need to go beyond opposition to unity behind de Gaulle. The correct title of the English version


is Report on the Activities, Plans and Requirements of the Groups formed in France with a view to the liberation of the country. Moulin knew that much would be known to ‘the British authorities and General de Gaulle’, and that other reports might differ on the relationship of resistance groups with de Gaulle and with one another.27 However, he was speaking for the groups he had contacted, and dubbed the ‘LLL movements’. Moulin described the resistance groups objectively, but without assessing their respective size and influence. He explained that they started as propaganda bodies with increasingly regular publications. Liberté was ‘well informed and edited in perfect taste’ (d’une très belle tenue), ‘run by intellectuals’, and with ‘a profound influence in university circles’ even including ‘partisans in the official circles at Vichy’. Libération he described as ‘particularly aimed at working class circles’, with the support of Jouhaux. In November he thought Libération had ‘practically fused with Liberté’, though as it turned out it was the other two organisations that merged. Moulin characterised Frenay’s Libération Nationale group as ‘led by people in trading and industrial circles . . . and also by the professional classes, nearly all reserve officers’. He said that their publications were ‘voluntarily moderate’, and their political orientation was ‘very eclectic’, from royalists like the late Action Française historian Bainville, to Communists. He conjectured that ‘between 25,000 and 45,000’ of the publications of the three groups circulated in both zones, with numerous readers to ‘multiply these figures by at least five’. Moving beyond ‘pure propaganda’, Moulin discussed ‘direct action’. This largely took the form of recruiting people to cells, making counter-propaganda, very limited sabotage and ‘a few planned operations’ by one organisation (Libération Nationale) against ‘Germans and the “collaborators” ’. Their ‘Military Activities’ consisted of providing information to ‘members of the British secret service’ and stockpiling ‘arms and munitions’. The report made some polite but telling criticisms of the British. One agent sent to France – presumably Pierre Forman – was ‘youthful’ and displayed ‘insufficient knowledge’. Nor was Moulin happy about contacts in June 1941 between the British authorities and Colonel Groussard, who had worked within Vichy to create a special police force, and organised the arrest of Laval in December. However, Moulin had obtained during his visit to Riom in May a dossier from the imprisoned Groussard, making complaints about Pétain.28 Moulin said that the organisations were beginning to contact one another, holding meetings in July and September. They co-ordinated campaigns and sabotage, agreed independence for their newspapers, and recognised the impor-

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tance of ‘one single organisation in the field of military activity’. This was a significant phrase showing a Gaullist conception of resistance before it had been discussed. Moulin drew attention to the oppositional activities of the freemasons and the Ligue des Droits de l’Homme. He also mentioned the newly active Communists and the fact that Liberté had ‘definitely ranged themselves against Communism’. He said that ‘the Communist bogey’ was driving some ‘conservative bourgeois’ to support Vichy, and argued that unless aid was given to the other organisations ‘we shall be driving into the arms of the communists thousands of Frenchmen who are burning with the desire to serve’. Later in London, he also warned of ‘the danger that more Frenchmen will fall into the hands of the Communists’. Moulin went on to make a series of specific requests to the British. He suggested much more support for propaganda including ‘illustrated satirical papers’ and ‘secret radio transmission stations’. He especially commended a radio station directed at Catholics, whose clergy were under ‘orders’ from their bishops to ‘preach collaboration’. He argued that military support was necessary to avoid the isolation of militants and to outflank the Communists, and drew attention to the importance of radio receivers. The report emphasised the need for financial support – the funds ‘asked for by the three movements in order immediately to widen their scope’. They ‘are hardly the equivalent, at the present rate of exchange of our valueless franc, of one fifth the cost of a bomber, and hardly more than the price of a single leaflet raid by a few planes’. On another issue, he diplomatically addressed the British authorities, by recounting a ‘rumour among de Gaulle circles in France that the British leaders would not be displeased to have the government of Marshal remain’. Moulin said that even though those from the LLL groups ‘do not insult our English friends by believing these rumours’, a trenchant denial would be helpful. In summary, he said that the key issues were ‘to intensify propaganda’ and to ‘organise eventual collective action for the future’. Clearly there was a great deal to discuss not only with the British, but also with those hoping to bring together the different elements of Free France. Before leaving Lisbon, Moulin wrote a friendly letter to Pierre Cot, explaining the decision he had clearly taken some time earlier not to travel to the USA. Instead he was on his way to London, where ‘I can render greater service to our poor country if I follow another route closer to our English friends.’29 Later that same day, a hydroplane was at last secured, and on the afternoon of Monday, 20 October, he arrived at Poole in Dorset.


The ‘Free French’ before October 1941 Long before Moulin reached London, a tiny band of French exiles with a remarkable leader had embarked on a crusade to defend and rebuild France.30 In the days following the German invasion of 10 May 1940, the diminishing band of intransigent French leaders included Charles de Gaulle, the most recently created General and Under-Secretary for War, appointed on 5 June. When military and political collapse was evident all around, de Gaulle was one of the few members of the administration wanting to continue the fight. He supported Churchill’s proposal to merge the administrations of both countries. When the two men met in the corridor of the prefecture at Tours on 15 June, Churchill told de Gaulle he was ‘L’homme du destin’.31 Within twenty-four hours of his arrival in London on 17 June, de Gaulle was given access to the airwaves with the personal support of the Prime Minister so that he could call for resistance to continue. The broadcast of 18 June 1940 has been given enormous retrospective significance, though at the time its reception was very different. This was not so much because it went unheard, since reports of the broadcast appeared in the French press. However, this was but one voice amongst a confusing babble. Who was this temporary general and what did he represent? Certainly not the French government, and perhaps nobody else in France. Any hope of gathering at least some leading personalities in London was dashed on 21 June when former ministers Daladier, Mandel and Zay, together with 21 deputies and several others including Antoinette Sachs, set sail on the ill-fated Massilia for Casablanca to continue to struggle from there. On arrival they were arrested and imprisoned.32 In London at this point de Gaulle had little British support beyond the Prime Minister, and at times not even that. The Foreign Office stopped de Gaulle making further broadcasts until 26 June. A scheme to set up a ‘National Committee’ or a ‘Council of Liberation’ failed for lack of support from Frenchmen in London, including André Maurois and Henri de Kerillis. The best that Churchill could do on 28 June was to declare de Gaulle to be ‘leader of the Free French’. On 3 July at Mers-el-Kébir, the British navy destroyed much of the French ocean-going fleet and killed many sailors. De Gaulle felt compelled to declare that this unhappy event was necessary to keep the fleet from German hands. Then on 10 July the French national Senate and Assembly voted together by 468 votes to 80 to give full powers to Pétain. By now the Third Republic was dead, and any constitutional or popular mandate for the ‘Free French’ had apparently disappeared. Even

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with Churchill’s support, de Gaulle was utterly isolated, hardly even in touch with the British authorities. However, the veteran Foreign Office mandarin Robert Vansittart privately asserted that ‘we cannot withdraw support from de Gaulle now’, unless ‘something a great deal bigger emerges’. To this, Churchill could only respond, ‘I agree entirely.’ On 7 August, Churchill declared support for the Free French military forces.33 By now a few individuals were joining de Gaulle, including the jurist and anti-war campaigner René Cassin, formerly active in the RUP, who went to work creating a constitutional and legal basis for the Free French. There was also André Dewavrin (‘Colonel Passy’), a sometime cagoulard, who set up what came to be known as BCRA (Bureau Central de Renseignement et d’Action – Central Office of Intelligence and Action). The French saw this as a rather effective body, though the SOE maintained its ‘complete unreliability from a Security point of view’, despite their own lapses.34 Other early recruits included Admiral Muselier and Moulin’s friend André Labarthe, both of whom later quarrelled with de Gaulle. Over the following weeks, Gaullism became known through the French service of the BBC. De Gaulle tried to make his mark by bringing his limited forces into conflict with German and Vichy supporters at every opportunity. Some small colonial territories rallied to him, the most important being Equatorial Africa, but a joint effort with the British to capture Dakar in West Africa on 25 September was a disastrous failure. Nevertheless, two days after the Pétain/Hitler encounter at Montoire on 22 October, de Gaulle, speaking from Brazzaville in Equatorial Africa, declared the Vichy regime ‘illegal’. Asserting that ‘we are France’, he set up a Council for the Defence of the Empire ‘to defend national sovereignty and independence’, and as a step towards an alternative administration.35 Free French forces were now in action in the African campaign, taking Koufra in Italian Somalia in March 1941. However, in circumstances where ‘maladroit improvisation produced a desperate military situation’, the British authorities in Syria negotiated a deal with the Vichy authorities independently of the Free French. With some justification, de Gaulle regarded this as a slight. However, he did not help his case by telling every British representative he could find, and publicising his disagreements in an interview reported in the Chicago Daily News of 27 August 1941. Churchill then proposed breaking off relations, but Eden said that since de Gaulle was ‘of considerable importance’ within France ‘as a rallying point against Vichy’, any open breach would ‘confuse French opinion’.36


Within the Free French, discussion continued on how they should describe themselves. As late as 8 July 1941, de Gaulle resisted the idea that they should declare support for democracy. He also opposed the term ‘liberation party’, and co-operation of any kind with the Communists.37 Some of these issues were discussed on 16 September at a meeting between de Gaulle and Churchill designed to clear the air. Churchill advocated a ‘formal council’ at the head of the Free French to allow ‘some body analogous to a government’. He hoped to undermine de Gaulle’s personal position, but the latter had been considering such an arrangement for over a year. Churchill said to de Gaulle that some people thought he ‘had moved towards certain fascist ideas’. The latter indignantly repudiated ‘the accusation of authoritarian views . . . in the light of his most recent statements and certain further statements he proposed to make’.38 During the next few days, Byzantine intrigues culminated in the demotion of Muselier and the exclusion of Labarthe, reasserting de Gaulle’s personal authority in the French National Committee proclaimed on 25 September 1941. It included Cassin and André Diethelm, formerly a member of the Cabinet office of Interior Minister Georges Mandel, and thus probably known to Moulin. The Committee presented the beginnings of an administrative structure, with the promise of a consultative assembly, though this was still a long way from an alternative government for France, much less from a democratic republic.39 Differences persisted between the Free French and the British authorities. De Gaulle and Passy objected to the independent operation of the SOE in France, and the British refused to consider the argument that the Free French should have responsibility for operations on French soil. They also protested in vain against the ‘fixed principle’ that MI6 should interrogate and attempt to recruit all French exiles before they saw the Free French. The SOE itself claimed that they lost people by being compelled to assume that they would wish to join the Free French.40 Nor were the tensions merely between the Free French and the British. There were important differences within both camps, especially on the priority to be given to sabotage and other ‘military’ actions as against associated ‘political’ activity. On the British side, much of this related to the activities of the Special Operations Executive, a new secret organisation founded in July 1940 to foment sabotage and subversion in occupied territories. SOE began under the authority of Hugh Dalton, a Labour member of the coalition long suspicious of intelligence officers with a deserved anti-Labour reputation. Operating from Baker Street,

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well apart from other secret and governmental agencies, Dalton ‘had in mind not primarily a military job at all. It concerned Trade Unionists and Socialists in enemy occupied territories, the creation of Fifth Columns, of explosions, chaos and revolution.’41 This was inconsistent with the normal work of the Foreign Office, or with the activities of the already existing secret services, which had their own clandestine networks.42 The initial British line was that there should be no action ‘against persons or objects in unoccupied France’. It was also thought ‘highly desirable that HMG [the British Government] should have some control over the de Gaulle movement in unoccupied France, otherwise it might seriously cut across relations with Vichy’. In practice, however, such ‘control’ of the Free French was unachievable. In any case, the SOE was keen to take on Germany’s allies, and supported the Free French desire to operate in the Unoccupied Zone of France before November 1942.43 There were still disputes, especially as the Foreign Office controlled access to radios and the War Office to aeroplanes. The ‘revolutionary’ role of the SOE was downplayed when the Conservative Lord Selborne replaced Dalton early in 1942. On the whole, the SOE French ‘country section’ ‘F’ worked well with French resisters, especially on the ground, despite some ‘uncertainty on the part of the authorities as to how far indigenous French resistance could be trusted’. On the other hand, ‘RF’ section, charged with liaising with the Gaullists, became completely identified with the Free French.44 On the whole, SOE did not show the ‘mixture of patronising disdain and benign manipulation’ common amongst British officials toward the Gaullists, and ‘tended to work more closely and with greater respect’.45 In the early period there was much discussion of the nature and politics of the Free French. In discussion with René Cassin in July, Desmond Morton ‘could not imagine what people mean when they call the Free French Movement a “political movement” ’. Yet by September, he decided that it ‘should now be considered a political movement, though not yet a government’. By then Roger Cambon, former French ambassador and ‘anti-Gaullist militant’, similarly considered that Gaullism ‘should now be considered a political movement’.46 De Gaulle himself changed his initial purely military perspective. On 8 October 1941, he said that the emerging resistance organisations should ‘start a political action that is and must be separate from military action’. To British ears such as those of Hugh Dalton this sounded like a cloak for de Gaulle’s political ambitions, and the SOE later criticised de Gaulle on the grounds that he was ‘willing to accept any (political) allegiance whatever the conditions demanded’.47


When in London, Moulin expressed a more straightforward view on these issues: From his short experience in London generally and particularly in French circles, far too much importance was attached to political questions in the party meaning of the word. People in France who were trying to do something for resistance looked on the removal of the Germans as being much more important than the precise political colour of anyone who helped or directed towards this end. . . . The matter of whether de Gaulle stayed or went could be decided afterwards. This reflected an attitude which was common amongst left-wing supporters of the internal resistance, also seen when he told Pierre Cot that ‘for the moment it is necessary to be with de Gaulle. Later we will see.’ He also said ‘I have not forgotten Pilsudski’ – referring to the Polish military dictator of the 1920s and 1930s who initially gained power with democratic support.48 It was with these opinions that Jean Moulin burst upon the London scene to ‘turn everything over’.49 His arrival cut through the ongoing disputes about the legitimacy and political clout of the Free French by making it possible for de Gaulle to reach beyond his narrowly-based London entourage and his unreliable British allies. To build a serious movement in France, Moulin needed de Gaulle as the individual who had come to embody intransigent opposition to occupation. De Gaulle thought he had found the members of a disciplined army. However, more perhaps than he himself at first realised, he had actually discovered the political basis for a democratic regime.

Jean Moulin in England, 20 October–31 December 1941 Moulin arrived in Poole on Monday afternoon, 20 October 1941, and was immediately taken to the Royal Victorian Patriotic School at Wandsworth in South London. This attractive Victorian pile was constructed in 1857 to house the daughters of soldiers killed in the Crimean War. It was a military hospital in the Great War, and a secret service interrogation centre in 1939. It has since been converted into flats and workshops.50 During the Second World War, the building housed Rudolph Hess, Lucie Aubrac and many others. In the early phase, disoriented French patriots found it an intimidating place with militarystyle dormitories, lengthy interrogations, and menacing armed guards; however, the British rejected French protests at the treatment of their

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nationals. At least one French visitor spent three months there before being allowed to leave, and even André Diethelm, later Commissioner for the Interior in the National Committee, was detained for six days.51 Moulin’s stay was briefer, since the SOE had already promised the Free French that he would be ‘interrogated as quickly as possible so that he can get in touch with you’. They also dispensed with the usual interview at this stage with the Foreign Office Intelligence Service.52 His first request was to ask the BBC to indicate to his sister that he had arrived safely by broadcasting the message ‘Henri Delacourt se porte bien’ (Henri Delacourt is well). Meanwhile, he accepted that ‘quite rightly, the English do not want a fifth column’, so that in his interrogation, which began on 21 October, he happily gave details of his past associations with left-wing politicians, his role as a prefect, and his actions at Chartres. He described his recent journey to Lisbon, but would not divulge the names of his contacts. Nevertheless, to his interrogators, he ‘gave a good impression and seemed genuine’.53 After leaving Wandsworth, on Thursday 23rd, Moulin met the head of SOE’s ‘RF’ section, Eric Piquet-Wicks.54 The latter found him ‘a quiet little man, not at all what I had expected. He seemed so anonymous, so composed. And yet there was something about him that reminded me of a coiled spring.’ To another effort to recruit him to the SOE, Moulin responded crisply: ‘let us not waste time’. Piquet-Wicks observed the physical effects of Moulin’s June 1940 ordeal. He ‘noticed the scarf’ and ‘wondered if he had caught cold’. Moulin ‘cleared his throat incessantly as he talked, little grunts interrupting his sentences’. PiquetWicks took Moulin to the De Vere Hotel, Kensington High Street. The next day Moulin met Passy, and on Friday, 24 October, he was at last ushered into the presence of de Gaulle in his first-floor office in 4 Carlton Gardens, just off The Mall. An interview with the leader of the Free French could be a disconcerting, even demoralising, experience. Leading politicians of the Fourth Republic later described what happened to them. Christian Pineau received a fixed stare and without any preliminaries was ordered for half an hour to ‘tell me about France’. Pierre Mendès France was closely questioned on detailed policy issues about which he knew little, and was then asked if de Gaulle had been ‘right on 18th June’. As for the Socialist leader, Daniel Mayer, he was treated to ‘a long diatribe against the Anglo-Saxons’, leaving him confused and uncertain.55 Moulin’s interview was more of a dialogue of equals. The quietly spoken republican state servant with the faint southern accent had a will strong enough to match the General, however patrician and self-


confident. It is clear that each impressed the other. De Gaulle was already well briefed about Moulin, and undoubtedly admired his stance at Chartres. He heard directly for the first time about the internal resistance. But there was something else that was significant about this meeting. Whatever the limits of his attachment to democracy, de Gaulle was in awe of the might of France. Moulin was the first person to approach the Free French who could claim to be a ‘representative of the State and of the Republic’. De Gaulle always gave such people high status and positions, and Moulin clearly moved him further away from the purely military view of resistance that he had initially held.56 De Gaulle later remembered Moulin’s ‘passionate love for France’ and found that he ‘aspired to great undertakings’, while ‘being full of judgement and seeing things as they were’. Moulin told his sister soon afterwards that he ‘did not hide from the General that he was a man of the left, profoundly attached to the republic and its democratic institutions’. Nor did he hesitate to defend Pierre Cot from ‘the numerous slanders thrown at him’. After referring to his June 1940 experiences, he summarised his Lisbon Report, emphasising the limited coordination of resistance organisations, and maintaining that de Gaulle himself ‘had to take them in hand’. In response, the General ‘formally assured Moulin that, at the liberation of his country, he would restore the republic’.57 In the light of this answer, Moulin felt able to join the Free French and to discuss his role on returning to France. The exact purposes he should pursue were matters of intense debate over the course of the next fortnight. In what must have seemed a bewildering series of meetings, Moulin held discussions with Passy, De Gaulle and others of the Free French, as well as with the British representatives, on how his activities might fit into their plans. He saw Piquet-Wicks again on Saturday 25th, and made it clear that he wanted to work for the French National Committee. The initial assumption was that Moulin would hurry back to France to organise a secret army based on the resistance groups, aided by others including SOE agents already in France. He would meet the French-born SOE agent Pierre Forman (alias Dok) who had just returned to France, and who was in touch with the Liberté group. These proposals were known as ‘Mission Ker’.58 On Monday, 27 October, Moulin met Armand Sémidéi, who led the tiny ‘Action in France’ and who wanted propaganda run from London, with a separate secret army organised by cells. These ideas reflected isolated discussion, and Moulin did not consider them worth discussing.59 Instead, he began discussions on a different basis with André Diethelm, who held the National Committee portfolio for action in France, and

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who accepted Moulin’s view that resistance bodies should conduct their own propaganda, but needed ‘assistance vis-à-vis action and organisation’.60 Meanwhile, Moulin’s visit was noticed at the highest level of British government. On Thursday, 30 October, he was interviewed by Churchill’s confidant Desmond Morton. Moulin asked to be remembered to the Prime Minister, reminding him of their encounter two years earlier with General Gamelin. Morton told Churchill about ‘the young prefect’, and explained that he represented ‘various cells and organisations’. He passed on the bold message that ‘whereas a few months ago General de Gaulle’s name was only a symbol of resistance in France’, he had ‘become real to the great majority of Frenchmen owing to the decline in the prestige of Pétain’. Moulin also insisted on ‘the enthusiasm for the organisation of resistance on the part of hundreds of thousands of young men in France’, who, without support for de Gaulle, would turn ‘to the Communists’. Hearing this, Churchill asked for further details and received a full account of Moulin’s actions in Chartres in 1940.61 Moulin met various other British officials. His contact with Churchill’s staff aroused the interest of the SOE’s SO1 branch, and thus of the Ministry of Information and the Foreign Office. This unwittingly involved Moulin in inter-departmental controversy. For the French sections of SOE, his contact with SO1 was ‘greatly to be regretted’. They considered their link with him to be ‘of far-reaching importance’, especially since they had been in contact with some of the same groups. On Friday, 31 October, Moulin met Colonel Maurice Buckmaster, head of the SOE ‘F’ section, who at last accepted that he would not join them. On the following Monday, 3 November, Harry Sporborg of the SOE held what he described as a ‘disappointing’ discussion with Moulin. Moulin made it clear that ‘he had now formally joined the Free French movement following his discussions with General de Gaulle (with whom he seems much impressed), and that he was going to advise his organisations that they should throw in their lot with the Free French Movement’. While he was still prepared to meet Buckmaster, this would only be to consider general issues and he would ‘be embarrassed if you try to go closely’ into the details of the organisations with which he was in contact. Both French sections of SOE considered this a blow to their prestige and standing.62 Moulin also apparently met the head of MI6, Colonel Stewart Menzies, known as ‘C’, and Colonel Nigel Sutton from the Political Warfare Executive of the Foreign Office, who interviewed him at length on 4 November. Once again he asked for support for resis-


tance organisations and explained his view of the political issues. Sutton concluded that ‘he is the first person I have met or heard of having not only authority to negotiate on behalf of three organisations in question, but also having the sort of natural authority which his past history gives him’.63 By now Mission Ker had been reconsidered. Moulin was to leave for France on 5 November, to meet Pierre Forman, and to set up a military formation with the resistance groups. To prepare, he went with Passy over the weekend of 31 October to Ringway Airport near Manchester for parachute training. This comparatively new form of transport for military purposes involved the use of the RAF’s light Whitley planes. Passy saw two jumps, one from a trap door and the other from the side of a plane. Moulin was apparently nervous at first, and Passy saw him vomiting. In the end his winter sports experience helped him to learn from seven practice jumps what was needed. He was soon able to have a break from physical exertions to study cryptography, and to help young French trainees to solve puzzles.64 He was now nearly ready to return to France, but was delayed by the complexity of the Anglo-French discussions and also by the weather. On Monday, 3 November, de Gaulle designated Moulin as his personal representative in France at the equivalent to the level of regional prefect, the only person so described.65 On the following afternoon, he met de Gaulle at Carlton Gardens to discuss what was expected of him. A draft statement was discussed, which was heavily edited by de Gaulle to emphasise his own directive role.66 It was decreed that Moulin would return, meet Forman and ‘explain the idea of General de Gaulle, which is to maintain the greatest possible distinction between properly political and military organisation’. Each movement should set up a military section containing cells of about seven people, and then send delegates to London to agree territorial divisions. Decisions on sabotage and counter-espionage would be centralised through London. The overall aim was to produce generalised action in the event of Allied invasion and to organise the new civil power. All operations were to be ‘under the personal orders of General de Gaulle’, with a budget of 1.5 million francs to be distributed by Moulin. It must have been this document, perhaps together with another entitled ‘Military Action – Directives of the General’, which the leaders of the Combat group later referred to as ‘extremely precise instructions’, amounting to ‘orders’, and ‘an abstract invention in a London office without any contact with reality’. For all that, de Gaulle wrote movingly to the resistance leaders, and proposed to give them considerable autonomy.67

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On 5 November, Moulin received a ‘Political Directive for Monsieur Mercier’, prepared by Diethelm, which he undoubtedly took part in drafting.68 It read as follows: He will pass on the attached message of General de Gaulle. He will assure the recipients of the General’s affection and confidence as well as his desire to be in contact with them and to help them. While sending them military supplies described elsewhere, he will ask of each organisation to: (a) intensify current propaganda activity; (b) increase the numbers of and material support for rank and file members and sympathisers; (c) be in a position at every moment to pass on orders and general slogans; (d) gather all information of interest on the moral, social and material situation in France, on enemy action, and that of the Vichy government and its functionaries. He will ask each of the above bodies to: (a) send regularly to General de Gaulle all the leaflets, newspapers etc., that it publishes; (b) provide precise details of material needs (budget, paper, type, materials, propaganda directives); (c) make available a regular account of its activities. He will guarantee the allocation of a regular budget, whose increases he will propose to General de Gaulle. He will insist on the need to divide and to multiply propaganda and distribution networks. This document was seen on the same day at the SOE, and also by Morton and William Strang of the Foreign Office. They all thought it ‘innocuous’, and ‘wholly admirable’. As a result, Moulin planned to travel to France that very evening. However, when the ‘Directive’ reached the Political Warfare Executive, established by the Foreign Office less than two months earlier, there was a different reaction. It was now said that the document was ‘not drawn up in a form likely to be acceptable to us’, and as a result they would need to embark on ‘prolonged talks with the General’. They wanted to emphasise that there was no question of accepting de Gaulle’s opposition to independent British intelligence and sabotage activities. This discussion took six


more weeks, eventually being resolved in a carefully drafted letter from Anthony Eden stating that the SOE would continue to operate independently, and that French resistance bodies should not plan a general uprising before an Allied invasion.69 Moulin seems to have been unaware of this, and he went to Newmarket racecourse to await outward flights on 8 November and several further occasions, all of them postponed because of bad weather or insufficient moonlight. On 10 December a BCRA Report said that if Moulin’s departure ‘was impossible during this moon period, it seems doubtful whether, for his own safety, he could be allowed to return in January’. Moulin grew increasingly concerned about the difficulty of sustaining for much longer the arrangements he had made with members of his family and Antionette Sachs for him to appear to be in France. By now he had ‘been away from France for more than three months, and it seems likely that his absence, if not directly noticed, will become so very shortly’. Serious consideration was now given to going ahead whatever the conditions. As other flights were being successfully completed, de Gaulle had reason to complain that there might be more to the delays than the weather. He complained that Moulin’s extended absence from France meant that this ‘important personality’ might well have ‘been betrayed’, so that his mission was ‘from now on very difficult, if not impossible’. De Gaulle combined these protests with a threat to cut off all relations with the British secret services.70 Once again Moulin was left by the British to cool his heels while discussion went on elsewhere. He spent his time walking around London and seeing the impact of the recently suspended Blitz, later reporting to resistance leaders his admiration for the ‘resolute courage’ of Londoners. He no doubt read the émigré literature available in England, including France Libre, the magazine edited by his disaffected friend André Labarthe, whom he did not see during the time he was there. He may have been in touch during this period with Louis Dolivet or others from the ‘Cot team’ who were themselves in touch with the Comintern, or Soviet intelligence. Despite the importance accorded to this in some accounts, there is no evidence for it, and it certainly does not accord with all contemporary evidence about the attitude of strong support for de Gaulle.71 Moulin did spend time with his old friend Louis Daniélou, son of Charles, the radical socialist deputy and minister who had supported his first prefectoral promotion. Louis was already active in the Free French navy, in whose service he died in 1942.72 As days of delay turned into weeks, it became increasingly difficult for Moulin to return to France for the purposes initially envisaged. To

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make matters worse, news arrived in London just before Christmas that two months earlier the Vichy police had arrested members of the Liberté group. They even briefly seized de Menthon, who as a result grew suspicious of SOE agent Pierre Forman. The latter decided to escape to the Northern Zone.73 Meanwhile, the political outlook of the Free French in London was changing. Immediately after his first meeting with Moulin, on 24 October, de Gaulle took the view that military resistance was possible only in the long term, and for the moment it was necessary to expand propaganda, while building a larger unified resistance. By the time of de Gaulle’s broadcast of 27 October, Moulin had persuaded him to go further. In dealing with the difficult issue of the murder of hostages in retaliation for killing German officials, he decided not to condemn the assassinations explicitly. Instead, de Gaulle put the difficult argument that such action should only be done under his orders. He also called for a garde-à-vous, a gesture of standing to attention, in memory of those hostages killed by the Germans. This was at least a form of political mobilisation, showing that de Gaulle was considering the implications of non-military resistance.74 A series of further discussions between Moulin and de Gaulle created closer agreement on the perspectives of Moulin’s Lisbon Report. During the same period Pierre Forman reported that the Liberté group planned combined and regional structures, though not under orders from London. Emmanuel d’Astier, leader of Libération, expressed respect for de Gaulle as a ‘symbol’, but maintained that the development of the resistance was a matter for the organisations themselves.75 Even if de Gaulle continued to think in terms of issuing orders to resistance bodies, it was clear that the movements would make their own propaganda, and, however favourable to ‘Gaullism’, they would make their own arrangements to work together. While such internal discussions were altering the stance of the Free French, a letter signed by Foreign Secretary Eden on 22 October gave extended military recognition to the Free French, arguing that political decisions were for the French people. This was consistent with de Gaulle’s publicly stated position.76 This new twist in Anglo-French relations was overtaken on 7 December when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. The subsequent entry of the United States into the War, followed by the declaration of war on the US by Germany and Italy, decisively shifted the potential balance of forces. De Gaulle immediately ordered his tiny naval force to seize the islands of Saint-Pierre-etMiquelon in Canada from the occupying Vichy authorities. This action


was popular in Britain, Canada and the United States, but not with the US State Department.77 In the light of these developments, de Gaulle came to see the need for more than military preparation. As against the British view, he adopted something of the argument of Moulin, in moving to take the initial steps towards the organisation of an alternative French state. The delay in Moulin’s return made it possible to refine this new perspective. Thus instead of a purely military mission covering all of France, Moulin eventually adopted a military and political role in the Unoccupied Zone. With the purpose of making ‘Free France’ into ‘Real France’, Moulin was no longer a messenger of the resistance groups, but an ‘agent’ of de Gaulle. This is what came to be known as ‘Mission Rex’.78 It seems to have been on 24 December that de Gaulle set out the final statement of what he expected of Moulin, which later appeared in the form of a much-reduced photocopy. This was to provide an authority accepted by resisters. Over a decade later de Gaulle said it read as follows:79 I designate M. J. Moulin, prefect, as my representative and delegate of the National Committee, in the mainland zone not directly occupied by the enemy. M. Moulin’s mission is to bring about in this zone the unity of all those elements who are resisting the enemy and his collaborators. M. Moulin will report directly to me on the execution of his mission. There was one further unsuccessful effort to fly to France, on Christmas Day. However, on 2 January 1942, a plane bound for Provence finally set off carrying Moulin and two others.

The impact and mission of Monsieur Mercier Moulin’s time in London had a significant impact on the development of the Free French and their resistance, as well as on their relationship with the British authorities. Because of the prestige earned by his stance in June 1940, and even more from his position as a ‘high servant’, Moulin had an immediate impact on de Gaulle personally as well as on the Free French, and his influence clearly developed while he was in London. Passy’s deputy, André Manuel, said that Moulin was ‘the only person who could say to de Gaulle: “On that point I am not in agreement with you.” It is certain that de Gaulle always had the greatest con-

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fidence in Moulin.’ During his visit, Moulin created an empathy with de Gaulle, which stood him in good stead in later disputes with Frenay and others.80 Within a short time of his arrival in London, Moulin’s influence on the Free French was manifest. The move towards calling for political action in the broadcast of 27 October has already been mentioned. Active resisters in France were convinced that Moulin caused the General to clarify his political stance in ways they had wanted for some time.81 In a speech delivered at the Royal Albert Hall on 15 November 1941, when Moulin could even have been present, de Gaulle spoke in a very different spirit from the ultra-right Action Française with which he had once been identified, or from the former cagoulards who were in his entourage. He said that the first aim of the Free French was ‘to wage war’. However, he also wanted ‘to restore to the people the power to make itself heard as soon as events shall permit it freely’, and to add to the slogan ‘Honour and Country’, the phrase ‘Liberty, Equality, Fraternity’, ‘because our determination is to remain faithful to democratic principles’.82 If Moulin had become de Gaulle’s man, de Gaulle had in some senses become Moulin’s. It has been argued that Moulin’s new role meant that he ‘broke definitively’ from the Cot ‘political family’ of radical socialists working closely with the Communists.83 Pierre Cot was more sceptical about de Gaulle, and other friends of Moulin, such as Pierre Meunier, shared this attitude. However, their situations varied and there is no evidence that Moulin broke off relations with former colleagues who took a different view. Moreover, Moulin clearly regarded the alliance with de Gaulle as subject to review.84 By the time he returned to France in January 1942, Moulin was part of a new and expanding alliance against collaboration. He was no longer merely a messenger of the internal resistance, nor was he simply an agent of the Free French: in some sense he was a ‘matchmaker’ between them.85 His task was now at the same time political, constitutional and organisational. Moulin had gone beyond being a ‘high servant’ of the old Republic, to being an architect of the new.

9 Mission Rex, 1942–3

When he returned to France on the second day of 1942, Jean Moulin regarded it as his central task to bring together all opponents of German occupation into a united and cohesive force. His actions were not primarily those of a soldier, nor even a propagandist. He was an organiser, even a bureaucrat. This ‘man of the State’, was now organising ‘the counter-state’. Jacques Soustelle, who met him in London, saw the paradoxical continuity of this prefect who ‘organised rebellion with as much care as before the war he had maintained order’. Georges Bidault, another close colleague at the time, said that, standing above the activists, he tried to ensure ‘a well ordered resistance developed methodically’.1 During 1942 and 1943, ‘Rex’ was everywhere in France, meeting leaders and activists, setting up new organisations of every sort, arranging meetings, helping to initiate demonstrations and publications, and preparing for military activity. Despite the conditions of clandestinity, it is still possible to trace much of what he said and did. Acting as the delegate of de Gaulle, he was perhaps the one person in France who could stand apart from the individual organisations and activities of resisters to embody what was coming to be known as the Resistance. Moulin soon discovered that it was no easy task to implement his instructions to unify the disparate resistance organisations under the auspices of the French National Committee. Internal resisters ever afterwards resented the view that Moulin arrived with ‘everything to do’, or that, like de Gaulle, he was ‘alone with the responsibility of power’.2 Small groups of militants with large aims, facing great dangers and coming from a variety of ideological backgrounds, found much to argue about. As a leading resister later put it, ‘revolutionaries love useless chatter almost more than anything else’. Faced with this, Moulin was 123

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‘gentle, patient and intelligent; only useless talk and red herrings angered him’. He had to face the fact that the ‘courageous’ and ‘patriotic’ leaders of the early resistance were ‘proud of their work and jealous of their powers’. Though in retrospect ‘their quarrels seem petty, even artificial’, yet the extraordinary pressures of daily clandestine life ‘exaggerated differences, stirred up bitterness, and deepened misunderstandings’. Nor was it immediately obvious to every resister that to defeat the Germans they should accept the direction of de Gaulle.3 However, the resistance did make the difficult transition from minority activism to a broader politics, and ultimately to mass popular support for a new regime. In beginning this process, Moulin used his administrative and diplomatic skills to bring together as many people and organisations as possible. Much of his activity during 1942 was devoted to developing common purposes amongst resisters through forms of political mobilisation beyond the small resistance community, and the initiation of focused military actions. He devoted some effort to creating common action, notably in the form of demonstrations. He also established organisations for generic resistance activity, and the management of such tasks as radio transmission and air operations. During 1942 Moulin participated in complex discussions about the construction of a Secret Army, but Allied landings in North Africa in November changed the entire basis of the debate. New claimants now appeared to lead the struggle, initially Admiral Darlan, former deputy Head of State of the Vichy regime, who was assassinated in Algiers on Christmas Eve. The Americans then produced the less compromised figure of General Giraud, who not only presented a threat to de Gaulle, but was also regarded by the great mass of resisters as too close to Vichy. It thus became obvious, at least to Moulin and de Gaulle, that they needed greater co-ordination and a higher profile for the resistance. He rapidly brought together southern resistance organisations into a co-ordination committee, which early in 1943 became the Mouvements Unis de la Résistance. By now however, the need for recognition had gone beyond that. Moulin became convinced that in order to secure the necessary recognition and to take up the tasks of liberation and government, the resistance had to broaden its base and actively involve a wide range of parties and opinions. When Moulin travelled to London for the last time in February 1943, it was to agree, with de Gaulle, further steps in the creation of an alternative France, through the participation of political parties and trade unions in a Resistance Council.

Mission Rex, 1942–3 125

Falling to earth, 2 January 1942 The landing of Moulin and his two companions in Provence from an RAF Whitley aircraft at 3 a.m. on 2 January 1942 confronted many difficulties. It was the seventh night they had waited, and they met antiaircraft fire over Cherbourg and St Nazaire.4 Such ‘drops’ had only just begun to be organised, and there was nobody to meet Moulin and his companions. The system had developed enough to require a radio operator in each group, in this case 21-year-old Hervé Monjaret (known as ‘Sif W’ and ‘Mainmast’), who later survived deportation to Mauthausen concentration camp. Moulin’s other companion was Raymond Fassin (alias ‘Sif’ and ‘Perch’), a reserve air force lieutenant experienced in liaison with resistance organisations who later headed the Service des Opérations Aériennes et Maritimes, but died in deportation. Moulin had chosen a hilly location with wild fields of rosemary, not far from his family home at Saint-Andiol, near the village of Eygalières where his sister had bought a small shepherd’s hut called La Lèque (Plate 13 gives a good idea of the sparse Provençal landscape).5 However, people on the ground observed the three parachutists when they landed, 15 kilometres adrift. Further small disasters followed. Their heavy radio equipment was damaged, and Monjaret decided to bury it, in a place to which he could not return for a month. Meanwhile, Moulin landed in marshland, and with heavy clothing and other encumbrances, was pulled in nearly up to his knees. Both he and Fassin had difficulty disposing of their parachutes, but they eventually made it to La Lèque. This unprepossessing building still stands, with a small plaque recording the arrival of the National Committee delegate and his companion. After a few hours of rest, they set out in single file to cross to the nearby village. Meanwhile, two French policemen stopped Monjaret. They demanded his papers, which, newly minted in London, proved satisfactory. They also wanted a reason why three men were wandering through the open country in mid-winter. Monjaret explained, as advised by Moulin, that he was a student, and that with two professors who were admirers of Alphonse Daudet, he was searching for the location of the mill in Lettres de mon moulin. This satisfied the policemen, but Monjaret decided to disappear on foot and by bus to Toulon. Having spent the night in La Lèque, the other two in the party also separated, and Moulin walked the eleven kilometres to his family home at Saint-Andiol.6 His mother and sister were waiting in some anxiety,

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since they had heard nothing directly since a mysterious visitor in October told them that ‘Ker’ would arrive soon. Jean finally appeared at 8 p.m. on the evening of Saturday, 3 January, bearing a rabbit for cooking, and many papers to conceal. He spent a few days there before setting off again.

Meeting the resisters It took Moulin some time to contact Monjaret. Jane Boullen, the nurse he had known in Chartres, searched in Toulon, and his sister Laure eventually located him at a house near Marseilles used by Frédéric and Lily Manhès. It was not until 7 March that Moulin could send his first message to London, and his second was sent on 27 March. They went via the British embassy in Switzerland, but did not arrive until 30 March and 7 April. Eventually a steady stream of messages developed.7 Meanwhile his first task was to resume his contacts with the various resistance organisations, and to deliver his messages from London. On Monday, 12 January, he travelled to Lyons, soon to be ‘capital of the resistance’, and there met others including Paul Rivière, a military instructor who had recently joined Combat.8 He immediately advocated ‘unity of the resistance’, and ‘combined action in liaison with Free France’, but realised that this needed careful preparation. He found that his influence derived not from any positions he held, nor even from his stand against the Germans. Most resisters he met were unaware of his identity or history, but they did respect ‘the delegate of General de Gaulle’. Beyond that Moulin relied on the force of his personality, the funds he deployed, and the promise of arms. In his relations with the resistance movements, Henri Frenay noted in 1943 how ‘with so much skill and impartiality he had introduced himself into their inner life’.9 On 27 January, Moulin discovered that, against the expectations he had expressed in his Lisbon Report, the Liberté and Libération Nationale groups of de Menthon and Frenay had in early November agreed to unite as the Mouvement de la Libération Française, known as Combat, after their newspaper, Combat.10 Though tempered by some of the humanist socialism of Bertie Albrecht and Claude Bourdet, and the Christian democracy of de Menthon and Bidault, Combat generally reflected the rather authoritarian spirit of Henri Frenay. Some thought that Combat would only ‘say the word Republic under its breath’. Furthermore, despite his later claims, Frenay was reluctant for some time to express support for de Gaulle. He was already in contact with the American secret service through the disillusioned Vichy official General


La Laurencie, who attacked de Gaulle as a ‘mercenary’ and a ‘traitor’. It took until 23 April for Moulin to persuade the resistance leaders to agree unanimously that La Laurencie did not speak for them, and to get even Frenay to agree that ‘dissidence within the dissidents’ was unacceptable. The SOE thought they were ‘quite right to keep away from the Laurencie group, which was ‘harmful . . . to the Allied cause’.11 The Libération movement of Emmanuel d’Astier, which Moulin had expected to be part of the recent merger, decided to hold onto its left-leaning independence, including clear support for de Gaulle and links with the trade unions. In February, Moulin found that another organisation had emerged in his absence, Franc-Tireur, led by Jean-Pierre Levy.12 This group mainly recruited people on the left, especially dissident Communists, and was already in touch with the British through SOE agent Yvon Morandat. Franc-Tireur tended to be more politically sophisticated, and less concerned with organisational self-preservation, so Moulin found its members more amenable and less argumentative. During January, Moulin met Combat leader Henri Frenay for the second time, in the house of Agnès Bidault at 103 rue Kléber in Marseilles. Frenay later recalled the emotional excitement with which he and his lieutenant, Maurice Chevance-Bertin greeted the first direct envoy from de Gaulle. He later admitted to weeping when Moulin laid out ‘at the corner of the sink’ a manuscript letter from the General, reading ‘I know what you are doing. I know what you value. I know your great courage and immense difficulties. We need you now and in the future. With all my heart.’ Chevance-Bertin never doubted the ‘decisive character’ of this encounter, and another Combat leader – Claude Bourdet – also remembered Moulin’s arrival as ‘important for us politically, technically, and above all morally, because it gave us at last the feeling that we were organically linked to the Allied war effort. It also brought us the promise of regular financial support.’ Moulin had already arranged the first arms drop near Avignon and he now handed Frenay 20,000 francs, a significant proportion of the money he had brought from London. The ‘first resistance’ had become the Gaullist resistance.13 However, things were never going to be so easy. Though impressed and grateful, Chevance-Bertin thought that the ‘detailed stipulations on military organisation’ showed the ‘fundamental contradiction between London and the internal resistance’. It was true that de Gaulle was initially remote from the particular concerns of those opposing collaboration in the Unoccupied Zone, where even leaflet distribution was an act of warfare. He may well have laid too much emphasis on the demarcation and command of military and political tasks, which did not

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always seem workable, especially to rank-and-file resisters. However, the Moulin/de Gaulle discussion in London bridged much of that gap, and there were inevitable difficulties when Frenay maintained independent contact with Vichy and the Americans, and when Combat aspired to be the comprehensive organisation of the entire resistance with its own military wing. Bourdet and Frenay later said that de Gaulle – and Moulin – failed to understand that resistance was ‘the continuation of politics by other means’. However, they in turn did not appreciate that clandestine military operations needed rigorous discipline, and that this would especially be so when they confronted German soldiers as well as Vichy policemen. Frenay did try to separate military and political activities, but this was not easy to achieve for people who were in daily danger of arrest, deportation, and death. Moulin’s task was to resolve these issues.14 He soon contacted new resistance militants. In January he met Raymond Aubrac of Libération by the municipal theatre in Lyons, convincing him that working with de Gaulle would avoid the internal civil war already in progress in Yugoslavia. Moulin subsequently met for the first time, on an island in the Rhône, the ‘impressive and somewhat enigmatic’ leader of Libération, Emmanuel d’Astier de la Vigerie, naval officer and convert to the left. In Avignon he met Antoine Avinin of Franc-Tireur, and in a skyscraper at Villeurbanne east of Lyons spoke to the leader of that group, Jean-Pierre Levy.15 These preliminary contacts made it obvious to Moulin that he could not simply impose the precepts of the National Committee. Nor did he think it was desirable to force the groups into immediate fusion on the lines advocated by Frenay. This was for both political and organisational reasons. For example, the early problems in sending messages to London ‘had greatly delayed the useful start of his work and had only left him with very precarious means of transmission’.16 By 20 April Diethelm accepted that ‘issues of security compel the abandonment of the fusion project’, and Passy agreed that for the moment, ‘the idea of the creation of a significant secret army’, other than in the form of ‘small shock units’, has been ‘shown to be absolutely impossible’.17 Moulin now decided to take smaller steps to create a common purpose amongst resisters. He started by getting the ‘movements’ to publish statements of allegiance to de Gaulle. This was not difficult for d’Astier’s Libération, which in its January issue referred to de Gaulle as ‘the great French leader . . . symbol of the restoration of our country’. In February they declared that there was ‘only one movement, the Free French, and


one leader, General de Gaulle’, who represented ‘French will and unity’. In March Franc-Tireur expressed ‘with all our heart’ the association ‘with de Gaulle and the Free French’, because he had promised to allow France to ‘choose its destiny’, which could only mean the establishment of a new republic. By May they had a picture of de Gaulle, with the caption ‘Voici notre Chef’ (Here is our leader). For Combat the issue was more difficult. In September 1941, their paper Vérités had declared they were ‘neither Gaullist nor Communist’. Internally, they saw de Gaulle as a military leader, and expressed distrust for the influence of the English, freemasons, and Jews. However, they were prepared to declare that de Gaulle was a ‘symbol’ to which they were ‘profoundly attached’. For Moulin, these were steps in the right direction. However, he was soon faced with less positive developments. The first of these arose following ‘an avalanche of arrests’ of Combat members in the Southern Zone.18 Frenay reacted by visiting Henri Rollin, head of the Vichy security services, on 28 January. Despite his position, Rollin was known for his Jewish wife, his strongly anti-Nazi views, and the fact that he had released resistance activists including de Menthon and Bertie Albrecht. After a brief discussion Frenay was astonished to be ushered into the presence of the Interior Minister himself. Pierre Pucheu, who had been in Doriot’s proto-fascist Parti Populaire Française, argued that, given German predominance, he was doing his best for France. He said he was not prepared to bargain, but was giving ‘a warning before repressing your organisations with extreme severity’. Nevertheless, Frenay chose to see these extraordinary proceedings as negotiations, and agreed with other Combat leaders that he would offer to tone down the attacks on Pétain in return for the release of their members. On 6 February, he again met Pucheu, and read a declaration denouncing the collaborationist regime. In response, Pucheu again defended his actions, explaining that there was nothing new about his anti-semitism. In the end he promised nothing, though some detainees were soon released. These ‘surrealist’ events could perhaps be seen as an attempt to avoid civil war, and they certainly put paid to any of Frenay’s lingering notions of working with the Vichy authorities.19 However, other resisters treated Frenay’s action with hostility. Even de Menthon, who had recently fused his organisation with Frenay’s, regarded him as ‘very suspect’, and urged precautions against the infiltration of resistance organisations. Yves Morandat, the Free French agent closely identified with Combat, was now worried about a ‘somewhat fascist attitude’. In

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Libération in March 1942, d’Astier attacked ‘café diplomats who wanted to echo the siren songs of Vichy’, drawing a contrast with de Gaulle and Leclerc who had opposed collaboration from the start. In later years he described this as the ‘Montoire of the Resistance’ – equivalent to the Pétain/Hitler meeting – and argued that to avoid ‘accepting the double game for ever’ or ‘corrupting ourselves’, ‘we are the only people who must never stoop’ to such contacts. Christian Pineau even suggested that Frenay might be acting for the Vichy secret police, and asked Moulin to decide ‘to what extent we can count on the reliability of Combat’. The SOE also decided to treat Frenay ‘with discretion’. However, Moulin took a different line. In a message to London he defended Frenay as a ‘resistance militant of the first hour’, who should not ‘have his good faith challenged in this affair’.20 Moulin may have approved Frenay’s first trip to Vichy, and while accepting that Frenay ‘could indeed be subject to suspicion . . . the question of funds will give me the means of control’.21 The suspicion remained, and Moulin was still being asked in June if he was ‘satisfied with Frenay’, and whether he was ‘still flirting with Vichy’.22 In this atmosphere, Moulin needed some effort to get Frenay and d’Astier to meet again.23 However, on 26 March, he assembled the leaders of the three movements in Avignon, and secured ‘a perfect agreement ultimately threatening nobody’s independence’. He persuaded them to publish a ‘common declaration’ in their papers. De Gaulle’s representative was unable to build on this diplomatic triumph after he agreed to d’Astier’s departure for London on 17 April. D’Astier hoped that he would gain more resources, and that he could explain his differences from other organisations such as the northern body led by Pineau, which was also called Libération. He may well have aimed to increase his influence along with that of his organisation. The visit was greatly resented by Frenay, who feared without justification that d’Astier would present himself as a representative of the entire resistance. In fact d’Astier charmed de Gaulle as he did most people, and was sent to the United States to make speeches for the Free French.24 Meanwhile Frenay cleared the decks politically with a ferocious ‘Open Letter to Marshal Pétain’ expressing his bitter disillusionment: ‘The entire French people,’ he wrote, ‘always implacably opposed to Laval, is now implacably opposed to you. It is you yourself who have wished it so.’25 Frenay had other concerns also, notably the betrayal and arrest of Combat members in the Northern Zone, most of whom were never seen again. Some were executed, and others died in concentration camps. This blow meant that Combat ceased to be active outside the Southern Zone.


Creating the institutions of resistance While efforts at unity were kept on hold in the months from April to September 1942, Moulin turned away from dealing with the relations between resistance movements to establishing pan-resistance organisations. His first step was to establish a ‘voice of the resistance’, linked to but separate from the Free French and the BBC.26 On 28 April 1942, he told BCRA that he had set up a Bureau d’Information et de Presse (BIP) to produce ‘information and propaganda outside the movements, but in agreement with them’, and to ‘diffuse information on London’s propaganda themes’. A monthly bulletin began in May 1942, reaching 250 editions by the time of the Liberation in 1944. The original idea for this had come from Yves Morandat, who had been working for the Free French with Combat since November. However, Moulin provided money and radio receivers, and cleverly put Georges Bidault in charge, who was known as a left-wing Catholic journalist, and a member of the Combat leadership. Another of Morandat’s ideas that Moulin encouraged was a Mouvement ouvrier français, which he agreed to support when they met in July. Moulin deputed Yves Farge to get resistance groups to work with the Communists, later developing action against labour conscription. The MOF produced a dozen publications before joining the CGT trade union confederation.27 Of even greater significance for the future was an organisation that Moulin established in July 1942 with the innocuous title of the Conseil Général d’Études (CGE, General Studies Committee).28 Following preliminary discussion with the Socialist André Philip of Libération, and the Christian democrat François de Menthon of Combat, ‘Rex’ visited Paul Bastid, another law professor but also a Radical Assembly member and a Minister of the Popular Front. He immediately recognised his former student, much to the latter’s discomfort. The original idea was for a research group into matters ‘economic, political, social, financial’, but Moulin wanted a ‘seedbed for high officials’ after the liberation.29 Gradually the CGE took on the task of surveying every level of administration, and nominating replacements. The historian Henri Michel said this displayed ‘the originality of the French resistance’. ‘Beyond the struggle for liberation, it was concerned with the post-war future; it set no limit on its ideas. It planned before it led.’ The CGE published six issues of Les Cahiers Politiques, which became papers for the provisional government, and later moved to Paris. Bastid became Primus, and a trade unionist from Libération called Robert Lacoste was Secundus. De Menthon was Tertius, and Quartos was Alexandre Parodi, a civil servant

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and expert on welfare policies, who succeeded Moulin as de Gaulle’s delegate at the Liberation.30 Another law professor and leading Gaullist political figure of later years was Pierre-Henri Teitgen, Quintus, and an economist called René Courtin was added as Sextus. Members later included the great historian Marc Bloch, killed by the Germans in 1944, and Michel Debré, who became the first Prime Minister of the Fifth Republic in 1958. The CGE was an organisation ‘in the spirit of Jean Moulin’.31 It reflected efforts to initiate an alternative state, representing a wide spectrum of opinion from Christian democrats to socialists, and propounded a viewpoint considered unapologetically ‘Gaullist’. Furthermore, in the person of Paul Bastid, it incorporated a representative of the ‘former’ political parties. In order ‘to guarantee peace and anti-totalitarian institutions’, and to create new structures clearly tied to the traditions of the French state, Moulin took a close interest in the CGE, and was particularly keen to exclude the Communists, as he did from all the panresistance bodies.32 Nevertheless Frenay and d’Astier attacked this ‘bureaucracy of the resistance’, objecting to the Radical Bastid, and to the removal of de Menthon and others from the authority of their own organisations. Not for the last time, Moulin’s conception of a broadly based resistance led to accusations from movement leaders that he was taking high-handed and unilateral action. On the other hand, the CGE members disliked the ‘prolixity’ of internal resistance debates as a distraction from constructing a programme for the New France. In 1943, they began preparing, quite independently of the British and the Americans, lists of officials for the new regime, which at the Liberation in 1944 provided governmental structures that were ‘united competent, and loyal’.33 By then they were able to work with another organisation set up in October 1942 by Moulin at the suggestion of Claude Bourdet of Combat, the Noyautage des administrations publiques (Network of Public Administrators, or NAP), and contacted people in the postal and telegraph services, the railways and the prefectures. After setting the aims of sabotage, intelligence and the replacement of existing structures, Moulin simply supplied resources to Bourdet and left him to work out the detail. Naturally, Bourdet and others from the ‘movements’ found this a satisfactory arrangement and through it created within prefectures and town halls a new state in waiting. The Communists again were excluded, and later argued that these were merely mechanisms for functionaries who ‘turned with the tide of history and prepared their alibis’.34


Later in 1942, Moulin established two other pan-resistance bodies more directly needed for clandestine activity.35 The first of these was the Service de Liaison Radio to help the essential but hazardous efforts of those then known as ‘pianists’, countering the Gestapo’s equipment that helped Germans to find and arrest wireless operators. Moulin lost one of his personal operators, and it took some effort to get over the initial problem of delays in transmission. Eventually he arranged secure radios and transmitters for the three main organisations and himself, transmitting and receiving messages, mostly to and from the French National Committee. The SOE was always involved, with access to everything. Moulin thought that the British gradually became more helpful, but he had to complain in November about lengthy missives on ‘secondary questions’, and of London receivers which were not available when promised. By the end of 1942, Moulin had three sets available for himself, three for Bidault and the press agency, and one each for the southern movements.36 The second operational body Moulin set up, as agreed in London, was the Service des Opérations Aériennes et Maritimes (SOAM) organising the increasing numbers of airborne flights from England carrying people and resources. He initially placed in charge Raymond Fassin, who had landed with him in January, and later added two others to deal separately with the southern resistance bodies. SOAM greatly increased the numbers of flights during 1942, and by 1943 the British wanted to reorganise it by regions, but were frustrated by the fact that ‘as usual Moulin wanted national service’. However, in mid-1943 it began working directly with the National Resistance Council, and became the Centre d’Opération de Parachutage et Atteint (Centre for Parachuting and Landing).37 During the summer of 1942, Moulin found it possible to improve the organisation of his own activities.38 While in Lyons, he lived in a small dark room at 2 place Raspail, ‘furnished in the typical petit bourgeois style, with quaint touches, bobbles and old fashioned curtains’ with a panoramic view across the Rhône to the medieval hospital. When Daniel Cordier arrived on 1 August, he found that de Gaulle’s representative was writing messages by hand, and arranging personally for their transmission. Moulin handled large quantities of money, and worked late into the night with his sister Laure and Antoinette Sachs at the tedious task of decoding messages. Without the use of mail or telephone, he participated in a modern war with ‘communication conditions of the eighteenth century’.39 Cordier was sent from London to work for Bidault, but it was immediately obvious that Moulin’s need

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was greater. Moulin perhaps took on Cordier because of his background on the extreme right. Within weeks, Cordier had in Lyons an office of six people for whom Moulin issued instructions early each morning. In March 1943, Moulin sent Cordier to Paris, and put the Lyons secretariat under Tony de Graaff, with whom he had once worked in the Air Ministry. Despite security lapses and several arrests, this body survived to provide support to the CNR, and later to COMAC, its military subcommittee. In mid-1943, Moulin had a staff of fully forty people reporting to him, including the press bureau and the CGE.40 In making these arrangements, Moulin took complex precautions to protect himself and others. Antoinette Sachs described his changed appearance. He wore ‘a very battered felt hat. He looked older and modified his way of walking, trussed up in a threadbare overcoat.’ He also sported ‘a thick moustache’. In Lyons he was called ‘Monsieur Marchand’, and held meetings with Levy and other group leaders in a shop called La Lingerie Pratique in the rue Émile-Zola, run by two young Franc-Tireur militants called Raymonde and France Pejot, who later remembered him as ‘a modest man with a piercing look’. Jean-Pierre Levy later told how the presence of mind of the two sisters during a police raid saved both himself and Moulin from arrest.41 In Marseilles, Moulin was ‘Monsieur Martel’, painter and decorator, keeping well away from the areas he previously frequented. He again stayed in small hotels with Antoinette Sachs, and received support from Jane Boullen. He used his own name when staying at the flat of his sister and mother in Montpellier at weekends, and when he visited the family home at Saint-Andiol, as he did at the Easter holiday on 10 April 1942. Meanwhile, he organised another ‘cover’ for his public persona. It was no longer plausible to claim to be a farmer during infrequent visits to Saint-Andiol. At the end of January during a brief visit to Megève he met a young woman called Colette Pons. He persuaded her to manage a former bookshop at 22 rue de France in Nice, which he rented and transformed into the ‘Romanin Gallery’ – named from his own artistic pseudonym – ‘for the exhibition and sale of modern paintings, drawings and sculpture’. On 16 October, he wrote under his own name to the departmental prefect seeking authorisation for a gallery that would deal in modern masters and encourage young artists. He opened the gallery with works by Bonnard, Chirico, Dufy, Matisse, and others, and invited the prefect and local dignitaries to the ‘private view’ on 9 February 1943. There was the obligatory portrait of Marshal Pétain, but it is said to have fallen off the wall! Moulin visited sales and galleries with Colette Pons, transmitting to her his passion for the modern masters.


Antionette Sachs, herself an artist, also worked on the gallery. The paintings of a local artist called Othou Friesz were displayed in May, and included, according to Moulin, ‘14 pieces of quality’. On 3 June, during his absence in Paris, another exhibition opened that included watercolours and drawings by Renoir, Utrillo, and Picasso. Following Moulin’s arrest, Mademoiselle Pons received a telegram from Laure Moulin which told her to ‘sell as arranged’, and she closed down and abandoned the entire operation.42

Broadening the base, April–August 1942 In the spring of 1942, when the initial shock of the ‘strange defeat’ was fading, and French people were facing the realities of occupation and collaboration, ‘the divorce between France and Vichy was taking shape’. The French service of the BBC was avidly heard throughout France, having ‘virtually made’ de Gaulle. The ‘micro General’ was firmly established as the unswerving opponent of all the enemies and miseries of the French people.43 Popular attitudes were moving beyond the actions of small resistance bodies. Until now Combat had engaged in smallscale stunts such as bombing the offices of collaborationist organisations, and news kiosks displaying their papers. When the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra advertised a concert in Lyons for 18 March, there was the opportunity for a more popular action. Local Combat members leafleted in advance, bringing people onto the street and persuading many to boycott the event. This ‘first public demonstration of the resistance’ gave resisters ‘confidence in ourselves’.44 Following this, Moulin turned his attention to expanding the appeal of resistance beyond simple-minded opposition to the Germans to a more generalised contest for ‘political power’. It was particularly Moulin’s idea to start this process by organising demonstrations.45 On 14 April he asked for a pre-May Day radio broadcast from de Gaulle on the theme that ‘labour does not support totalitarian doctrines, or exploitation by strong classes or nations’. Diethelm responded with vague statements ‘against hunger, against misery, against servitude’, while advocating broad unity including Communist participation. On 29 April, Moulin telegraphed London detailing their propaganda efforts, but uncharacteristically describing it as ‘regrettable’ that de Gaulle had not ‘personally launched a prominent appeal for the first combined demonstration of the working class and resistance movements’. On the very next day de Gaulle did broadcast an appeal to ‘every Frenchman and Frenchwoman’ to support ‘the cause of the workers of France’

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through ‘a great silent demonstration’ passing ‘simply and silently before the monuments of the Republic and the civic buildings of our cities and villages’. Moulin later reported that 50,000 people had assembled in Lyons on 1 May to cries of ‘VIVE DE GAULLE’, and ‘DOWN WITH LAVAL’. He described people marching ‘up the rue Victor Hugo shouting, stopping trams, holding up trolley buses’, with police attacks causing some injuries. He may well have been amongst the crowd. Similar numbers and slogans were reported from Marseilles, and there were also demonstrations in Saint-Étienne and Chambéry, and elsewhere.46 These events indicated a developing relationship between popular attitudes and the Free French. Other resistance activities were on the increase. On 10 May two SOE agents parachuted from Britain and blew up the radio transmitter at Allouis, south of Orléans, which was used to jam BBC broadcasts. Morale was further improved by the news repeatedly broadcast from the BBC in early June of the success of 3300 Free French troops at Bir Hakeim in Libya under General Koenig in holding back the advance of over 10,000 German soldiers commanded by Rommel. At a time when Axis armies had suffered no serious defeats, this event provoked great excitement. In the British press, Bir Hakeim was compared to Verdun, and was said to greatly increase confidence in de Gaulle. It led directly to the more substantial defeat of German troops at El Alamein in November. In a broadcast of 18 June 1942, de Gaulle found it possible not only to draw attention once again to this achievement of French arms, but also to name the resistance groups Combat, Libération and Franc-Tireur as part of the struggle. Moulin was soon sending to London details of positive reactions within France, and planning slogans for 14 July which would show ‘perfect coordination between France and the world’.47 Another reason for growing support for the French National Committee was in its developing political stance. In April, Christian Pineau, trade unionist and founder of Libération-Nord, arrived in London with a draft manifesto that he had agreed with Socialist parliamentarian André Philip. Initially de Gaulle hesitated about democratic commitments, insisting on a forthright condemnation of the Third Republic and saying that his message to French trade unionists was simply that ‘he shall not betray them’. Eventually Pineau obtained a statement that was broadcast on 22 June on the BBC as ‘a declaration of resistance groups operating on the national soil, without distinction of political origin or philosophical and religious convictions’. It spoke of ‘the historic French ideals of liberty, equality and fraternity’, where ‘everyone


has freedom of thought, belief and action’. Listeners were told that ‘France’, with others, was ‘fighting for liberty, justice and the right of the people to make their own decisions’. A new National Assembly was promised that ‘will determine our country’s future’. This Manifesto was later described as the ‘founding document of Gaullist politics’, though at the time the movements thought it too political, the trade unions resenting implied criticisms of past actions.48 It was fortuitous that the BBC broadcast Pineau’s ‘resistance manifesto’ on the night before the most famous of all of the wartime radio addresses of Pierre Laval, on 23 June 1942. He appealed to young French men and women to volunteer for work in German factories as part of what was called the Relève (Relief). In advocating the scheme, Laval made this stunning declaration: ‘I desire the victory of Germany, for without it, bolshevism will instal itself everywhere.’ This formulation ‘stuck in the collective consciousness of the French people’, intensifying hatred of Laval, notably displayed in his trial and execution in 1945.49 Resisters took full advantage of the shock provoked by these words. On 28 June, Moulin appealed to London for ‘strong radio support’ directed at further protests on Bastille Day, and on 3 July he demanded ‘precise and detailed slogans for the workers’ movement to resist the deportation of workers to Germany’.50 De Gaulle did broadcast calls to demonstrate on 14 July, and he also announced that the Free French were now to be called the ‘Fighting French’. When the crowds came out, they were the largest yet, with as many as 200,000 claimed in Lyons by Franc-Tireur. Cries of ‘DEATH TO LAVAL’ were heard for the first time. The Avignon demonstration was led by children, and in St-Étienne, fighting broke out with the paramilitary Legion. These events were later described as ‘a victory for Jean Moulin’ and ‘the entire national resistance’.51 Demonstrations continued for a few months, with the 150th anniversary of the Battle of Valmy against the Prussians even being celebrated in Lyons on 20 October. However, when the Germans invaded the Southern Zone in November, this phase was over. The reasons are obvious when a demonstration on 11 November 1943 in Grenoble brought about 450 deportations, with many never returning.52 There were other terrible events during 1942. In July, Popular Front Interior Minister Marx Dormoy was murdered by cagoulard terrorists, though it was possible to report a large turn out at Montluçon for his funeral. At the same time, news was spreading of the rounding up of Jewish people in both zones. Moulin reported to London that these ‘odious measures’, especially against children, were beginning to ‘stir the popular conscience’. He particularly commended the actions of

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Church leaders, including the Bishop of Montauban who condemned ‘savage barbarism’ from the pulpit, and the Jesuit Père Chaillet, who defiantly protected children from deportation. Increasing repression made Vichy less popular, but the arrival of the Germans in the Southern Zone greatly reduced open political activity.53 By then however, the June 1942 Resistance Manifesto was already appealing beyond the resistance ‘movements’, and provided a link with those who identified themselves with the political parties being rebuilt in opposition to collaboration. Messages of support for the National Committee arrived from established political leaders, often in prison or under house arrest. The most prominent was Socialist leader Léon Blum. Despite some qualms from his own supporters, on 5 May Blum had sent a message to London boldly asserting that despite the political origins of some of his associates, ‘republican legality’ was now expressed in the person of ‘a single man, and that man was General de Gaulle’. He was thus ‘the necessary man, or at any rate the only possible man who embodied the idea of resistance and the reality of liberation linking all French people’. Blum sent Socialist deputy Félix Gouin to London to represent him, and when he told the British authorities that ‘the influence of de Gaulle was steadily rising’, they were compelled to conclude that any break with the Free French would be ‘interpreted by the French as unjustified betrayal of de Gaulle by the British and would generally alienate French sympathy for this country’. Blum’s emissaries met British Labour Party members, who from this point had no hesitation in supporting de Gaulle. Blum approved and Moulin organised the departure of André Philip, Socialist deputy for Lyons, and former activist in Libération-Sud, who was convinced that de Gaulle was ‘not so much a myth as the military and governmental reality’. When Philip arrived in London on 27 July, he immediately replaced Diethelm, regarded as ‘too administrative and insufficiently political’, as Commissioner for the Interior in the French National Committee. This step was later described as bringing in for the first time ‘a politician claiming some serious consideration in his own right’.54 There were indications also that sections of the old Radical Party were coming to life. A resistance newspaper called Coq Enchaîné in Lyons claimed such affiliations and was said to have the support of Herriot.55 Messages of support for the French National Committee now arrived in London from the various political leaders, including Georges Mandel and Paul Reynaud, and also from Édouard Herriot and Jules Jeanneney, who respectively chaired the House of Representatives and the Senate. Considerable effort was devoted to trying to persuade Herriot, some-


times seen as the embodiment of the Republic, to come to London, but he hesitated, partly because he wanted to keep his distance from de Gaulle. However, when the Vichy authorities incarcerated him in October, de Gaulle sent a supporting message, comparing his situation to that of ‘the best of the French people’.56 Another important contact for the Free French was with the Communists. Immediately after the outbreak of the Nazi–Soviet war in June 1941, de Gaulle made this statement: ‘leaving aside the shortcomings, and even the crimes of the Soviet régime, we must say, like Churchill, that we are frankly on the side of the Russians when they are fighting the Germans’. Despite this, de Gaulle refused at first even to contemplate discussion with French Communists. However, as his differences with the British and the Americans grew, he also began to think of the Soviet Union and their close supporters in the French Communist Party as possible allies. There were contacts between the Free French and the Soviet authorities from September, some limited recognition and even the offer to send troops to fight with Soviet forces. In October the Communists in France said they were operating ‘by the side of the English and de Gaulle’s troops’. It was at this point that Moulin in his Lisbon Report warned the British and the Free French that the Communists could win the support of ‘millions of French people burning with the desire to serve’. This needed careful handling, so that by January de Gaulle’s speeches began to identify ‘fighting France’ and ‘fighting Russia’. On 24 May 1942, de Gaulle met Soviet Foreign Minister Molotov, and in September 1942, the Soviet government recognised the National Committee as ‘the only body entitled to organise citizens’ participation in the war, and to represent French interests with the USSR’. As tensions with the British increased, de Gaulle even raised with the Russians the possibility of moving his operations to Moscow.57 It was impossible to ignore the attacks on German personnel, however ill advised, carried out by French Communists in the latter part of 1941, and the hostage executions that ensued. Moulin discussed this with de Gaulle in October 1941, and persuaded him against outright public condemnation. Through their Franc Tireurs et Partisans organisation, Communists were responsible during 1942, for most of the attacks on German personnel and installations, at least in the Northern Zone. As details emerged of the heroic behaviour of the Communists shot as hostages, even firm anti-Communists like Henri Frenay were compelled to express their admiration. As early as January 1942, d’Astier contacted the Communist leadership.58 Thus in June 1942 Moulin received instructions from London to develop contacts with the Communists,

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especially in the Northern Zone.59 However, because the first agent sent by BCRA to initiate these contacts was arrested and died in custody in April, Moulin was instructed not to make such contacts directly. They did start, probably though Manhès and Meunier, but Moulin took no part when he visited Paris in July. In November 1942, Moulin wrote to the Communist-led Front National organisation setting out a developing programme to mobilise workers and peasants for liberation, and to oppose colonialism.60 The work of liaison was entrusted to Colonel Rémy (Gilbert Renault, former militant of Action Française), who was convinced that the Communist-led Franc-Tireurs et Partisans organisation was ‘with very rare exceptions, the only clandestine organisation that was fighting against the occupier, with arms in hand’. By May 1942 he was in touch with the Party leadership.61 It was at this point that Moulin took his next step in expanding the profile of the National Committee during a seventeen-day visit over the armistice line to Paris in July 1942. He stayed in a series of planques (safe houses), arranged by his faithful friends Pierre Meunier and Robert Chambeiron. He may well have witnessed the round-up of Jews on the night of 16–17 July, and he certainly expressed his usual ferocious opposition to anti-semitism. He saw Frédéric Manhès, who had been in touch with various resistance movements, whom he persuaded to support the idea of a unified military command. He had been working for some time with Maurice Ripoche of CDR who, on the promise of financial support, decided to rally to de Gaulle. On his return south, Moulin reported to London on meetings with parliamentary deputies and the Grand Masonic Council. He met Soviet representatives, though not those of the French Communist Party.62 He may also have met his former wife, Marguerite Cerruti. By August 1942 there were clear indications of growing popular hostility to the Vichy regime, of an increase in resistance activism, and the influence of organisations expressing a general spirit of resistance. An assessment by SOE dated 31 July accepted that through Moulin’s contact with the ‘newspaper groups’, de Gaulle now had ‘a considerable following in France’, though with limited military capacity. On the very same day, Moulin was instructed by de Gaulle to intervene against ‘acts of indiscipline’ by these very groups in independently contacting British intelligence, a step likely to have ‘catastrophic consequences’. At the same time, Moulin was growing frustrated at his limited progress in achieving his goal of unification. Following the return of d’Astier from London, he sent this message to London on 8 August:


We cannot hide the fact that at the paramilitary level we are in a period of extreme crisis. Almost everywhere activists call for unification. Most rank and file members feel the same way, and most of them have become fed up with the tendency in certain regions to pursue petty quarrels. He thought that the separation of military activity had largely been achieved, but progress in joint working was being obstructed by the attitudes of the leaders. He arranged further meetings between Frenay and d’Astier, but the latter was now holding out against the unified organisation that Moulin was trying to construct. This arose from opposition to Frenay’s right-wing political ideas, which he feared were shared by Passy and others in London, and to the concerns of all the other leaders that Frenay would personally dominate any merged organisation. As the arguments continued, Moulin felt it necessary, as on other occasions, to assure London of ‘my absolute confidence in the loyalty of Frenay and d’Astier’. Eventually, Moulin secured agreement to the first steps in setting up the Secret Army, though the other groups would not accept Frenay at its head.63 At that point Combat contacted General Charles Delestraint, who had at an earlier stage been de Gaulle’s commanding officer. Having secured agreement from London, Moulin met Delestraint on 28 August, and the latter agreed to take command of a new army providing he had written instructions from de Gaulle himself.64 During the discussion, it was clear that Delestraint, as a strait-laced career officer, had a limited perception of the subversive and revolutionary nature of the tasks that faced him, and of what Moulin called ‘the etiquette’ of resistance organisations.65 However, he did have definite ideas for bringing to life the army demobilised at the armistice, and for making use of the men and resources placed out of action. Moulin persuaded Frenay, as well as d’Astier and Levy, that this would be an appropriate appointment. This began a period of close co-operation between Moulin and Delestraint, and the initial idea was to go together to London with all the southern resistance leaders. However, it proved impossible to organise this. Moulin and Levy waited in a field near Mâcon for a Lysander that never arrived, though d’Astier and Frenay took a boat to Gibraltar and arrived in London on 26 September. There followed a series of meetings held during October in London at Carlton Gardens and Hill Street, the headquarters of BCRA. These discussions have been described as ‘the most important in the history of

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the resistance’, transforming it from an active minority into a potential military and political force.66 Those present included d’Astier and Frenay, as well as other recent arrivals – the journalist and former editor of the Socialist Party’s L’Oeuvre, Pierre Brossolette, and Charles Vallin, formerly a major figure in the fascist-inclined Croix de Feu organisation. Frenay and d’Astier could not agree on whether their organisations should merge, or should simply work together. However, they were united in opposition to what they regarded as the overweening power of Moulin. D’Astier derided him as a ‘petty functionary’, and Frenay as an ‘unnecessary barrier between the Free French and ourselves’. De Gaulle responded that the resistance leaders displayed ‘extreme individualism’. He told Frenay that Moulin was ‘a man of great qualities, a true statesman, and you should trust him implicitly as I do’. Passy was of the opinion that he had ‘obtained magnificent results’, and supported Moulin at this stage, as did Brossolette. It must have been obvious to de Gaulle that what the leaders of the resistance movements really objected to was Moulin’s efforts to carry out the tasks he had entrusted to him.67 Far from undermining Moulin’s position, the London meetings reinforced his powers. The discussions quickly rose above d’Astier’s conception of independent military groups and the desire of Frenay to be ‘provisional’ military commander. On 2 October, Delestraint was confirmed as head of a unified Secret Army that included elements from resistance organisations and also from the disbanded armistice force. Moulin arranged for a BBC message to Delestraint saying ‘Charles to Charles – Agreed.’ There was also a personal letter from de Gaulle recommending limited sabotage actions while building resources ahead of the Allied invasion, and ending, ‘together we will reform the French army!’ On 29 October, de Gaulle set out his ‘Personal and secret instructions for action in France’. This latter document reiterated his view that sabotage actions should be limited in the short term.68 At a Savoy Hotel dinner on 16 November, the night before the departure of the resistance leaders, Frenay expressed continuing reservations about this. They were strongly opposed to the idea propounded by de Gaulle for a ‘counterpart to the French National Committee in metropolitan France itself’, made up of political parties as well as resistance movements. When Frenay expressed his concerns about this, de Gaulle responded that ‘France must choose between you and me.’69 One other important decision that came from the London meetings, on which there was no disagreement, was to set up a ‘committee of coordination’ between the resistance groups in the Southern Zone


presided over by Moulin. Whatever the views of the leaders of the southern resistance, he thus became the ‘referee of the three movements’ and the conduit for the decisions of the National Committee. This was the ‘decisive point’ in establishing Moulin’s leading role.70 On 22 October de Gaulle wrote a personal letter to Moulin, which was conveyed back to France by the resistance leaders along with 20 million francs for distribution. The letter read as follows: My dear friend, The simultaneous presence in London of d’Astier and Frenay has allowed an understanding to be established between their two resistance movements, settling the conditions for their activity under the authority of the National Committee. I have greatly regretted your absence at this point. However, I think that the arrangements made will help you in the mission that has been entrusted to you. You are required to preside over the coordination committee, which will include representatives of the three principal resistance movements: ‘Combat’, ‘Franc-Tireur’ and ‘Libération’. You will also continue as representative of the National Committee in the unoccupied zone, making all the political contacts that you consider appropriate. You may employ for this purpose certain of our agents who are directly subordinate to you. All resistance organisations, whatever their character, other than the three principal groups affiliated to the coordination committee, should be invited to attach their members to one of these movements and to transfer their action groups to units of the Secret Army now being constructed. It is clearly desirable to avoid the proliferation of numerous small organisations that risk hampering one another, creating rivalries and confusion. I wish particularly to underline that you retain my entire confidence, and I send you my warmest regards. Charles de Gaulle The new arrangements agreed in London clearly enhanced the role of Jean Moulin as de Gaulle’s representative not only in contacting the political world, but also as overall co-ordinator of the southern resistance organisations on both a political and military level. Detailed discussions followed on the machinery needed to enhance contact between Moulin and London.71 There can be no doubt that, whatever the attitudes of the British or American governments, the standing of

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de Gaulle and the National Committee was increasing by the day. Frenay was most impressed by the enthusiasm for de Gaulle at a packed meeting in the Royal Albert Hall on 11 November. Recent exiles from France spoke movingly and there was a great ovation for de Gaulle’s call for ‘one struggle from one nation’.72 However, before d’Astier and Frenay parachuted back into France at Lons-de-Saumer on 17 November, there had been extremely important changes to the world in which they all operated.

‘Operation Torch’ and its consequences The landing of Allied troops in North Africa on 8 November in ‘Operation Torch’ were decisive, along with Allied victories at El Alamein and Stalingrad, in altering the strategic balance of the World War.73 The landings also had important consequences for the French resistance. The Vichy regime ordered opposition to the landings, showing they could not keep their distance from the German war effort, and tearing away any remaining illusion of a Pétainist ‘double game’. Within France, the mass demonstrations planned for Armistice Day on 11 November, with carefully co-ordinated preparations between Moulin, the National Committee and the BBC, were overshadowed by the movement of German troops across the armistice line. Southern resisters were now confronted with German soldiers as well as Vichy policemen. Further significant developments followed. On 27 November, a German decree dissolved what was left of the French armistice army. French sailors then scuttled much of their fleet in Toulon, while German troops occupied army barracks throughout France. This undermined the covert arrangements already being planned to use military resources to fight the Germans, and meant that limited resistance within the army could now only develop through the Organisation de Résistance de l’Armée (ORA), which never definitely supported de Gaulle. Meanwhile, when the Americans arrived in Algiers, they found Admiral François Darlan, until recently Pétain’s deputy. Darlan declared a cease-fire and was designated by the Americans ‘High Commissioner for North Africa’. He was then denounced by Vichy, and reviled by every section of western public opinion outside the US State Department.74 The Americans proceeded to negotiate with him, inducing consternation in all sections of Allied public opinion, especially within the French resistance. Relations at this point between de Gaulle and Churchill were at a low ebb. On 30 September they had held a ‘very bad meeting’ when de Gaulle complained about the lack of recognition of Free French forces


in the Middle East, and Churchill exclaimed ‘You are not France! I do not recognise you to be France!’ After the invasion of North Africa, there was some reconciliation when the two men met again on 16 November. De Gaulle brought the telegrams he was receiving from France indicating universal hostility to Darlan. Churchill at first went along with this view. Four days later, there was another heated meeting, this time between President Roosevelt and representatives of the French National Committee, Adrien Tixier and André Philip. The President, angered by the failure to express any gratitude for American action, said that his soldiers would impose military rule on France, and he was told that in that case they would be treated as occupiers, just like the Nazis.75 These unfortunate encounters made Churchill abandon his initial hostility to Darlan, and accept the argument that, for reasons of general strategy and to please the Americans, he should accept what Roosevelt described as a ‘temporary expedient’. Thus de Gaulle was banned from the BBC and at a secret session of the House of Commons on 10 December, Churchill argued that de Gaulle possessed ‘a traditional antagonism engrained in French hearts by centuries of war against the English’.76 However, such statements flew in the face of public attitudes in Allied countries. Messages from SOE agents showed their current chief Lord Selborne that hostility to ‘installing little Quislings’ was virtually universal in France, and he soon convinced Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden. Meanwhile, in France itself, relations had grown so close that joint action between the SOE and resistance groups against German targets was being discussed.77 In Britain there were strong protests, especially from Churchill’s Labour coalition partners, who were now taking their line from Léon Blum and his comrades. On 26 October a resolution in the British House of Commons maintained that negotiations with Darlan were ‘inconsistent with the ideals for which we entered and are fighting the war’. On 12 November, Labour MP Aneurin Bevan asked how they could abandon ‘men who stood staunchly by our side in the most difficult circumstances’ in favour of ‘traitorous quislings’, like Darlan, who was clearly implicated in ‘the slaughter of French hostages who gave their lives for us’.78 Labour deputy Prime Minister Clement Attlee privately demanded of Churchill ‘When is this going to stop?’ Behind the scenes in November 1942, the new SOE chief Charles Hambro tried to use Frenay and d’Astier to meet the Americans in Algiers independently of de Gaulle, thus showing ignorance of the improving relationship between de Gaulle and the resistance. De Gaulle agreed that they could go as a ‘secret’ delegation, but also wanted an overt group including Brossolette. In the end these proposals came to

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nothing.79 The position was greatly clarified on Christmas Eve 1942, when Darlan was assassinated by a young French monarchist called Fernand Bonnier, who had recently received training from the SOE.80 The details of how this act was prepared remain unclear even to this day, but it seems likely that some parts at least of the British Secret Services were involved. However, the Americans now turned to a less compromised figure whom they brought to North Africa. This was General Henri Giraud, who had escaped from military confinement in Germany in April, initially declaring loyalty to Vichy. Soon afterwards, with the agreement of Moulin, Combat leaders Bourdet and de Menthon met him, and Frenay wrote urging him to work under de Gaulle. Moulin even sent a Jesuit priest who supported the resistance to persuade him. However, Giraud refused to meet Moulin as de Gaulle’s representative, regarding himself as a major international figure who would incorporate the Fighting French into a larger ‘game’ including the Americans and the Russians.81 Fortified by an arrogant self-belief that made de Gaulle look positively timid, Giraud now presented himself as an anti-Pétain military leader. He repeated, ‘like a Wagnerian leitmotiv’, that ‘I am a soldier. I do not wish to be involved in politics.’ His chief merit for the Americans was that he had none of the political baggage they disliked in de Gaulle. Giraud even gathered some supporters. A typical example was Marcel Peyrouton, Governor of Algeria, who in 1940, as Interior Minister and vigilant supporter of the National Revolution, had dismissed Prefect Jean Moulin. It is hardly surprising that even SOE agents hostile to de Gaulle were reporting that Giraud ‘was suspected of refloating Vichy with a view to protecting the German General Staff behind a Vichy screen’. Nevertheless, the Americans made Giraud ‘Civil and Military Commander in Chief’ of French North Africa, in which role he arrested and exiled Gaullist resisters. The American ambassador to Switzerland was delighted with Giraud and his circle, wrongly ascribing to him a ‘growing prestige and popularity’ as against a Gaullist movement which was ‘dominated by Communist organisations’. It is hardly surprising that ‘Giraudism’ is still described in France as ‘an American invention’.82 De Gaulle contacted Giraud in November urging discussions, but these overtures were rejected as they had been from Moulin.83 De Gaulle and Giraud did meet during the Anglo-American conference at Anfa near Casablanca on 23 January 1943, where they were supposed to reach agreement in the presence of Churchill and President Roosevelt. Giraud refused to express support for ‘democratic principles’ but did agree to


meet de Gaulle’s representatives. De Gaulle insisted on the release of political prisoners in Algiers, including his own supporters, and the revocation of Vichy laws. Meanwhile de Gaulle’s support was being given institutional expression by Moulin’s efforts. When the Resistance Council met on 27 May, de Gaulle was able within a week to get to Algiers and join Giraud in the Comité Française de la Libération National. Although in theory Giraud and de Gaulle were now equal, the latter had on his side not only clear measures of support in France but also a number of effective political operators like André Philip working for him. Even before Moulin disappeared from the scene later in June it was clear that ‘Giraudism’ was ‘little more than opposition to de Gaulle’s political ascendancy’, and the British thought it a spent force. Giraud could not even gain the respect of the French financier Jean Monnet, sent by Roosevelt to support him. Monnet reached the conclusion that Giraud ‘lost everything because he wanted to concede nothing’. After being systematically marginalised, Giraud eventually resigned all his positions in April 1944, pathetically complaining that he was the victim of a Communist conspiracy.

War and resistance after 11 November 1942 Long before these matters were resolved, there was, however, a period of great anxiety for the internal French resistance. The days immediately following the African landings of November 1942 were especially difficult. Moulin had no hesitation about the line to adopt in the face of rapidly developing events. His immediate reaction was to argue that ‘more and more, the struggle must continue, it must be given greater emphasis’. Immediately after the landings on 8 November, de Gaulle sent him a message urging that ‘with the minimum of delay’, Fighting France within France should argue ‘firstly for liberation from the enemy and traitors, secondly for the full restoration of national sovereignty in metropolitan territory’. He also advocated stepping up the denunciations of Darlan. On that same evening de Gaulle broadcast on the BBC, welcoming the invasion of North Africa and calling on all French people to support it.84 Moulin, within twenty-four hours, organised a message from inside France to the Allies. This was in the name not only of the southern resistance groups, but also of opponents of collaboration from the major political parties. Signatories included Louis Marin of the traditional right-wing Féderation Républicaine, with Socialists, Radicals and the emerging left-wing Catholics of the Popular Democrats. The trade

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unions also signed, though not the Communists, because Moulin was unable to contact them. After sending ‘warm greetings to the British and American governments in their action in liberating North Africa’, the statement called on Giraud and all Frenchmen to join de Gaulle, the ‘unchallenged leader of the resistance’. It was made clear that within France, resisters and political leaders alike were of the view that when ‘traitors’ changed sides this should not ‘be considered as an excuse for past crimes’. They demanded that ‘the new destiny of liberated North Africa, should as soon as possible be placed in the hands of General de Gaulle’. The joint declaration was taken to London by Morandat on 18 November, but under American pressure, was not broadcast on the BBC. Other statements to the same effect came from French parliamentarians including the Socialist Félix Gouin and the Radical Pierre Mendès France, but little attention was paid to them either. By 14 December, the messages from Moulin to London were growing more insistent. ‘The people of France are asking themselves whether the war for liberation is not going to consolidate the very régimes we are fighting against.’85 In January, Moulin attempted to keep up the pressure by organising a further statement from ‘all political and resistance groups’ congratulating de Gaulle on his ‘firm attitude’ at the Anfa conference, and offering ‘complete support’. The statement also expressed the ‘general indignation’ of the resistance at Giraud’s role. This was rather in contrast to the views being expressed at the time to the British authorities and Frenay that a Giraud/de Gaulle reconciliation was possible. By April however, Combat declared that ‘between de Gaulle and Giraud, the people have chosen de Gaulle’.86 It was now essential for Moulin to move ahead with the new tasks he had been set to co-ordinate efforts inside France. Within days of the return of Frenay and d’Astier on 17 November, he met them at St-Clair, across the Rhône from Lyons. After hearing their report, Moulin tried to win over Frenay by suggesting that he should become, like himself, an ‘emissary’ of the National Committee. However, Frenay said that he still wanted to be a free spirit, one of those who were ‘soldiers while remaining citizens’. Moulin responded that in war there had to be a supreme commander. New attitudes were now coming from the ‘second generation’ of resistance leaders. Frenay’s second in command, Pascal Copeau, later said that he was at this stage ‘plotting with Moulin to eliminate the frontiers’ between the groups. On 27 November, Moulin presided over the first day-long meeting of the co-ordinating committee of representatives of the three movements, with General Delestraint present as an


observer. Some new arrangements were agreed, but tensions remained. The ‘movements’ wanted individual sabotage and attacks on German personnel, and were frustrated because the British and the London French would not send them enough materials for such actions. Moulin and Delestraint, and the National Committee, wanted more preparation for Allied invasion, which might, as far as they knew, be days away. They were particularly conscious of the fact that, were the Americans to pursue the same policy in France as in North Africa, they would negotiate with the Vichy authorities and ignore the virtually unknown resistance leaders. Frenay, with what one participant described as ‘his lack of political sense’, insisted on attacking Delestraint for not understanding the nature of a revolutionary army. Moulin only rescued the situation by making a parallel between political and military leadership within a democratic system. However, after the meeting Frenay continued his efforts to control the military arrangements. André Manuel, Passy’s deputy, who was parachuted into the Southern Zone to work with Moulin, reported in January the intemperate language and actions of Frenay against Moulin and Delestraint and on the intrigues of d’Astier to expand his role. Manuel formed the view that these actions often contravened the policies of the National Committee. Frenay even refused to allow Delestraint to circulate messages to his members. He insisted that if he was not to be head of the Secret Army, then his close associate François Morin should be Chief-of-Staff to Delestraint.87 Beyond the arcane manoeuvring of the resistance leaders, there were some positive developments. During December a Mouvement de Prisonniers de Guerre en Déportation was initiated with the support of Michel Cailliau, a nephew of de Gaulle, and François Mitterand, who was at this time a Vichy civil servant. This put prisoners in touch with the Fighting French, and also recruited them into the Secret Army. Also during December, Delestraint arranged his first meetings with former members of the armistice army.88 Other significant developments include the emergence of new resistance bodies, sometimes linked to the SOE, or else emerging from groups of radicals, freemasons and students. The first links were also being established, through Pineau and Libération-Nord, between the two zones.89 Within the Southern Zone, however, Moulin was still preoccupied with the complex relations between resistance organisations. Following a further series of difficult negotiations, on 26 January 1943 he persuaded the three southern organisations to issue a joint manifesto and to combine their military activities into the Mouvements Unis de la Résistance (MUR).90 Moulin satisfied overweening egos by appointing to

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significant military positions leading members of Libération and FrancTireur, with D’Astier placed in charge of political affairs and Levy in charge of information, security and resources. Frenay was Commissioner for Military Affairs. Once again Moulin showed his tactical flexibility by persuading MUR to adopt the basic regional structures from Combat, giving significant powers to regional chiefs. Moulin also brought into their ambit the control of radios, and the NAP, infiltration of the public service. It was notable that their Manifesto was largely a political statement about the need for unity, to ‘express the national will for independence’, advocating ‘insurrection and political action’, the ‘seizure of power’, and ‘mass action’. Soon militants were being recruited to MUR rather than to individual bodies and in some areas the groups worked closely together. This even ‘put an end to little disputes, which were now inappropriate’.91 At this point the SOE considered that de Gaulle ‘in the last months achieved a great deal in the co-ordination of those organisations in France’ supporting him, ‘largely co-ordinated through Moulin at the head of the Comité de Coordination at the highest level’. It was also noted that ‘viable regional structures were beginning to emerge’. SOE agents were now told to ‘conform strictly to all orders given by Moulin as the representative in France of the national Committee’.92 If arguments could still be sharp, especially for the representative of the National Committee, then many of the issues that once seemed so important faded to insignificance as the resistance rapidly expanded in scope and support. By the summer the MUR directing committee moved to Paris and the original leaders were involved in the quasigovernmental bodies in Algiers. Having used every diplomatic and organisational effort to bring about this difficult transformation in the organisation of the southern resistance, Moulin now had to consider a larger stage. He had to look to the different character of resistance organisations in the formerly distinct Northern Zone, and at the ‘old parties’, trade unions, and other institutions that were rapidly emerging. He had to work with de Gaulle to try and weld as many of these as possible into institutions capable of representing on the world stage his ideal of an alternative republican France.

10 The National Resistance Council, May 1943

The final months of the life of Jean Moulin were devoted to uniting the disparate elements of French resistance opposing Nazi occupation. This was when resistance moved from localised propaganda and individual actions onto a wider stage. Organisations of resistance now included growing numbers in a diverse range of movements, increasingly joined by political and trade-union activists. Although this diversity produced political and organisational tensions of every sort, the various elements were brought together in May 1943 to form what came to be known as the Conseil National de la Résistance, the CNR.1 It is sometimes said that the CNR was more important for what it was than for what it did. Nevertheless, its establishment has generally been considered in retrospect as the cardinal wartime event in the continuity of the French state and its Republic, and the crowning achievement of Jean Moulin. Less often recalled was its complex genesis and painful birth, which it is the purpose of this chapter to describe.

Politics and resistance, December 1942–February 1943 During 1942 increasing numbers of French people identified themselves with resistance, indicating to many activists that their organisations needed to move beyond internal quarrels to a new phase, which would include Allied invasion followed by liberation. Military developments in November 1942, notably the German occupation of all of France, convinced many resisters that it was essential to create a high-profile, broadly based and widely supported movement. Only by this means could France again be seen as a great power, and then could de Gaulle outshine his French rivals, and stand up to Roosevelt and Churchill. 151

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However, in order to get to this position, those who had initiated the struggle needed to change their outlook. Ever since 1940, Moulin was in touch with leading politicians and those prominent in milieux well beyond the small resistance groups in both zones of France. He had his own contacts with former Prime Minister Paul-Boncour, as well as with freemasons and civil-rights organisations. During 1942, de Gaulle urged Moulin on his behalf to expand such connections to include parliamentarians, trade unionists, Communists and fellow travellers, and even former supporters of rightwing and semi-fascist parties like the Croix de Feu. Of particular interest in the development of such contacts is the process whereby the Communist Party came to be accepted into the family of Fighting France. Developing relations between de Gaulle and the Soviet government have already been described, as has the later contact with the increasingly active Communist Party in France during 1942. Moulin was not greatly involved in this, because in his main area of operation in the Southern Zone, Communists were thin on the ground. In the Northern Zone, he relied on Frédéric Manhès and Pierre Meunier, but the main breakthrough was achieved by Rémy, the Royalist film-maker Gilbert Renault, who had set up the resistance network Confrèrie Notre-Dame, CND. In mid-1942, he succeeded where Moulin and his friends had failed, and met representatives of the Central Committee of the French Communist Party including Georges Beaufils and Pierre Villon. Rémy was not ‘the most effective or gifted’ of resistance militants.2 Nor was he a man of great political sophistication, and he rapidly moved from standard anti-Communism to strong admiration of the Communists. The Central Committee selected Assembly member Fernand Grenier, who had recently escaped from prison, to represent them. The story has often been told of their journey across the English Channel in an open boat. The tough Communist militant suffered agonies of seasickness, while the indefatigable Rémy transported a bottle of 1816 Napoleon brandy, presented by an admirer to de Gaulle, together with a metre-high azalea plant purchased in Paris for Madame de Gaulle. What is not always realised is that the National Committee did not plan this coup de théâtre, and they never sent Rémy back to France for any other purpose. Grenier reached London on 11 January 1943, and was soon installed in an office in Carlton Gardens, from which he broadcast propaganda and met de Gaulle, Moulin and others.3 The National Committee and the resistance organisations accepted that it was essential to reach military and political agreement with Grenier,

The National Resistance Council, May 1943 153

though it was not easy. Rather like Frenay and Combat, the Communists argued that the Front National they had established should incorporate all resisters. Like many resisters, they also disagreed with the French National Committee’s view that military action should largely be postponed until the Allied landings. Furthermore, at this point the Communists were distinguished from most others by the refusal to differentiate between Giraud and de Gaulle. This was an issue Grenier later recalled arguing over with Moulin in London.4 Relations grew closer as the weeks went by. On 10 February 1943 de Gaulle publicly saluted the actions of Communist resisters while advocating ‘the proper coordination of resistance organisations as crucial to the purpose we are all pursuing’. He agreed to pass on messages to French Communists interned in North Africa by Giraud. In France itself the Communists remained outside the joint resistance organisations, but worked increasingly closely with them. On 16 April the MUR groups were told that though they could ‘express the fundamental difference in our ideological position’, they should ‘operate in good faith’ together.5 The Communists were by no means the only political tendency that was showing new signs of life by 1943. The French National Committee made contact with increasing numbers of significant political figures of the Third Republic.6 Moulin’s former superior as Interior Minister, Georges Mandel, sent good wishes, and Churchill returned warm greetings. Anti-Gaullists later claimed that de Gaulle did nothing to rescue him from imprisonment in the fortified Portalet Fort in the Pyrenees. However, the SOE was asked to consider an escape attempt, but found it impractical. Mandel continued to express support for de Gaulle, even when imprisoned in Germany, and also when returned to France in June 1944 to be murdered by the Milice. There was less enthusiastic support from the last two premiers of the Third Republic, Édouard Daladier and Paul Reynaud, who shared imprisonment with the strongly pro-de Gaulle Jouhaux and Blum.7 Outside the prison camps, new political stirrings could be reported in 1942–3. The Radicals, natural party of French government in the Third Republic, had been split in every direction. However, a revival of their traditions could now be seen, even within the resistance. Party grandees including Daladier and Herriot were tried and sent to German concentration camps. Herriot’s hesitation in expressing support for the Free French was finally overcome in April 1943 when from house arrest he sent a message to London. ‘I am ready to serve,’ it said, ‘no matter at what moment, in a government presided over by General de Gaulle, whom I consider the only man capable of organising the union of the vast majority of the French people.’ In the

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same month, following a number of delays, Herriot’s colleague Henri Queuille, a member of numerous inter-war governments, found his way to London. The ageing Jules Jeanneney, former Senate President, also came over to the Free French and helped to provide a further element of republican continuity.8 At the same time, elements of the political right were entering the resistance ambit, mostly from the younger generation. Amongst the most prominent was the Catholic journalist and future Prime Minister George Bidault. Blum spoke of an alliance stretching ‘from Thorez to Marin’ – from the Communist leader to the far right of the pre-war Chamber, whose followers became known as the Alliance Démocratique. The resistance movements at this stage objected less to the Communists than to groupings on the right who had engaged in no perceptible resistance activity. The role of politicians of the right who broke from Vichy was particularly sensitive. Moulin tried hard to win over people from that background. In September 1942 he met Robert Schumann, who had briefly been a Vichy minister. However, like Herriot, Schumann held back from commitment to the Fighting French.9 On 18 September 1942, Brossolette arrived in London with the former Croix de Feu leader and Vichy collaborator Charles Vallin. De Gaulle had insisted on Vallin’s presence in London and his public repudiation of his past associations. When Vallin broadcast from London to that effect, this was said to have caused disquiet to many associated with the far right, though resisters found it hard to swallow. They were appeased when Vallin was sent to Africa as a Captain.10 Moulin was even prepared to respond positively in March 1943 to overtures from Jacques Darnand, another man of the far right and leader of the Milice. Though Darnand had not yet acquired his murderous reputation, BCRA decided that any serious contact was ‘morally unacceptable’.11 The most important contribution to the developing politics of the Free French at this period came from the Socialists.12 As early as 1941, Léon Jouhaux of the CGT trade union confederation backed LibérationSud, and other prominent trade unionists, notably Christian Pineau, founder of Liberation-Nord, were active in the internal resistance. By 1943, trade union activists felt that their organisations had a right to representation. For the Socialist Party, which Blum carefully steered away from any taint of support for collaboration, the desire for recognition and involvement was as strong. His lieutenant Daniel Mayer set up a Comité d’Action Socialiste which urged its members to join the various resistance movements. In the meantime, Socialist leaders like André Philip from Lyons and Gaston Deferre from Marseilles argued for


the first steps in re-establishing democratic institutions. They proposed rebuilding political parties as institutions of a new democracy with a consultative assembly and an overarching executive committee. This structure would bring together political parties, trade unions and resistance organisations with the purpose of forming a provisional government. Socialist emissaries Gouin and Philip argued this case in London in 1942. Early in 1943, the Socialists also set out a proposed ‘Common Programme’ for the resistance, calling for ‘the total elimination of the trusts from national life’ and for other policies such as votes for women and ‘the gradual emancipation of the native peoples’ of the Empire. The Communists opposed this on the ground that it would exclude some of those on the right whose support was needed.13 The organised resistance movements were generally unsympathetic to such political and constitutional proposals. They often reacted to the ‘strange defeat’ of 1940 by reacting against democratic norms of any sort, especially to organised political parties. Frenay and others from his military background shared such views, displaying little understanding of the operation of a pluralist political system. They considered that the war had ‘shattered the pre-war political parties’, and thought they were constructing an entirely new reality. In October 1942, Frenay wrote that ‘there is no doubt that the great majority of the French people is opposed to the reconstruction of the (old) political parties’. His lieutenant Claude Bourdet thought that the resistance movements themselves could reflect political tendencies in a future political system, and thought de Gaulle worked with the parties simply to impress people outside France.14 De Gaulle had a more nuanced view, and unlike some others from his background, he did not attack the failings of the entire political system, but spoke simply of ‘the abuses of the parliamentary regime’. Pierre Brossolette developed a more sophisticated version of the idea of democracy without parties.15 He thought that the ‘pure’ ideals of the resistance could create a new political order within which a range of opinions could be encompassed. Such notions reflected attitudes of leaders of the internal resistance, and they bear some resemblance to the arguments of Gaullism in the post-war period. Brossolette was a persuasive orator, a passionate and effective journalist, and a man of great charisma and moral courage. One resistance activist was ‘conquered by his live intelligence’ and a ‘kind of inner flame’ and Colonel Passy fell under the spell of ‘an exceptional ability to analyse and to reason’.16 However, he was not a practical politician like Léon Blum, nor an experienced state servant like Jean Moulin. However eloquently phrased, his proposals

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had little impact on the resistance and the future of the French state. In fact, divisions between parties and movements gradually evaporated in 1943. The southern resistance paper Libération expressed this as follows. ‘Resistance activists discover, sometimes with astonishment, that their political opinions are often very close to other resisters who only yesterday they condemned as enemies.’ By 16 April 1943 the groups in MUR finally accepted the inevitable: There exists in our ranks a rather legitimate mistrust towards anything that touches closely or distantly on the politics of the Third Republic. We must, however, take realities into account and we cannot claim – if we consider with some humility the weakness of our cadres – to represent ourselves the political future of France.17 This was an objective statement of the reality of the situation, even though Frenay and some in the northern resistance groups never accepted it. No doubt in part because of the complexities of this debate, for most of 1942 Moulin opposed broadening the institutions of resistance in ways advocated by the Socialists. He experienced such difficulties in getting agreement between small groups of resisters that he may have felt unable to embark on any larger project. When the Socialists, in June 1942, called for a ‘parliament of the resistance’ of about 50 people, he expressed strong opposition, not least on grounds of practicality. In August, André Philip, newly appointed Commissioner of the French National Committee, sent a message to Moulin proposing the creation in the Southern Zone of a ‘directing committee under your presidency representing each resistance movement’. This was to include such bodies as BIP and the CGE as well as trade unions and ‘parliamentary resisters’. Moulin replied that he thought such a project was premature ‘for reasons of effective security’. The SOE in London was surprised at this response in the light of Moulin’s ‘tendency to centralisation’.18 It may well have been the persistence of factionalism and rivalries amongst the southern groups that finally convinced Moulin that the political parties and others needed to be involved.19 In any case, external events forced the pace. The invasion of North Africa in November immediately challenged the position of the French National Committee. On 15 December, Moulin met a delegation of regional Socialist leaders in Marseilles, including Gaston Deferre. They convinced him of the need for a joint body of resisters and political parties behind the


Gaullist banner. In a message sent to London on the same day, Moulin made clear the reasons for his change of view. He now thought it crucial to oppose all the ‘realist’ ideas coming from the Allies and from within France calling for various sorts of co-operation with representatives of the Vichy regime such as Darlin. It seemed to Moulin that accepting this would be fatal to the very idea of resistance. In a letter to de Gaulle he forcefully outlined the argument. If we want to plunge France once again into war, it is crucial that this keeps its character as a war of liberation. How will it be possible to lead a struggle against the enrolment of French youth into a new German crusade, if we are not able to promise at the end of the day, something other than a France merged into the Hitlerian régime? Moulin argued that if the ‘war of liberation’ was abandoned in favour of compromise with Mussolini, Hitler or Pétain, then the result would be to ‘consolidate the very régimes against whom the struggle had been begun’. Thus it was urgent for resistance to develop on a larger scale. It had become clear to Moulin that, whatever ‘the dynamic represented by the Movements’, there was ‘no question of giving the Committee of Coordination the national character’ demanded by Frenay and d’Astier. In fact: The resistance movements, whatever their strength, are not the whole resistance. There are moral forces, political forces, and trade union forces, which exist outside the movements and will play a rôle in the liberation of the country and putting into place new institutions.20 Even before this message reached London, de Gaulle was so concerned that he summoned Moulin to an urgent meeting at the very beginning of January 1943. As so often, however, Moulin’s journey was rendered impossible by the weather. Discussions about travel by submarine or boat also came to nothing, and Moulin was asked to supply names of others who might be helpful. As a result, Manhès visited London from 27 January to 13 February.21 De Gaulle’s visit to Casablanca on 23 January, when he was forced to make peace with Giraud, convinced him that he had to show real support within France. As soon as he returned to London, he sent a stream of messages to the Socialist and Communist Parties and to the northern resistance bodies which until then had kept their distance from him. He emphasised his democratic credentials

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and his many public statements about leaving it to the French people to decide on their future.22 De Gaulle had clearly moved closer to the view newly supported by Moulin, that in order to secure recognition for a French alternative to a regime of occupation, it was now necessary to bring the resistance to a new political phase. The way to do this was to create a new high-profile and widely representative resistance body. It was to clarify these issues that Moulin finally flew with Delestraint to London on 13 February. Moulin was able to make use of his enforced stay in France in the early weeks of 1943 to turn his attention to the military resistance. During this time, he had his first meeting with Pierre Brossolette in Lyons. He also made some progress in contacting former soldiers who would join the Secret Army groups, though for the moment he broke off contacts with supporters of Giraud. However, on 30 January in Grenoble he met the architect Pierre Dalloz, who was to become one of the leaders of the largest concentration of armed resisters, which emerged a year later in the Vercors mountain plateau. The tragic outcome of this venture could not have been predicted at this stage, but it was clearly on the lines being proposed for the Secret Army. Thus Moulin, ‘who was not one of those people who needed things explained several times in order to understand them’, agreed and moved ahead. On 10 February Delestraint went to meet the leaders of this new movement.23 Four days later they were both in London.

Moulin in London, 14 February–20 March 1943 On the night of 13 February 1943, an RAF Lysander collected Moulin and Delestraint from a field at Léonine close to Ruffery-sur-Seille. There he met his returning friend Frédéric Manhès, who had gone to London at Moulin’s behest, and who was said to have begged Moulin not to leave. Just over a fortnight later Manhès was arrested and sent to Buchenvalt concentration camp, from which he was to return. A memorial was unveiled on the spot in 1986.24 There is some evidence that Moulin returned for a brief trip on the night of 25 February, though the precise reasons are obscure.25 Moulin and Delestraint were in London at a low point in the fortunes of de Gaulle and the French National Committee. The Americans were strongly backing Giraud, and the British showed little inclination to take any other position. During his month in London, Moulin worked closely with de Gaulle to confront these issues. On arrival, he went to de Gaulle’s house in Hampstead where in a small ceremony attended


by five other people he was asked to ‘stand to attention’ to receive a decoration as ‘Companion for the Liberation of France’. Passy, the only witness who recorded the event, recalled a tear in Moulin’s eye, and a glimpse of those cuts on his throat ‘received in 1940, to avoid falling under the torture of the enemy’.26 Moulin was then installed on the first floor of a house in the ultra-elegant Pall Mall, a few steps from de Gaulle’s office in Carlton Gardens. In the days that followed, he held lengthy discussions with de Gaulle on the upcoming political and military tasks. De Gaulle later said he found Moulin ‘impressive in authority and conviction alike, conscious that his days were numbered, but determined to accomplish his task of unification before their end’. While in London, Moulin’s views about the development of the resistance were accepted, and the scope of his authority was greatly increased. Together with Delestraint, he met General Alan Brooke, Chief of the Imperial General Staff. Delestraint met other British officials including Foreign Secretary Eden, and inspected current military training. At his first ‘informal’ meeting with British officials, on 16 February, Moulin said ‘that the French people looked upon de Gaulle as the one solid block of resistance against general bolshevism in France’. He also argued that if de Gaulle were subordinated to Giraud, this would mean ‘the impossibility of avoiding civil war later’. A wide range of discussions with the British included considerable detail about the organisation and development of wireless communication and the use of aircraft.27 While discussing with the British, Moulin agreed with de Gaulle a new statement of his tasks and responsibilities. On 21 February, he was issued with a new set of instructions, which read as follows. (1) Jean Moulin, General de Gaulle’s delegate in unoccupied France, is designated the sole permanent representative of General de Gaulle and of the French National Committee in the whole of the metropolitan area. (2) He is empowered, on a temporary basis, to delegate some of his powers to persons chosen by him and responsible to him. (3) As soon as possible a single Resistance Council will be created for the entire metropolitan area, presided over by Jean Moulin, General de Gaulle’s representative. (4) This Resistance Council will represent the resistance organisations and those political groupings and trade unions that are also resisting. These bodies will come together informed by the following principles:

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(5)

(6)

(7)

(8)

(9)

• opposition to the Germans, their allies and accomplices by every means, especially armed force; • refusal to accept all dictatorships but especially Vichy, however they may present themselves; • support for liberty; • backing for de Gaulle in the struggle he is leading to liberate the country and to restore a voice to the French people. The Resistance Council has the task of defining the directives to be given to the groupings represented so they can be applied according to the instructions of General de Gaulle and the National Committee. In order to give the necessary standing and effectiveness to the Resistance Council, its members must inspire the trust of the groups they represent and must be able to take decisions when necessary in accordance with their mandates. The Resistance Council forms the nucleus of a small-scale national organisation and will supply political advice to General de Gaulle upon his arrival in France. From that moment, the Resistance Council will be enlarged to include additional elements of representation. . . . The Resistance Council may, if it sees fit, establish within its framework a permanent Commission under the presidency of General de Gaulle’s representative and the National Committee, or his nominee. The number of representatives shall be fixed at five. General de Gaulle’s delegate, as President of the Resistance Council, will normally act as the intermediary between the Resistance Council on the one hand and the headquarters of the Army of the Interior, the Research Centre, and the Information Service on the other.28

This ‘extremely important document’ not only asserted the authority of de Gaulle and the National Committee;29 it also established a pivotal role for his representative. Jean Moulin was secretly but officially designated as a member of the French National Committee ‘en mission’ and given military and political responsibilities over the entire resistance in metropolitan France. It is clear that not only did de Gaulle now place complete confidence in Moulin; at the same time, Moulin became ‘an unconditional Gaullist, writing to his boss with ‘respect and passionate devotion’. He was now ‘by title as well as in reality’ second only to de Gaulle within the Fighting French. Because he was working inside


metropolitan France, in some sense his authority was even beyond that of de Gaulle. If one person could at this point be said to embody and personify the French resistance, it was Jean Moulin. Though this great accumulation of power and responsibility was inevitably challenged, it was part of a significant new phase of resistance. This was even shown by the abandonment of Moulin’s code-name Rex during his London visit. It was as Max that he now came to be known, after his Catholic friend of Jewish origin, the poet Max Jacob, who died at the Drancy Transfer Camp on 5 March, while Moulin was in London. Truly now Jean Moulin stood for the struggle to reassert all those values and hopes he tried to embody for the liberation of his country. While in London, Moulin continued to send messages organising meetings and activities aimed at getting together the resistance council. Thus from London he stipulated that twenty organisations should be invited. He also heard the dreadful news that Manhès had been arrested on 3 March along with members of the ‘Ceux de la Libération’ movement.30 Even before his return to France, Moulin had organised a punishing schedule of continuous activity that was only to end with his own arrest in June. He returned with Delestraint and Christian Pineau on the night of 19 March, landing at Melay in Saône-et-Loire. There was much less excitement than in January 1942, with no need for parachutes, and a small truck to take them away.31

Compulsory labour and the maquis, 1942–3 Even before Moulin reached London, there were developments of capital significance for the future of the resistance. The voluntary Relève scheme had failed to persuade many people to go to work outside France. On 2 October, the regime began registration to prepare for a compulsory scheme. Within a fortnight, Moulin organised a leaflet published in the name of the Southern Zone resistance movements and the Communists, saying ‘Not a man for Germany! Do not leave! Do not work for the enemy!’ Perhaps with more impact, the paper Libération produced satirical comic strips aping the propaganda that had come from Vichy.32 The Service de Travail Obligatoire (Compulsory Labour Service – STO), forcing young men and women to work in Germany, started in December. As groups began to be rounded up, their passage was impeded, at first spontaneously but later with more organisation. Demonstrations were called, railway stock and lines were sabotaged, and people were encouraged to flee. At Montluçon, north of ClermondFerrand, on 27 December, only 20 of the 120 originally forced to turn

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up went to Germany. Soon young people on the run began to organise themselves to hide in the countryside. By March, when the full rigour of the scheme was enacted, those trying to avoid going to Germany were forced to operate outside the law, and many of them formed groups for self-protection, some of whom were armed and became known as the maquis.33 There was no doubt that the STO provided a flood of new recruits for the resistance. However, the process of transforming illegal action into organised resistance was not so automatic as it was sometimes portrayed in retrospect.34 While Moulin was in London, he received messages from Cordier asserting that the Germans had decided to conscript all Frenchmen between the ages of 18 and 50. The SOE was excitedly predicting that ‘the efforts to seize young Frenchmen’ had forced ‘large numbers’ to ‘go into hiding’, where they could become ‘potential guerrillas’. The Co-ordinating Committee for the Southern Zone protested about the provocative tone of some BBC broadcasts, which foolishly advised people to flee without telling them to get new ration cards first. When Libération leader d’Astier arrived in London in April, he complained bitterly to the British that the resources needed to develop any serious guerrilla movement were not available. Moulin had already sent a demand for 30 million francs immediately for this STO campaign alone, and this gave ‘Allied Treasurers a shock’, despite promises that a future Republican government would pay it all back.35 It was later argued by Frenay and others that Moulin was slow to realise the significance of the early development of the maquis, and feared that it might escape from his control. However, all Moulin advocated was proper preparation and training, and the resources to fund the operation at the level it required. Combat leader Claude Bourdet maintained that he ‘turned a deaf ear’ towards early pleas for funds. The evidence shows that the ‘deafness’ was not Moulin’s but was shown by his British paymasters. Nor was Moulin opposed to constructing armed groups, as he had already shown in his initial encouragement of the build-up in Vercors. Nevertheless, on his return from London he had to moderate the hopes of those ‘who believed Allied action imminent’. He was clearly himself caught up in the excitement, on 22 March sending a message to London about a group of 500 young people in the Jura mountains 100 kilometres north-east of Lyons, who were ‘playing cat and mouse’ with German troops and were calling for ‘arms and provisions’. Responses to such demands needed resources far greater than the subsidies until now passed on by Moulin, and MUR leaders soon accepted that de Gaulle ‘was doing as much as he could, but needed


more support from the Allies’. At the same time, Moulin began to look to workplace sabotage, and this enhanced the role of trade union militants and their organisations, which was ultimately to be reflected in the composition of the CNR. Many other significant changes were now clearly essential to improve the profile and effectiveness of the resistance.36

Moulin versus Brossolette – a battle for the soul of the resistance Early in 1943, the relentless pressures of clandestinity and difficulties of communication gave a peculiar intensity to political differences and personal rivalries within the resistance. In the complex exchanges and counter-exchanges against a background of constant danger, disagreements were easily overblown, whether about matters of principle, or about power and jurisdiction. The debates of that time have often been personified in the rivalry between Brossolette and Moulin, the two titans of the internal resistance, who both died violently in the hands of the Gestapo. On the one hand there was Brossolette, the brilliant polemicist, with a powerful intellect and a sharp tongue that often offended. On the other was the practised administrator Moulin, who was focused on the tasks allocated to him and determined to carry them out. Brossolette argued for a ‘resistance party’, more Gaullist than de Gaulle, and against the ideas developed by his Socialist comrades. He came to identify with the attitudes of internal resistance leaders, who were hostile to unity and co-operation with political parties. Moulin took a different view, reached in discussion in France and London, aiming to incorporate as broad a spectrum of support as possible. One important reason for argument arose from differing rhythms in the evolution of resistance in the two parts of France. The northern organisations always faced German occupiers and ferocious repression directly. With the exception of Pineau’s Libération, they developed with little reference to one another and certainly without contact with London.37 Défense de la France had its origins in supporters of the far right and was largely a propaganda body. Ceux de la Libération, based in Paris, was ‘very solid, mainly para-military’ and associated with the far right through its leader Maurice Ripoche. Ceux de la Résistance, led by Mathieu Lecompte-Boinet, mostly consisted of disparate groups in Lorraine and north-eastern France. Though ‘purely para-military’ it worked quite closely with Combat. The Organisation Civile et Militaire (OCM) was based in Amiens and Le Mans and specialised in producing

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complex technocratic proposals for the future of France, reflecting its leader Maxime Blocq-Mascart, who was described by a contemporary as ‘a sort of doctrinaire of the right’. Rather like Combat in the South, it asked all others to unite under its control. It published anti-German propaganda, and feared marginalisation as joint institutions developed. Yeo-Thomas thought it well led and organised.38 There were other smaller bodies and organisations and networks, like the one at the Musée de l’Homme, which briefly flourished and was destroyed. The oddly named Confrèrie Notre-Dame network, which Brossolette joined in December 1941, operated from a bookshop in the rue de la Pompe. Moulin slowly developed links in the Occupied Zone during 1942, mainly though his close ally Frédéric Manhès, who was in touch for some time with Maurice Ripoche and set up a small political group of freemasons and Radicals known as ‘Le Cercle’. Through this link Moulin began sending funds in the autumn. In October, just before the Germans occupied all of France, Moulin told London of his concern that northern resistance bodies were losing contact with ‘Gaullism’ and proposed to counter this by establishing a co-ordination body. In November, Moulin was instructed by Brossolette, who by this stage was ‘the real political chief’ of BCRA in London, to confine his activities to ‘the former non-occupied zone’, even though this distinction had just lost much of its significance.39 In early December, Brossolette initiated the ‘Mission Brumaire-Arabesque’ to go himself with Passy to the Northern Zone to establish a co-ordinating committee. He soon arrived in France, working through the CND organisation to which he had formerly adhered. In January, Moulin urged that his contacts should be involved, and when the ‘New Instructions’ were issued on 21 February, the highest priority of the French National Committee was to set up a Resistance Council. Furthermore, ‘the responsibility for concluding these negotiations rests jointly with Moulin, Passy and Brossolette (in so far as they are in a position to act within the metropolitan territory, each within their own sphere)’. It was on that basis that Brossolette was instructed to proceed following the arrival of Passy and Yeo-Thomas on 26 February.40 There have been various explanations for Brossolette’s subsequent actions. One view is that he was trying to pre-empt secretive activities by Moulin’s friends in Paris, possibly with Communist inspiration.41 This clearly runs counter to the entire thrust of Moulin’s activities, as agreed with de Gaulle. Others have seen Brossolette’s efforts as an attempt to damage Moulin’s effort to set up the CNR, aiming for a sort of ‘counter-CNR’ that clearly ‘went beyond the instructions he


received’.42 This was also the view of Manhès and Moulin’s other friends in Paris. However, the formation of the Resistance Council was decided by March, and Brossolette was in no position to follow any alternative line when it became the policy of the French National Committee. There may well have been rather less calculated efforts to keep control over the burgeoning elements of resistance. In reality the work of Brossolette served to bring together enough elements in the northern resistance to form a significant element by the time the CNR met, and this is how some participants saw it.43 Brossolette certainly resented the increasing responsibilities given to Moulin in London to represent de Gaulle in the whole of France. With others, Brossolette argued that Moulin’s ‘practically limitless power was without any control’. However, de Gaulle never wavered in his support for Moulin.44 In contesting Moulin’s position, Brossolette was echoing the long-held attitudes of the leaders of the movements, especially from the former Occupied Zone. They were as opposed to political parties as their opposite numbers in the South, and even more hostile to any form of direction, especially though a small executive. However, early in 1943, with German troops everywhere in France, the movements had to take account of changes, not least in the international position of the resistance. Either they would work together with others from diverse starting points, to represent all of France, or they would turn into groups of brave but marginalised sectarians. The first meeting between Moulin and Brossolette was in Lyons in early February 1943, while Moulin was waiting for his flight to London. The encounter was apparently business-like and both men outlined their current activities and views.45 In his report to London on 8 February, Brossolette described Moulin’s proposals on the Resistance Council and military developments as ‘of the greatest interest’. While Moulin was in London, Brossolette worked with his companions and the northern resistance bodies including the Communist-led Front National. They soon heard of de Gaulle’s desire to set up a Resistance Council including the political parties and to seek nominations from their ranks. Brossolette and his companions met Frédéric Manhès and Pierre Meunier, who were bitterly hostile to a co-ordination committee consisting of just the northern resistance organisations. They were probably right that this proposal had been overtaken by the latest instructions to set up a broadly based council. However, few involved in these debates showed conspicuous diplomatic skills, and the sharpness of their arguments is still reflected in the memoirs of many decades later.46 Nevertheless, the first meetings of the northern co-ordinating grouping

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including the Communist-led Front National was arranged on 26 March, and some agreement was reached, at least to continue. According to the SOE observer, with the exception of the CDR, the movements agreed without demur to a democratic and republican basis for the new council. Brossolette sweetened the pill by arguing that the parties should not be represented on any executive body.47 This proved a significant step in bringing together the Resistance Council. By now even groups like Défense de la France, which had kept apart from all other efforts and tended to a Giraudist perspective, were in touch. They were, however, urged to merge with one of the other bodies.48 On 30 March, fresh from his trip to London, Moulin arrived in Paris. On the next day he met Brossolette, together with Passy, in the Bois de Boulogne. There followed a famous shouting match between the two great resistance leaders. As so often, this avoided the central issue. Not only had Brossolette failed to consult the newly appointed delegate for the whole of France. Moulin was particularly concerned that Brossolette had ‘given too much support to the OCM whose technocratic tendencies are dangerous’. What he really meant was, as he told de Gaulle, the OCM had much less support than was claimed. In any case, Moulin and Brossolette overcame their differences to persuade OCM chief Maxime Blocq-Mascart to join the Resistance Council.49 There were raised voices again on the following day in a flat in the avenue des Ternes, with Moulin asserting that Brossolette was aiming to undermine the plans of de Gaulle and the National Committee, of which he was now a member. Passy pleaded to them to lower their voices because there were Germans living in the block of flats. Meunier, who was also present, says that Passy whispered to him on leaving, ‘You have a great leader, guard him well!’50 On 3 April Moulin attended a meeting of the northern co-ordination committee and tried to use his position as de Gaulle’s personal representative, speaking on behalf of the Inter-Allied General Staff on the issue of the approach to D-Day. Acting with more tact than those who had represented him, he fully accepted the existence of this new body, and tried to calm their fears about the involvement of the political parties in the Resistance Council. He ‘rapidly abandoned London’s castiron schemes of representation by party and executive control of the permanent commission in favour of more elastic arrangements already made and this certainly helped him to obtain if not their adhesion [then] at all events their agreement to co-operate with the CNR’. He was even prepared to accept that the executive committee of the Resistance Council would have strictly limited powers.51 It may have been at this


point that he decided to describe the political representatives in the council as attending on behalf of ‘formations’ rather than parties. He also accepted that the Secret Army had to operate through regional chiefs.52 When another meeting was held, on 12 April, to discuss military matters, the resistance movements were growing accustomed to the idea of operating jointly with others. The greatest difficulty this time came from the Communist-led Franc-Tireurs et Partisans (FTP) on the issue of whether they should postpone action until D-Day. Their representative argued for the ‘propaganda value’ of immediate actions and said that ‘the more acts of violence his men did, the better trained they would be’. Moulin replied that the Secret Army would be an army subject to the discipline of a regular army, where ‘the clicking of heels and standing to attention was an essential basis’. His sister tried to attribute the uncharacteristic lack of diplomacy on this occasion to the fact that he had been ‘living on his nerves’ and had been battling for so long with resistance leaders who made him fear for the dire consequences of their divisiveness. Having made his point, Moulin once again showed the ability to modify his stance by accepting that the FTP could work both in the short and long term by dividing its forces. However, he then withdrew all subsidies to the Communist resistance groups who were engaged in day-to-day guerrilla actions.53 At this point, Brossolette, together with Passy and Yeo-Thomas, returned to London. Passy was now gradually eased out of his leading position in the Free French and Yeo-Thomas was recommended for a decoration, noting that his two companions had developed ‘a wholesome mistrust for the dangers of over-centralisation’.54 Just how Moulin and Brossolette would have related to one another had they both survived until the Liberation is hard to determine. They would no doubt both have been major players on the political stage. It is possible that Brossolette, like Malraux, might have followed de Gaulle through later twists and turns. Moulin might have moved closer to the Socialists, whose ideas he clearly shared in this period. However, in the shifting coalitions of the post-war period, it can perhaps be surmised that they might often have found themselves in agreement. As for their differences in 1943, they provoked harsh words but were not, in the opinion of Brossolette’s most recent biographer, fundamental. Nor did they prevent them both from moving towards the goal of the Resistance Council. In an interesting comment, one resistance activist noted that historians presented a picture of ‘quarrels and rivalries’, but in the end all the discussion gradually produced unity.55

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The final steps to unity, March–May 1943 There were other difficult and contentious issues confronting Moulin in carrying out the instructions he brought back from London. He knew very well how high the stakes were, not only for him and those he was bringing together. De Gaulle nervously watched for messages from his delegate day by day to get confirmation that there was at last a manifestly representative body in France. It was only then that he would be able to take what he regarded as the next essential step by going to Algiers to stand alongside Giraud, and take the necessary steps to creating a consultative assembly and a provisional government of the Fourth French Republic. When de Gaulle received visitors during those days, he could hardly concentrate on their concerns, but instead told them that ‘important matters are in progress in France’, and that ‘the future depended on Max’.56 In France itself, against a background of considerable repression, there was continuing tension among resisters, not only between the parties and the movements. Many of these frustrations and difficulties were heaped on the head of Moulin as he tried to involve the Co-ordinating Committee in the Southern Zone, and then to develop institutions for the whole of France. Even though ‘the argument was really with de Gaulle, he was untouchable. It was at Moulin that the blows were aimed.’57 In particular, argument raged about the level of military activity to be undertaken before an Allied invasion that was anticipated at any time. There was much frustration among resisters who did not obtain sufficient resources to aid the floods of opponents to the regime escaping the STO, while the long-anticipated Allied invasion was moving further than ever into the future. It was not easy to hold back new recruits until some undetermined time.58 When Moulin returned from London, he found Frenay and d’Astier ‘in a state of considerable over-excitement’, demanding that MUR should now issue leaflets ‘inviting open revolt with arms in hand’. He insisted that more preparation was needed, and that it was necessary to consider ‘security’.59 There was a case against the instructions being implemented by Moulin. It was that de Gaulle, and Moulin, saw the force they wanted to create in a rather hierarchical way, while resistance movements were full of volunteers who could not easily be regulated. Yet there had to be a public face that could be recognised elsewhere in the world. The sharpness of the argument at this stage also reflected the fact that there were now many other resistance bodies apart from the original three in the Southern Zone. From London, Levy on behalf of Franc-


Tireur sent messages urging his opposite numbers to co-operate with Moulin, but they had little effect. It was difficult for them to acknowledge that ‘without de Gaulle the internal resistance would have been nothing more than an ephemeral and noble revolt’. It was frustrating for them that they had suddenly become smaller fish in a much bigger ocean. It took two decades for Emmanuel d’Astier to accept that Moulin had had a broader perspective than they had. Like de Gaulle he was a ‘statesman’ who could see the political future. He expressed it to an interviewer thus: France’s prestige is in its past. Nobody is known except the politicians of the past. It is necessary to accept the amalgamation of the resistance and the old France, even those of M. Laniel and M. Bastid, with radicalism that has not done much, with the Alliance Démocratique that has done nothing at all, and present a common front of France – new generations and old generations – to the other nations.60 In the spring of 1943, however, the southern resistance leaders in particular intrigued like the worst of the political parties they so affected to despise. According to the SOE, Moulin returned from London to find that ‘Frenay’s factiousness and ambition’ was set to ruin his plans. ‘Taking advantage of Moulin’s absence in London he had undertaken a violent campaign against Delestraint, whose authority he refused to recognise.’ He had even travelled to the Northern Zone to win support for his crusade. The SOE was compelled to draw some harsh conclusions. The contrast with the grave issues at stake, and the dangers of torture and death that Resistance workers were running forms a sad contrast with the bickerings and intrigues between leaders of the movements and the movements themselves. . . . Frenay . . . was perhaps the chief offender. Another SOE report said this made it unlikely for them to recommend additional aid. There was ‘bickering amongst groups in the field’, as if they were on ‘a peace time basis’.61 At a meeting on 8 April, Frenay denounced Moulin and the proposal for a Resistance Council, which he alleged had been foisted on de Gaulle by his delegate. Immediately afterwards he penned a lengthy letter addressed to Delestraint with a long list of complaints.62 One French-

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man who arrived from London to attend a meeting of the Southern Zone leaders on 26 April was shocked at the ‘violent tone’ and especially the ‘harsh, condemnatory’, statements of Combat leader Frenay against Moulin on everything from supplies to leadership. Although by now most resistance leaders, especially in the North where invasion was daily anticipated, accepted the need to work with the Allies and other resisting forces, Frenay insisted that the original movements should remain independent. He also argued that the press and research sections of the resistance should not be under the control of de Gaulle’s delegate. He was hostile to the idea of a ‘national insurrection’ agreed by de Gaulle, Moulin and Delestraint in London, and wanted to keep control of military activity. In fact Moulin was once again prepared to compromise. Having failed in his efforts to persuade London to send out more direct support for the Secret Army chief, he arranged for new instructions on 25 May. Delestraint was given the position of ‘Inspector General’ of the Secret Army and would only assume command on D-Day. In the meantime, command would be decentralised to those who wished to carry out limited action, though the ‘general principle of abstaining from major operational activity for the time being was still unchanged’. It was as well, as one British observer noted, that Moulin had such a hold over Delestraint, so that the latter ‘was hardly able to say a word as directly he opened his mouth, Moulin cut him short’.63 On 7 May, Moulin responded at length in a letter to de Gaulle. Such was the atmosphere that he feared BCRA and Brossolette would intercept it, so he got Closon to take it directly to London. As so often in the past, Moulin staunchly defended the good faith of Frenay and d’Astier, but not their efforts to substitute themselves for a much broader political and military movement. He was quite firm in the position, which he expressed in the following way to de Gaulle: ‘It is for you to take power against the Germans, against Giraud, and perhaps against the Allies. In these conditions, those who are rightly called Gaullists can only have one political chief, that is you.’ Responding in detail to Frenay’s polemic, he said that he had no objection to much of the independent activity of the old resistance movements, but that absolute independence of the movements was ‘inconceivable’. He argued that the decentralised decision making envisaged by the Combat leader would impede consorted action following the Allied invasion. On the other hand, Moulin asserted that ‘it was never our intention to forbid absolutely any activity by the militants of the Secret Army while waiting for D-Day’. He also privately observed that it was ‘piquant’ to


observe that ‘the most fervent advocates of supporting General de Gaulle were now the supporters of the old political parties’, whether Communists, Socialists, Radicals, or those further to the right.64 On 8 May, de Gaulle responded to Moulin saying that he had ‘complete confidence in you and General Delestraint’.65 On 10 May, Delestraint sent a report to de Gaulle once again pleading for more support, but also indicating how he was adapting to the views of the internal chiefs. Nevertheless on the same day Frenay penned a further polemic against Delestraint. The latter responded in a letter dated 9 June, when he finally disappeared into an exile from which he never returned.66 Moulin was already exercised with the so-called ‘Swiss Affair’. While he was in London, de Gaulle expressed indignation that Combat was receiving funds from the American Secret Service based in Switzerland.67 According to Frenay, Moulin told him that he was entitled to boycott the Resistance Council, but he was ‘not free to contact the Americans without notifying me – or to ask them for money, with God only knows what strings attached’. The problem was not so much that Frenay had contacted the Americans, but that he had done so without any discussion with MUR or its directing committee. Frenay accepted that this was because he knew that de Gaulle’s delegate would raise objections.68 He arranged this though Pierre de Bénouville, who had a long history in ultra-right-wing organisations and had until recently supported Giraud. Having just joined Combat, he was now described as MUR’s agent in Switzerland, where he negotiated subventions from the Americans to Frenay, in return for limited intelligence information. Frenay asserted at the time and later that he told the Americans he supported de Gaulle. Recent study of American archives has shown that this was simply false. Not only were his contacts of longer standing than he later said, but he represented himself as leader of the resistance as a whole and told the Americans of his ‘wish to assert freedom from dominance by the French National Committee’. Even on Frenay’s own account, de Gaulle, however accommodating on the whole, firmly maintained that Frenay was at best naive and at worst prepared to split the resistance by subjecting it to the behest of the Americans. ‘They only welcomed you’, Frenay reported de Gaulle as telling him, with his characteristic way of referring to himself in the third person, ‘because they believed that they could circumvent de Gaulle.’ Moulin, who had recently been compelled to reduce his subventions to Combat, accepted that Frenay had a point. He told de Gaulle that the only response was to increase the cash and resources coming from London, though he knew well enough that they were now having to

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talk of repaying loans after Liberation. However, it is clear that Moulin, acting directly for de Gaulle, had even more justification then he knew to be concerned and angry. He had failed in his efforts to persuade the Americans to deal with the resistance as a whole rather than just with Frenay. It was hardly surprising that he did not greet Bénouville with open arms when he met him in Paris early in May. However, in the end his diplomatic training took over, and he took him to lunch and reached an accommodation. It was agreed that contact would continue, providing he only reported on such matters as the morale of the resistance. Despite the fury of de Gaulle, Moulin also took part in negotiations with representatives of Giraud, initiated by Frenay. Moulin propitiated de Gaulle by getting involved himself and saying that final decisions would be referred directly to him.69 In the meantime, Moulin had another proposal. On 7 April he suggested that Frenay should go to Algiers to represent the resistance movements, and then that he should consult de Gaulle. As an alternative, d’Astier suggested London. After a good deal of argument, and the personal intervention of de Gaulle on the side of Moulin, Frenay eventually went to London on 16 June.70 Amidst all of this exhausting dissension, Moulin was methodically and step by careful step bringing together the organisations in one place at one time to join the Resistance Council. He was getting the main political parties, the two trade union confederations, to sign up, along with, however grudgingly, the three southern resistance movements and a significant number from the North. He had considerable difficulty in persuading each organisation, particularly the trade unionists and the Communists, that they should only have one representative per organisation. He was unhappy about the Communist-led National Front (FN) being represented along with the Communist Party, but Brossolette had made this inevitable by recognising the FN within the northern coordination committee. He also persuaded the Communists to accept a provisional government led by de Gaulle, though they later claimed to have been responsible for the policy of equating Vichy with other dictatorships. Some of the northern organisations remained outside at this stage. Défense de la France still sympathised with Giraud, and the organisations Résistance and Lorraine still could not accept the involvement of political parties.71 In yet another concession to the susceptibilities of the resistance organisations, Moulin reported to London on 13 May that he had agreed to a co-ordinating committee of these bodies covering both zones. This emphasised that the council was not intended to organise resistance, but instead to provide a political alternative at Liberation.72 On the day after his lengthy response to Frenay, Moulin


sent a series of messages setting out the political parameters for the new council.73 Conscious of the need to maximise support, Moulin asked for a statement from de Gaulle that he would insist on ‘the need to establish a Fourth Republic not derived from the Third’. He strongly maintained that when de Gaulle went to Algiers he should not be in any way subordinated to Giraud. Furthermore, whatever the arrangement reached, de Gaulle should be designated leader of the French resistance. The SOE noted that it was now Moulin who was shaping the political stance of de Gaulle.74 On 14 May, Moulin was finally in a position to send details to London of those likely to attend the first meeting. He emphasised that nobody due to attend would ‘agree to General de Gaulle being subordinate to General Giraud and demand the immediate establishment of a provisional government in Algiers’. When the message arrived the next day, André Philip handed it, in some excitement, to de Gaulle. Amidst the atmosphere of expectancy, ‘surrounded by difficulties and intrigues’, Soustelle as chief publicist announced that the meeting had taken place. This was not yet the case, and Moulin was quick to signal that this statement was ‘very unfortunate’, creating ‘great difficulties for him’.75 In fact it was immediately after this that Giraud contacted de Gaulle asking him to come to Algiers with a view to establishing joint arrangements. A fortnight later on the afternoon of Thursday, 27 May 1943, the Resistance Council finally met. It was a matter of considerable organisational and political skill to get together, under the noses of the Gestapo and the French police, in the heart of Paris, a group of such diverse people, some being actively pursued by the authorities, and virtually all others under surveillance. The fact that the meeting took place at all was a tribute not just to Moulin himself, but also to his faithful supporters, Pierre Meunier and Robert Chambeiron.

The day of the CNR, 27 May 1943 The meeting of the CNR was held in a flat at 48 rue du Four on the left bank of the Seine. This was the home of Moulin’s former colleague in the office of Pierre Cot, René Corbin, a few steps from the Boulevard St-Germain and such well-known sights of the sixième arrondissement as the Deux Magots restaurant. As each guest arrived in the dining room from distant metro stations at the end of circuitous routes dictated by the rules of clandestinity, Moulin welcomed them individually for all the world like the host at a dinner party, and seated them round the small table on the first floor.76

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Apart from Moulin and his two assistants, there were sixteen people present at the meeting, made up as follows. There were five people representing northern resistance organisations, CDL, CDR, OCM, Libération-Nord and the Communist-led Front National whose delegate was Pierre Villon. People from the southern resistance bodies were there, though none of the ‘historic’ leaders – for Combat there was Bourdet, for Libération-Sud, Eugène Petit, and for Franc-Tireur, Pascal Copeau. The trade union confederations CGT and CFTC each had a representative as did the Communists, the Socialists, and the Radicals. Three parties of the right were also there, Bidault for the Popular Democrats, Joseph Laniel for the Democratic Alliance, and Jacques Debû-Bridel. Though some of this group later sank into obscurity, many were later public representatives of various sorts and two (Bidault and Laniel) became Prime Ministers of the Fourth Republic. Moulin sent a detailed report of the meeting a few days later to de Gaulle. He described the extraordinary difficulties that had been overcome to hold the meeting at all. The statements agreed at the meeting clearly showed the hand of Moulin himself, carefully balancing a clear republican stance with attention to the sensitivities of the resistance chiefs. The main part of his account was as follows.77 I am happy to be able to tell you that all members were present at the meeting, which was conducted in an atmosphere of patriotic and dignified unity. . . . Having thanked the members for responding to the appeal of General de Gaulle and the French National Committee, I thought it my duty to briefly recall the aims of Fighting France as defined by its leader (1) To make war; (2) To give the French people the right to express their views; (3) To re-establish republican liberties in a state from which social justice will not be excluded, and where there will be a sense of grandeur; (4) To work with the Allies to establish real international collaboration, on an economic and spiritual level, in a world where France will have regained its prestige. I pointed out that, though General de Gaulle has said that the democratic system presupposes strong and organised political parties, the presence in the Council of representatives of former political parties should not be construed as officially sanctioning the reconstruction of these parties as they functioned before the armistice.


I insisted that, on the contrary, de Gaulle had made the intellectual and disciplined effort necessary to construct large ideological blocs capable of guaranteeing the stability of French public life. After a few preliminary words, I read the recently arrived message from the General, which was listened to with emotion by all present. De Gaulle’s message described the Council as working with the National Committee and others to oppose collaboration and prepare for the eventual Liberation. It was received, according to one participant, ‘in religious silence’.78 After it was read, Moulin persuaded Bidault to propose a resolution, which he had prepared with him. This was about the shape that might be taken by a ‘real provisional government’, and involved the repudiation of all aspects of the Vichy dictatorship, ‘in theory and in practice’. It was also ‘the duty of the Council to affirm without qualification that such a government’ should be entrusted to de Gaulle, and that Giraud should act as his subordinate army commander. It was precisely this statement that soon compelled Giraud and the Americans to negotiate with de Gaulle and the internal resistance. Yet it produced the only disagreement at the meeting, expressed by the Communist representative of the Front National, Pierre Villon. He said it was ‘utopian’ to demand the subordination of Giraud to de Gaulle. According to one account, Moulin vehemently took de Gaulle’s part and then warned all present about the dangers of raising their voices. In the end the resolution was passed unanimously. The Communists also submitted a resolution calling for immediate military action, but they were prepared to accept that this discussion could be deferred to another meeting.79 Moulin told London that all present attached ‘the greatest importance to the meeting’, and that even those movements which still ‘have doubts about the Council’ would have to take it into account. This verdict was confirmed by the conversation of two northern resistance representatives as they left. ‘We have achieved something of real importance,’ said Lecompte-Boinet. ‘Yes, it is national unanimity realised at last,’ replied CDL delegate Dr Roger Coquoin, who was killed by the Germans on 29 December.

After 27 May The formation of the CNR proved to be the last and greatest achievement of Jean Moulin, creating the ‘precocious unity’ that made it possible for France to stand with the Allies.80 In little over a month he was dead, and during that time Moulin was active in getting the Council to function so that eventually it could play its part in the Liberation. What

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mattered in the short term for him was that it created the broadly based instrument of republican legitimacy, and provided the basis for a new democratic regime completely distinct from the Vichy dictatorship and not beholden to the Allies and their armies, however powerful they might seem. The new arrangement had certainly re-enforced the political parties, especially the Socialists and the Communists. Only political parties that came out of the resistance were able to secure support in the future, and this came to include the right-wing Mouvement Républicain Populaire (MRP) led by Georges Bidault and supported by many members of Combat. Pascal Copeau from Libération-Sud said after he returned from the meeting, ‘we must have the modesty to accept our real role’ as ‘vanguard fighters, to some degree dispensable’. Raymond Aron later noted that any idea of the resistance being ‘a single party’ was an illusion, but it would produce the new political generation. In the new democratic system, this is precisely what happened.81 The most immediate consequence of the CNR meeting was that de Gaulle and the French National Committee were now able to move to Algiers to deal with Giraud and the Allies. As the fight for the soul of France proceeded, de Gaulle could claim extensive support in France. Though later twists and turns could not be predicted, de Gaulle was able to reassert the grandeur of France with full democratic backing as laid out at the CNR meeting by Jean Moulin. This led like a thread into the post-war settlement of France.

11 The Tragedy of Caluire – and After

There were twenty-six days from the founding meeting of the CNR in Paris on 27 May 1943 until the Gestapo arrested Jean Moulin at Caluire in the hills outside Lyons on 21 June. Every detail of what befell Moulin and his comrades during that short period has been subject to detailed recall and speculation. The numerous subsequent accounts have varied from the scholarly and objective to the self-serving, unhistorical and outrageously mendacious. Individual actions in those days have been the object of a number of judicial trials, often obscuring disputed issues, followed by prison sentences and at least two executions. Numerous publications have appeared, some of which have included charges of bad faith and conspiracy theories at almost every level of implausibility. Yet, as one of the best historians of the resistance has put it, the most reasonable explanation of what happened may simply be human error and ‘cruel chance’.1 The events at Caluire took place in a fraught atmosphere where it was hard to do what was right or even rational. One resister reminds us that theirs was ‘an adventure of youth with its illusions, its ardour, and also its blindness, its disorganisation, its recklessness’. Another said they were ‘crazy from ignorance, impatience and temperament’. A lawyer defending one of those involved sought to explain the ‘imprudence’ of resisters. ‘Was it the continual risks that made them lose concentration and abandon the most elementary protection of their security?’2 Certainly there were all of these elements, as many different people with normal human fallibility operated together under constant and fearful pressure. Resistance activists were pursued by the brutal police of an occupying power, and its various allies and agents, and were sometimes apprehended following treachery, but more often because of their own failures or the ‘luck’ of their pursuers. They were then tortured, sent to 177

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concentration camps, and killed. This is the backdrop to the events before and after the arrests at Caluire on 21 June 1943, which had a serious impact on the progress of the resistance at the time, and on the way it was perceived and then described from that day to this. One resister recently wrote with pardonable exaggeration that Caluire ‘is probably all that will remain of resistance when everything else is forgotten’, with endless debate ‘inextricably mixed with the drama itself’.3 Yet most of what actually happened is clear enough.

The road to Caluire After German troops invaded southern France in November 1942, surveillance and repression by both Vichy and German authorities developed apace. The para-military Milice was established in January 1943 specifically to ‘support the new state’ and to ‘maintain order’, especially by counter-resistance.4 In 1943 German forces were busy throughout all of France, spreading terror through raids, arrests and punishment of resistance activists. Resisters in the Northern Zone were well used to this, but there were particular difficulties for movements who had hitherto operated in a semi-legal fashion in the formerly Unoccupied Zone. Few of them had suffered more than a brief incarceration, and there were now many security lapses from people used to resistance, but not to the full rigours of clandestinity. It did not need too much effort for the Germans to discover by April 1943 virtually all of the structure of the main resistance organisations and the names of their leaders.5 By then, people close to Moulin had suffered arrest and torture. While he was in London his old friend and associate Frédéric Manhès, with whom he swore to continue the fight in June 1940 and who had worked with him ever since, was captured, along with leaders of the CDL group. After surviving a death sentence, Manhès was sent to Buchenwald concentration camp. Moulin wrote to his wife on 31 March conveying the rather vain ‘hope’ that something could be done. He went to the length of indirectly contacting the German authorities to find out about his fate. He was worried not only about his friend, but also about his possession of details of Moulin’s real identity, and even photographs.6 Further arrests followed, especially in Lyons. Amongst those apprehended were Raymond Aubrac, military chief of Libération, and a number of people who had been helping from within prefectures.7 There was another blow on 4 April. Moulin’s personal radio operator Hervé Monjaret, with whom he had landed at Eygalières on 2 January 1942, was also seized. After being tortured by Lyons Gestapo chief Klaus

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Barbie with water and electrodes, Monjaret was sent to Montluc gaol. Further disasters followed. On 27 April, the Gestapo picked up a regional leader of Combat called Jean Multon. Without being tortured, he agreed to act on their behalf. As a direct result, on 25 May Bertie Albrecht, a resister of the first hour and a most effective member of Combat, was picked up and soon afterwards died in prison, possibly by suicide.8 Multon immediately came under suspicion from other resisters when he appeared in public after being released from custody. Immediately after the CNR meeting, friends tried to persuade Moulin not to return to the South. In response to Simone Meunier he said that ‘since the 17th June 1940, I have been a dead man on leave’. He promised Pierre Meunier that he would return on 20 June to celebrate his birthday. However, he wrote to de Gaulle on 5 June: I am being sought simultaneously by Vichy and the Gestapo, and partly thanks to the methods of certain elements of the movements, they are well aware of my identity and my activities. My tasks grow increasingly delicate, while difficulties continually increase. I have decided to hold on as long as possible, but if I disappear, I will not have had time to brief my successors.9 With the Resistance Council up and running, he was greatly concerned to support Delestraint as leader of the Secret Army. On the advice of Brossolette and in deference to the movement chiefs, Delestraint was designated ‘Inspector General’, but he was scheduled to take command after D-Day. Moulin sent numerous messages to the British suggesting that support should be sent for Delestraint, asking for specific individuals ‘on whom he can rely and will not be under suspicion from any movement’. The SOE replied that ‘our planning which is going on smoothly and well, would be considerably prejudiced if we were to lose the service of the officers who help us so much’. They proposed asking for people from North Africa. When this suggestion came to nothing, Moulin continued to press his case.10 In line with the new agreement in Algiers, Moulin also met military supporters of Giraud, whose proVichy past often created difficulties. He discovered that not only were they opposed to action before D-day: they did not even want it then. The SOE thought that this ‘in practice meant never fighting at all’.11 Further efforts to gain support for Delestraint created the crisis leading to tragedy.12 If there was to be no help from London, Delestraint could at least make plans with the internal resistance. He asked to see the organiser of railway sabotage, Combat militant René Hardy. Delestraint’s

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Chief-of-Staff was now Frenay’s man Henri Aubry, who arranged to pass on the invitation to Hardy in Lyons through a ‘letter-box’, a house to place messages. Unfortunately, the details had recently been revealed to the Milice when they arrested a courier. As with most such setbacks, conspiracy is the least likely explanation of this lapse of security. At any rate, the Gestapo was soon aware of an arrangement for Hardy to meet Delestraint at La Muette metro station in Paris on the morning of Wednesday, 9 June. They sent the ‘turned’ Gestapo agent Multon and an Alsacian called Robert Moog to Paris on the 7th June night train to arrest Delestraint. By one of those coincidences that could not be arranged, Hardy arrived at Lyons railway station booked into the next sleeping compartment to the now notorious Multon.13 Hardy nevertheless decided to proceed. Then, according to his first version of events, he jumped from the train at Mâcon. In fact he was arrested and interrogated by Lyons Gestapo chief Klaus Barbie, who later claimed that Hardy agreed to work with him as Multon had done. Hardy spent a lifetime asserting that these arrangements were a double bluff on his part. Whatever the truth, he was released late on Thursday, 10 June, and turned up in Lyons on the 17th with his girlfriend Lydie Bastien, staying that evening with Combat chief Bénouville. In the meantime, Multon and Moog continued on their journey and arrested Delestraint and two others at La Muette metro station on Wednesday, 9 June. Moulin only heard of this on Monday, 14th. While not drawing any definite conclusion about how this happened, he asked resisters to observe the precaution of not attending any meeting convened by Hardy.14 On the next day he wrote his last letter to de Gaulle.15 Our very own war is hard. I have the sad duty of informing you of the arrest by the Gestapo, in Paris of our dear Vidal (Delestraint). The circumstances? A trap that ensnared him along with his new collaborators. The causes? First of all there was the campaign waged against him and against me by Frenay, which has, literally, taken the conflict into the public arena, and which has as a result attracted the attention of all. Moulin described security lapses allowing MUR papers to be taken from Frenay’s house. He craved liberty to ‘express his bad humour’ at the lack of response to his pleas to send people from London to support


the Secret Army. Without such support Delestraint had become ‘too exposed’. It was now immediately necessary to appoint a successor. He insisted that all this had to be kept secret and that nobody should know the real identity of any new commander. He told de Gaulle he could ‘count on all my zeal and all my faith to repair the harm that had been done’. On the same day he wrote to Passy pleading once again for more military personnel, declaring himself ‘extremely discontented’ and arguing that ‘it is necessary to make amends, to act and to act now’.16 Moulin feared the likely efforts of Frenay’s supporters to dominate whatever arrangements he proposed, and in anticipation he called together a group who would nominate a new Secret Army chief before the next scheduled meeting of the MUR leadership due on Wednesday, 22 June. He decided to invite Raymond Aubrac and Colonel André Lassagne from the military side of Libération, together with Henri Aubry who had a similar role in Combat. To these he added two senior officers from the France d’Abord movement, Colonel Albert Lacaze and Lieutenant-Colonel Emil Schwartzfeld. He hoped that the latter had no axe to grind in the disputes about the Secret Army, and he probably intended to designate him the new Army chief. He also invited the young volunteer Bruno Larat, who was heading the parachute and transport organisation (COPA). To this list was added Claude Serreulles from de Gaulle’s office, who had met Moulin in London, and arrived in Lyons on 18 June to provide some of the extra assistance for which Moulin had been pleading. Moulin saw Serreulles a number of times during those days, telling him of his priorities in developing the military role of the CNR, building the struggle against the STO, and ensuring the establishment of republican institutions.17 Later on Saturday, Moulin asked Aubry to organise a meeting on Tuesday afternoon at 2 p.m. Aubry later met Hardy and told him it was ‘essential he came’ to the meeting to add to Combat representation. Aubry later claimed that this extraordinary action was taken at the behest of Bénouville because Hardy ‘would support Aubry so Moulin would not attack him’. This clearly arose from Bénouville’s fervent desire to frustrate any proposal that Moulin was likely to make. Bénouville, whose later accounts of these matters fluctuated, for years claimed to have no knowledge that Hardy had recently been in the hands of the Gestapo, but has recently accepted that he did know, and even that he told Frenay before the latter left for London on 17 June.18 Later on Saturday Aubry also met Aubrac and Lassagne, who was well acquainted with Lyons, and whom he asked to find a place for Tuesday’s

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meeting. Since locations in central Lyons were under observation, Lassagne decided to ask his childhood friend Dr Dugoujon, who was not directly involved with the resistance, for the use of his house in the place Coastline, Caluire, in the hills over the Rhône above Lyons. Lassagne told Aubrac and arranged to meet him at the funicular tram stop on Tuesday at 1.30 p.m. Moulin was now hard at work preparing the ground for the meeting. This was made easier by the fact that all three of the leaders of the main resistance organisations were in London. On Saturday evening, he saw Frenay’s deputy Pascal Copeau and Claudius-Petit of Franc-Tireur, getting their support in any possible dispute with Frenay’s supporters. Sunday was Jean Moulin’s 44th birthday. He spent some time strolling in the Parc de la Tête de l’Or, meeting the Aubrac family, Lucie, Raymond and infant Jean-Pierre. Together they watched a Punch and Judy show. Lucie found Moulin ‘smiling’ and ‘elegant’, and arranged to meet him on Tuesday evening. Raymond was presented with the proposal that he should move to Paris to act as ‘Inspector General’ of the Secret Army for the Northern Zone, which he agreed to consider.19

21 June 1943 Monday morning was spent in final preparations for the Caluire meeting. Moulin met Serreulles and arranged to meet him at a funicular stop. New to Lyons, Serreulles later went to the wrong place, and was thus saved from arrest and torture. Moulin’s longest meeting that morning was with Aubry. Characteristically, Moulin picked an argument on a peripheral issue about arms that Combat members had taken to an unauthorised location. He refused to reveal his proposals for the Secret Army in advance of the meeting. For his part, Aubry opposed appointing Delestraint’s successor, but told Moulin nothing of the attendance of Hardy. Nor did he apparently mention that on the previous day he saw Hardy sitting on a bench next to a man hiding his face in a newspaper, who later proved to be Klaus Barbie. Moulin finally had a ‘long and friendly conversation’ with Gaston Deferre, later Socialist Mayor of Marseilles and supported as presidential candidate by the Club Jean Moulin. Deferre found Moulin ‘preoccupied and nervous’, especially about the actions of some of the leaders of resistance movements. The various participants now began to travel to the meeting. First to arrive at the house of Dr Dugoujon was Lacaze. He was shown to an upstairs room as the doctor’s consultations went on downstairs. He was joined by Lassagne, Aubry and Hardy, who said he would ‘only see


Moulin for a few moments on a matter concerning his service’. There is sworn evidence from a woman called Edmée Delettraz that she was a German agent – that she met Hardy and then followed him.20 Bruno Larat arrived a little late, probably because Serreulles had failed to find their rendezvous. Moulin met Aubrac in town, and they waited at a funicular stop for Schwartzfeld who was half an hour late. Much significance has been attributed to this delay, but it may simply have been because Schwartzfeld was new to acting undercover, and Moulin was prepared to wait because Schwartzfeld was crucial to his proposals for the Secret Army leadership. When these three men arrived threequarters of an hour late, the maid did not show them into the meeting room, but instead into the surgery waiting-room on the ground floor. A few moments later, at 3 p.m., seven or eight armed men in civilian clothes burst into the house, shouting ‘German police! Hands up!’ They were led by Lyons Gestapo chief Klaus Barbie, who led them to the upstairs group and addressed Aubry by a recent pseudonym, Thomas, taunting him by mentioning their encounter on the Sunday when he had been in the company of Hardy. The Gestapo started beating Aubry, Lacaze and Lassagne, demanding details of their identity. With Lacaze it was not difficult to establish, but the other two attempted deception. Hardy later claimed that he was also beaten, but nobody saw this. Those in the waiting-room downstairs were then rounded up. The women patients were released, but at 4.30, all others, including a local baker named Fischer, along with Dr Dugoujon and his maid Marguerite Brossier, and those who had been in the upstairs room, were taken away in cars. At this point, Hardy, the only prisoner who was armed and not handcuffed, ran off, and despite being fired at by the German policemen, hid in a ditch and escaped. The others were then taken to the cellars of the Lyons Gestapo headquarters in the former medical faculty of the University at avenue Berthelot. They were divided into two groups: those who had been in the upstairs room and were clearly resisters, and on the other hand, Fischer, Moulin, Aubrac, Schwartzfeld, and Mademoiselle Brossier, who were only suspects. The Gestapo now resumed beating and demanding information from Aubry, Larat and the others. Larat whispered to the Doctor that what he said was ‘not of great importance, they already know virtually everything’. This was not quite true however, because, as Aubry later recalled, someone burst into the torture session shouting ‘Max is amongst them.’ They explained to one another that this was the representative of de Gaulle in France and according to the BBC, a minister of the French National Committee in London.

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Calvary During Monday night the prisoners were moved to Montluc prison, and from then on the story becomes less certain. There are numerous accounts, of which the most extensive were the statements from witnesses at later trials. There are testimonies from Barbie, Hardy and many others also. They were usually made to plead a case, and they cannot all be true.21 At first Barbie thought that Lassagne was Max. Moulin continued the deception, having thoughtfully brought along to the surgery a letter from a doctor saying that he was Jacques Martel, and that he needed treatment for rheumatism. However, brutal torture eventually achieved its object. After many hours of continuous interrogation and beatings that covered his body with cuts and bruises and dislocated his shoulder, Aubry relented on Wednesday, 23 June. According to the unreliable testimony of Barbie, once his identity was revealed, Moulin ‘never showed any fear’, and told him not to ‘expect me to start telling you about my activities in the Resistance’. Barbie also claimed that Moulin attempted suicide a number of times. In view of his past actions, this is credible, though he told Georges Bidault that he never again would ‘seek escape in death’.22 Barbie also denied torturing Moulin. This is harder to believe. Aubrac reported seeing him in the prison on Thursday, 24th, with bruised and distorted features, being helped to walk. Another prisoner in Montluc was the leader of Libération-Nord, Christian Pineau, who told of shaving a badly wounded Moulin on Friday, and of giving him water to drink and words of encouragement.23 Whatever the truth of these various statements, what does seem to be the case is that on Monday, 28 June, Barbie took Moulin by train to Paris where he soon arrived at the villa at Neuilly occupied by Colonel Bömelburg, head of the SS. A German interpreter later said he heard Bömelburg chastise Barbie for maltreating Moulin, and allowing him three suicide attempts. Aubry, Lassagne and Delestraint were brought to see him, apparently in a coma. Delestraint refused to confirm that this was Max: ‘How could I be expected to recognise a man in such a state?’24 Moulin was then taken to the Gare de L’Est and put on a train to Berlin. According to the death certificate later produced by the German authorities, he died of heart failure at Metz at 2 a.m. on 8 July 1943.25 His body was then taken back to Paris and cremated. It took his sister Laure until 19 October to confirm his death and much longer to secure the urn containing his ashes, which were placed in the Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris. Despite all the uncertainties surrounding his last days, and the terrible suffering he undoubtedly endured, it is clear that in the moving


words of his sister, ‘he reached the limits of human suffering without revealing a single secret, and he was the one who knew them all’.26 All others arrested at Caluire were badly treated. The maid and the baker were soon found to be uninvolved. Lassagne convinced the Gestapo that he was a marginal figure, though it took a year for him to be released, along with Dr Dugoujon. Lassagne died in 1953 from the injuries he had sustained. Colonel Schwartzfeld and Bruno Larat, the oldest and youngest in the group, both died in concentration camps. Colonel Lacaze was deported to Strutof camp, where he survived with the bitter memory of witnessing the shooting of General Delestraint on 19 April 1945, just before Liberation. Raymond Aubrac was the only remaining prisoner not taken to Paris. A group including his resourceful wife Lucie later released him from prison. Some suspicion has been cast on Aubrac because he had been recently in the hands of the Gestapo. However, he did not keep his incarceration a secret from other resisters, and was never properly identified by the Gestapo. It was probably this that allowed him to remain in Lyons to be rescued.27 There is more to be said, however, about two others who were at Caluire, and one who was not. Henri Aubry made many errors during the course of the affair, usually provoked by the bitter opposition to Moulin from Frenay and his friends. He did break under torture, but other resisters have not blamed him for that. He was again sentenced to death later in the year, but escaped to explain to resisters what had happened, and joined a maquis group in Marseilles. He never associated himself again with Combat, and especially not with Hardy, who was suspected by virtually all others involved of having been the person who led Barbie to Caluire. Until his death in 1987, Hardy repeatedly denied this, initially supported by Frenay until his arrest before Caluire was revealed. The case against Hardy remains strong, especially because he was in touch with Barbie and told nobody. The delayed arrival of the Gestapo might suggest that he was not followed, but that might simply be the result of poor communications. Another figure who clearly had some responsibility was Bénouville who, though not present, had advocated Hardy’s attendance, and had been determined to frustrate the efforts of Moulin. His earlier career on the far right, his very recent conversion to the Gaullist resistance, and his involvement in the ‘Swiss affair’, all meant that his attitude was at best malevolent, at worst treacherous. His activities justify the heading on one recent account of the whole affair, as ‘the Combat leaders responsible for the arrest of General Delestraint and Jean Moulin’. Beyond that, the atmosphere of gossip and rivalry within the hard-pressed resistance in Lyons did

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nothing to help its cause. In the end the SOE was probably right to conclude not long afterwards that the lapses of security had been so many as to make it ‘impossible to lay the blame at any one door’.28 Beyond all the disputes and the distrust lay the barbarous cruelty of the Gestapo, and the German Nazis. It was sometimes forgotten that they were the real enemy. All of these issues have been endlessly debated, initially during the two trials of Hardy. In 1947 at the Court of Justice, he was given the benefit of the doubt before his earlier arrest was revealed. In 1950, a military tribunal majority found him guilty by four votes to three of ‘nondisclosure of acts of espionage’, but this was not enough for a conviction (see Plate 15). The failure to convict Hardy did not clarify his role. He may not have wanted to betray Moulin and the others, but it certainly looks very much as if he did. The foolishness of Aubry, the malevolence of Bénouville, also played a part. Aubrac was accused by Barbie, and later by his lawyer Vergès, of working with the Gestapo. The evidence here is tainted and unconvincing. Over the years, efforts have been made to blame the secret services of various outside powers, and even to claim that Moulin brought his capture upon himself. However frequently and at however much length such charges are made, they have absolutely no serious basis. There will certainly never be one completely convincing explanation of what happened at Caluire, but beyond the actions of certain individuals, the most important factors were probably mischance, coincidence and sheer bad luck.

The resistance after Moulin One historian of the resistance said that after eighteen months of activity, Moulin left ‘an indelible impression’ on the resistance, and, when he was gone, it ‘could never again be as it had been with him’. De Gaulle thought him ‘one of those who so embodied their jobs that they cannot be replaced’, and his loss plunged the services he ran into difficulty and put ‘serious obstacles in the way of unity’.29 The structure of the resistance and the context in which it operated was rapidly shifting, and many of the institutions Moulin had created, and the relationships between them, were inevitably changing. However, the broad movement to prepare for D-Day and Liberation certainly went in different directions without Moulin, especially in the balance between its internal and external elements. The immediate result of the disappearance of Moulin and his comrades was to create confusion and uncertainty. It was not clear for some


time what had happened, who had been captured or where they were. The London Gaullists did not have a full report until 27 July, by which time Hardy was the chief suspect. The SOE took some weeks to reconstruct what had happened, and as late as October the ‘F’ section talked of the French resistance ‘almost having been broken up’ by the incident.30 The first person who needed to react was Claude Serreulles, who waited for Moulin on the evening of Caluire, and soon discovered that none of those at the meeting had returned. Though only five days in France, he immediately took over Moulin’s radio circuit and began sending a stream of messages to London, explaining what had happened and demanding instructions.31 De Gaulle had just left for Algiers, and those with him included Passy and Philip. They were immediately involved in daily efforts to outmanoeuvre Giraud and the Americans, and for the moment paid limited attention to the internal resistance. Meanwhile in London, emergency meetings were held by all three of the southern resistance leaders. Without the decisiveness of de Gaulle and Moulin they dithered, and the best they could do was to ask Serreulles to take over for the moment, and to congratulate him for his ‘perfect sang-froid’.32 There seems to have been no response to the questions from Serreulles about how to effect Moulin’s escape, though the resistance activist and later Gaullist politician André Jarrot discussed it. In all conscience this would have been extremely difficult. His faithful secretary later spoke bitterly, but perhaps unfairly, of how the movement leaders, especially Bénouville, did not consider the possibility, but instead devoted their efforts to rescuing Hardy from a civilian hospital.33 There were many questions left hanging in the air. For one thing there was the unresolved question of who was to lead the Secret Army. Serreulles knew that Moulin wanted to appoint someone from outside the movements, but could not get any proposal from London. As a result, Bénouville took the initiative, and in July got the MUR directing committee to agree the appointment for the Southern Zone of Colonel de Jussieu, one of Combat’s regional chiefs. For Combat, Claude Bourdet wanted de Gaulle at least to confirm this appointment, but he never did. In the Northern Zone, Colonel Touny of the OCM took on a similar role. On 25 June, eight of the movements convened what they called a ‘central committee’. Serreulles managed to get himself made president of a body whose only purpose was to be independent of the CNR. It petered out in the following March. On these matters the ‘internal resistance’ had got its way, but one result was that the military section of the CNR, called COMAC, came to be dominated by the Communists.

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This led to further conflicts, notably with Jacques Chaban-Delmas who in 1944 was the military delegate of de Gaulle. There were disputes on issues that would have been familiar to Moulin, particularly on political control of military activity and its timing. After the Liberation of Paris in August 1944, all military forces were subsumed into the regular French army, and the Communists ultimately accepted this. This finally resolved the military issues encountered by Moulin in 1942.34 The other main issue was what was to happen on the political side. De Gaulle later said that though he had not been in a position to appoint Moulin’s successor, he would have continued to combine the role of delegate of the National Committee with President of the CNR. However, if he wanted this, it is hard to explain his lack of response to the stream of messages from Serreulles asking him to appoint someone to hold these positions. It may have been, as Passy later put it, that Brossolette was the only possible candidate, but he had ‘too many enemies’.35 As a result, the resistance organisations again took the initiative and on 30 September appointed Georges Bidault as CNR President. He was not only a Catholic and a member of the directing committee of Combat, but had also joined the Communist-led National Front. Although this secured general approval, and had already been suggested by Serreulles, Bidault was not appointed by de Gaulle, and was not his delegate. Bidault presided over the CNR for the rest of its life, and in particular its Executive, which, again because of the insistance of the movements that the political parties should not be involved, also came to some degree under the influence of the Communists. There remained some ambiguity about the role of the CNR, since Moulin’s idea was that it would simply call on de Gaulle to form a government. Some in the internal resistance saw it as a government in waiting. The Communists tried to take advantage of this during 1944 by making it an alternative pole to the institutions being developed in Algiers. In the end the entire CNR became part of the Constituent Assembly set up after Liberation, and thus, as Moulin wanted, participated in the creation of a new constitutional order. In any case, because of the actions initiated by Moulin, including the nomination of new officials in every part of France, the structure of the new republican system was largely created outside Communist control. The other gap left by Moulin was as delegate of de Gaulle, now through the Liberation Council in Algiers. This position was first assumed by Claude Serreulles for the Northern Zone and by Jacques Bingen in the South. When Pierre Brossollette returned to France in September, he expressed considerable hostility to both of these appoint-


ments, and also opposition to Pierre Meunier, Moulin’s close associate who continued to be Secretary of the CNR. Matters came to a head on 25 September when another serious lapse of security lost a large proportion of the files and archives of the CNR held in the rue de la Pompe in Paris, where Brossolette had once based his activities. The British agent Yeo-Thomas and consequently the SOE became convinced that both Serreulles and Bingen were now themselves serious security risks, so Serreulles was recalled to London.36 In September 1943, de Gaulle appointed another republican prefect Émile Bollaert as his delegate. Bollaert, who was over 65, attempted in February 1944 to travel by sea from Brittany to London accompanied by Brossolette. He was seized and deported to Buchenwald. Brossolette was also captured, and died on 22 March leaping from the Gestapo headquarters building in Paris. Bollaert’s temporary replacement, Jacques Bingen, was also captured and committed suicide on 12 May. Alexandre Parodi, who had worked with Moulin in the CGE, then replaced him. By the time of Liberation, the many roles of Jean Moulin had been taken on and developed by others, who, like him, often paid with their lives. Some of the battles he fought within the resistance were lost and won all over again. Nevertheless the struggle against occupation was successful, as were the basic institutions and procedures he had put in place to re-establish French democracy. The CNR did help to provide the alternative state with mass support that made it possible for de Gaulle to take power in 1944. The right-wing political parties had no alternative but to reject collaboration and the Communists were brought into a new democratic system in ways that are a great tribute to Moulin’s efforts. Finally, the French army became part of the Allied effort, and the French Republic was recognised among the great powers.

A world that might have been, 1944–79? Had Moulin not been killed in 1943, he might have expected to live to 80 like his father, and to survive until 1979. His sister thought it impossible to ‘prejudge the position that Jean Moulin might have taken after liberation’. Nevertheless, there has been speculation in later years from a wide variety of viewpoints about whether Moulin and other dead heroes of the resistance would ‘wish for or work for the regime such as we have to-day’.37 One of those who worked with him in the office of Pierre Cot in 1933 later said that he might have ended up as a ‘great official to whom might once have been confided the administration of an overseas territory’. De Gaulle is said to have considered him for

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exactly such a position in 1941, though he soon came to see him as ‘a true statesman’.38 Yet very soon he went beyond that. His first British contact in the SOE was told Moulin would rather like the job of Minister of Fine Arts, but concluded that ‘he would have been offered anything’ and would ‘almost certainly have made a firm and efficient Prime Minister of France’.39 The question of Moulin’s likely political trajectory inevitably arises. There has been endless speculation that he might have become a fellow traveller with the Communist Party, as did Pierre Cot, Frédéric Manhès, Emmanuel d’Astier, and others with whom he worked. Even if he ever held such views, it is perfectly clear that he moved away from it during the war. Two decades later Pierre Cot accepted that he and Moulin grew apart politically in the war period, but he argued that ‘it was patriotism that made Jean Moulin follow de Gaulle and that patriotism did not destroy the secularist and republican that he was’. He had become an ‘unconditional Gaullist’ in 1943, but that was to win a war. Many another, such as André Philip, quickly ended a temporary political alliance at Liberation, and did not hesitate to distance themselves from Gaullist politics in the late 1940s, with the fascist tendencies it seemed to manifest. It must be thought at least likely that Moulin would have followed a similar path. He did speak in the war period of ‘the need to reconstruct the social system’, of ‘the liberation of colonies’ and even ‘a presidential régime’, but they are but vague pointers, dimly recalled.40 What is clear is that in 1942–3, within the resistance, Moulin came increasingly to accept the arguments of the Socialists. It would have been a logical continuation of his efforts in 1943 to support the ‘tripartism’ which provided governmental alliances of Socialists, Communists and Christian Democrats until 1947, and to go with the Socialists after they broke with de Gaulle and then the Communists. He would certainly have been part of the broad post-war consensus that favoured state economic and social planning. He was once a child frightened by the riots of winegrowers in 1907, and a government official who privately demanded more action against fascism from Prime Minister Daladier on 6 February 1934. After that, not only did he work for military support of the beleaguered Spanish Republic, but he was also the prefect who mobilised maximum force to deal with the followers of de la Roque in Rodez in 1937. He might perhaps have taken the same line as the Socialist Jules Moch, with whom Moulin had worked in aiding Spain and with whom he had a friendly meeting in February 1943. Moch was a tough anti-Communist Interior Minister in 1947. Perhaps at the time that the tripartite government collapsed and his former patron in Rodez,


Ramadier, took over as Socialist Prime Minister, then he might have been there, trying to be ‘a head of government and not of party’.41 He might then have supported the ending of Empire initiated in North Africa and Indo-China, developed by the Radical Pierre Mendès France, and been part of the shifting alliance with Socialists such as Marseilles Mayor Gaston Deferre, with whom he was close in the last days. One cannot see him supporting the repression in Algeria of Guy Mollet, and he would certainly not had identified with the white settlers as did Georges Bidault and Jacques Soustelle. He might even have moved closer to de Gaulle again with the establishment of the Presidential Fifth Republic in 1958. In general terms there can be little doubt that he would have approved of the leftist ideas of the Club Jean Moulin in the 1960s. However, it is hard to speculate on what he might have made of the new political challenges of a generation that had not known the war. By then he would have reached the age for retirement, no doubt to Saint-Andiol and the lavender fields of Provence. In the end, to indulge in such speculation is to collapse before the infinite possibilities. He adapted and changed in the lifetime he actually experienced, and if his life had continued into the 1950s and 1960s, he might have gone in quite another political or personal direction. Perhaps in the end all he might have done would have been to indulge those talents for drawing and watercolours which he had been stopped practising so long ago. If he had not been a great administrator and political leader, he might at least have been a minor artist, sketching and painting in the hills and fields of the French Midi.

12 A Contested Legacy, 1943–2000

In more than fifty years since his death, Jean Moulin came to be venerated as a martyr and French national icon. The immediate recollections of family and friends have been transformed into state-sponsored hagiography, and this in turn has created many claimants to his heritage. Yet at the same time, there have been continual challenges to positive interpretations of his life and work. Initially, there was little effort to commemorate one martyr amongst many others, but Moulin then began to be given some importance by those who had known him or were linked with the activities of his life. These forms of remembrance were transformed in 1966, when Moulin’s remains were placed in the Panthéon during the twentieth anniversary commemoration of Liberation. At a time when revolutionary romanticism was in vogue, Moulin became a cult figure with something of the iconic status of Che Guevara, at least in France. In the 1970s and 1980s, parallel to growing adulation, the actions of his life were re-contested by people who wished to re-live forgotten disputes of the wartime period. Former – or new found – opponents of the Resistance joined in, manipulating past disputes for reasons of politics or publicity. Sensation-seeking journalists then achieved notoriety by stirring the pot. Despite this, Moulin has received official veneration, both for his individual achievements and martyrdom, and as a symbolic figure from the republican left who could embody national healing and consensus. By the centenary of his birth, Moulin had taken on, in the words of one former Prime Minister, ‘the supreme rôle of unifier and conciliator’.1

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A Contested Legacy, 1943–2000 193

One martyr amongst many, 1943–58 During the years immediately following his death, Moulin slowly became known to a wider public. There were very few public references to his contribution as the maquis developed support and effectiveness after the summer of 1943. Nor was there much time for reflection on his achievements when the unified resistance for which he was responsible participated in the eviction of the German invaders. The Liberation that followed included the famous procession of 25 August 1944, led by Charles de Gaulle along the Champs Élysées in Paris. Many of the participants in that event had once been at Moulin’s side. De Gaulle, Bidault, D’Astier, and Frenay were already burdened with affairs of government, and soon moving on to varied post-war roles, as ministers, political activists, or writers of embittered memoirs. In the period immediately after Liberation, Moulin was remembered as the first President of the CNR. This was a time when the constitutional and political legitimacy of the new state derived from a consensus based on the representative status of resistance participants and institutions. Gaullists, Communists and others were in alliance, while seeking martyrs on whom to base their individual legitimacy.2 The Communists claimed that 75,000 party members had been shot. Even if the figure was exaggerated, the reality of significant numbers of executions could not be denied. The Socialists claimed Pierre Brossolette, who, despite opposition to parties in wartime, had been a member of the SFIO, and had died in the hands of the occupiers. Moulin himself could be seen as a Gaullist with a foot in many camps. The freemasons claimed Moulin among their numbers, and he certainly had links there, if not active involvement. This was not only through his father, but also through friends such as Frédéric Manhès and Maurice Violette. The Radicals also routinely claimed Moulin as a brother in arms, with slightly more justification.3 It was within the resistance consensus that the activities of Moulin during his final months began to be recalled. On 27 May 1945 with the first post-war government still under the leadership of de Gaulle, the General himself attended a ceremony at 48 rue du Four in Paris where the CNR had first met two years before. A plaque was unveiled recognising that the National Resistance Council had begun under the Presidency of Jean Moulin. After 1945, there was little time to remember the dead and de Gaulle rarely seems to have referred spontaneously to Moulin. Following his resignation as Prime Minister in January 1946, he felt unable to join a présidence d’honneur for the published version of

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Moulin’s account of his 1940 experiences in Premier Combat. However, he penned a generous preface praising Moulin’s ‘force of character’ and ‘his clarity of vision and his energy’, and wrote privately to Laure Moulin about his ‘pure glory’.4 Meanwhile some of Moulin’s work began to be recognised. In January 1945, he was posthumously reinstated to his position as prefect, third class, then promoted to first class, and given full pension rights.5 One strong sponsor was his successor as CNR President, Georges Bidault, who led the right-wing Mouvement Républicain Populaire and held a number of ministerial positions including Prime Minister and Foreign Minister. On 25 August 1944, during the Liberation of Paris, Bidault said that ‘on this day of triumph I invoke his memory in faith and tenderness’. On 6 October 1945 he spoke on a Journée Jean Moulin at Béziers, ‘among those streets, those houses, those people where he gathered his first impressions’. He described the slow emergence of his reputation from clandestinity, and praised his leadership during months of tireless efforts to unify the resistance. With some justice, Bidault said he saw Moulin as ‘above political parties, but also in agreement with them, understanding their basic permanence and their value in victory’. He also attributed to Moulin the view that ‘a certain number of contending currents created legitimacy in the face of treason’. In October 1946, during his first spell as Prime Minister, he arranged for the award of an even higher grade, the Légion d’Honneur, and he continued in later years to declare his devotion to Moulin’s memory. Others at this time described Moulin as ‘our chief’ and ‘the boss’ whom ‘we loved the most’.6 Other forms of local recognition were seen in that early post-war period, notably in Chartres. In November 1945, participants at the inauguration of a Place Jean-Moulin, heard Moulin’s successor as prefect of Eure-et-Loir describe how ‘an obscure prefect of the Republic’ had ‘become one of the most prestigious in the history of our times’. In March 1946, Maurice Violette, the veteran Radical politician who had brought him to this Department, said he was ‘all that republican France had lost’. And furthermore, ‘those who knew and loved him’ associated him with the republican commemoration that he attended seven years earlier. A plaque was erected in the meeting room of the conseil général in May 1946, and a monument near the prefecture in 1951, with a symbolic hand round a sword, which can now be seen each evening illuminated by the colours of the tricolour. Another early memorial plaque was raised at Thonon, Haute-Savoie, in August 1946, where he had been sub-prefect thirteen years before. A plaque was erected at Caluire


in December. His close friend Antoinette Sachs helped to initiate the legend in 1947 by publishing the photograph by Marcel Bernard (see Plate 1) that was to become so recognisable, and describing his attitude under torture as ‘clenched teeth, closed mouth, maintaining in his agony his faith in France and his democratic ideal’.7 At Béziers plaques were placed at the house of his birth, at his lycée and in the Plateau des Poètes public garden, as well as at the Hôtel de Ville. Amongst many other statues and memorials erected over the next few years, it has been noted that only a few described Moulin as the ‘representative of General de Gaulle’. Thus he was seen, at least in the iconography, as having no particular relationship to post-war Gaullism. The statue at Caluire is unusual in including the Cross of Lorraine. More commonly, there are references to Moulin as ‘unifier of the resistance’ and first head of the CNR. He was also remembered as a ‘high functionary’, and when the students of the newly-formed École Nationale d’Administration (ENA) had to decide on a historic figure for the year of 1948, they chose Jean Moulin. His role and martyrdom were also recalled in the plaque unveiled at the Interior Ministry by President Auriol in April 1948 where Moulin headed the list of high functionaries Morts pour la France, including eight prefects and a number of others.8 For a time Georges Bidault rested some of his reputation on his association with Moulin. Meanwhile Pierre Cot, who had known him better but was now far from the centre of political power, tried to provide his account of past activities and attitudes. The Memoirs of ‘Colonel Passy’ (André Dewavrin), who had been de Gaulle’s Intelligence chief, gave details on Moulin’s role which were much mulled over in later years.9 However, in the late 1940s the post-war resistance consensus broke apart. The Cold War made it less fashionable to be associated with political violence, or indeed with what was seen as a generally leftist political project. Those like Cot who still advocated working with the Communists became political pariahs. Meanwhile, de Gaulle resigned from government in January 1946 because of his disdain for the sort of political in-fighting in which Moulin had so often participated. De Gaulle then set up his own political alternative in the Rassemblement du Peuple Français, which while claiming to be neither left nor right, was fiercely anti-Communist in tone, and failed to provide an alternative to the Fourth Republic. Eventually de Gaulle returned to power in 1958 as the directly elected President of the Fifth Republic, during the crisis provoked by the Algerian independence struggle. By then, those who had once been associated with Moulin had been cast to the political winds. Pierre Cot and Emmanuel D’Astier, now closely allied to the

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Communists, strongly opposed the creation of the new Republic, considering it a step to dictatorship. At the other end of the political spectrum were those associated with the Algerian colons and their military backers, including Bidault and Soustelle.

Moulin as republican icon, 1958–64: Socialist or Gaullist? After the Fifth Republic was established, the name of Jean Moulin came to prominence as a powerful symbol of at least two competing political projects. For the great bulk of people on the left, and also of the political and administrative elite, the foundation of the new political system in June 1958 was a betrayal of France’s democratic traditions. A ‘Club Jean Moulin’ was established immediately after the new constitution was confirmed, by what was forthrightly characterised in one of its first statements as ‘legal rape’. This organisation took Moulin as an exemplar, not only in resistance to the undermining of democracy, but also as the creator of the sort of cross-party co-operation which it was hoped would revive the left within the Fifth Republic.10 The président d’honneur was Moulin’s secretary Daniel Cordier, who convened the first meeting, bringing together a number of former resistance contacts. Amongst them was Stéphane Hessel, diplomat and BCRA member, who remains suave and softly spoken to this day. He envisaged setting up a sort of French Fabian Society and, according to one source, became the real inspiration of the Club. Radical leader Pierre Mendès France was also sympathetic and Laure Moulin gave her consent for the use of her brother’s name. However, most of those involved belonged to a later generation. It was often said that they were mostly civil servants, but in 1968 only a third of the members could be so described, with a quarter from business, and a fifth from the liberal professions. The first secretary was the left-wing Catholic journalist Georges Suffert, who had worked on the resistance paper Témoignage Chrétien. Other prominent members included the sociologist Michel Crozier, who represented the Club on the Fédération de Gauche Démocratique et Socialiste (FGDS), and Jacques Pomonti, secretary from 1962 to 1968, a media administrator and in 1992 inspector general of posts and telecommunications.11 The first policy statement of the Club Jean Moulin in 1958 advocated individual liberties, and opposition to torture and racism – a significant statement at the time of the Algerian war. Other principles included national self-determination, the maintenance of peace, social justice, and international solidarity, as well as the increased involvement of citizens in public affairs; and national and international democracy.


The Club produced numerous publications, mostly anonymous.12 Its first pamphlet, entitled The State and the Citizen, argued a parallel between 1958 and 1940, with majority support for the abandonment of democratic norms. While Georges Bidault now identified resistance with the cause of the Algerian settlers, the Club took the opposite view. In 1962, when the Évian accords ended the Algerian war, the Club proposed the repatriation of the settlers and economic co-operation with an independent Algeria. Later publications supported the decentralisation of political power through regions and communes, though the Club opposed the rather tepid proposals in this direction put forward in the 1969 referendum by President de Gaulle, when he was defeated and resigned. The Club Jean Moulin also argued for a realignment of the non-Communist left, associating itself in 1965 with the unsuccessful presidential bid of the Socialist Mayor of Marseilles Gaston Deferre, who had known Moulin well in the resistance. Later the Club developed a scheme to fuse the discredited SFIO, the Radicals and some of the Christian Democratic MRP with the club ‘movement’ of which they were a part. They then supported through the FGDS the transformation of the tired and fragmented groupings of the old republican left in 1971 into the Socialist Party, which became part of the bi-polar politics of the Fifth Republic. By this time, the other side of the political divide was also claiming Jean Moulin as its own. In 1963 de Gaulle called him ‘the most faithful of our companions, perhaps the most precious’. He thought it was ‘a cheek’ for the Club to argue that they were following Moulin’s principles against him.13 The impetus that had created the Fifth Republic was now faltering. On the one hand, refugees from Algerian independence contributed to the creation of a new anti-republican opposition in France, and a younger idealistic French generation was coming to political consciousness knowing nothing of war or resistance. When the twentieth anniversary of Liberation was commemorated in 1964, the Gaullist regime felt the need for unifying symbols.14 The originator of the idea of using Moulin to this purpose was Roaul Bayon, Socialist deputy from the Hérault Department. He took up the suggestion of local associations of ex-resisters and deportees, that as part of the celebrations, Moulin’s remains should be moved from the Père Lachaise cemetery to the Panthéon, the traditional resting-place of heroes of the Republic. Here, it was thought, was a figure that could be considered pure and disinterested. The political establishment of the Fifth Republic accepted this proposal, and an elaborate two-day programme of events was organised.

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The ceremony of the placing of the remains in the Panthéon has been frequently described, including at the opening of this book. What should be emphasised here is the link that was clearly intended by Malraux, supporter of every Gaullist political enterprise since the 1940s, between Moulin’s heroic memory and the Gaullism of the 1960s. The oration emphasised how much Moulin’s resistance missions had been set by the General himself, and was aptly described as ‘the ultimate example of de Gaulle’s appropriative and identificatory version of resistantialism’. However, others saw it differently, Laure Moulin saying she was sure her brother would have approved on behalf of all the martyrs of the resistance.15 Perhaps even de Gaulle could now be placed, somewhat improbably, in the long line of republican heroes and martyrs, going back even to Voltaire and Lazare Carnot.

From resistance leader to national icon, 1963–99 This event above all others gave Moulin a status above many in the resistance. His heroic martyrdom transformed him into the leader, and also into a model Frenchman whose example all must follow. The pantheonisation was followed by various state-sponsored remembrances, often closely associated with current Gaullist politics.16 In 1967, a Centre Jean Moulin was set up in Bordeaux under the patronage of the city’s Mayor, the Gaullist resistance leader Jacques Chaban-Delmas. This houses the Insitut Jean Moulin, a museum and a small library, as well as the headquarters of an Association Nationale des Amis de Jean Moulin. On 28 September 1969, a memorial sculpture by Pierre Coubier in the form of an abstract human figure about three times life size with arms reaching to the sky, was inaugurated at Salon-de-Provence, by the side of the Route Nationale 7. Chaban-Delmas was again there, now as Prime Minister. The resistance, he said, did not yet belong to history, but would be recalled by every generation that remembered Moulin’s heroism. On 19 June 1978, when out of power on the national stage, Chaban-Delmas returned to inaugurate a Route Jean Moulin stretching the 42 kilometres from the Moulin family house at Saint-Andiol to the great roadside statue, with various plaques and memorials on the way. It is even possible to visit the shepherd’s hut close to Eygalières where a painted sign indicates that Jean Moulin stayed there on 2 January 1942, following his somewhat bungled parachute landing. Nor were the remembrances of Moulin by any means confined to Provence. Since the mid-1960s the name of Jean Moulin has begun to appear everywhere. By 1995, there were 978 streets, squares and bridges


named after him. There were 37 monuments and 119 plaques, 6 sports stadia, 8 community centres, and 4 old people’s homes. At least 69 schools and colleges now bear his name, along with one university, in Lyons. Biographies began to appear at the time of the Panthéon ceremony. The first was in 1965 by Henri Michel entitled Jean Moulin l’unificateur, which faithfully described his resistance activities. A revised edition of 1971 has frequently been republished since. In 1969 Laure Moulin published an account, whose qualities go well beyond those required by sisterly piety. In 1976 another book appeared, taking advantage of the growing interest in Moulin. This was the ghosted memoir of Moulin’s former wife Marguerite Storck-Cerruti, which was not without some interest, making him a figure of flesh and blood. In 1980 a straightforward biography by Henri Calef appeared as Jean Moulin, une vie, securely based on documents and reminiscences, covering both preresistance and resistance periods. By the 1980s, Moulin was at the same time a Gaullist symbol and an icon of the united democratic left. The first directly elected Socialist President, François Mitterand, visited the Panthéon ten days after his election, on 21 May 1981. He placed himself in the historical shadow of the first great Socialist leader, Jean Jaurès, and also of Jean Moulin. Mitterand spoke not only of continuing the spirit of the resistance, but also of the unfinished tasks of the Popular Front. Moulin could be seen to embody both.17 The fiftieth anniversary of Moulin’s death, in 1993, brought further commemorations. Amongst many other activities, an exhibition on his life was organised at the Centre d’Histoire de la Résistance et de la Déportation in Lyons, with books, manuscripts, films and much more. With deliberate irony, this has been located at 14 avenue Barthelot, the former military medical school taken over by the Gestapo to which Moulin was taken on 21 June 1943. In Béziers it was possible in 1993 to see at the Musée des Beaux Arts pictures that Moulin had purchased, as well as originals of his drawings.18 President Mitterand, Prime Minister Balladur, and many others attended an elaborate ceremony at the Panthéon on 17 June. By now, however, a sort of subterranean campaign against Moulin was under way, though without acknowledgement from the political establishment, or the participation of any serious academic historians.

Frenay against Moulin – and Daniel Cordier From the earliest days of resistance, there were those who opposed joint organisation and politicisation, especially on terms dictated from

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London. Most of the founders of the original resistance movements took this view, though D’Astier later accepted that he had not seen the bigger picture.19 For Henri Frenay, whose Combat organisation was the largest and most effective in the Southern Zone, unification and clear political aims were always imposed from outside the real resistance. At the time and since, he was firmly opposed to the establishment of the National Resistance Council, and he argued that Moulin ‘always defended the point of view of the French National Committee . . . and never that of the Resistance’. Frenay was a brave and resourceful resister, but he failed to cast off the blinkered political attitudes of his military background. His starting point was support for Pétain and the ‘National Revolution’, and he remained unsophisticated on general political issues and inept at short-term politicking. He thought that other resistance organisations and networks should simply merge with his, or if not then they should agree some form of federal arrangement quite different from the unified structures favoured by Moulin. He also negotiated with the Americans independently of de Gaulle and Moulin. Above all, Frenay objected to joint arrangements with political parties. He refused to accept that the resistance needed unity to avoid civil war and to present a unified and familiar face to the outside world. At the time, the objection was directed at the involvement of those who had not participated in resistance, but later it was directed at the Communists and those associated with them. He was unable to understand why de Gaulle and Moulin wanted to keep the Communists and other elements within the organised resistance. This was not only to indicate the range of their support, but also to weaken the Communist claim to be alone in taking action against the Germans, and to associate them with democratic politics.20 Moulin made every effort to bring into the CNR every shade of political opinion and resistance activity. After the War, Frenay developed the view that there was a plot by de Gaulle against his Combat organisation, and then became convinced, against all the evidence, that the Communists dominated the CNR. He even argued that those who advocated and fought for the unity of political and resistance bodies were in some way deluded tools of Moscow, and that Moulin was operating on their behalf. After a brief period as Minister for Prisoners and Refugees in the Provisional Government of 1944, Frenay retired from activity and spent time contemplating his years as a resister. In 1950, he wrote of those who, though ‘brave in facing death’, were ‘unable to rise to certain great occasions’, concluding that ‘Jean Moulin was, in my view, the man of the Communist Party in France.’21 Over twenty years later in 1973, he


finally published his memoirs, entitled La Nuit Finira. Mémoires de la Résistance, 1940–45. These were rendered rather oddly into American as The Night Will End: Memoirs of a Revolutionary, and published in paperback in England in 1977. This book covered the events of the resistance from Frenay’s point of view, with little or no documentation and much unverifiable reported speech. Frenay talked of the impressive personality of Jean Moulin, and his role in bringing together the scattered fragments of internal and external resistance. He repeated his opposition to the power Moulin exercised, to his alleged tendency to play one movement against another, and to his efforts to merge the resistance groups. Frenay also attacked Moulin for supporting the reconstruction of political parties, especially the Socialists. Frenay set out what he considered the most damning evidence. He made much of the fact that Moulin persuaded Georges Bidault to join the Communist-led National Front. It was beyond Frenay’s understanding that by doing this, the Catholic Bidault expanded his political base to make it possible for him to take Moulin’s place. Frenay also maintained that there was great significance in the fact that, amongst all the people with whom Moulin had worked in the resistance, there was a number of Communists, alleged or otherwise. They included the CNR Directorate’s secretary Annie Hervé, as well as his friends Pierre Meunier, Frédéric Manhès and Robert Chambeiron. According to Frenay, this showed that ‘Jean Moulin was the Communists’ man,’ since Moulin was a protégé of Pierre Cot, ‘a model crypto-Communist’, and that he (Moulin) was also a ‘crypto-Communist’. Frenay recalled de Gaulle’s November 1942 aphorismthat ‘France must chose between you and me.’ It was the failure to do the latter that led, according to Frenay, to all the subsequent political ills of France, including the shortcomings of the Fourth Republic and the unsatisfactory settlement in Algeria. For some years these arguments failed to stimulate much interest. His main lieutenant in Combat, Claude Bourdet, described Frenay’s view of Moulin as ‘a grave error’, reminding him that in 1943 their objection was less to the Communists than to the other political parties whose members had not been fighting. However, in 1977 Frenay published an entire book devoted to developing his thesis, entitled L’Énigme Jean Moulin. Serious historians, who felt themselves bound by the rules of historical evidence or their knowledge of the period, did not take the arguments seriously.22 However, it was this book and the public debate that followed it which provoked a strong reaction, notably from Moulin’s erstwhile secretary Daniel Cordier, who since the War had pursued the career of art collector. A discussion in a television studio in

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October 1977 decided Cordier on a line of action to which he has subsequently devoted his life. Initially, he tried to refute Frenay’s charges by tracing Moulin’s wartime activities, but he soon found this insufficient. He began to study archives and documents in his own possession, setting out his preliminary conclusions at a fortieth anniversary conference held at the Sorbonne in 1983 and published as Jean Moulin et le CNR. Cordier then came to the view that it was impossible to understand the issues without describing Moulin’s earlier career and family background. He decided to produce nothing less than a definitive account of all that there is to know about Jean Moulin, with special reference to his lack of support for Communism. This he would do by reference to unpublished documents, and by studying every archive touching on any aspect of Moulin’s life. A plan for six volumes was conceived, two covering the pre-war period, three on 1942–3, and a last volume giving a detailed blow-by-blow response to every nuance of Frenay’s case. Before anything further happened, Henri Frenay died in August 1988. In the following year, the initial volumes of Cordier’s Jean Moulin. L’inconnu du Panthéon appeared. In the first, Une Ambition pour la République, 896 pages cover Moulin’s life up to 1936. There is also a lengthy summary of over 250 pages on the life as a whole, along with a history of the evolution of the work, and an extraordinary apparatus of annexes reprinting documents, a complicated set of notes, and a bibliography. A second 762-page volume appeared at the same time entitled Le Choix d’un destin and covering June 1936 to November 1940 in the same format. By the time the third volume appeared in 1993 as De Gaulle, capitale de la Résistance, 1940–41, Cordier had discovered a ‘Manifesto’ written by Frenay in 1940 which underlined his strongly Pétainist views at the time. Cordier decided to devote over 100 pages to the text and commentary. He also discussed the various versions of Moulin’s 1941 Lisbon Report on the resistance, together with numerous resistance and other publications of various levels of relevance. This extended the volume to 1480 pages. Further volumes, entitled Mission Rex 1942, La Résistance de Comités 1942–43 and Monsieur X, l’homme à abattre, have yet to appear. However, in 1999 another volume of just under 1000 pages was published as Jean Moulin. La République des Catacombes, largely devoted to the war period and also including a review of other work, of the trials of René Hardy, and much else besides. In the view of a distinguished British historian, this was ‘as one might expect, a masterpiece’.23


These extraordinary publications have not been designed to please the community of academic historians, nor even resisters. They are the committed work of a participant who can be an intemperate polemicist. One review by a leading resistance historian was pointedly entitled ‘The best biographies are not the longest’. Others protested at the failure to consult witnesses who differed from his views, and questioned the significance he attributed to his own role.24 Even those sympathetic to the project are not entirely convinced of the need for such detail. Yet the work does illustrate one important methodological issue about resistance history: that it is possible to use written sources rather than confused memories to cover many significant aspects of resistance organisation and development. Earlier resistance historians, like Henri Noguères and his colleagues who published five volumes between 1967 and 1981, largely used personal recollections. Cordier, on the other hand, is able to provide more accurate information, as he frequently says, particularly by the extensive reproduction of written sources. This has been characterised by Bénédicte Vergez as ‘the Cordier Revolution’. The result certainly eases the task of anyone else working in the field, including those attempting to produce an objective account.25

Klaus Barbie, Jacques Vergès and the ‘betrayals’ of the resistance While Cordier continued his monumental labours, more coal was heaped upon the polemical fire from an unexpected quarter. In February 1983, after many years of searching, the notorious head of the Gestapo in Lyons, responsible for the torture and death of Jean Moulin, was brought back to France from exile in Bolivia to be put on trial. This was Klaus Barbie, who had long been under the protection of the United States Intelligence Services, and perhaps also of the French.26 The Barbie trial created enormous controversy, not least because of the extraordinary tactics of Barbie’s mercurial defence counsel Maître Jacques Vergès. The indictment against Barbie was for ‘crimes against humanity’ rather than ‘war crimes’ against soldiers and resisters, on which there was a twenty-year statute of limitations. Yet Vergès wanted to include the events surrounding the capture of Moulin at Caluire as part of the defence of Barbie because, according to him, this would reveal that some resisters were ‘playing a double game’. Vergès maintained that resisters, ‘whether they were anti-Gaullists or anti-Communists, forgot their duty to the Resistance because of partisan political passions.’ He even claimed

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that Moulin might have wished his own death. This extraordinary farrago was clearly designed to draw attention away from Barbie’s appalling actions by stirring up past disputes, and led to a successful libel suit against Vergès.27 During the long period before the trial began in May 1987, the issue of what happened when Barbie apprehended Moulin and his companions entered the public domain. For some years it was assumed by virtually all of those involved that the Gestapo knew about the meeting at Caluire on 21 June 1943, because of the failure of René Hardy to reveal that the Gestapo had previously apprehended him. Hardy still continued to work closely with Frenay for some time and was then tried twice for treachery after the war, but was never convicted. Despite the verdicts of the two trials and the absence of irrefutable proof, most of those involved, now including Frenay, were convinced of his guilt. Hardy spent the rest of his life maintaining his innocence, presenting numerous alternative accounts of what had happened. He even went to see Barbie in Bolivia, and outlined his case in a book produced with the connivance of Vergès.28 On all of these issues, former resisters responded indignantly. Henri Noguères, resistance historian and advocate at the trial itself, refuted the notion of deep political divisions within the resistance leading to betrayal, and said that there was really a ‘Vergès affair’. Nor did other historians lend any support to Vergès. Jean-Pierre Azéma said that there was nothing new in the argument presented on behalf of Barbie. He dismissed the entire debate as an exercise in conspiracy theory that convinced virtually nobody. ‘For my part,’ he concluded, ‘I do not think there is an “enigma” of Jean Moulin.’29 This was not quite the end of the argument about what had happened at Caluire. For the moment at least, the issue was laid to rest when Barbie was found guilty of a few of his crimes and taken away to drag out the rest of his life in a French gaol. He died of leukaemia in September 1991.

Communist ‘conspiracy’ and the ‘great recruitment’, 1988–93 The Barbie trial did not stem the flood of revelation and argument. The period that followed saw the rapid disintegration of European Communist regimes, and French Communists lost much of their traditionally substantial support. Archives relevant to the study of Communist and Soviet history were slowly but erratically opened to reveal secrets of varying significance. Almost contemporaneous was the extraordinary


legal pursuit by the British authorities of the 1987 book Spy Catcher by erstwhile intelligence officer Peter Wright. This volume, and especially the attempts to suppress it, increased the public appetite for accounts of spies, double agents and international conspiracies. Wright had no doubt that Pierre Cot was ‘an active Russian spy’, and Jean Moulin ‘a dedicated Communist’. These extraordinary allegations were made on the basis of documents not available for scrutiny, or of reported conversations that could not be checked.30 Many parallel statements followed on similarly dubious evidence. They often amounted to little beyond showing that people in various espionage services might have had contact with others who were not. There is now an extensive literature going further into the murky world of espionage history through the ‘Venona’ transcripts of encrypted Soviet messages passing around the world. In the case of Cot, his public sympathies for the Soviet Union and its rulers were openly maintained as matters of politics, so his many contacts had little to do with espionage.31 From amongst those who worked in his ministerial office, particular attention was devoted to André Labarthe, who, during his brief period with the Free French, was seen by one Englishman as ‘more representative of “true France” than de Gaulle’. After breaking from de Gaulle he became a journalist in the USA. He is alleged to have confessed to being a Soviet agent to Henri Frenay before his death in 1967, but his erratic personality and errant political career must have made him a most ineffective spy. There was also a great deal said about Louis Dolivet, who had also worked with Cot and Moulin, and who went to the USA, where he appears to have worked with other ex-Communists for the intelligence services.32 As for Moulin, there has been a virtual industry accusing him not simply of working with Cot and Labarthe, but also of being himself a conscious agent of the Soviet espionage services. During the 1980s, there were many manifestations of the theory that much recent history was explicable in terms of a vast international communist conspiracy. An example of this view was to be found in two volumes appearing at the end of the 1980s from the pen of the journalist grandson of General Henri Giraud, who had been outmanoeuvred by de Gaulle. The argument of his grandson was that this happened because de Gaulle had been manipulated by the ‘Soviet agent’ Jean Moulin into following the Communist line of ‘national insurrection’. Giraud went on to maintain that de Gaulle favoured a Russian alliance at least from 1935 (though many others like Laval had taken a similar view at the time), and had supported the same policy in 1944 and later. All sorts of inconvenient realities had to be ignored for this

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theory, such as the fact that General Giraud at one stage had more support from the Communists.33 This view of the role of Communists, Gaullists and others was further embellished in a 1990 volume described as a ‘counter-enquiry’ into the ‘Moulin affair’, by Charles Benfredj, a lawyer who had acted on behalf of Henri Frenay. There was an introduction from Jacques Soustelle, the wartime Gaullist whose opposition to Algerian independence had driven him to the further reaches of the French right. Apart from continuing with the arguments about fellow travellers, this ‘enquiry’ even speculated that far from being tortured to death by Klaus Barbie and his men, Jean Moulin had returned to his Soviet masters by courtesy of his Nazi jailers.34 This continuing stream of improbable ‘revelations’ evinced little response until the publication in 1993 of a sensational book about ‘the great recruitment’ in France. The publishers claimed that this work showed that while Britain in the 1930s merely produced a group of Soviet sympathisers at Cambridge University, France had done much better, with a ‘vast network of Soviet spies’ including various people at the ‘highest levels of power’. Were it true, such a revelation would, we were justifiably informed, constitute a view of ‘the history of contemporary France as it has never been told’. The author, Thierry Wolton, a former Maoist reborn as a writer on espionage matters, claimed that he was now able to provide evidence that Moulin, and his various friends and associates, were not merely fellow travellers with French Communists, but also direct and conscious agents of the Soviet state.35 The starting point for the view presented by Wolton was derived from Frenay and developed by Giraud. The group who had worked with Pierre Cot in the mid-1930s was again selectively described. Cot himself was portrayed as a great ringmaster from the time of his visit to the Soviet Union in 1934. Around him were gathered the usual suspects, including Labarthe, Dolivet – and Jean Moulin – at the Rassemblement Universel pour la Paix (RUP – Universal Assembly for Peace). The RUP was portrayed as a classic ‘front’ organisation, manipulated by a few hardened Communists followed by innocent dupes. This theory discredited most people who had been supporters of the League of Nations and disarmament, and all who held generally anti-war attitudes during the 1930s. To sustain the argument, pieces of selective and sometimes inconsequential evidence were displayed. Thus Moulin’s flat in the rue des Plantes was in the same block as Dolivet, who was at the time a Communist, though not later. Such was ‘evidence’ of a conspiracy. Lists were compiled of various people known to Moulin who later took up


positions in or close to the PCF. There were even whispers, never put into print, that there were homosexual links within this group. This gave them something in common with the ‘Cambridge spy ring’, albeit without evidence of any kind. To this routine version of guilt by association a new argument was added. According to Wolton, all those who took the side of the Spanish Republic from 1936 were, to a greater or lesser extent, dupes of the Soviet Union. This naturally made André Malraux a suspect, not to mention his close political ally from the 1940s to the 1960s, Charles de Gaulle.36 Wolton’s grandest claim was that he could go beyond associations such as these, and could present what he described as new evidence to link Moulin with Soviet agents. Particular importance was attributed to a Belgian-born Soviet agent called Henri Robinson, who was apprehended by the Nazis in December 1942 and killed. Robinson was in contact with various people on the left known to Pierre Cot. It is hardly surprising that he moved in such circles, though there is no evidence that he actually met Moulin. Wolton argued a link from what appear to be messages sent by Robinson to the Russians, then seized by the Nazis and later obtained by western intelligence services. They indicate that Robinson provided information about aircraft near Chartres at the time of RAF bombing of the town in September 1940. Moulin’s presence in the area provided a link that seems significant to the investigative reporter searching for a communist conspiracy, but this is not taken seriously by any historians.37 The information was in any case available from ordinary newspapers. Wolton also claimed to have discovered a document describing the interrogation of the famous Soviet agent and head of the ‘Red Orchestra’ network, Leopold Trepper, on 19 November 1946 at the Loubianka prison in Moscow. This contains a vague and incidental reference to Moulin. One historian cast some doubt on the research process involved. ‘Wolton did not discover this document: someone provided him with it. This is not the same thing, because somebody evidently knew what he was looking for.’ In any case, the report of an interrogation in a Stalinist gaol is not the place to look for impeccable accuracy.38 Even assuming the unattributed document to be accurate, it shows nothing more than Moulin’s well-known involvement in negotiations between the Gaullists and Communists in 1943. There is even more difficulty with the other major source of Wolton, the papers apparently obtained from the French intelligence services about yet another alleged agent called Maurice Panier, another RUP activist whose role can only be taken on trust.39

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This debate became a dialogue of the deaf. For Wolton and his few supporters, the strength of the reaction against him provided another proof of a conspiracy. He was rapidly compelled to withdraw his claims that Moulin was a ‘Soviet agent’.40 He did attract cautious interest from two well-known historians. They were Annie Kriegel, largely known for her work on French Communism, and François Furet, best known as a historian of the French Revolution. Annie Kriegel was dismissed by many of her colleagues for an anti-Communism whose ferocity seemed to mirror the ardour of her youthful Stalinism. François Furet, also an ex-Communist, said that there might be something to consider in the points made by Wolton, but little more. However, he later refused to allow the opposite viewpoint to be presented at seminars he organised, and described the clear and elegant refutation of the charges by Pierre Vidal-Naquet, Director of Studies at the School for Advanced Study in the Social Sciences, as ‘a miserable pamphlet.41 Leading historians of the period, like Henry Rousso and François Bédarida, could only regard such a stance with ‘sadness and stupefaction’, and note that ‘the cardinal rule is scrupulous respect for the critical method’. Jean-Louis CrémieuxBrilhac, another fine historian and sometime resister, was moved to write an ‘Open Letter to the President of the Republic’. He asserted that, while Wolton raised legitimate questions, his was the method of the ‘great amalgam’. He ignored ‘the duty of obeying the first rule, which is to mention on every occasion, the origin, nature and provenance, up to the page of the documents on which it is founded, and to criticise the sources’.42 Such was the method employed by a ‘Commission’ of historians who were asked by Cot’s family to look at Wolton’s charge that he was ‘an agent of Soviet espionage’. They concluded that the well-known and public attitude he took towards the Soviet Union was no different than that of millions of Frenchmen, and the assertion that he was a Soviet agent ‘was not founded on any serious historical basis, and cannot be held to be valid’.43

The ‘Vichy syndrome’ and Moulin after sixty years Nor was this quite the end of the story. Further trials followed, including early in 1994 the much delayed arraignment and life sentence of Paul Touvier, chief of the wartime Milice in Lyons. There were also long and tortuous efforts to bring to trial for crimes against humanity René Bousquet, wartime Prefect of Police, and Maurice Papon, at the same time Secretary to the prefecture at Gironde, and later a government minister. Both of these were ‘high functionaries’ like Moulin, and neither


had shown opposition to the Vichy regime before its terminal stages. A madman murdered Bousquet in June 1993, while Papon was eventually brought to a protracted trial, which finished with a ten-year sentence in March 1998.44 As these new dramas were played out in front of the French people and their mass media, there were occasional references to Jean Moulin, the ‘high functionary’ who had made choices very different from those who had been under trial and investigation. Another issue was the events at Caluire on 21 June 1943. A ‘Barbie testament’, conveniently discovered by Maître Vergès, was published in April 1997 in another book designed to cause another ‘scandal’, Gérard Chauvy’s Aubrac. Lyon 1943. This emerged with sensational publicity similar to that of Wolton’s book, and with the same lengthy reproduction of documents from the archives, though in this case the provenance was usually given, even if the significance was often slight. It argued that the Aubracs, emblematic heroes of the resistance, acted as double agents in 1943. Chauvy devoted his 457 pages almost entirely to showing inconsistencies in the dates given by Raymond Aubrac for his capture and release. He also found errors in Lucie’s Ils partiront dans l’ivresse of 1984, which was published in English as Outwitting the Gestapo, and had explicitly been intended as a non-factual account. Raymond and Lucie Aubrac were devastated. Another film on Lucie Aubrac had recently given the generally accepted account of the Caluire capture and the release of Raymond by the efforts of his wife, even if its accuracy in every particular was not claimed. When some doubt was cast by Daniel Cordier on such matters as the dates they had given, the Aubracs insisted on a ‘round table of historians’ sponsored by the paper Libération, which was held on 17 May 1997.45 The tribunal got bogged down on peripheral issues, such as why Raymond had not been moved to prison in Paris. The historians found themselves in the unhappy role of being expected to provide a ‘not guilty’ verdict on matters where the historical evidence did not exist. Eventually, after an unsatisfactory discussion, the Aubracs were exonerated from any suspicion of acting as spies, though not of occasionally forgetting exact dates a few decades later. It may be that this simply showed that historians are not the best people to act as judges.46 Finally, the Aubracs took Chauvy to court, and on 2 April 1998, a Parisian chambre correctionelle fined both Chauvy and his publisher Albin Michel for ‘public defamation’, finding that the book unjustifiably accepted the completely uncorroborated accounts attributed to Klaus Barbie, hardly an untainted source. The tribunal also found an inability to distinguish significant documents as well as ‘a lack

210 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943

of prudent expression; a failure to criticise German documents, the failure to consult witnesses’.47 It is rare for a court of law – even in France – to defend historical method against its misuse. Others have noted that lying behind the accusations in some quarters is the assumption that people who at any time were sympathetic to or worked with communists can be condemned without the need for serious argument. Unfortunately this is the view presented in the most recent book in English dealing with this subject, which nevertheless sets out valid doubts that can be cast on the generally accepted version of events.48 It seems impossible to put an end to yet more ‘revelations’. In 1998, Jacques Baynac’s Les Secrets de l’affaire Jean Moulin claimed that Moulin’s closest links, at least in 1943, were not with the Russians at all. He maintained that Moulin moved close to the Americans, through a certain Captain Brown of the American Office of Strategic Services (OSS, predecessor of the CIA), whom he met near Avignon on 17 June 1943, shortly before the Caluire meeting. It was inferred, though with little evidence, that this meeting showed that Moulin planned to break from de Gaulle and to put himself at the head of the resistance in association with the Americans and General Giraud. Brown’s own report, now at Stanford University, says that 90 percent of French people supported de Gaulle, and does not even mention Moulin.49 Baynac provided some new arguments about the role of Hardy at Caluire, and about people who might have known of the meeting in advance. At about the same time a book appeared from the pen of Pierre Péan, already known for his revelations about the early life of François Mitterand. This added a little more detail on Comintern links, though with limited documentation, and added some interesting speculation about Moulin’s private life, while supporting the generally accepted version of Caluire and other events.50 Both of these books, as so often, were sensationalised by publishers and newspapers who ignored their new and useful arguments. Péan later added to this by producing another book on a certain Lydie Bastien, described as Hardy’s mistress, who was in touch with Barbie. At last the controversy apparently reverted to a French proto-type. The answer was Cherchez la femme!51 Amidst much that was inconsequential, however, this debate produced at least one excellent article on ‘the real enigma’.52 It was here argued that it was precisely the wide range of claimants to his heritage that showed Moulin to be a unifying symbol against the yawning divisions of the late Third Republic and the murderous battles of war and occupation. The meeting of Moulin and De Gaulle in October 1941 in London united the competing sections of


French society in a way that guaranteed the democracy of the post-war period. During the centenary year of the birth of Moulin, and since, there was yet more discussion and debate. The Musée Jean Moulin in Paris put on an exhibition with a catalogue which, though frankly hagiographical, contained some interesting letters and photographs. This museum, above Montparnasse Station, continues to provide a most useful account of the life of Moulin, and also houses the papers of Antoinette Sachs.53 On 10–11 June 1999 there was a conference sponsored by the Centre d’Histoire de l’Europe du Vingtième Siècle of the Fondation Nationale des Sciences Politiques under Jean-Pierre Azéma. This brought up to date the entire range of serious academic scholarship in the area, and united historians and witnesses on all the main issues. Azéma has promised another volume of biography, and Daniel Cordier is still at work on the last three volumes of his magnum opus. Meanwhile, popular forms of secular hagiography have still to appear. On 28 September 1999, in the enormous new theatre at the Palais des Congrès, a dramatised account of Moulin’s wartime activities, including his relations with the Free French and the various resistance bodies, opened in Robert Hossein’s spectacle entitled Celui qui a dit Non. Within its dramatic constraints, the play presented an accurate portrayal of the complex relations between Churchill and de Gaulle, with Moulin’s part well to the fore.54 A number of other fictionalised accounts have followed. In 1999 Radio France 1 broadcast a series of the Memoirs of a Man without a Voice, based in part on dramatic reconstruction. This led in turn to a volume edited by Nelly Bouveret and others, which includes many previously unpublished pictures and letters, as well as reconstructions of unrecorded episodes.55 From February to April 2000, a dramatised version of Moulin’s Premier Combat by Eric Auvray was presented at the Paris Musée Jean Moulin. It is unsurprising, as Henry Rousso told the 1999 Colloque, that Moulin now routinely appears as a leading figure of world history in books for French schoolchildren. Where does that leave Jean Moulin’s reputation after the centenary of his birth? It is clear that a widely accepted and state-sponsored conventional popular image has been created of a republican hero and martyr. The French political establishment continues to revere him, even after the remains of Malraux himself followed Moulin into the Panthéon in November 1996.56 At the same time, some of the sensationalised controversy has rubbed off onto the consideration of his life and death. His failure to agree with all other resisters, and the differences, real or imagined, within the resistance, have become better

212 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943

known and understood. It is to be hoped that some recent controversies have re-enforced a consciousness of the need for proper study even of the most heroic and emblematic people and episodes. It is entirely healthy that the resistance should be seen not as mythical, but as a real historical phenomenon, which can be subject to criticism and assessment. It may be that as a result the pre-eminent role of Jean Moulin will be less highlighted than it once was. Nevertheless, the defenders of his reputation in the end have had much the best of the argument. Serious historians describe him as a major figure in the resistance. Even if he was a man of flesh and blood, he was nevertheless with all his heart a vigilant proponent of the values of French Republicanism, and a leader of the struggle to defend them. He could thus be identified not only with later efforts to renew the political left, but also with the development of a constitutional system that incorporated the democratic right. That is how he himself would surely wish to have been known, and that would perhaps be the best possible remembrance.

Notes Notes to Chapter 1: The Resistance in the Panthéon 1. The events are described in Rousso (1991), 82ff, and discussed in context in Chapter 12 below. 2. The full text of the speech is in Laure Moulin (1969), 9–16. A recording by French radio is available on audiotape. 3. Peyrefitte (1997) II, 566. 4. For full details see below, Chapters 9–12. 5. The only accounts in English are Piquet-Wicks (1957), describing his own contact with Moulin, and Foot (1978), giving a good account of his role and the atmosphere of the time. The recent book by Marnham (2000) contains much unsubstantiated speculation, most of it reverting to the discredited ‘crypto-Communist’ view. 6. The history of this tradition is best described in Pilbeam (1995), or almost any of the books of Maurice Agulhon. There is a summary of some issues on republican continuity in my 1994 article. 7. This speculation is systematically collected in Péan (1998), and reproduced in Marnham (2000). 8. These issues are covered below in Chapter 12. 9. See Chapter 5 below. 10. See Chapter 7 below. 11. Cordier (1983), 11.

Notes to Chapter 2: A Republican Upbringing, 1899–1919 1. Speech of 16 October 1932 in Finistère, in FLM 17864, 94; speech at Chartres of 3 April 1939, in Jean Moulin (1947), 120. The statement to the British is in PRO FO/898/198 – ‘Interview with M Moulins [sic] Most Secret 4.11.41’. 2. A detailed account of Moulin’s ancestry and early life is in CI, 307–425, which can be supplemented from the dissertation of Pascal Simon (1987), and Laure Moulin (1969) (hereafter LM). 3. LM, 164; Simon (1987), 29f. 4. Bernstein (1982) I, 38; Headings (1949), 82. 5. CI, 341–2. 6. Napo (1971), 55–7, 203–4; Stone (1996), 184, 325; Warner (1960), 21–3; Loubère (1974), 191; Judt (1979), 49f. 7. Henri Michel (1971), 35. 8. LM, 50; Storck-Cerruti (1976), 57–8; Williams (1980), 33. 9. Full details of the early years of Moulin are in CI, and quotations are from there, unless stated. 10. Michel (1971), 24. Marnham (2000), 34f gives other examples of the impact of attending a parental school. 213

214 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 11. Lugand (1993), 43; Association Nationale des Amis de Jean Moulin (1967), 11. 12. CI, 384–7; LM, 6, 26, 62. 13. According to Cordier, the private letters in the Archives de la famille Escoffier-Dubois reveal very little. 14. Quoted in CI, 792. See also ibid., 398, and Dallas (1993), 501–2. 15. CI, 792–3, 400. 16. Ibid., 672; Lugand (1993), plate 71.

Notes to Chapter 3: A Jacobin in the Prefectures, 1919–34 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

18. 19.

20. 21. 22. 23. 24.

Jackson (1998 article), 222. For a full description see Soucy (1995). See Bernstein (1982), 94f; Nordmann (1974), 236f; and du Réau (1993), 68f. Quoted in Nordmann (1974), 240. CI, 448; on this and more generally on the events described. Campbell (1958), 90–6. Simon (dissertation, 1987), 35. There is a reasonable English account in Chapman (1955) as well as some good points in Zeldin (1973), 530–4 and 601–4. For a fuller version see SiwekPouydesseau (1969), and for biographies, Bargeton (1994). Quoted in CI, 391–2. LM, 81. Ibid., 90. For examples see Institut Jean Moulin (1994), 24f, and Lugand (1993). LM, 97. See Storck-Cerruti (1976), and, for another view, LM. Storck-Cerruti (1976), 112. Ibid., 101–2, Péan (1998), 35. See especially Péan (1998), summarised in L’Express, 19 November 1998, 90–2; and CC, 43–5. Péan describes other relationships, but with little evidence. His account is summarised in Marnham (2000). Antoinette Sachs (later known as Sasse) recently deposited papers in the Musée Jean Moulin in Paris. Milliat (article, 1977). LM, 127. Many of his speeches are kept at FLM 17864, 1–76. Early speeches are scribbled on the backs of office memos and leaflets, but increasingly they are carefully constructed, eventually typed and even printed. The details are set out in Siân Reynolds (1996), 18f, with references to the extensive literature. FLM 17864, 36–7, 40, 158. CI, 510–11. (Cordier gives a different date for the ‘mothers’ speech, citing another source.) Leger (1934), 127–8; and letter of 2 April 1928 to Antonin Moulin quoted in CI, 811. Letter from Pierre Cot to Henri Michel of 23 October 1963, in AJ 72/233. The fullest source is the anonymous Hommage à Pierre Cot (1979), and the Briand statement is quoted there (p. 30) by Phillip Noel Baker. Péan (1998), 31f. adds more, based on a then uncompleted thèse d’état by Sabine Jansen

Notes 215

25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.

31. 32. 33. 34. 35.

36. 37. 38. 39. 40.

41. 42. 43.

entitled Pierre Cot, un itinéraire politique (1895–1977). Mlle Jansen, who tells me that she does not agree with Péan’s argument of a later break between Cot and Moulin, has published some relevant articles, detailed in the bibliography. The statements are quoted from Nordmann (1974), 230; Ingram (1991), 38–9; and Cot (1944), 27. Calef (1980), 28. Ibid., 30; and Ford (1993), 164–9. CI, 831, 577. Speech in Géroudet (1990), 537–8. Given at Châteaulin on 11 November 1927: the quoted passage is in FLM 17864, 78. Moulin is said to have joined a ‘Friends of Aristide Briand’ organisation. FLM 17864, 172, has a press cutting with this headline. On this see below, p. 45. For an interesting account, see Binion (1960), 310f. The speech is in FLM 17864, 97, quoted CI, 826–7, 564–5. This is explained in Paul-Boncour (1945) II, 267, and was an early indication of a movement on the left away from pacifist attitudes, soon followed by Moulin and others. Ibid., 272; Larmour (1964), 125; Jackson (1985), 65–6; Binion (1960). CI, 575. Ibid., 830. Péan (1998), 44f; 191f speculates on what might have happened. These details can be traced in the Documents Diplomatiques Français 1932–1939, 1st Series, vol. IV, 308, 569–72; and Cot (1944) I, 66. For an account of the trip by a sympathetic journalist, see Tabouis (1942), 175–7. Calef (1980), 43–4; Louis Joxe (1981), 197. For an interesting account of some of these issues see Siân Reynolds (1996), 65ff. This is best outlined in Chapman (1991), 31–5. See also Pascal Vennesson, ‘Institutions and Airpower: The Making of the French Air Force’, in John Gooch (1995).

Notes to Chapter 4: Fascism and Anti-Fascism, 1934–6 1. The main accounts used here are Bernstein (1975) and Le Clère (1967), both drawing heavily on the National Assembly Committee of Enquiry later in the year. There was also a post-war enquiry covering the period from 1933 to 1945. Good accounts in English, though dated, remain the articles by Warner (1958) and Beloff (article, 1950). There is more in Bankwitz (1967), 181–96, and du Réau (1993), 116–35. 2. CI, 751–4; Paul-Boncour (1945) II, 307; du Réau (1993), 129. 3. This account was given to Daladier by de La Roque ten years later in a German concentration camp – see Daladier (1995), 260. 4. LM, 137. See also Le Clère (1967), 146f; and Bernstein (1975), 159–63. 5. Bankwitz (1967), 188, quoting the 1934 National Assembly Report. See also statements made by Daladier and Lebrun to the post-war enquiry in the Proceedings I, 12–13 (21 mai 1947) and IV, 950–1 (27 mai 1948).

216 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 6. Letter to his parents of 12 February 1934, quoted in CI, 616. A similar view is argued in Larmour (1964), 143–5, that ‘Daladier was afraid’, but also mistakenly arguing that his resignation was against the advice of Cot and others. 7. Louis Joxe (1981), 197. 8. A. E. Moulin (1937). 9. CI, 627–9; CII, 78–80, 520–41; LM, 129. 10. Tristan Corbière (1935), Armor avec Huit Eaux-Fortes de Romanin. See also CI, 581, 672, with some examples in Lugand (1993), 68, 69, and Institut Jean Moulin (1994), 29–31. 11. CI, 636 and 754–7, for this, which in context indicates abiding fear of military intervention after 6 February. 12. CI, 639–42, 849. 13. See also Jackson (1988), 22f.

Notes to Chapter 5: The Popular Front, 1936–8 1. Calef (1980), 94. The photograph is reproduced in Zeitonu (1993), 15, and there is a profuse letter of thanks to Moulin from the Generalitat de Catalunya in FLM 17863, 106. 2. Quoted in Institut Jean Moulin (1994), 40, from Moulin’s Riom tribunal statement on 5 May 1941. 3. Elly Herman in Vaïsse (1993), 193f. In that volume, see also the article by Martin Caedel, especially 182–3. For Moulin’s involvement see Calef (1980), 106f. 4. See the discussion on Wolton (1993), and associated literature below in Chapter 12. 5. CII, 509–15. For a full and reasonably objective account of the life and activities of Dolivet, see Péan (1998). 6. Calef (1980), 110. 7. Much of this is well described in Julian Jackson (1988). Also valuable are Renouvin and Rémond (1981); Lefranc (1974); Kergoat (1986); Bayac (1972); and Bodin and Touchard (1972). Older sources in English include James Joll’s article (1966) and Joel Colton’s biography of Blum, largely reissued in 1987. 8. Quotations in Simone Weil (1951), 169–70; and Jackson (1988), 92. 9. Vinen (1991), 37. Statements to the Riom court are quoted in CII, 24–6, and 653. 10. Chapman (1991), 37, 66–9, 78–84, 93, including earlier concessions by Déat and others. Moulin’s own later account given to the conseil général at Rodez is quoted in CII, 21. Marnham (2000), 77, repeats the show-trial version. 11. The vast literature on French involvement in the Spanish Civil War is conveniently summarised in Jackson (1988), 203f. There are useful accounts in Hunt’s article in Alexander and Graham (1989), 38–49; Glyn Stone’s in Richardson and Stone (1994), 203f; and that of Thomas (1996), 89f. Further detail is in Colton (1987), 234f, much of it based on the very clear 1947 account by Blum in Assemblée Nationale (1951) I, 215f. There is an older account arguing for an active British role in Thomas (1965). 12. Hunt, in Alexander and Graham (1989), 47; Sharrock (1988), 168–9.

Notes 217 13. Colton (1987), 234–5. 14. Péan (1998), 133f; Moch (1976), 132; Cot (1944), 350–1; Calef (1980), 107; Howson (1998), 50. There is an account by Cusin in Anon. (1979), Hommage à Pierre Cot. 15. Bayac (1972), 287. 16. Cot (1944), 351–6; Pierre Cot, ‘Ce que fut la non-intervention relâchée’, in Le Monde, 21 November 1975. 17. On Moulin as recruiter see Gisclon (1986), 59–61. See also Cate (1995), 234–5; and Schiff (1994), 276–85. Most recently, Howson (1998), 257–9 concludes that, despite later exaggerations, Malraux played a role in supplying planes. 18. Some historians minimise the material impact of the policy and understate the difficulty of carrying it out in the teeth of opposition, including direct sabotage from the extreme right. See Kergoat (1986), 198; M. Thomas (1996), 95. Cot (1944), 355–6 tells the moving story of Spanish anti-fascist soldiers in wartime exile in the USA who walked ten miles in the snow to shake his hand. 19. Letter from Cot to Laure Moulin of 19 June 1945, quoted in CII, 655, also quoting Pierre Cot on ‘Jean Moulin, patriote et républicain’, in Action, 15 June 1945. 20. Péan (1998), 141f; LM, 157. 21. These issues are extensively discussed, for example in Young’s article (1974) and his book (1978); together with Chapman (1991); Alexander (1992); Thomas (article, 1996); and Blatt (1998). Recent French work includes Vivier (1997), and Chadeau (1987). 22. Chapman (1991), 39f; Cointet (1998), 128. 23. Ducloux (1958), 51. 24. Lacaze (1992), 130, 279. 25. Bankwitz (1967), 249f; Alexander (1992), 296–9; Jordan (1992), 3, 145–52, 263–6; Thomas (1995), 59, 150. See also Buffotot’s article (1982), 547–51. 26. Cot (1939), 237–8; CII, 13, 653–4. 27. See Chapman (1991), 101–48; Alexander in Vaïsse (1993), 286–300; and Lissarrague (article, 1977), 100. On Moulin’s personal role see Calef (1980), 98. 28. This is the general conclusion of the definitive Frank (1982), summarised in his article (1983) in L’Histoire. 29. Cot (1944), 403; Thomas (1996), 152–3. 30. Cot (1939), 267–8; CII, 114–15, 541–7, printing the Memorandum of General Vuillemin. 31. Cot (1944), 399f; Assemblée Nationale (1951) Enquiry II, 300–2; Alexander (1992), 162f; Chapman (1991), 231–2. 32. There are many such to be found in FLM 17863, at 49, 113, 130, 176, 187, often about Moulin’s aviation populaire efforts. See also LM, 147f. 33. Thomas (1996), 148–53, etc., Cot (1941), ‘The Defeat of the French Air Force’, in Foreign Affairs, XIX, 798; Alexander (1992), 156–7. Moulin’s full deposition is in CIII, 1199–202. 34. The best account in English is Reynolds (1996), 65–82 including references. See also Fanon (article, 1982). For British aviation and the far right, see Griffiths (1983), 137–41.

218 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 35. Cointet (1998), 129, on the contribution of Déat, which is implausibly linked to fascist inspiration. CII, 66–72, 672 and 519–20 reproduces the article by Moulin entitled ‘L’Aviation Populaire, Comment elle est organisée’, which appeared in Vu, 1 November 1936, 32. Other points are covered in LM, 154; Cot (1939), and (1944) II, 269–71. 36. Quotations from Renouvin and Rémond (1981), 369; Chapman (1991), 129–30. See also Facon (1997), 163. 37. LM, 151. 38. FLM 17863, 38, 53; CII, 101. 39. This is brilliantly captured in Azéma (1984), 1–28. 40. Details can be found in Soucy (1995), 104f. 41. This is the description in the Dépêche de l’Aveyron of 24 March 1937, in FLM 17864, 192. 42. There is a printed version of his speech in ibid., 124–5. 43. This may well be the occasion of ‘most sincere thanks’ hand-written by Interior Minister Dormoy in ibid., 17863, 104. 44. This was asserted in a letter written by Cot to Henri Michel, which is in AJ 72/233. See also Calef (1980), 118.

Notes to Chapter 6: The Youngest Prefect, 1938–9 1. Much of this is in FLM 17864, 149f. 2. Addressing the conseil général of Eure et Loire, CII, 60. 3. Alexandre Adler (1998) ‘Le vrai enigme Jean Moulin’, Le Monde, 11 December makes this point decisively in rejecting the ‘communist agent’ myths. 4. CII, 125f, covers all this, and all the quotations are from there unless stated. See also Calef (1980), 125. 5. Levisse-Touzé (1999), 27. 6. See Dubreuil in Rémond and Bourdin (1978), 77–94. 7. Meunier (1998), 40, says he denounced Munich, but Meunier was writing more than fifty years later. However, Moulin did not in any way dissent from the opinions of Pierre Cot. 8. CII, 125f. All quotations are translated from there unless stated. 9. One might have expected more, but he sent picture postcards of the Cathedral – FLM 17863, 30. 10. Gabory (1989), 314; Lord Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, chapter 3, stanza 57. 11. For example, in PC, 119–20. 12. Marceau commemoration in September 1946 – FLM 17863, 166. 13. Ory, in Rémond et Bourdin (1978). Zay wanted to revive the Popular Front spirit, but it was too late for that. 14. These reports of 4 and 27 May in the Departmental Archives are quoted in CII, 203, 210, 674. 15. Levisse-Touzé (1999), 16; LM, 179–81. 16. Rossi-Landi (1971), 164; and Le Populaire, of 24 August 1939, for the two latter statements. 17. Zay (1942), 69; for Cot and others, CII, 228, and CI, 18.

Notes 219

Notes to Chapter 7:

War and the First Resistance, 1939–40

1. Karel Bartosek et al. (1969), 20, 36; Vicki Caron, in Blatt (1998), 126–70. 2. See CII, 234f, for these quotations and others below unless stated. Moulin’s letter is quoted from the Charente Archives Départementales (M1/242) by Émile Témaine, in Milza and Peschanski (1994), 26, and more fully in Geneviève Dreyfus-Armand (1999), 117–18. 3. Apart from CII, see the statements in PC, 23–6. Relevant letters are in FLM 17864, 230–305. 4. FLM 17864, 233. 5. Levisse-Touzé (1999), 27. 6. Pomaret (1968), 130–1; Bargeton (1994). 7. LM, 217, and many others date the photo to the following winter but Cordier (CII, 242) is certain that it was before he needed to cover the scars inflicted on his neck in June 1940. 8. The memorandum is quoted in C II, 243, 683, which then covers the subsequent actions. See also Calef (1980), 148; and more generally, Rioux et al. (1987). 9. CII, 249, 291. 10. The same General Weiss told the Riom tribunal that Cot was a ‘superdictator’ and Jauneaud a ‘pretentious megalomaniac’. CII, 686, gives this and much more. 11. A photograph of a reception, in LM after p. 197, is vaguely dated 1940. Churchill’s aide Desmond Morton referred in October 1941 (PREM 3/184/9, 154) to a lunch with Gamelin attended by Moulin, which seems to have been on 4 November 1939. See Gilbert (1983), 73, and below. 12. A number of the general issues can be followed in Blatt (1998), and details on French reaction in Crémieux-Brilhac (1990). The most vivid account remains Bloch (1968). 13. Lacouture (1990) I, 184. 14. The manuscript, hidden by Laure Moulin during the war, is in three small writing pads at FLM 17865–7. Some sharp expressions and personal remarks were omitted from the published version, but the indefatigable Daniel Cordier reprints the full version in CII, 585ff. He also gives an interesting parallel account of some of the same events by the acting Mayor Maurice Vidon, from FLM 17868, 34–40. 15. For another view of the term, see Gallo (1980). 16. LM, 188f, includes an unreliable later account; CII, 278. 17. These events are recounted in Péan (1998), 227–8, 245–6, and are said to be based on the papers of Antionette Sachs. On the episode more generally, see Rimbaud (1984) and Azéma (1990). 18. The original is reproduced in Institut Jean Moulin (1994), 44. See also LM, 192. 19. The convoluted text of the letter is in FLM 17868, 25. Moulin’s account, in PC, begins at this point. 20. Paul Reynaud (1963), 410. 21. This statement was thought unpublishable even in 1947. It is not in PC, but is in CII, 599. There is more detail of the bombing in Vidon’s account, at FLM 17868, 34.

220 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.

31. 32. 33.

34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41.

42. 43.

44.

45. 46. 47. 48.

49. 50. 51. 52.

PC, 28. CII, 560. LM, 195. Michel (1971), 44; CII, 298. This can be seen in later references to Moulin in Vidon’s account. See also PC, 52, 38, which is the source for the following quotations unless stated. Meunier (1998), 52. CII, 919–20; and PC, passim. LM, 200, quoting de Torquat. PC, 77; and CII, 585–7, which gives five other accounts of the famous scene, including two German accounts and Vidon’s version in FLM, NAF 17868, 39. The variations are of little significance, though there may have been two different meetings with German officers. This incident is in the original manuscript of PC, given in CII, 575, but not in the printed edition. CII, 575–6; and PC, 81–3. The only detailed account of what followed, including reported conversations, is by Moulin himself in PC. The main outlines are, however, confirmed by other sources given in CII, 695–6. LM, 210. CII, 330–1, 696, and the sources cited there. FLM 17868, 53; and CII, 693, 695, 717. On first resisters, Nougères I (2nd edn, 1982), 33. CII, 418, 606. LM, 212–13; and also CII, 481–2, 722. Institut Jean Moulin (1994), 51; Baruch (1997), 225–7. Moulin’s account is in FO 898/198. All quotations are in CII, 593–4, etc. FLM 17868, 1; Roger Langeron (1946), 109–11; LM, 212. There is some speculation that he might have begun his efforts to reach London during this trip. FLM 17868, 4–15, reprinted in CII, 598f. FLM 17868, 22–52, covers ‘Exactions and Violence committed by the Germans against the civilian population of Eure-et-Loir’, and more incidents are cited from Departmental Archives in CII, 357ff, and 701–2. Moulin’s analysis of the Hague Convention is in CII 594–8. These are outlined in PC, 148–9, omitting names and locations to be found in FLM, 17868, 30. There appears to have been no effort to punish the culprits. CII, 703. CII, 405–10; FLM 17868, 127. CII, 613–21, 432–3, 713–14. CII, 440f, covers all this. The reports in the Archives Nationales at FIC, III, 1135–98 rarely fail to make some such statement at least in the early period. See also Laborie (1990) on the nature of these reports. CII, 448–53, 710, citing German archives. CII, 458, 716–17. Maurice Schumann (1946) I, 30, 124 and de Gaulle D&M I, 34–5. CII, 467–9; Pétain (1989), 549–50; FLM 17868, 99.

Notes 221 53. CII, 470–2, 717–18; AN F16 I 816, 48. 54. CII, 640; FLM 17868, 21; PC, 114. 55. CII, 478; FLM 17868, 66, 68, 154; LM, 214; PC, 165, and more on the same lines in all these sources. The quotation is in the 1950 edition, 1595, and there is some interesting background in Sirinelli (1988), 121–2, 201. 56. 3 AG2 400/16; FLM 17868, 184, 189; CII, 721; Aron (1958), 395f; Clermont (1949), 106–7.

Notes to Chapter 8: From Resister to Resistance, 1940–1 1. These are later recollections of Meunier, in CIII, 74, 1345; and Dolivet, in Péan (1998), 302. 2. Calef (1980), 186, on the broadcast. Harold Nicolson (1970), 196, initially thought Labarthe ‘a more representative Frenchman than de Gaulle’. Péan (1998), 128, says he was a Soviet spy, though his errant eccentricity hardly made him much good. 3. The Cot story was apparently first told in Weil-Curie (1945). De Gaulle soon changed his mind, well before he met Moulin. Despite protests and resignations, he accepted Cot on American Gaullist bodies in July 1941, and in May 1942 in association with the French National Committee – De Gaulle, LNC IV, 272; and CIII, 817–19. 4. LM, 217f, and Calef (1980), 179f, on this period, with CIII, 73f. See also Péan (1998), 275f, which is frustratingly poorly documented. 5. Azéma (1990), 335–43; Langeron (1946), 192; Josse (1962 article). 6. Azéma (1990), 75, 79; Texcier (1945), 15; Blumenson (1977); Noguères et al. (1967–81), II, 222–3, 553; Bédarida and Veillon (1988). 7. CII, 99; Bourdet (1998), 12; Boursier (1997), 16–19. 8. Aglan (1999), 63f, Pineau (1983), 89; CIII, 99, 1347–8; LM, 216; Calef (1980), 191; Meunier (1998), 46, 63. HS6/421, 43, confirms that the contact was through Manhès while Moulin was in London. 9. Levy (1998), 45. The following account concentrates on the groups covered in Moulin’s October 1941 report and another that soon became important. The best general account in any language is Kedward (1978). I have added a little from AJ 72. 10. The manifesto was given enormous significance in the Cordier/Frenay dispute outlined below in Chapter 12, and discussed at inordinate length in CIII, 266–8, 944–1067, and 1286–335. Other issues are covered in Venner (1995), 157–60; AJ 72/46–8; CIII, 269; Frenay (1973), 32; and Granet and Michel (1957). 11. AJ 72/46, 48, 60, 64; Granet and Michel (1957); Douzou (1995); Veillon (1977); Levy (1998). There is an archive-based account in CIII, 1230–9. 12. Zeitoun (1993), 32. 13. CIII, 102, 1347; Calef (1980), 195. 14. CIII, 102, 874; Calef (1980), 190. On Krebs, see LM, 222; and Moulinas et al. (1993), 255. 15. Calef (1980), 192; LM, 234; Meunier (1998), 64; HS6/309, memo of 17 October 1941 on British contacts; FLM 17863, and Anon, 143, for the letters. 16. CIII (1979), 1199–202.

222 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 17. This world is described in Bénédite (1984); Fry (1997); and Calef (1980), 183f. For SOE contacts see Foot (1968), 180; CIII, 1385; and Piquet-Wicks (1957), 36–41. 18. Foot (1968), 2, 25, 120, including the assessment and quotation from Michel. See also LM; Péan (1998); and Piquet-Wicks (1957), 32–5. 19. The date is controversial because Frenay, in pursuit of his ‘cryptoCommunist’ theory, later claimed it followed the Nazi invasion of the Soviet Union (see CII, 111–13 and 1349, for another view). A vivid, if one-sided description is in Frenay (1973), 88–90. See also Chavance-Bertin (1990), 67–8, Noguères et al. (1967–81), II, 99; and Calef (1980), 191. 20. Péan (1998), 296f; Calef (1980), 184–5. 21. There are outlines in HS6/345 and 322, from which the quotations come. See also HS7/123 and CAB 102/650, 349f, summarised in Marcel Ruby (1990), 26f. On the miners, Taylor (2000), and her article (1997). 22. Pétain (1989), 164. 23. Noguères et al. (1967–81), II, 140. See CIII, 467–78, for what follows, including quotes unless stated. 24. Beevor (1981), 154–5; LM, 260; HS6/602. 25. De Gaulle (1955), 272. René Cassin took a similar view thirty years later (1975), 417, as did Meunier (1998), 67. Marks (1998), 328, and Calef (1980), 192, repeat this, though their chronology is clearly at fault. In fact the SOE was pressing from early October for his journey to be expedited (Passy I, 225). De Gaulle is vague on dates, and probably confused these events with the delays in returning Moulin in November and December. These certainly occurred, and due apology was offered, though Eden said they also were ‘only due to transport difficulties’: PRO HS6/311, memo of 22 December 1941 and letter of 20 January 1942, in de Gaulle (1955), 651. See also Foot (1978), 37. 26. I have used the version in Foot (1968), 489–98, translated back into French in LM, 244–56; and CIII, 1210–30, giving various French versions, showing changes from the original, such as the addition of the word ‘eventual’ to the title. I have incorporated these and other corrections, and added further points made in London in November (in PRO FO 898/198). CIII, 1230–9, reviews the historiography of the document, and there is a full contemporary summary in the SOE RF history at HS7/123/32–35. Marnham (2000), 133, espousing the ‘Communist agent’ myth, missed the circumstances and attitudes behind the report so he is alone, and quite misguided, in describing the report as ‘a masterpiece of imprecision, overstatement, approximations and bluff’. 27. A well-informed Polish account is quoted in CIII, 780–2, 1208–10. Differing resistance views from Forman from Liberté and d’Astier on behalf of Libération are discussed below. 28. Calef (1980), 193; Kedward (1978), 41–3. 29. Meunier (1998), 66. Péan (1998), 322, asserts that Antionette Sachs persuaded him to change his plans because he had been ‘too long in the shadow of Pierre Cot’. 30. The main authority is now Crémieux-Brilhac (1996). Also useful are Gillois (1973) and Cointet (1990), with Kersaudy (1990) on Franco-British relations. There are various alternative viewpoints, such as Mengin (1966).

Notes 223 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38.

39. 40.

41. 42. 43.

44.

45. 46. 47.

48.

49. 50. 51.

52. 53.

Kersaudy (1990), 73; Gilbert (1983), 535, 551. See Rimbaud (1984); and Azéma (1990), 179–86. See also above. PRO PREM 7/9, 13 July 1940; CIII, 1169–71. PRO HS6/318, 29 May 1941. CB (1996), 133f; and CIII, 525f, 1171–7, for Cassin on the sovereignty arguments. Gaunson (1987), 184; Kersaudy (1990), 154. See also Thomas (1998). CIII, 580–2; PRO PREM 3 18419, 211. PRO PREM 3, 120/2, partly quoted in Kersaudy (1990), 157f. There is more detail in FO 371/285845, which confirms that the Free French had already given much thought to the proposal. This point was constantly emphasised by the British in the discussions in PRO FO 371/28584–5. PRO FO 371/28214 gives the quoted memo dated 24 October 1941, just after Moulin’s release. See also Passy I, 218. In HS6/311 there is a bad-tempered debate on these matters. Buckmaster argues his case in HS7/121, 72. Dalton (1957), 367, reflected in the founding statements in Stafford (1983), 215f, and West (1992), 20–1. On this see, for example, Stafford (1997), 268; and Lord Gladwyn (1972), 103. The quotes are from CAB 102/650/341 (29 August), and HS7/123, 6, and there is a similar statement on 15 April 1941 by Churchill’s factotum Desmond Morton in PRO HS6/325. See also Stafford (1983), 40, 77. The head of the ‘F’ section, in Maurice Buckmaster (1958), 21, praised wartime co-operation, though he is more critical in HS7/121, from which the quote is taken. See also the history of ‘RF’ section in HS/7/123, Foot (1968), and Marcel Ruby (1990), 290. For a discussion of joint operations, see 3AG 2/375. Martin Thomas (article, 2000), 64. Morton is quoted from Cassin’s papers in CIII, 1396. On Cambon, CB, 190. The September quotations are in PRO FO 371/28214. The quotations in HS6/311 give Dalton’s comments of October 1941. See HS6/316 for the memo of 31 July 1942 on ‘The Position of General de Gaulle and “Fighting France” vis-à-vis Resistance in France To-day’. The first statement is in the Sutton interview in FO 898/198, and the other quotes are in CB, 247. For Cordier’s unsuccessful efforts to view the originals, see CIII, 430–1, 934–42; and CC, 154, 895. According to CB, 244, Moulin’s arrival ‘bouscule tout’. For a similar view, see the thesis of Charmley (1982), 3. I am grateful to Wandsworth Local History Library and some current inhabitants for this information. Ruby (1990), 74–9; CIII, 479. PRO HS6/318 says that 359 Frenchmen passed through between February and May 1941, 31.7% of the total. HS6/421 reports the March 1944 responses of Lucie Aubrac, who greatly impressed her interrogators. For a rejected protest, see Eden’s letter of 10 November 1941, in de Gaulle (1954), 627–8. CIII, 770f, 1412, and the note to Captain Bienvenue of 21 October, in 3AG 2/172. See also Cornick (article, 1994), 335. For French versions, see LM, 261–3; CIII, 480; and Calef (1980), 203.

224 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 54. Piquet-Wicks (1957), 41–2. The resident permit for ‘Joseph Mercier’ dated 25 October, in the Musée Jean Moulin in Paris, gives the hotel address. 55. Pineau (1960), 156–60; Lacouture (1984), 138–9; Mayer (1968), 87. 56. Lacouture (1990) I, 379. 57. De Gaulle (1955), 272; LM, 264–7. The fictional account of the interview in Decaux and Peyrefitte (1999), 71–80, plausibly has Moulin persuading the General. 58. Some of these meetings are described in Péan (1998), 384–9; but Passy I, 224f; Piquet-Wicks (1957), 42; and CIII, 841f, are more reliable. 59. CB, 249–50, citing AN AJ 72/220, which is reproduced in CIII, 1247–61. For Moulin’s view see CIII, 841f. 60. This is a contemporary quotation from Piquet-Wicks, given in CIII, 1420. 61. PREM3/184/9. See also CC, 134, 893. 62. HS6/602 for this, including the quotes. CIII, 1420, mentions the ‘brief’ meeting with Buckmaster. 63. FO898/198, reprinted, translated into French, and subject to critical scrutiny in CIII, 1267–72. 64. LM, 273; Passy I, 226; and a later statement in CC, 139. 65. Calef (1980), 210–11, 223; Passy I, 225–6. 66. The original is reproduced in Calef (1980), 409. CIII, 857–9, 1261–2; and CC, 142f, give successive drafts. HS7/123, 1941, 36 gives a detailed summary. 67. CIII, 1263–6; CC, 144–6; Frenay (1976b), 124; Bourdet (1998), 185. See also Foot (1968), 181. 68. HS6/311 and 328 both contain copies in French; it is reproduced in CIII, 858, 1266–7. These files and HS6/602 cover the subsequent discussion and quotes. 69. The Eden letter, dated 22 January 1942, is in de Gaulle (1954), 651–2. 70. CIII, 888, 1279–85; and Noguères et al. (1967–81), II, 295. See 3AG 2/175 for the BCRA Report, cited in CIII, 1426. HS6/311 contains a letter from de Gaulle to Eden of 22 December, which is also in de Gaulle (1954), 646–7. This may be the letter de Gaulle thought he sent in October (see note 25 above). 71. Frenay (1973), 122. LM, 268, on Labarthe. Frenay (1977), 63, maintains the opposite without any evidence. Péan (1998), 322f, makes much of Dolivet’s contact with SOE in April 1941 and his rejection because of Comintern links. However, he provides nothing in the way of documented sources involving Moulin. See also Chapter 12 below. 72. FLM 17863, 89f; LM, 269; CIII 904, 1427. 73. 3AG 2/178, cited in CIII, 899, 1426. 74. CIII, 892–4; de Gaulle D&M, 134; CB, 248. PRO PREM 3/184/9 records a similar debate in the British Cabinet where the Foreign and Intelligence Services argued that individual assassinations could be justified. 75. CIII 899–900, 906–13, 1426–8; 3AG 2/378 includes d’Astier’s memorandum. 76. De Gaulle (1955), 633–4; CB, 253. 77. Kersaudy (1990), ch. 7. 78. CIII, 889f, on all this. 79. De Gaulle (1955), 647–8. There is some doubt about the authenticity of the wording, especially because of the use of Moulin’s actual name, which does not accord with Laure’s recollection: LM, 267, and CIII, 915f. However, Moulin certainly made use of some such document in 1942.

Notes 225 80. Henri Michel (1971), 49; CIII, 1429. 81. Claude Bourdet (1998), 183. 82. De Gaulle gave some emphasis to this in all versions of his memoirs. These quotes are from the English edition (1955), 281. 83. Péan (1998), 363f. 84. This issue is bedevilled by the disappearance of any Cot/Moulin correspondence that might exist from this period. However, Sabine Jansen, who has studied Cot more than anybody, sees no reason to dispute the view expressed here. See also CIII, 932f. 85. This term is from Guichard (1980), 129.

Notes to Chapter 9: Mission Rex, 1942–3 1. Marc Olivier Baruch, at the Colloque Jean Moulin on 11 June 1999; Soustelle (1947), 386; AJ 72/49. 2. The first statement, in 3AG 2/1, xv, and later accounts, was later attacked by anti-Gaullists like Laurent (1965), 33. The second statement is in Closon (1998), 62. There is a good scholarly account of ‘relations between interior and exterior resistances’ by Douzou and Veillon in Sainclivier and Bougeard (1995), 13–27. 3. Bidault (1967), 23; Michel (1971), 127. On the slow break from Pétain by Frenay, Mitterand and others, see Veillon on ‘The Resistance and Vichy’, in Fishman et al. (2000), 161–80. 4. The main source is Monjaret’s account in 3 AJ 72/233, largely repeated in his article (1964). There is more in 3AJ 72/178; Michel (1971), 17f; and in Zeitoun (1993), 42. There are some slight variations in the account in PF, seen from the pilot’s viewpoint. For accounts in English see Schoenbrun (1981), 171–2, with detail on RAF landings in Verity (1998). 5. Bouveret et al. (1999), 96–7. 6. LM 270f. Some accounts say he saw his family in Montpellier. 7. Ibid., 278ff, is the best source on this and much of what follows. The messages are mostly in 3AG 2/277, and some are in HS7. Continuing problems, in PF, 63, 67, 72, talking of ‘considerable delay in Berne bags’ in May; 81–2, on their being sent in the wrong order in June; 97, on partial transmission; 101, on delays by the Foreign Office. 8. The obituary of Rivière in Le Monde on 19 December 1998 noted the importance of this meeting. 9. AJ 72/564. 10. See 3AG 2/400 and CC 162f, on what follows, including quotations unless stated. The developments in Combat are covered in detail in Granet and Michel (1957) and Ajchenbaum (1995). 11. 3AG 2/400, 5; PF, 74, 78. Frenay (1976b), 99–104, is a later account, implausibly claiming he was deceived. 12. The account in Veillon (1977) is supplemented in Levy (1998). 13. Passy III, 391–2; Frenay (1976b), 122–6; Bénouville (1945); CC, 142. Chevence-Bertin (1990), 70; Bourdet (1998), 126; Bénouville (1949), 105–6; Amoretti (1964), 88; CB, 73. 14. Chevance-Bertin (1990), 69; Bourdet (1998), 129; Frenay (1976b), 128. 15. Aubrac (1996), 71; LM, 281–3.

226 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 16. HS6/322, 7 April 1942. 17. See 3AG 2/178 and 377 for these messages, and the following. 18. CC, 170–4, quoting statements written soon after by Frenay, which vary little from the account in his book (1976), pp. 130–49. See also Bénouville (1949), 110–16; Chevence-Bertin (1990), 75f, and Granet and Michel (1957), 191–4. 19. Venner (1995), 173–6. 20. Dominique Veillon, in Fishman et al. (2000), 169–70; Douzou (1994), 78; D’Astier (1958), 37; 3AG 2/43, June 1942; CC, 173; Péan (1998), 408–10. 21. The statement is in 3AG 2/377, 6, a much-quoted file, though the close coincidence of date should be noted. Frenay (1976b), 135, says that Moulin ‘had to be notified’, but not whether it happened. 22. PF, 78. 23. 3AG 2/1, xv. 24. 3AG 2/400, 22 April 1942; Frenay (1976b), 160–4. There was SOE resentment that ‘the famous Mercier’ had not arranged the journey through them (HS 6/319), and a view that ‘the Free French did not want him to come’ (PF, 70). 25. Frenay (1976b), 221, 162; Schoenbrun (1981), 207. 26. Michel (1971), 114–15; Bellanger (1961), 115–16. 27. 3AG 2/1 xvi, 6 and 400, 6–8; Bellanger et al. (1975), 134; Vistel (1970), 261–85. 28. 3AG 2/400 28; Michel (1971), 115–19; Bellescize (1979), 51f; Teitgen (1988), 52f. There is an account by Bastid in AJ 72/45. 29. Bellanger et al. (1975), 122; Passy II, 130–1. 30. Bell et al. (1990), 321–2. 31. Bellescize (1979), 58, and passim for what follows, plus Ducerf, in Sainclivier and Bougeard (1995), 259–71. Moulin describes the initial steps in 3AG 2/34. 32. Teitgen (1988), 86; Ducerf (1932), 260; René Hostache, in Cordier (1983), 58. 33. 3AG 2/277, 6; Closon (1998 edn), 55–8; Michel (1971), 115–19; Hostache (1958), 100; Soustelle (1947), 386; Debré (1984) I, 189–90; Passy III, 226– 9. 34. Soustelle (1947), 382–4; Bourdet (1998), 108–9; Bénouville (1949), 180; Vistel (1970), 209–43; Villon (1983), 75. 35. HS 6/319; CC 182f; Zeitoun (1993), 47–60; Passy II, 109–14. 36. 3AG 2/181. For SOE control see HS 6/312. SOE historical advisor Duncan Stuart assures me that all the telegrams were destroyed, though many are referred to in internal accounts of SOE activities in HS7. 37. HS 7/124, 24; 6/421, 21 July 1943. 38. CC, 176f. Péan (1998), 395ff, on much of what follows. 39. Bidault (1967), 23; CC, 177; LM, 293–4. 40. AJ 72/35; Baumel (1999), 177; Footitt and Simmonds (1988), 51. 41. Michel (1971), 69–70; Weitz (1995), 247–8; Levy (1988), 85–8. 42. Zeitoun, 43–5; LM, 293, 357–60. Péan (1998), 400–5, adds more from later interviews, claiming that Moulin had an affair with Colette Pons. Calef (1980) reproduces the letter to the prefect, and Bouveret et al. (1999), 124–5, Moulin’s final letter of 17 June 1943 to his family, which is mostly about the gallery. 43. Flonneau in Azéma and Bédarida (1992), 508; Bidault (1967), 21; CB, 211f. 44. Kedward (1978), 215–18 for this quote from a participant and the later demonstrations. See also Vistel (1970), 108–11.

Notes 227 45. 3AG 2/1, xvi; Crémieux-Brilhac (1998), ‘Jean Moulin et le commissariat à l’Intérieur’, in www.paru.com/redac 46. LM, 332–6, quoting ‘unedited documents’; 3AG 2/300, 15; Bénouville (1949), 117. 47. 3AG 2/401, 82; CB 366; Soustelle (1947), 294–300. 48. Schumann (1946) II, 151; de Gaulle (1970) D&M, 205–7; CB, 335–8, 369f; Pineau (1961), 167–75. 49. Warner (1968), 301. 50. 3AG2 400/31, 399/48. 51. Schoenbrun (1981), 194; Vistel (1970), 113–16. The high level of coordinated preparation is evident from 3AG 2/401, 85, 93. 52. Ruby (1977), 84; Vistel (1970), 353. 53. 3AG 2/399, 29 July; CC, 196; Laborie (1990), 344; 3AG 2, 400 and 401. 54. Blum (1955), 350; HS 6/316 for Gouin; CB, 378; Passy II, 227–42; Philip (1988), 53–5; W. J. M. MacKenzie on the History of SOE in CAB 102/650, 439; LM, 413. 55. HS7/245, 176–8. 56. 3AG 2/377, 10; HS7/245, 179; de Gaulle LNC 1941–3, 405. 57. Rieber (1962), 7f; Michel and Mirkine-Guetzévitch (1954), 26–9; Soustelle (1947), 359; Sweets (1976) 124. See also CC, 267f, and CB, 310f. 58. D’Astier (1958), 59. 59. These matters are clearly described by Cordier on ‘La France libre, Jean Moulin et les communistes’ in Courtois and Lazare (1991), 29–37. Unfortunately the later charges of Frenay against Moulin and the later political stance of Manhès and others have clouded much later discussion. 60. 3AG 2 /401, 76–88; /377, 15. 61. 3AG 2/377, 10; De Gaulle LNC 1941–3, 405; de Gaulle, War Memoirs, vol. 2: Documents, 163; CB, 249, 334–5; Prenant (1971), 385; Rémy (1959 edn) I, 493. On the Communists more generally, see Azéma (1984), 146; CB, 319–31; CI, 170f; and Tillon (1991). 62. Meunier (1998), 75; HS 7/247, 167; 3AG 2/400, 142, 377; 401, 106, 181, 377. 63. HS 6/312, 7/123, 24; 3 AG 2 401, 112–13; 3AG2 2, 1, Annexes. Some is in PF, 89–90. 64. This is covered in Cables de Rex for 28 August, in 2 AG3/400, 62–70, summarised in Passy II, 128; and CC, 194. See also CI, 87f, and Guillin (1995), 84f. 65. 3AG 2/400, 69. 66. Lacouture (1990), 383; CB, 419. 67. De Gaulle (1956), 43; Perrier (1997), 111; Frenay (1976b), 201. There are nearcontemporary accounts in Soustelle (1947), 395f; and Passy II, 246f. 68. CC, 200; Guillin (1995), 86–91; CI, 91–2. 69. Frenay (1976), 217–18, records this much-quoted exchange, which is also given in 3 AG 2 1/19. 70. CB, 417; Passy II, 264–7; Sweets (1976), 55; Jean-Pierre Azéma at the Colloque Jean Moulin, 11 June 1999. 71. Message of 16 November 1942, quoted in d’Astier (1965), 271–2. 72. Soustelle (1947), 463–70; De Gaulle D&M I, 233–40. 73. There is a good account of the consequent ‘coupure décisive pour Vichy (novembre 1942)’, see Azéma and Bédarida (1993) II, 7–29.

228 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 74. The general reaction and other issues are well set out in Maguire (1995), 63–74; CB, 425f; and Phillip Bell’s article (1982). See also Foot (1968), 221; and Kersaudy (1990), 214f. 75. Kersaudy (1990), 208; de Gaulle (1956), 38; Soustelle (1950), 32. 76. In a Stalinist touch, this part of the speech was cut from later records – Gilbert (1986), 276–7. 77. HS 6/316, 5 November; 6/321, 21 November 1942; Buckmaster, in HS 7/121, 4. 78. Parliamentary Debates V, 385, 1942–3. 79. Frenay (1976b), 213–14; de Gaulle, LNC 1941–3, 432. 80. Maguire (1995), 63–74; Funk (1974), 260; Verrier (1990); Soustelle (1950), 89–95. 81. CC, 207–9; Bourdet (1998), 137–42; LM, 371. 82. HS 7/243, 229; Soustelle (1950), 9; Kupferman (1987), 400–1. 83. This phase is well outlined in the article by Martin Thomas (1996), and quotes are all from there. See also his book (1998), 165–77. 84. Ravanel (1995), 84; Crémieux-Brilhac, in Azéma and Bédarida (1993) II, 187. 85. De Gaulle’s message is in 3AG 2/401, 179, and his broadcast in L’Unité (1959a), 48. The joint statement is in 3AG 2/400, 108, with extracts in Noguères et al. (1967–81), III, 56. The story of how it got to London is in Verity (1998), 54. See also Schoenbrun (1981), 227; and Michel (1962), 248. 86. 3AG 2/400/152. Sweets (1976), 69; Ravanel (1995), 90. 87. There is a vivid account of the 27 November meeting in Baumel (1999), 217–22. On other issues, see Soustelle (1950), 142ff; Sweets (1976), 58; Schoenbrun, 245; Frenay (1973), 237. 88. 3AG 2401, 181; Frenay (1973), 212; Péan (1994), 266, 309; Dainville (1974), 167; CC, 204–7. 89. 3AG 2/1, 1, xvii, 400, 67; Passy II, 132–9; Aglan (1999), 195f, on the difficulties of making these links. 90. Vistel (1970), 371f; Sweets (1975), 60f; Passy II, 308–9. 91. Chevance-Bertin (1990), 106; Vistel, quoted in Sweets (1976), 61. The Manifesto and constitution are in Passy III, 308–92. 92. HS 6/322, 28 January 1943; HS7/124, 170.

Notes to Chapter 10: The National Resistance Council, May 1943 1. Moulin eschewed the word ‘national’ to avoid confusion with the French National Committee, but it was added after his death (CC, 313). 2. Baumel (1999), 171. 3. CC, 270–85; Rémy (1950), 204f; Passy III; Grenier (1970), 178–80. 4. CC, 279f; Grenier’s account is in Cordier (1983), 46–9. 5. De Gaulle LNC 1943, 511–12; Sweets (1976), 125. 6. This was done in particular through Philippe Roques, Mandel’s former press officer (CB, 342–5). 7. Despite the claims reproduced in Sherwood (1970), 281, there are many discussions about feasibility in HS6. See also Reynaud (1963), 454–5; and Daladier (1995).

Notes 229 8. Queuille experienced delays like Moulin, and it took SOE agent Forest YeoThomas much effort to contact the other Radical leaders – 3AG 2/400, 42; HS7/242. 9. Bidault (1967), 176; 3 AG 2/401/9. 10. Daladier (1995), 160; Piketty (1998). 11. See 3AG 2/400, 223, 401, 23. For more see CC, 908. 12. Marc Sadoun (1982), 145f. See also Mayer (1968), 82; CC, 197–9, 246f. 13. Andrieu (1984), 31f. 14. Debû-Bridel (1948a), 37; 3 AG 2/377, 7; Bourdet (1998), 217; Closon (1998), 83. 15. CC, 224–42. See also Piketty (1998), 211f. 16. Rémy (1948), 238; Passy II, 74. 17. 3AG 2/377, 7; quotation in Sweets (1976), 154–5. 18. 3AG 2/401, 1; HS 7/123, 24. See also Michel (1971), 187–8. 19. Soustelle (1950), 150. 20. 3AG 2/181, 14 December 1942, quoted in CC, 219, 296–7. 21. 3AG 2/401, 223, and Soustelle (1950), 151, are clear on this point, despite the unsubstantiated claim in Marnham (2000), 177, that the delay was contrived by Moulin. There is more in PF, 128, and it is clear from HS 7/124, 12, that there was ‘a passage of telegrams which, owing to delay and mutilation, must have been confusing to all parties’, as detailed in PF, 129. 22. 3AG 2/318; de Gaulle LNC 1943, 511–14; CC, 311–12. 23. HS 7/124 18, 36, 179–80, 7/247, 179; Morgan (1954), 63; d’Astier (1965), 97; Michel (1971), 152–3; LM, 405–6. 24. Verity (1998), 194; Meunier (1998), 96. 25. PF, and Verity (1998), 64–5. Frenay (1973), 246, dates a directing committee meeting to 21 February, which cannot be accurate. 26. Passy III, 62. 27. There are detailed reports by Moulin on wireless communication matters dated 19 February, and accounts of meetings held on 16 and 22 February, all in PF. 28. Closon (1998), 38; de Gaulle, Memoirs (1955) II, 95, document 134. I have retranslated this text from the French edition, 445–6. There is a slightly longer version given in other places, such as d’Astier (1965), 282–3. The only significant addition concerns the Arquebuse mission, discussed below. 29. Lacouture (1990) I, 438. CC, 308f, describes how the document was drafted, attributing considerable significance to Moulin’s own role. CC, 328–9, gives the evidence, and 3AG 2/1, 18 March 1943, contains the quoted letter. 30. 3AG 401 235f. Péan (1998), 457, on the other hand, claims that Moulin did not hear the news until his return to France. He also says that Manhès revealed his contacts, though that is not the view of Yeo-Thomas, despite his disagreements – Seaman (1997), 78. 31. Pineau (1961), 288–9. 32. Sweets (1976), 124; Passy III, 300–1. Henri Rousso, in Azéma and Bédarida (1993). 33. These developments in general are covered in H. R. Kedward (1993), 1–43. Opposition to the Relève is described in Soustelle (1950), 140–1, and the Montluçon events in Schoenbrun (1981), 246–7. See also Vistel (1970).

230 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943

34. 35. 36.

37.

38. 39. 40.

41. 42.

43. 44.

45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50.

51. 52. 53.

54. 55. 56.

Frenay (1973), 237f, says he first heard of what became the maquis on New Year’s Eve. D’Aragon (1977), 110. HS 6/322, 329 and 316; HS 7/247176–8, 272; 7/124, 29. Frenay (1973), 246f, which seems to give the wrong date. See also LM, 369; Bourdet (1998), 162; 3AG 2/401, 260, 22 March 1943; Vistel (1970), 608; Michel (1971), 176–9. Passy III, 341–5; and Veillon and Wieviorka on ‘La Résistance’, in Azéma and Bédarida (1993), 65–90, give summaries. There is more in Calmette (1961) on OCM, Mutter (1944) and Granet (1964) on CDR, Wievorka (1995) on Défense de la France. There is a good subjective contemporary account by SOE agent Forest Yeo-Thomas in HS 6/614 and HS 7/247, 249–50, from which the quotes are taken. Baumel (1999), 292; Calmette (1961), 67. Soustelle (1947), 312. This account is based on 3AG 2/42 and HS 5/614 and 7/245. There is much more in Passy III, Seaman (1997), Rémy (1948), 238f, and Hostache (1989), 19f. This is suggested by Passy, developed by Péan (1998), 449f, and embellished in Marnham (2000), 175f. This is essentially the view presented by Cordier in CC 365f, though he adds a surfeit of Machiavellian intrigue. He rather undermines his theory by providing a detailed summary of messages and responses, which indicate limitless scope for honest confusion and misunderstanding. The quote is in Baumel (1999), 296. Villon (1989), 71. Passy III, 230f; Michel (1971), 129. Frenay (1973), 203, says he agreed with Brossolette, but this was not a view that was widely shared. It is also interesting to notice that Passy took a less hostile view to Moulin in an interview in 1998 – Benamov (1999), 144–7. CC, 303–5. Much of Brossolette’s report is in LM, 474–5. Passy III, and Meunier (1998); Seaman (1997), 78, gives the view of YeoThomas, reflecting Brossolette. HS 7/124, 13, 247, 170. Wieviorka (1995), 208f. Passy III, 179–80; Calmette (1961), 148–52; LM, 384. Passy III, 179–82, for one account, and Meunier (1998), 99, for another, much later but from a participant. Péan (1998), 466–7 repeats the third-hand allegation that Moulin dropped his trousers to display contempt for Brossolette. Yeo-Thomas, in HS7/247, 248, and on the executive, ibid., 19. HS7/247, 236. There are vivid descriptions by Yeo-Thomas of these meetings, in HS6/14 and 7/124, briefly summarised in Chapman (1966), 39–40. Passy’s report of the 12 April meeting is in AG 3 2/42, largely reproduced in Passy III, and summarised in CC, 334f. See also LM, 404. HS 7/247, 242. Piketty, at the Colloque Jean Moulin on 11 June 1999; Ravanel (1995), 93. Quoted in CB, 481–2.

Notes 231 57. Michel (1971), 134. 58. Bidault (1967), 24, says that on his return from London, Moulin told him that he now had information that the invasion would not take place in 1943. Neither of them dared pass on this most unwelcome news. 59. Closon (1998), 80. 60. Levy (1998), 100, confirmed in HS7/124, 19; Vistel (1970), 83; Crémieux (1966), 108–9. 61. HS 7/124, 18, 36; 121. 62. The 8 April meeting is also described in Frenay (1973), 254–6. The texts are in Frenay (1990), 305–24. Closon (1998), 59f, describes the meeting and gives Moulin’s response, which he brought to London. See also Hostache (1958), 100–1, and Granet and Michel (1957), 87. 63. HS 7/247, 260–4; Closon (1998), 59; Seamen (1997), 87. 64. The letter is in Closon (1998), 78–91; and Passy III, 229–36, 364–9. The quotations are from Azéma, in Azéma and Bédarida (1993) II, 259; and Soustelle (1950), 168. 65. 3AG 2/303. 66. Passy III, 373–6; LM, 390f. 67. Hostache (1958), 101f; Passy III, 210f; Sweets (1976), 95f. Péan (1998), 429–45, adds from American archives. 68. Frenay (1973), 255; Soustelle (1950), 165. 69. AJ 72/564; HS 7/124, 19. 70. Bénouville (1949), 204–9; HS7/124, 16, 19; /247, 252; 3AG 2/295. 71. Cordier, in Courtois and Lazare (1991), 35; Villon (1989), 72; D’Astier (1965), 86; Closon (1998), 79; Azéma, in Azéma and Bédarida (1993) II, 253. 72. HS7/124, 18. Jean-Pierre Azéma, at the Colloque Jean Moulin, made the latter point on 11 June 1999. 73. The telegrams are in 3AG 2/400, partly reprinted in CB, 541. 74. HS 7/247, 253. 75. Philip (1988), 60; Soustelle (1947), 170; 3 3AG 2/400, 7 June 1943, in de Gaulle, War Memoirs (1959a) II, documents, 165–6. 76. Debû-Bridel (1978), 29. 77. 3AG 2/181, 912, frequently reproduced, for example in Hostache (1956 article), 154f. 78. The reaction is described in Granet (1964), 70, and the rest is in 3AG 2/409, quoted in CC, 388f. 79. The sources for these exchanges are the diary of CDR representative Lecompte-Boinet, in 72 AJ/542, 174–5, and Villon (1989), 73, quoted in CC, 388f, and CB, 534–9. 80. Philippe Burrin, at the Colloque Jean Moulin on 11 June 1999. 81. Quoted in CC, 390–1.

Notes to Chapter 11: The Tragedy of Caluire – and After 1. Dominique Veillon on ‘Caluire’, at the Colloque Jean Moulin on 11 June 1999. She has also produced an excellent summary of the issues jointly with Jean-Pierre Azéma, in Azéma et al. (1994), 127–44.

232 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 2. Daniel Cordier, in CC, 433; Raymond Aubrac, in 72 AG/233, 20 October 1963; Garçon (1950), 86. 3. Baumel (1999), 313. 4. Azéma (1984), 143. 5. A more or less accurate chart of the ‘secret army’, said to have been shown personally to Hitler, is much reprinted, for example Bénouville (1949), 349. 6. A scribbled note to Lily Manhès is reproduced in Bouverel (1999), 118. See also LM, 431. Péan (1998), 471–4, interviewed Colette Pons in 1996, and adds more. 7. 3AG 2/401, 170f. 8. 3AG 2/377, 7; Mireille Albrecht (1986), 337. 9. Meunier (1998), 110; Closon (1998), 91. 10. LM, 381f, gives the message of 7 May from which the quote is taken. The SOE response is in PF, 5 June 1943, summarised in HS 7/247, 260–4. CC, 446–7, gives more of the French side of the discussion. 11. LM, 407–8; HS 7/124, 21. 12. From the numerous accounts of the following events I have generally followed CC, 430ff, and Noguères et al. (1967–81), III, 413ff, supplemented from LM except where stated. See also Dreyfus (1999). 13. To further complicate matters, Hardy claimed that he did not pick up the message, but was travelling to Paris for quite other reasons. 14. Caviglioni (article, 1989), 34. 15. Reproduced in CC, 444–5. 16. 3AG 2/181. 17. Benamou (1999), 29–30, from interviews of 1997 and 1999. Earlier interviews are reported in Noguères et al. (1967–81), III, and Schoenbrun (1981), 308. 18. Péan (1998), 546–9. 19. Lucie Aubrac (1997), 85; Raymond Aubrac (1996), 95. 20. Péan (1998), 552, for example. This evidence was dismissed by some because it came from a Gestapo agent. 21. They are exhaustively recorded in CC, and a few more can be found in LM, 476–83. 22. Bidault (1967), 24. 23. Doubt is cast on this much-repeated story (in Pineau (1961), 122–4) by Cordier, in CC, 471. Aglan (1999), 7, provides thin supporting evidence. 24. Guillin (1995), 272. 25. This is reproduced in Institut Jean Moulin (1994), 106. 26. LM, 14. 27. Noguères (1985), 225–31. The view that Aubrac was engaged in a triple bluff, acting on behalf of the Russians to get the Gestapo to kill their former agent Moulin, suggested in Marnham (2000), 246f, is, like all such diabolical conspiracy theories, hard to disprove, and even harder to take seriously. More serious issues about the actions of the Aubracs are considered in Chapter 12. 28. Péan (1998), 539; Dreyfus (1996), 262–3; H6/421, 28 July 1943. 29. Noguères et al. (1967–81), III, 478; de Gaulle, Memoirs (1959a), II, 167 (retranslated). 30. HS 6/421; HS 7/249, 349. On this phase more generally, see CC, 485ff, and CB, 745f. 31. 3AG 2/400, 227f.

Notes 233 32. 3AG 2/181. 33. The obituary of Jarrot in The Times of 25 April 2000 mentions this, but see CI, 260–2. 34. CI, 264–8. 35. De Gaulle (1959a), 168; telegrams in 3AG 2/401 and 397, partly quoted in CB, 750. Passy III, 265, for his view. 36. This is covered in CB 751f. The view of Serreulles on the ‘affair of the rue de la Pompe’ is in AJ 72/45. He rather downplays its significance. The SOE assessment of Serreulles was ‘that his presence on the field was a menace to his unfortunate comrades’ (HS 7/124, 23). Ibid., 52, describes Bingen as ‘deplorable’, ‘however brave his death’. This is repeated in Marshall (1966), 53f, and Seaman (1997), 93f. CB, 761, gives a more positive (French) assessment. 37. LM, 411; Mengin (1966), 211. 38. Louis Joxe (1981), 197; Frenay (1976b), 201. 39. Piquet-Wicks (1957), 62. 40. Quote in CIII, 937; Michel (1971), 174–5. 41. Michel (1971), 134.

Notes to Chapter 12: A Contested Legacy, 1943–2000 1. Message of Laurent Fabius to the Colloque Jean Moulin, 10 June 1999. 2. For a brilliant description, see Pierre Nora (1996), 205–40. 3. On the freemasons, see Headings (1949) and Nordmann (1974), 336–7, Faucher (1986), 236–7, argues for his membership on the basis of attendance at one meeting in 1937. For the Radicals, Nicolet (1957), 101. Moulin’s name figured prominently on the web site of the Radical Socialist Party when it was celebrating its centenary in 1999. 4. De Gaulle, LNC VI, 200, 223, and PC, 13. 5. Levisse-Touzé (1999), 62; and FLM, 17868, 190–210. 6. Dalloz (1992), 88; Bidault (1950 article), 1–5; Calef (1960), 8; Farge (1946), 14–15. There is more from Bidault in 72 AJ/49, as also in Resistance (1967). 7. PC, 166–9; Le Monde, 20 August, 17 December 1946; Antoinette Sachs (published under her later name, Saxe) Le Monde Ilustré, 1 February 1947. 8. Le Monde, 23 January 1998, 14, on the ENA; and Bercellini and Wieviorkal (1995), 203–37, on the plaque at the Interior Ministry. 9. Pierre Cot, ‘Jean Moulin, patriote et républicain’, Action, 15 June 1945, partly reprinted in Benfredj (1990); and Passy’s volumes of 1947 and 1951, here referred to as Passy I, II and III. 3G 2/1–3 clearly shows that this is not the work of Passy alone. 10. For details see Mossuz (1970); Touchard (1977), 319–23; and Moreau (1998), 192f. 11. Alphandery (1999), 65–8. See also Hessel (1997), 152, and an interesting interview with him in Benamou (1999), 275–302. 12. For a list of these publications, see ‘Club Jean Moulin’ in the bibliography. 13. Peyrefitte (1997) II, 109. Georges Bidault was just as indignant, but from an anti-de Gaulle viewpoint.

234 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 14. For a full account see Rousso (1991), 82–97. There is more in Malraux (1968), 381–7. 15. Nora (1996), 565. Laure Moulin in Le Monde, 12 December 1964, gives her view. See above, Chapter 1, for more detail. 16. One lavishly illustrated account is to be found in Insitut Jean Moulin (1994). 17. Le Monde, 22 May 1981. 18. The catalogue for Lyons is Zeitoun (1993), and material available at Béziers can be seen in Lugand (1993). 19. This is covered in Chapter 10 above, and in Frenay’s publications discussed below. 20. Such a view is presented in Dreyfus (1990), 698–9. 21. The 1950 letter is in Passy III, 389–415, developed in Frenay (1976b), xii, 444–8. 22. Claude Bourdet, Le Monde, 26 April 1973. The historian Jean-Pierre Azéma (1983), in L’Histoire, April 1983, 102, concluded that ‘there is no Moulin affair’. 23. Johnson’s article (1999), 11. 24. Le Monde, 7 November 1989, has an indignant response from Chillina Frenay on behalf of her late husband, and a piece by Jean-Pierre Azéma pointing to the a-historical character of charges about early Pétainism. See also Figaro, 23 and 31 October 1989, and Henri Noguères in Le Monde, 15 November 1989, on the issue of length. Most of these articles are reprinted in CIII, 1312f. 25. This was the title of the paper given by Mme Vergez at the Colloque Jean Moulin on 11 June 1999. The Cordier volumes are referred to in this book as CI, CII, CIII and CC. 26. Bowyer (1985) and (1995) gives the background and Rousso (1991), 199–216, provides a somewhat heterodox account. There are fair narratives in de Hoyos (1984), Paris (1985), and Mérindol (1987); much of the balanced journalism is reproduced in Gauthier (1988), and a lot more is collected at the IHTP. There is also a film of the trial, which can be seen at the Resistance Museum in Lyons. 27. Le Monde, 4 May 1987. 28. For a summary, see Faligot and Kauffer (1989), 496–507. Corgi Books published an example of Hardy’s fiction in 1958 as Bitter Victory. See also Hardy (1984), and CC, 717–85. A recent reiteration of the general view by a resistance leader very close to the event is given in Benamou (1999), 31, and the case for other possibilities is given in Marnham (2000), 233f. There is more detailed discussion on the events above in Chapter 11. 29. For this see Rousso (1991), 208–9, and Henri Noguères (1985), 20f. The view of Jean-Pierre Azéma is in L’Histoire, 55 April 1983, 98–102. 30. Wright (1987), 239–40. These opinions are essentially repeated in Andrew and Gordievsky (1990), 370–1, without any verifiable evidence. For one of many protests about this from a serious historian, see Crémieux-Brilhac (1996), 176. 31. Wolton (1998) contains more of this, as does Haynes and Klehr (1999), where lists of Venona transcripts about Cot are given, but only assertions that they went beyond publicly stated positions.

Notes 235 32. Nicolson (1970), 196. Much of this is in Wolton (1993), embroidered by Péan (1998) and repeated in Marnham (2000). Straight (1983), 253–8, covers Dolivet’s extraordinary American career. 33. Giraud (1988), 108–44, 154–8, 267–8; (1989), 284ff; and Courtois (1998), 373. See also Vidal-Naquet (1993), 20–3. 34. Benfredj (1990), 108–44, 154–8, 267–8, crushingly refuted in Vidal-Naquet (1993), 18–19. 35. Thierry Wolton (1993) provoked numerous articles and a few books. A passionate and elegant refutation of Wolton’s augments and method is in Vidal-Naquet (1993), and another trenchant attack is in Conan and Rousso (1994), 209–36. Some support is in Figaro-Magazine, 6 February 1993, where Henri-Christian Giraud teamed up with the reformed Stalinist Annie Kriegel. Issues of the Nouvel Observateur of 17 and 25 February 1993 include contributions from François Furet as well as from historians with knowledge of the period including Jean-Pierre Azéma, François Bédarida, and the biographer Jean Lacouture. See also the Stéphane Courtois article (1993). 36. Vidal-Naquet (1993), 20, on the ‘homosexual link’, and 59f, on the ‘Spanish smoke screen’. 37. On the source, see Wolton in Figaro-Magazine, 6 February 1993, and Wolton (1993), 329, for the limited news from Chartres. For a historian’s counterview see François Bédarida, ‘L’Histoire de la Résistance et l’affaire Jean Moulin’, in Cahiers de l’Institut de l’Histoire du Temps Présent, 27, June 1994, 160. Courtois (1993 article) comes to the same conclusion. 38. On this, see Stéphane Courtois (1993 article), 12, and Gilles Perrault, ‘Quand Trepper Mentait’, in Nouvel Observateur, 25 February 1993, 91. For a French translation of the full text, see Wolton (1993), 353–7. 39. There is a devastating critique in Conan and Rousso (1994), 222f. 40. In his debate with Vidal-Naquet in Le Monde, 26 November 1993. Marnham (2000), 246, has revived this now unsupported theory and asserts that it will one day be proved from unrevealed and unspecified documents. 41. On Kriegel, see Delwit and Dewael (1984). For Furet, see his article in Nouvel Observateur, 18 February 1973, and Vidal-Naquet (1998), 345. 42. Conan and Rousso (1994), 227; François Bédarida, ‘L’Histoire de la Résistance et l’affaire Jean Moulin’, in Cahiers de l’Institut de l’Histoire du Temps Présent, 27 June 1994, 158; and Crémieux-Brilhac, in Vidal Naquet (1993), 155–60, and in his book (1996), 244. 43. Bernstein et al. (1995), 70. 44. The earlier events are covered in Conan and Rousso (1994), and Froment (1994), 121f. For the background on Papon, see Poiret-Delpech (1998), and for his trial, see the reports of Jean-Michel Dumay in Le Monde, extensively detailed in his book (1998). The best summary in English is Nancy Wood’s 1999 article, reprinted in her book (1999), 113–42. 45. Libération published a supplement on 9 November 1997 giving an account of the ‘table ronde’. Measured accounts are given by the historian Antoine Prost (writing also ‘as a man and a citizen’) in Le Monde, 12 May 1997, on ‘Les historiens et les Aubrac: une question de trop’, and by Gilles Perrault on ‘Barbie, son Tartuffe et les Aubrac’, in Le Monde, 23 May 1997.

236 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 46. The controversy is well summarised in an article as yet unpublished, by Hanna Diamond and Claire Gorrara, ‘Occupation Memories: French history and the Aubrac Affair in the 1990s’, kindly supplied by the authors. There is another summary in Guillon’s article (1999), and a rather less balanced account by Paul Webster on ‘Resistance Heroes tarnished by time’, in the Guardian, 10 July. For a spirited defence of the Aubracs, see Delpla (1998), expanding on his article ‘Quelle affaire Aubrac?’ in Le Monde of 9th May. 47. Le Monde, 4 April 1998. Chauvy continues to publish his views on an Internet site, www.csonline.net/moulince/moul-g.htm 48. Guillon article (1999), 92; Marnham (2000), 218f. 49. Johnson’s article (1999), 10. 50. Jacques Baynac (1998) and Pierre Péan (1998). There is a journalistic account of all this in L’Express, 19 November 1998, and a review displaying sympathy with the views of Baynac, by François-Georges Dreyfus (article, 1999). Cordier’s response is in CC, 860–74. 51. Péan (1999). The phrase appears as the heading of a review of the book in Le Figaro. Péan undermines his perceived veracity on p. 253 by attacking ‘punctilious historians’ who demand proof for every statement. 52. Alexandre Adler, ‘La vraie énigme Jean Moulin’, in Le Monde, 11 December 1998. There is also a good summary in Douglas Johnson’s article (1999). 53. Levisse-Touzé (1999). 54. For a review, see Marion Van Renterghem in Le Monde, 11 September 1999. 55. Decaux and Peyrefitte (1999), and Bouveret et al. (1999). 56. On a day just as cold, but with many fewer histrionics from President Chirac than Malraux had bestowed on Moulin. See Harris (article, 1998), 53–5.

Bibliography Primary sources (archival) Archives Nationales (Paris) 3AG 2 (Archives de BCRA) Especially 1–3, Livre Blanc du BCRA; 172–5, Liaison avec SOE; 178, Premiers missions; 181, Courriers de Rex; 277, Finances de Rex; 376–9, Mouvements de résistance; 397, Missions; 398–9, Courriers pour Rex etc.; 400, Télégrammes de Rex etc.; 401, Télégrammes pour Rex et Sophie; 407, Télégrammes de et à Bip; 409, Organisations centrales de la résistance.

AJ 72 (Seconde Guerre Mondiale) Especially 39–40, Réseaux Buckmaster; 45, COMAC, CGC, CNC; 46–8, Combat; and 49, CNR etc.; 55, Franc-Tireurs; 220–1, La France Libre à Londres; 233, Jean Moulin; 409, Organes centrales de la résistance; 535–50, Papiers de Général Cochet; 564, Rapports de Rex etc.

F1 BI 816 Dossier de la carrière de Jean Moulin.

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238 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943

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Printed primary sources Assemblée Nationale (1934, no. 3383) Rapport général fait au nom de la commission chargé de rechercher les causes et les origines des événements du 6 février 1934 et les jours suivants par M. Marc Rucart, 2 vols. Assemblée Nationale (1951, no. 2344) Rapport fait au nom de la commission chargée d’enquêter sur les événements survenus en France de 1933 à 1945 par M. Charles Serre, 9 vols. Blum, Léon (1955) L’Oeuvre, 1940–1943 (Albin Michel). Brossolette, Pierre (1998) Résistance (1927–1943). Textes rassemblés par Guillaume Piketty (Odile Jacob). Crémieux-Brilhac, Jean-Louis (ed.) (1975–7) Ici Londres . . . Les Voix de la Liberté, 1940–1944, 5 vols (La Documentation française). Daladier, Édouard (1995) Prison Journals, 1940–1945, ed. Jean Daladier and Jean Davidan, translated by Arthur D. Greenspan (Westview Press, Boulder, Col.). Dalton, Hugh (1986) The Second World War: Diary, 1940–1945, ed. Ben Pimlott (Jonathan Cape). de Gaulle, Charles (1954) Mémoires de Guerre: L’Appel, 1940– 42 (Plon). de Gaulle, Charles (1956) Mémoires de Guerre: L’Unité, 1942– 44 (Plon). de Gaulle, Charles (1959) Mémoires de Guerre: Le Salut, 1944– 46 (Plon). de Gaulle, Charles (1955) War Memoirs, vol. 1: The Call to Honour, 1940–1942 (Collins). de Gaulle, Charles (1959a) War Memoirs, vol. 2: Unity, 1942–1944 (Weidenfeld and Nicolson). de Gaulle, Charles (1959b) War Memoirs, vol. 3: Salvation, 1944–1946 (Weidenfeld and Nicolson). (Each of the above six volumes is accompanied by a volume of documents.) de Gaulle, Charles (1970) Discours et Messages, 1940–1949, 5 vols (Plon) (herein D&M). de Gaulle, Charles (1970–71) Mémoires d’Espoir, 1958–71, 2 vols (Plon). de Gaulle, Charles (1980–87) Lettres, Notes et Carnets, 1905–1970, 12 vols (Plon) (herein LNC). Documents Diplomatiques Français, 1932–1939: Première Série, 1932–35, 6 vols; Deuxième Série, 7 vols (Ministère des Affaires Étrangères). Documents on British Foreign Policy, 1919–1939, ed. W. N. Meddlicott, Douglas Dakin, Gillian Bennett, 2nd Series, vol. xvii (HMSO). House of Commons Parliamentary Debates Fifth Series, 1942–3 (HMSO). Nicolson, Harold (1970) Diaries and Letters, 1939–1945 (Collins Fontana). Pétain, Philippe (1989) Discours aux Français, 17 juin 1940–20 août 1944, ed. JeanClaude Burbas (Albin Michel).

Bibliography 239 Schumann, Maurice (1946) Honneur et Patrie (Livres Français). Schumann, Maurice (1964) La Voix du Couvre Feu (Plon).

Unpublished dissertations Charmley, John (1982) ‘British Policy towards De Gaulle, 1942–4’ (Oxford University D.Phil. thesis). Simon, Pascal (1987) ‘La Vie de Jean Moulin: Avant son entrée dans la Résistance [1899–1936]’ (Mémoire de Maîtresse, Université Paris VII).

Books (French books are published in Paris and English books in London unless stated. English-language versions have generally been listed where they exist.) Anon. (1979) Hommage à Pierre Cot avec les témoignages de ses collaborateurs et amis (Publié par sa famille). Aglan, Alya (1999) La Résistance sacrifiée. Le mouvement ‘Libération-Nord’ (Flammarion). Agulhon, Maurice (1993) The French Republic, 1878–1992 (Oxford: Blackwell). Agulhon, Maurice (2000) De Gaulle. Histoire, symbole, mythe (Plon). Ajchenbaum, Yves-Marc (1995) À la vie, à la mort. Histoire du journal ‘Combat’, 1941–1974 (Le Monde Éditions). Albrecht, Mireille (1986) Berty (Laffont). Alexander, Martin S. (1992) The Republic in Danger: General Maurice Gamelin and the Politics of French Defence, 1933–1940 (Cambridge University Press). Alexander, Martin S., and Helen Graham (eds) (1989) The French and Spanish Popular Fronts (Cambridge University Press). Alphandery, Claude (1999) Vivre et résister (Décarte et Cie). Amoretti, Henri (1964) Lyon capitale: 1940–44 (Éditions France-Empire). Andrew, Christopher, and Oleg Gordievsky (1990) KGB: The Inside Story of its Foreign Operations from Lenin to Gorbachov (Hodder and Stoughton). Andrieu, Claire (1984) Le Programme Commun de la Résistance: Des idées dans la Guerre (Erudit). Andrieu, Claire, Lucette Le Van and Antoine Prost (1987) Les Nationalisations de la Libération: De l’utopie au compromis (Presses de la Fondation Nationale des Sciences Politiques). d’Aragon, Charles (1977) La Résistance sans heroïsme (Seuil). Aron, Raymond (1983) Mémoires (Juillard). Aron, Robert (1958) The Vichy Régime, 1940–1944 (Putnam). Association Nationale des Amis de Jean Moulin (1967) Jean Moulin (loose leaf) (Centre National Jean Moulin, Bordeaux). d’Astier, Emmanuel (1958) Seven Times Seven Days (McGibbon and Kee). d’Astier, Emmanuel (1965) De la chute à la libération de Paris (Gallimard). Aubrac, Lucie (1945) La Résistance (Naissance et Organisation) (Robert Lang). Aubrac, Lucie (1984) Ils partiront dans l’ivresse (Seuil). Aubrac, Lucie (1994) Outwitting the Gestapo, translation by Konrad Bieber of the above (University of Nebraska Press).

240 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 Aubrac, Lucie (1997) Cette Exigeante Liberté (L’Archipel). Aubrac, Raymond (1996) Où la mémoire s’attarde (Éditions Odile Jacob). Azéma, Jean-Pierre (1984) From Munich to the Liberation, 1938–44 (Cambridge University Press). Azéma, Jean-Pierre (1990) 1940: L’Année Terrible (Seuil). Azéma, Jean-Pierre, Antoine Prost and Jean-Pierre Rioux (1986) Le Parti communiste français des années sombres (1938–1941) (Seuil). Azéma, Jean-Pierre, and François Bédarida (1992) La Régime de Vichy et les Français (Fayard). Azéma, Jean-Pierre, and François Bédarida (1993) La France des années noirs, 2 vols (Seuil). Azéma, Jean-Pierre, François Bédarida and Robert Franc (1994) Jean Moulin et la Résistance en 1943 (Institut d’Histoire du Temps Présent). Bankwitz, Phillip (1967) Maxime Weygand and Civil–Military Relations in Modern France (Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass.). Barcellini, Serge, and Annette Wieviorka (1995) Passant, souviens-toi! Les lieux du souvenir de la Seconde Guerre Mondiale en France (Plon). Bargeton, René (1994) Dictionnaire Biographique des Préfets: Septembre 1870–mai 1982 (Archives Nationales). Bartosek, Karel, René Gallissot and Denis Peschanski (1969) De l’exil à la résistance: Réfugiés et immigrés d’Europe Centrale en France, 1933–1935 (Presses Universitaires de Vincennes). Baruch, Marc Olivier (1997) Servir l’État Français: L’administration en France de 1940 à 1944 (Fayard). Baudoin, Madeleine (1962) Histoire des Groupes Francs (MUR) de Bouches-du-Rhône de septembre 1943 à la Libération (Presses Universitaires de France). Baumel, Jacques (1999) Résister: Histoire secrète des années d’Occupation (Albin Michel). Baverez, Nicolas (1993) Raymond Aron: Un Moraliste au temps des Idéologies (Flammarion). Bayac, Jacques (1972) Histoire du Front Populaire (Fayard). Baynac, Jacques (1998) Les Secrètes de l’affaire Jean Moulin: Contexte, causes et circonstances (Seuil). Bédarida, François, and Dominique Veillon (1988) Boris Vildé: Journals et lettres de prison, 1941–2 (Cahiers de l’IHTP, 7). Beevor, J. G. (1981) SOE: Recollections and Reflections, 1940–1945 (Bodley Head). Bell, David S., Douglas Johnson and Peter Morris (1990) Biographical Dictionary of French Political Leaders since 1870 (Harvester, Hemel Hempstead). Bellanger, Claude (1961) Presse Clandestine, 1940–44 (Armand Colin). Bellanger, Claude et al. (1975) Histoire Générale de la Presse Française, vol. IV: De 1940 à 1958 (Presses Universitaires de France). de Bellescize, Diane (1979) Les Neufs Sages de la Résistance: Le Comité General d’Études dans la clandestinité (Plon). Belot, Robert (1998) Aux frontières de la liberté Vichy–Madrid–Alger–Londres: S’évader de la France d’occupation (Fayard). Benamou, Georges-Marc (1999) C’était un temps déraisonnable: Les premiers résistants racontent (Laffont). Bénédite, Daniel (1984) La Filière Marseillaise: Un chemin vers la Liberté sous l’occupation (Éditions Clancier-Guénaud).

Bibliography 241 Benfredj, Charles (1990) L’Affaire Jean Moulin: Le contre-enquête (Albin Michel). de Bénouville, Pierre Guillain (1949) The Unknown Warriors: A Personal Account of the French Resistance (Simon and Schuster, New York). de Bénouville, Pierre Guillain (1945) Le Sacrifice de matin (La Palatine, Geneva). Bernstein, Serge (1975) Le 6 février 1934 (Julliard). Bernstein, Serge (1982) Histoire du Parti Radical, 2 vols (Presses de la Fondation Nationale de Sciences Politiques). Bernstein, Serge, Robert Frank, Sabine Jansen and Nicolas Werth (1995) Rapport de la commission d’historiens constituée pour examiner la nature des relations de Pierre Cot avec les autorités Soviétiques (B & Cie). Beteille, P., and Christine Rimbal (1977) Le Procès de Riom (Plon). Bidault, Georges (1967) Resistance: The Political Autobiography, translated by Marianne Sinclair (Weidenfeld and Nicolson). Binion, Rudolph (1960) Defeated Leaders: The Political Fate of Caillaux, Jouvenel, and Tardieu (Columbia University Press). Blatt, Joel (ed.) (1998) The French Defeat of 1940: Reassessments (Berghahn, Oxford). Bloch, Marc (1968) Strange Defeat: A Statement Written in 1940 (W. W. Norton, New York). Blocq-Mascart, Maxime (1945) Chroniques de la Résistance (Corrêa). Blumenson, Martin (1978) The Vildé Affair: Beginnings of the French Resistance (Robert Hale). Bodin, Louis, and Jean Touchard (1972 edn) Front Populaire, 1936 (Armand Colin). Bourdé, Guy (1977) La Défaite du Front Populaire (Maspero). Bourdet, Claude (1998, new edn) L’Aventure incertaine: De la Résistance á la Restauration (Félin). Boursier, Jean-Yves (ed.) (1997) Résistants et Résistance (L’Harmattan). Boussard, Dominique (1983) Un Problème de Défense Nationale: L’Aéronautique Militaire au Parlement (1928–40) (Service Historique de l’Armée de l’Air, Vincennes). Bouveret, Nelly, Francis Zamponi and Daniel Allary (1999) Jean Moulin: Mémoires d’un homme sans voix (Éditions de Chêne). Bowyer, Tom (1985) Klaus Barbie, Butcher of Lyons (Corgi Books). Bowyer, Tom (1995) Blind Eye to Murder: Britain, America and the Purging of Nazi Germany – A Pledge Betrayed (Little Brown, New York). Boyce, Robert, and Esmond Robertson (1989) Paths to War: New Essays on the Origins of the Second World War (Macmillan – now Palgrave). Buckmaster, Maurice (1952) Specially Employed: The Story of the British Aid to French Patriots of the Resistance (Batchworth). Buckmaster, Maurice (1958) They Fought Alone (W. W. Norton). Calef, Henri (1980) Jean Moulin: Une Vie, 20 juin 1899–21 juin 1943 (Plon). Calmette, Arthur (1961) L’‘OCM’. Organisation Civile et Militaire: Histoire d’un Mouvement de Résistance de 1940 à 1946 (Presses Universitaires de France). Calvi, Fabrizio (1990) OSS. La Guerre en France, 1942–1945: Les services spéciaux américains, la Résistance et la Gestapo (Hachette). Campbell, Peter (1958) French Electoral Systems and Elections, 1789–1957 (Faber). Cassin, René (1975) Les hommes Partis de rien, le réveil de la France abaltue (1940–41) (Plon).

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254 Jean Moulin, 1899–1943 Prost, Antoine (1997) ‘Les Historiens et les Aubrac: une question de trop’, Le Monde, 12 May. Russo, Henri (1993) Review of Vidal-Naquet, in Libération, 5 October. Sachs, Antoinette (1947) ‘Un Héro de la Résistance’, Le Monde Illustré, 1 February, 132. Schlesinger, Mildred (1974) ‘The Development of the Radical Party in the Third Republic: The New Radical Movement, 1926–32’, Journal of Modern History, 31 (4) ( July), 706–42. Schlesinger, Mildred (1978) ‘The Cartel des Gauches: Precursor of the Popular Front’, European Studies Review, VIII, 2 (April) 211–34. Serreulles, Claude (1954) ‘Jean Moulin, premier Président du CNR et figure essentielle de la Résistance’, Le Monde, 27 May. Serreulles, Claude (1964) ‘Jean Moulin au Panthéon’, Le Monde, 19 December. Taylor, Lynne (1997) ‘Collective Action in Northern France, 1940–1944’, French History, 11, 190–214. Thomas, Martin (1993) ‘Plans and Problems of the Armée de l’Air in the Defence of French North Africa before the Fall of France’, French History, 7, 472–95. Thomas, Martin (1996) ‘The Discarded Leader: General Henri Giraud and the Foundation of the French Commitee for National Liberation’, French History, 10, 86–111. Thomas, Martin (2000) ‘France in British Military Intelligence, 1939–1945’, French History, 14, 41–66. Van Renterghem, Marion (1999) ‘De Gaulle, Robert Hossein et les lapins de la Porte Maillot’, Le Monde, 11 September. Vinen, Richard (1999) ‘Papon in Perspective’, History To-Day, July, 6–8. Vivier, Thierry (1990) ‘Cot et l’Armée de l’Air’, Revue Historique des Armées, 4, 108–15. Warner, Geoffrey (1958) ‘The Stavisky Affair and the Riots of 6th February 1934’, History To-day, VIII, 377–85. Webster, Paul (1997) ‘Resistance Heroes Tarnished by Time’, Guardian, 10 July. Wolton, Thierry, and Pierre Vidal-Naquet (1993) ‘A propos l’affaire Jean Moulin’, Le Monde, 26 November. Wood, Nancy (1999) ‘Memory on Trial in Contemporary France: The Case of Maurice Papon’, History and Memory, XI, I, 41–76. Young, Robert J. (1974) ‘The Strategic Dream: French Air Doctrine in the InterWar Period, 1919–39’, Journal of Contemporary History, IX (October), 57–76.

Index Académie Française, 45 Action Française, 19, 20, 29, 39, 40, 57, 68, 107, 140 Action in France, 115 aerial bombing, 84, 85, 93 Air France, 38 Air Ministry in France, 37–8, 49–51, 57–9, 63, 65, 134 air operations in wartime, 124, 159 Air Race, 60 Albert, Marcellin, 13 Albertville, 24, 25, 33, 69 Albin Michel (publishers), 209 Albrecht, Bertie, 102, 129, 136, 179 Algeria, 31, 148, 191 war of independence, 195, 196–7, 201 Algiers, 84, 124, 145, 147, 150, 168, 173, 179, 187 becomes centre of alternative France, 188 Alliance Démocratique, 154, 169 Allouis, 136 Alsace-Lorraine, 17 Alsacians, 98, 104 alternative French state and government, 121, 124 see also Algiers and Provisional Government America(ns) see United States American Relief Committee, 104 Amiens, 45–8, 82, 83, 163 anarchists, 67, 80 Anfa Conference ( January 1943), 146, 148, 157 anti-communism, 63, 68, 80, 152, 190, 195, 200, 203, 208 anti-fascism, 24, 39, 47, 61 Anti-Fascist Committee, HauteSavoie, 36 Committee of Anti-Fascist Intellectuals, 44 Spanish, 56–7

anti-Gaullists, 203 anti-Nazism, 80, 81 anti-republicanism, 197 anti-semitism, 96–7, 129, 140 anti-war see pacifism ‘Appeal to the Inhabitants of Eure-etLoir’ by Jean Moulin (11 June 1940), 84 Aragon, Louis, 74 Archives Nationales, 32, 45 Armée de l’Air, 38, 56, 58 armistice (of 1940), 81, 149 arms drops, 127 Army of the Interior see Secret Army Aron, Raymond, 176 Arras, 82 Association Nationale des Amis de Jean Moulin, 198 Astier, Emmanuel d’, 1, 103, 105, 127, 145, 149, 150, 168 attacks Frenay, 130 attacks Moulin as ‘petty functionary’, 142; reverses criticisms in later years, 169, 200 contacts Communists, 139 defended by Moulin, 170 de Gaulle as a ‘symbol’, 120 meetings with Moulin, 128, 148 post-Liberation views and actions, 190, 193, 195–6 proposes Frenay should go to London, 172 travels to London (and USA), 130, 140, 141, 144, 161 Attlee, Clement, 145 Aubrac, Jean-Pierre, 182 Aubrac, Lucie, 113, 182, 185, 209, 223 Aubrac, Raymond, 128, 178, 181, 182–6, 209 Aubry, Henri, 180–6 Auran, Jeanette, 25 Auriol, Vincent, 54, 56, 195

255

256 Index Austria, 44, 70 Avenches, 25 Aveyron Department, 62, 65–9 Conseil général, 62, 66, 69, 216 aviation in France in the 1930s, 37–8, 53 aviation populaire, 50, 59–61 Avignon, 17, 104, 127, 128, 130, 137, 210 Avinin, Antoine, 128 Azéma, Jean-Pierre, 204, 211 Bainville, Jacques, 107 Balladur, Édouard, 199 Barbie, Klaus, 178–9, 180, 182–4, 186, 202, 206, 209 Barthe, Édouard, 21 Barthou, Louis, 57 Bastid, Paul, 131, 132, 169 Bastié, Maryse, 60 Bastien, Lydie, 180, 210 Bayet, Albert, 71, 80 Baynac, Jacques, 210 Bayon, Roaul, 197 Bayonne, 39–40 BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation), 131, 135, 136, 142, 162, 183 does not broadcast resistance declaration, 148 publicises de Gaulle, 135 BCRA (Bureau Central de Renseignement et d’Action), 110, 131, 140, 141, 154, 196 establishment and role, 119 influence of Brossolette, 164, 170 Beaufils, Georges, 152 Bédarida, François, 208 Belgium invaded in 1940, 81–2 Benfredj, Charles, 206 Bénouville, Pierre de, 171, 172, 181, 185, 187 Berchères-les-Pierres, 95 Bergonier, Abbé, 98 Berlin, 184 Bernard, Marcel, 60, 195 Besnard, Pierre, 86, 88 Betton-Bettonnet, 25 Bevan, Aneurin, 145

Béziers, 3, 12, 13, 17, 21, 24, 31 Collège Henri IV, 12, 14 Musée des Beaux Arts, 199 remembers Moulin, 194, 195 Bidault, Agnès, 127 Bidault, Georges, 68, 123, 126, 131, 133, 134, 176, 184 CNR president, 188 post-Liberation, 191, 193, 194, 195–6, 197, 233 resister, 154, 174, 201 see also Front National Bingen, Jacques, 188–9, 233 Bingham, Hiram, 104 Bir Hakeim, Battle, 136 ‘black years’, 100 Blériot, Louis, 37 ‘Bloc National’, 21, 24 Bloch, Marc, 132 Blocq-Mascart, Maxime, 164, 166 Blois, 87 Blum, Léon, 29, 36, 41–3, 44, 63, 68, 74, 154, 155 attacked by fascists in the street, 47 leads Popular Front government, 48, 52, 54, 58 Spanish Civil War, 51, 54–5 supports de Gaulle, 138, 145, 153 Bolivia, 204 Bollaert, Émile, 189 Bömelburg, Karl, Colonel, 184 Bonnard, Pierre, 134 Bonnefous, Raymond, 66, 67 Bonnet, Georges, 20 Bonnier, Fernand, 146 Bordeaux, 86, 92, 198 Borrel, Antoine, 28 Boulanger, General George, 12 Boullen, Jane, 84, 104, 105, 134 Bourgeois Madame, 89 Le Bourget, airport at, 38, 54, 60 Bourbon Restoration 1815, 44 Bourdet, Claude, 126, 127, 128, 132, 146, 155, 162, 174, 187 disagrees with Frenay, 201 Bousquet, René, 208–9 Bouveret, Nell, and Memoir of a Man without a Voice, 211 Brazzaville, 97, 110

Index Brazil, 60 Brest, 30 Briand, Aristide, 4, 11, 21, 29, 31, 38, 39, 48 European federalism proposals, 31 Moulin admires, 31–2, 215 Britain, 57 authorities and secret services, 104, 111, 132, 143, 148 Expeditionary Force (1940), 82 Swiss Embassy, 126 royal family, 67 Brittany, 4, 30–5, 94, 189 Brook, Alan General, 159 Brossier, Marguerite, 183, 185 Brossolette, Pierre, 75, 76, 142, 145–6, 154, 170, 172 argues for democracy without parties, 155 claimed by socialists, 193 does not succeed Moulin, 188; objects to others who do, 188–9 London trip (in April 1943), 167 meetings and debates with Moulin, 158, 163–7 his return to France, capture and suicide, 189 Brown, Fred, 210 Buchenwald, 158, 178, 189 Buckmaster, Maurice, Colonel, 116, 223 Bureau d’Information at de Presse (BIP), 131, 156 Byron, George Gordon, Lord, 70–1 Cagnes-sur-Mer, 103 Cagoule(ards), 5, 61, 102, 110, 137 Cahiers Politiques, Les, 131 Cailliau, Michel, 149 Calais, 55 Calef, Henri, 199 Caluire (events in), 8, 177–8, 182–6, 194–5, 203–4, 209–10 Cambon, Roger, 112 Cambridge University spies, 206, 207 Camelots de Roi, 41 Canada, 120–1 Candide, 35

257

Cardinal Archbishop Verdier of Paris, 66 Carlton Gardens, 114, 117, 141, 152, 159 Carnot, Lazare, 1–2, 198 Carpentras, 17 Cartel des Gauches (1924), 4, 20, 24, 28, 29 cars used by Moulin Amilcar sports, 25 Citroën C4, 34, 87 Renault saloon, 88 Casablanca, 34, 109, 146, 157 film, 104 see also Anfa Cassin, René, 110, 111, 112 Castellane, Ernestine de, 44 Catholics and Catholic Church, 13, 63, 66, 68, 69, 70, 154 Moulin advocates propaganda directed at them, 108 Cecil, Robert Lord, 5, 51 Centre d’Opération de Parachutage et Atteint, 133 Centre Jean Moulin, Bordeaux, 198 Cerruti Madame, 25 Cerruti, Marguerite, 25–6, 140, 199 Ceux de la Libération (CDL), 161, 163, 174, 175, 178 Ceux de la Résistance (CDR), 102, 140, 163, 166, 174 Chaban-Delmas, Jacques, 188, 198 Chaillet, Père, 138 Chambeiron, Robert, 102, 104, 140, 173, 201 Chamberlain, Austin, 28 Chamberlain, Neville, 81 Chambéry, 23–4, 29, 36, 136 Chappedelaine Louis de, 70 Charente Department, 77 Chartres, 5, 6, 10, 69–99, 104, 115, 207 airport, 84 bombed and emptied of most of the population, 85 Cathedral, 70, 87 Hôtel de France, 89 Moulin commemorated, 194 Prefecture, 70, 82, 89, 91

258 Index railway station, 77 waterworks, 85 Châteaubriant, 106 Châteaulin, 30–5 Chautemps, Camille, 36, 38, 40, 45, 54, 58, 63 Chauvy, Gérard, 209 Cherbourg, 125 Chevance-Bertin, Maurice, 127 Chiappe, Jean, 40, 41 Chicago Daily News, 110 China, 104 Chirico, Giorgio de, 134 Christian democracy, 126, 131, 132, 190 see also Mouvement Républicane Populaire Churchill, Winston, 82 and de Gaulle, 109, 110, 111, 145–6 and Mandel, 153 and Moulin, 81, 116, 219 civil rights see League for the Rights of Man clandestine activities, 105, 173, 194 Claudius-Petit see Petit Clemenceau, Georges, 11, 13, 16, 21 Clermond-Ferrand, 161 ‘Clichy Massacre’ (1937), 62 Closon, François-Louis, 170 Club Jean Moulin, 182, 191, 196–7 Coblenz, 70 Cold War, 57, 195 collaboration, 65, 93, 97, 99, 100, 103, 129, 135 alliance against, 122 collective security, 73 College of St Mary of the Assumption (Rodez), 69 Colloque on Moulin, 211 colonies and colonialism, 73, 140 Moulin foresees liberation, 190 COMAC (Comité d’Action Militaire), 134, 187 Combat (Mouvement de la Libération Français) and paper, 7, 130, 131, 141, 143, 163, 164, 174, 175, 176, 179

American funding, 171 Caluire events and, 181, 185 de Gaulle and, 117, 128, 129, 136, 148 Moulin and, 117, 126, 128, 150, 162, 170 organisation and activities, 103, 104, 135, 150, 153 Combes, Émile, 11 Comintern, 210 Commission of Enquiry into the events of 6 February 1934, 41, 238 Comité d’Action Socialiste, 154 Comité Française de la Libération, 147 committee of coordination for southern resistance groups, 142–3 Committee of Secular and Republican Youth, 22 Communist Party, 4, 6, 7, 20, 28, 39, 40, 41, 43, 46, 47, 48, 61, 122, 155, 174 and German invasion of Soviet Union, 105 and Nazi–Soviet pact, 74 and Popular Front, 51f. and resistance, 107, 108, 131, 132, 139–40, 152–3, 161, 167, 172, 175 dissidents from, 127 de Gaulle and joint work, 111, 139, 153, 157, 171 in CNR and COMAC, 187, 188 post-Liberation, 193, 195 support de Gaulle’s government and postwar settlement, 172, 188, 189, 190 sympathisers and alleged agents, 210 ‘Communist conspiracy’, 147, 204–8 Compulsory Labour Scheme see Service de Travail Obligatoire Confédération Française des travailleurs chrétiens (CFTC), 174 Confédération Générale de Travail (CGT), 131, 174

Index Confédération Générale du Patronat Français, 61 Confrèrie Notre-Dame (CND), 152, 164 Conseil Général d’Études (CGE), 131–2, 156, 160 Conseil National de la Résistance (CNR), 2, 8, 47, 133, 134, 147, 151, 164, 166, 171, 181, 193, 228 commemorated, 193 constitution and purpose, 160 first meeting and impact, 173–6, 177 pre-history, 156–7, 159, 161, 163, 167, 172–3 Permanent Commission/Executive Committee, 160, 165, 166, 188 post-Moulin, 186, 188–9 see also COMAC conspiracy theories, 177 Consultative Assembly (1943), 8, 155, 168 promised in 1941, 106, 111 co-ordinating committees of resistance movements for both zones, 172 Northern, 164, 165–7 Southern, 148, 162, 168 see also resistance Copeau, Pascal, 148, 174, 176, 182 Coq Enchaîné, 138 Coquoin, Roger, 175 Corbière, Tristan, 17, 45, 67 Corbin, René, 173 Cordier, Daniel, 133–4, 162, 196, 201–3, 209, 211 Cot, Néna, 65 Cot, Pierre, 4, 19, 20, 25, 31, 68, 73, 81, 84, 173, 219 career and first election of the national assembly, 29 under-secretary at the Foreign Ministry, 33 Air Minister (1933–4 and 1936–8), 34f., 49–61, 63 1933 speech at Chambéry on ‘pacifism’ and left unity, 36

259

1933 trip to the Soviet Union and later attitudes, 36–7, 57, 61, 190, 195, 206 and events of February 1934, 39–44 falsely associated with Stavisky, 40 calls on Pétain to take power (in 1935), 46 in 1936 elections, 48 support for rearmament and aeroplane construction, 50–1 and RUP, 51 1936 strike negations, 53 Minister of Commerce (1937), 63 visits Rodez, 65 opposition to the 1938 Munich agreement, 68–9, 76 publishes defence in L’Armée de l’air, 69 opposes Nazi–Soviet pact, 74 illness in 1939, 74 supports decrees against Communists, 80 relations with Free French, 101, 221 wartime contacts with Moulin, 103, 104, 108, 122, 214–15 defended by Moulin, 115 on Moulin after his death, 189, 190, 195 as ‘fellow traveller’, 201 ‘Russian spy’, 205; Enquiry Commission, 208 Coty, François, 34 Council for the Defence of the Empire (October 1940), 110 Courbevoie, Bloch aviation factory, 51 Court of Justice, 186 Courtin, René, 132 Crémieux-Brilhac, Jean-Louis, 208 Crimean War, 114 Croix de Feu, 20, 40–1, 43, 59, 142, 152, 154 as Parti Social Français, 20, 61, 62, 66 Crozier, Michel, 196 ‘Crypto-Communism’, 201, 213 Cusin, Gaston, 55, 56, 101 Czechoslovakia, 57, 104

260 Index Dakar, 60, 110 Daladier, Édouard, 20, 28, 34, 38, 40–3, 44, 47, 48, 109, 190, 216 Popular Front Defence Minister, 54, 58 Prime Minister, 63, 66, 68, 69, 81 wartime activity, 153 Dalimier, Albert, 40 Dalton, Hugh, 111–12 Damascus, 60 Damestoy, 88 Daniélou, Catherine, 30 Daniélou, Charles, 3–4, 30–4, 119 Daniélou, Louis, 32, 37, 103, 119 Daudet, Alphonse, 11, 125 Darlin, Admiral François, 7, 124, 144, 145, 147, 157 Darnand, Jacques, 154 D-Day, 166, 167, 170, 179, 186, 231 Déat, Marcel, 20, 57, 59 ‘die for Danzig’ article ( June 1939), 65, 73 Debré, Michel, 132 Debû-Bridel, Jacques, 174 Decazeville, 67 Decote, Jean, 84, 85, 99 Decree Laws, 67, 76 Défense de la France, 163, 166, 172 Deferre, Gaston, 154, 156, 182, 191, 197 Delbos, Yvon, 54 Delestraint, Charles, 8, 141, 142, 148, 149, 171, 179, 184 attacked by Frenay, 169, 171 capture, imprisonment, deportation and death, 179–81, 185 Inspector General of Secret Army, 170, 179 London visit with Moulin, 158–61 Delettraz, Edmée, 183 demonstrations against Labour Service, 161 anti-fascist, 47 banned in Charters by Moulin (13 May 1940), 83 France during 1942, 124, 135–7 Paris (14 July 1935), 47 Paris students (11 November 1940), 6, 93–4, 101

deportations, 125, 137–8 Dernière Colonne, La, 103 Deux Magots restaurant, 101, 173 De Vere Hotel, Kensington High Street, 114 Diethelm, André, 111, 114, 115, 118, 128, 135, 138 disarmament, Geneva Conference, 29, 31, 36, 50 ‘doing something’, 100, 101–6 Dolivet, Louis, 51, 119, 205, 206, 224 Dolloz, Pierre, 158 Doriot, Jacques, 61, 129 Dormoy, Marx, 61, 137, 218 Doumer, Paul President, 33 Doumergue, Gaston, 22, 31, 43, 44, 46 Dreyfus, Captain Alfred, 12, 90 Dreyfus affair, 19, 44 Drieux, 5, 72, 83, 84, 85, 95, 103 Dufy, Raoul, 134 Dugoujon, Frédéric Dr, 182–5 Ebmeier, Major, 98 École Nationale d’Administration (ENA), 195 Eden, Anthony, 106, 110, 119, 120, 145, 159 El Alamein (battle), 136, 144 elections National assembly (1919), 21 Municipal in Hérault (1919), 21 Senate (1920), 21 National assembly (1924), 20 National assembly (1928), 28 National assembly (1932), 32–3 1934 Cantonal in Somme, 47 1935 municipal, 47 1935 Senate, 47 1936 legislative, 47–8, 52 1938 by-election in the Aveyron, 67 Equatorial Africa, 110 Eure-et-Loir Department, 69–99 Conseil général, 72, 80, 81, 99, 194 Évain, 36 exhibitions ‘Great Colonial’ (1931), 34–5 ‘Great Universal’ (1937), 60, 63

Index Exode of 1940, 82, 83, 93 Eygalières, 125, 178, 198 F2 resistance network, 104 Farge, Yves, 131 fascism, 24 ‘fascist leagues’ in France, 40, 46, 61 Fassin, Raymond, 125, 133 Faure, Paul, 65 Féderation de Gauche Démocratique et Socialiste (FGDS), 196 Féderation Républicaine, 147 ‘fellow travelling’ with Communism, 65, 190 Ferry, Jules, 11 ‘Fifth Column’, 83, 88, 112, 114 Fighting French, 137, 139, 146, 147, 149, 152, 154, 160, 174 Finistère, 30, 35 Conseil général, 31 Finland, invaded in 1939, 79 firemen, 28, 85 Fischer, Alfred, 183, 185 Flandin, Pierre Étienne, 46, 76 Foreign Ministry (French), 82 Foreign Office (British), 112, 114, 116 Political Warfare Executive, 116, 118 Forman, Pierre, 107, 115, 117, 120 Foubert, Captain, military dentist, 87, 91 Fouché, Joseph, 44–5 France Libre, 119 Franco-Soviet Pact (1935), 36, 44, 47, 58 Franc Tireur resistance paper and movement, 71, 134, 136, 137, 143, 174, 182 contact with Moulin, 128, 168–9 origins, 103, 127 Franc Tireurs et Partisans (FTP), 139, 167 France d’Abord, 181 Free French, 100, 114, 120, 126, 128, 129, 130, 138, 139, 153, 154, 205 changed to ‘Fighting French’, 137 early development, 109–12

261

Moulin joins, develops and represents, 115, 116, 121–2, 131 freemasons and freemasonry, 3, 4, 11–12, 45, 69 banned by Vichy régime, 96 contacts with resistance, 104, 108, 140, 149, 152, 164 Moulin and, 193 Frenay, Chillina, 234 Frenay, Henri, 1, 7, 102, 128, 132, 139, 141, 142, 144, 145, 146, 148, 150, 153, 168, 182, 206 support for Pétain in 1940, 102, 200, 202 meetings with Moulin, 105, 127 contacts with Americans, 128, 200 contacts with Vichy, 128 attacked by other resisters, 130 defended by Moulin, 130, 170, 171 attacks Moulin, 142, 162, 169–70, 180, 200, 206 attacks Delestraint, 149, 169, 171 ‘bickerings and intrigues’ criticised by SOE, 169 attacks CNR proposal, 169, 200 persuaded to leave for London, 172 supporters attempt to dominate military resistance, 181f. supports Hardy, 185, 204 post-Liberation, 193, 200–2 describes Moulin as ‘the man of the Communist party’, 200–1 death, 202 hears death bed confession of Comintern agent Labarthe, 205 French National Committee, 128, 133, 138, 140, 142, 143, 149, 152, 153, 156, 158, 160, 164, 165, 171, 174, 175, 183, 200 becomes Liberation Council, 188 Moulin joins and represents, 115, 123, 125 set up (1941), 106, 111 French Revolution of 1789, 66, 71 150th anniversary, 72 ‘French State’ (1940–4), 92, 96 military forces, 110 see also Vichy régime

262 Index Friesz, Othou, 135 Front National (FN), 140, 153, 165–6, 172, 174, 175 Bidault’s membership, 188, 201 Frot, Eugène, 40–2 Fry, Varian, 104 Fullerton, Hugh, 104 Furet, François, 208 Gambetta, Léon, 11 Gamelin, Maurice, 58, 81, 116 Garat, Jean, 40 Gaulle, Charles de, 6, 7, 8, 14, 76–7, 82, 86, 92, 123, 124, 130, 144 Panthéon ceremony (1964), 1–2, 198 Under-Secretary for War, 82 speech at Brazzaville (27 October 1940), 97 and the resistance, 106, 126 relations with Churchill, 109, 110, 111, 151 relations with British intelligence organisations, 111, 112, 118 meets Moulin, 114 complains about his travel arrangements, 119, 222 changes views following discussion, 120 signals support for republic, 122 supports May Day demonstrations at Moulin’s request, 135–6 broadcasts, 136 calls Moulin ‘a true statesman’, 142, 190 expresses strong confidence in Moulin, 143, 171 difficulties following North African invasion, 144f. and Giraud, 146, 157, 205 supports Allied North Africa invasion, 147 relations with Roosevelt, 151 urges Moulin to expand political contacts, 152 attitude to Vallin, 154 supports political parties, 153 calls Moulin to London, 157

decorates and discusses with Moulin, 159f. anxiously awaits messages from Moulin, 168 Moulin opposed subordination to Giraud, 173 appeal at CNR foundation, 174 fails to replace Moulin, 186, 188 leaves London for Algiers, 187 after 1944, 191, 195 post-war statements on Moulin, 193–4, 197 ‘dupe of Soviet Union’, 207 Gaulle de, Madame Yvonne, 152 Gaullism and Gaullists, 110, 120, 132, 164, 207 post-war, 191, 193, 198 Geneva, 36 George V, King, 28 Germain-Martin, Louis, 30 Germans attacked in France, 107 Germany, 57, 105, 120, 162 occupation of France, 92f., 97, 128, 129, 144f., 151, 178 see also Nazi Party and régime Gestapo, 177, 179, 180, 183, 185, 186, 203, 204 Gibraltar, 141 Gilbert, Raymond, 85, 93 Giraud, Henri, General, 7, 58, 124, 146–8, 153, 157, 159, 168, 170, 171, 173, 175, 179 Algiers period, 187 Communist support for, 175, 206 posthumous justification, 205 refusal to meet Moulin, 146 supporters met by Moulin, 158, 172 Giraud, Henri-Christian, 205–6 ‘Giraudism’, 147, 166 Gironde Department Prefecture, 208 Gouin, Félix, 138, 148, 155 Graaff, Tony de, 134 ‘Great Recruitment’, 206–8 Grenier, Fernand, 152 Grenoble, 137, 158 Gringoire, 35 Groussard, Georges, Colonel, 107 Guevara, Che, 192 Gütlingen, Colonel von, 98

Index Hague Convention (1907), 94 Haguenau, Daniel, 37 Hambro, Charles, 145 Hampstead, 158 Hardy, René, 179–87, 202, 204, 210, 232 Harscouët, Bishop of Chartres, 85, 96 Haussmann, Baron Georges-Eugène, 22 Haute-Savoie Department, 36, 64, 194 Hautes-Alpes, 29 Hérault department, 11, 15, 16, 62, 197 Conseil général, 12, 21, 31 Prefecture, 15, 16, 21, 23 Herriot, Edouard, 21, 28, 33, 36, 54, 138–9, 154 expresses support for de Gaulle, 153 Hervé, Annie, 201 Hess, Rudolph, 113 Hessel, Stéphane, 196 Hitler, Adolf, 34, 42, 46, 73, 95, 157, 232 see also Nazi Party and régime Holland invaded in 1940, 81 ‘homosexual spies’, 207 Hossein, Robert and Celui qui a dit non, 211 hostages, 93, 106, 120, 139, 145 Hugo, Victor, 1 Humanité, 80 Indo-China, 191 industrial disputes see strikes and sit-ins Information Service see Bureau d’Information at de Presse (BIP) Ingrand, Jean-Pierre, 98 Institut Jean Moulin, 198 Inter-Allied General Staff, 166 Interior Ministry, 77, 78, 97, 129, 190, 195 International Red Aid, 36 Irún, 55 Issy-les-Moulineaux, 78 Italy aviators, 60 declares war on USA, 120

263

invasion of Ethiopia (1935), 46, 47, 51 intervention in Spain (1936), 54, 55 Izard, Georges, 30 Jacob, Max, 4, 35, 45, 161 Jacobin(s), 64 Japanese aggression against China (1932), 50, 51 bombing of Pearl Harbor, 120 Jarrot, André, 187 Jauneaud, Jean-Henri General, 58, 78, 219 Jaurès, Jean, 1–2 Jeanneney, Jean, 54, 138, 154 Je Suis Partout (anti-semitic scandal sheet), 60 Jeunesses Patriotes, 20 Jouhaux, Léon, 103, 107, 153, 154 Joxe, Louis, 37 Jozon, André, Prefect, 45, 46 Jura Mountains, 162 Jussieu, Colonel, 187 Ker see Mission Ker Kerillis, Henri de, 68, 76, 109 Koenig, Pierre-Marie, General, 136 Koufra, 110 Krebs, Abbé, 104 Kriegel, Annie, 208 Labarthe, André, 60, 65, 101, 110, 111, 119, 221 Comintern links, 205, 206 Labour Party, British, 138, 145 Lacaze, Albert, Colonel, 181–3, 185 La Chambre, Guy, 59, 61 Lacoste, Robert, 131 La Croix, 92 Lacombe, Pierre, 22 Lafferre, Louis, 11–12, 16, 21–2 La Guerre Sociale, 14 La Laurencie, Léon, General, 126–7 Langeron, Roger, 94 Laniel, Joseph, 169, 174 La Palisse, 97 Larat, Bruno, 181, 183, 185 Larquet, Charles, Prefect, 35

264 Index Larvol, 32 Lassagne, André, Colonel, 181–5 La Taye, 90, 91 Laval, Pierre, 36, 46, 99, 107, 130, 136, 205 23 June 1942 radio broadcast, 137 League of Nations, 29, 31, 36, 38, 206 League for the Rights of Man, 12, 71, 80, 104, 108, 152 Lebrun, Albert, President, 42 ‘Le Ciercle’, 164 Leclerc, Phillip, 130 Lecointe, Lucien, 48 Lecompte-Boinet, Jacques, 163, 175 Légion Française des Combattants, 97, 137 Le Havre, Bréguet aviation factory, 52 Lejards, Monsignor, 87, 88 Le Lèque, 125 Lemaître, Jules, 13 Le Mans, 163 Léonine, 158 Le Rire, 35 Leusse, Countess de, 98 Levy, Jean-Pierre, 1, 103, 127, 128, 141, 150, 168 Libération (Nord), 102, 130, 136, 149, 154, 163, 174, 184 see also Pineau Libération Nationale, 102, 105, 107, 126 Libération (Sud), 103, 107, 120, 127, 128, 129, 131, 136, 138, 150, 154, 156, 161, 162, 174, 176, 178, 181 see also d’Astier Libération (post-war version), 209 Liberation of France, 8, 124, 132, 151, 161, 167, 172, 175, 186 achieved, 189, 193, 194 commemorated, 192, 197–8 Liberté Resistance paper and movement, 102–4, 105, 107, 115, 120, 126 Libya, 136 Ligue des Droits de l’Homme see League for the Rights of Man Lindbergh, Charles, 37

Lisbon, 106f., 114 Lithuanian government, 55 Loiret Department, 45 London, 73, 76, 92, 99, 106 blitz, 119 Moulin’s 1939 visit, 73 Moulin’s 1941 visit, 113–22 Moulin’s 1943 visit, 158–61, 162 Southern resistance leaders’ visit (1942), 141 see also Resistance, external Longuedoc, 87 Lons-de-Saumer, 144 looting, 89, 93 Lorraine, 163 resistance group, 172 Luray, 89 Luxembourg invaded (1940), 81 Lyons, 126 138, 148, 154, 158, 162, 165, 177, 178, 180, 181, 185, 203, 208 ‘capital of the Resistance’, 126 demonstrations in, 135, 137 Moulin’s flat in, 133 Parc de la Tête d’Or, 182 Gestapo headquarters, avenue Berthelot, 183, 199 Lysander plane, 141, 158 MacDonald, Ramsay, 29 MacMahon, Patrice de, President, 11 Mâcon, 141, 180 Mahieu, Albert, 32 Malraux, André, 1–2, 49, 56, 167, 198, 207, 211, 217 Manchester Ringway airport, 117 Mandel, Georges, 68, 77, 90, 109, 138 Interior Minister (1940), 82, 84, 86, 111 wartime imprisonment and murder, 153 Manhès, Henri Frédéric, 86, 101, 103, 104, 126, 140, 152, 164, 165, 193 London visit, 157 return, arrest and deportation, 158, 161, 178, 229 post-war attitudes, 190, 201

Index Manhès, Lily, 126, 178, 232 Mans, Antonin, 83, 101, 104 Manuel, André, 121, 149 Maquis, 161, 162, 185, 193 Marceau, François, 70–1 Lycée, 72 Marceville, 94 Marin, Louis, 147, 154 Marne, 1914 battle of, 82 Marquet, Adrien, 92, 95 Marseilles, 69, 103, 104, 127, 134, 136, 154, 156, 182, 185 Communist dockers in, 52 Hôtel Moderne, Canebière, 104 martyrs, 193 Matignon negations and agreements (1936), 52–3 Massilia (1940) voyage, 84 Matisse, Henri, 134 Maurice, Pierre, 80 Maurois, André, 109 Maurras, Charles, 19, 57 Mauthausen concentration camp, 125 Mayer, Daniel, 103, 114, 154 ‘Max’, 161, 168, 183, 184 Megève, 34, 69, 134 Melay, 161 Mendès-France, Pierre, 20, 114, 148, 191, 196 Menthon, François de, 102, 105, 120, 126, 131, 132, 146 arrest, 129 Menzies, Stewart, Colonel, 116 ‘Mercier, Joseph’, as non de guerre for Moulin, 103, 104, 118, 226 Mers-el-Kébir, 109 Meunier, Pierre, 58, 69, 92, 102, 122, 140, 152, 165, 166, 173, 179 CNR Secretary, 189 Communist sympathies, 201 Meunier, Simone, 179 Mexican government, 55 MI6 (British Intelligence Organisation), 111, 116 Michel, Henri, 121, 199 Michelet, Jules, 14 Milice, 153, 154, 178, 208 Millerand, Alexandre, 11, 22

265

Ministry for Air, 5 Ministry of Information, 116 Mission Brumaire-Arbesque, 164, 229 Mission Ker, 115, 117, 118, 126 Mission Rex, 121, 123f. Mistral, Frédéric, 11 Mitterand, François, 149, 210 Moch, Jules, 55, 56, 190 Mola, Emilio, General, 83 Mollet, Guy, 191 Molotov, Viacheslav, 139 Monjaret, Hervé, 125, 126, 178–9 Monnet, Jean, 147 Montargis, 45 Montauban, Bishop Pierre-Marie Théas, 138 Mont Blanc, 27 Montluc Gaol, 179, 184 Montluçon, 137, 161 Montmartre, 9 Montoire, 97, 110, 130 Montparnasse, 34 Montpellier, 13, 16, 22, 23, 65, 79, 83, 103, 225 University, 15, 17, 19, 22, 30 Moog, Robert, 180 Morandat, Yvon, 127, 129, 131, 148 Morin, François, 149 Morton, Desmond, 112, 116, 118 Moscow, 139 Mouchet, Paul, 27 Moulin, Alphonse, 10–11 Moulin, Antoine-Émile (known as Antonin), 3, 11, 13, 14, 16, 22, 25, 90 attitude to radical alliances, 21 biography of Ernestine de Castellane, 44–5 retirement from teaching, 17 death and influence, 64 Moulin, Blance (née Pègue), 3, 13, 65, 73, 86, 91, 103, 119, 125, 134 Moulin, François-Xavier, 10 Moulin, Jean summary of life, 3f. as delegate of de Gaulle, 8, 99, 117, 121, 123, 126, 143, 159–60, 183 cult, 8, 196–8

266 Index attacks on reputation, 8, 72, 164, 199–208 dress and appearance, 9, 79 Bohemian side, 9, 32 winter sports, 9, 30, 34, 39, 44, 117 personal life, 9, 214 significance of his life, 9 ‘atavistic republican’, and other statements, 10, 33, 43, 62, 71–2, 89–90, 92, 211–12 attitude to political activity, 12–13 birth and early life, 14 shyness and nervous tic, 14 drawing, watercolours and the visual arts, 14, 17, 24, 34–5, 45, 67 education, 15, 22 in the Hérault prefecture at Montpellier, 15, 22, 23 army career, 16–17 attitudes in 1919, 17–18 chef de cabinet of the Prefect in Chambéry, Savoie, 23–4 sub-prefect at Albertville, 24, 27–30 marriage and divorce, 24–6 organising the 1928 national elections, 28 relations with Pierre Cot, 29–30, 68, 115, 122 sub-prefect at Châteaulin, Finistère, 30–5 chef du cabinet for Cot, 33 trip to Casablanca (1933), 34 and events of 6 February (1934), 39–43, 44, 216 ‘studio’ flat at rue des Plantes in Paris, 44, 65, 84, 94, 101, 206 biography of Ernestine de Castellane, 44–5 appointment in Loiret not taken up, 45 secretary-general of the Somme Department, 45–8 in air ministry (1936–8), 47, 48f. ‘man of the Popular Front’ and the left, 49, 115 1936 strike negations, 53 organising aeroplanes to Spain, 55–7

organising aviation populaire, 59– 61 filmed and photographed, 60, 79, 92 attitudes after the Popular Front government, 61 Prefect of Aveyron, 62, 64–9 Chevalier of the Légion d’Honneur, 62, 194 calls for unity and patriotism and new union sacrée, 64–5, 66 attitude to 1938 Munich agreement, 68, 218 Prefect of Eure-et-Loir (February 1939–August 1940), 69–75 attitude to Nazi–Soviet pact, 74 views on war (1939–40), 76–7 efforts in 1939 to join the air force, 77–9 enforces decrees against the Communist party, 79–80 actions during the invasion of France, 81f. meeting German invaders at his Prefecture, 88–9 arrest, torture and attempted suicide, 89–92 final weeks in Chartres as Prefect, 92–8 dismissal as Prefect, 98 proposed reappointment and pension, 99 as ‘high official’ of the French Republic, 92, 100, 114–15, 121, 155, 195 first meeting with de Gaulle, 100, 114–15, 210–11 contacts and efforts to reach London (1940–1), 101–8, 220 views on resistance and politics in 1941, Chapter 8, 120 view of de Gaulle in 1941, 113 empathy with de Gaulle, 122 return to France, 123, 125–6, 198 rôle during 1942, 123–50 smoothes relations within the resistance, 127 as M. Marchand and M. Jacques Martel, 134, 184

Index instructed to contact the Communists, 139–40, 152, 207 efforts towards resistance unity, 141, 151 organises statement of support for North African invasion and de Gaulle, 147–8 wants to delay resistance action for allied invasion, 149 opposes cooperation with Darlin, 157 supports war of liberation, 157 created Companion for the Liberation of France, 159 member of French National Committee ‘en mission’, 159–60, 183 unconditional Gaullist, 160, 170, 190 embodies the resistance, 161 removes subsidies from Communists, 167 responds to Frenay polemics, 170–1 suggests Frenay should go to Algiers, 172 argues with de Gaulle on contact with Giraud supporters, 172 last letters to de Gaulle, 179, 180 capture, torture and death, 183–5 discussion on suicide, 184 possible future careers and views, 189–91 posthumous reputation, 192–212 posthumous promotion and pensions, 194 ‘dedicated Communist’, 205 ‘Soviet agent’, 205–7 alleged discussions with Americans, 210 as unifying symbol, 210 Panthéon ceremony (1964), 1–2, 197–8, 211 see also under many other entries Moulin, Joseph, 13 Moulin, Laure, 1, 13, 14, 25, 26, 65, 86, 94, 97, 103, 114, 115, 119, 125, 134, 167 London visits, 17, 73 resistance activities, 126, 133, 135

267

after Jean’s death, 184–5, 189, 194, 196, 198, 199 Mounier, Antoine, 23, 27 Mouvement de Prisonniers de Guerre en Déportation, 149 Mouvement ouvrier français, 131 Mouvement Républicane Populaire (MRP), 176, 194, 197 see also Popular Democrats and Christian Democracy Mouvements Unis de la Résistance (MUR), 7, 124, 153, 156, 162–3, 168, 171, 180 establishment and manifesto ( January 1943), 149–50 meeting at Caluire (21 June 1943), 181 post-Caluire, 187 Multon, Jean, 179, 180 Munich Agreement (September 1938), 5, 42, 65, 76 defining moment in French politics, 67–8 support for in France, 66, 67, 68 Münzenberg, Willi, 51 Musée de l’Homme Resistance Group, 102, 164 Musée Jean Moulin, Montparnasse Station, Paris, 211 Muselier, Émile, Admiral, 110, 111 Mussolini, Benito, 47, 61, 73, 157 Napoleon I, 21, 44 Napoleon III (and Second Empire, 1852–70), 10, 22, 82 Nat, Yves, 67 National Assembly, 40, 42, 69, 80 post-Liberation, 137 votes powers to Pétain on, 10 July 1940 in Vichy, 92, 104, 109 National Committee see French National Committee national insurrection, 170, 205 National Resistance Council see Conseil National de la Résistance ‘National Revolution’, 2, 97, 99, 146 Nazi Party and régime in Germany, 32, 38, 40, 46, 50, 73 ideology, 89

268 Index intervention in Spain, 54, 55 occupation of France, 151 Nazi–Soviet Pact (August 1939), 5, 65, 73–4 ‘Neo-Socialism’, 20, 92 Newmarket, 119 Nice, 103, 134 Nivelle Offensive (1917), 16 Nogent-le-Retrou, 95 Noguères, Henri, 203 North Africa, 179, 191 1942 Allied invasion, 7, 124, 144f., 147, 148, 153, 156 Northern Zone see Occupied Zone Noyautage des administrations publiques (NAP), 132, 150 Occupied (Northern) Zone of France, 102, 104, 120, 130, 139, 140, 152, 164, 165, 178 after November 1942, 187 ‘Operation Torch’, 144f. see also North Africa ‘Operation Savannah’, 105 Organisation Civile et Militaire (OCM), 163–4, 166, 173, 187 Organisation de Résistance de l’Armée (ORA), 144 Orléans, 135 pacifism, 36, 50, 65, 79, 206, 215 Pagnol, Marcel, 11 Painlevé, Paul, 24 Pall Mall, 159 Panier, Maurice, 207 Panthéon, 1, 192, 197–8, 199 Papon, Maurice, 208–9 parachute jumping, 117, 125, 133, 198 Parachute and Transport Organisation (COPA), 181 Paris, 22, 60, 62, 64, 65, 67, 78, 88, 101, 131, 150 1919 Peace Conference, 17 Bois de Boulogne, 166 Boulevard St-Germain, 173 Champs-Élysées, 193 German occupation, 85 La Muette metro station, 180

Moulin’s visits: pre-war, 26, 32–5, 44, 58; wartime, 84, 93–4, 135, 140, 166, 172, 173 Père Lachaise cemetery, 184, 197 Place de la Concorde, 40 Raymond Aubrac not taken there, 209 Rue du Four, 193 Parliamentarians, 152, 156 Parodi, Alexandre, 131–2, 189 Parti Social Française (PSF) see Croix de Feu Parti Populaire Français, 61, 129 Passy, Colonel, 110, 115, 117, 121, 128, 149, 155, 159, 164, 166, 167, 187, 195 works with Brossolette, 188 Paul-Boncour, Joseph, 33–4, 40–1, 104, 152 Péan, Pierre, 210, 236 Péguy, Charles, 87 Pejot, Raymonde and France, 134 Péret, Casimir, 12 Perrin (publishers), 45 Pétain, Phillipe, Marshall, 43, 46, 76, 92, 97, 134 attitude of resisters, 106, 129, 130, 157 in government in 1940, 82, 89 radio broadcasts, 95–6, 98, 105 Petit, Eugène, 174, 182 Petite Ailes, les, 102 Peyrouton Marcel, 92, 96, 146 Philip, André, 131, 136, 138, 145, 154, 155, 156, 173, 187, 190 ‘phoney war’ (1939–40), 76 Picasso, Pablo, 135 Pineau, Christian, 102, 114, 130, 136, 149, 154, 161, 163, 184 Piquet-Wicks, Eric, 114, 115 Pissaro, Camille, 34 Plan 1 (for aeroplane construction), 38 Poincaré, Raymond, 24, 28, 30 Poland invasion of (1939), 75, 80 Poles in French resistance, 104 police Gardes mobiles, 41, 63

Index mobilised by Moulin, 46, 62–3 political parties, 7, 124, 138, 142, 147, 150, 155, 159, 172 activists, 151 CNR members, 174–6 opposed by resistance movements, 7, 142, 165, 166, 169, 172, 188, 200 supported by de Gaulle, 171 understood by Moulin, 194 Pomaret, Charles, 79, 92 Pomonti, Jacques, 196 Pompe, rue de la, 164, 189, 233, 233 Pons, Colette, 26, 134–5, 226 Pont-Aven, 35 Poole (Dorset), 108, 112 popular aviation see Aviation populaire Popular Democrats, 147, 174, 174, 176 see also Mouvement Républicane Populaire (MRP) Popular Front (French), 37, 48, 49–63, 64, 68; (Spanish), 53 Portalet, 153 Portugal, 101, 103, 104 Potez Aeroplanes, 54 Prague, 73 prefects, role and history, 22–3 Premier Combat ( Jean Moulin), 83, 103, 193–4, 211, 222 Provence, 191 Provisional Government of France, 104, 131, 155, 168, 172 call for establishment, 173, 175 Pucheu, Pierre, 129 Quai d’Orsay, Paris, 82 Queille, Henri, 154 Radical (Socialist) Party, 3, 4, 11–12, 13, 28, 29, 32, 36, 40, 69, 122, 131 1938 Marseilles Congress, 69 and Popular Front, 51, 52, 54, 58 cooperation with Socialists, 20, 21, 24, 33 during wartime, 138, 147, 149, 153, 164, 171, 174

269

in Aveyron, 68 in Somme Department, 46, 47, 48 Moulin and, 193 opponents of Popular Front in, 69, 70 post-war, 197 see also ‘Young Turks’ radio receivers, 26, 83–4, 131, 133 broadcasts not believed (in 1940), 81 radio transmissions, 124, 133, 136, 150, 187 radio transmitters, 125, 159, 229 Ramadier, Paul, 62, 65, 69, 191 Rassemblement Universel pour la Paix (RUP), 5, 51, 65, 101, 110, 206, 207 ration cards, 162 Ravel, Maurice, 23 Raynaldy, Eugène, 68 rearmament, 50, 57–9 Recordier, Marcel, 105 ‘Red Orchestra’, 207 refugees, 67, 77, 100 French, 83, 85, 104 Spanish, 67, 73, 80 Relève scheme for French workers in Germany, 137, 161 Rémy, Colonel, 140, 152 Renoir, Pierre Auguste, 135 Republic(anism) in France, 2, 8, 12, 18, 50, 66, 115, 129, 181, 188, 197 First Republic, 80 Third Republic, 19, 20, 21, 23, 42, 109, 156, 173 Fourth Republic, 173, 189, 195, 201 Fifth Republic, 195, 196, 197 de Gaulle’s support, 122 in CNR Appeal, 174, 176 Research Centre see Conseil Général d’Études resistance, 102, 147 arrests, executions and deportations, 102, 129, 130 bombings, 135 changing meaning of the term, 102, 106

270 Index demonstrations and propaganda, 135f., 151 external or ‘London’, 100, 149, 163, 168, 186, 187, 199–200 financial support, 108, 118, 127, 140, 143, 162 de Gaulle persuaded of the need for military delay and political action, 120 internal or movements, 100, 115, 122, 126–7, 149, 154–5, 161, 163, 172, 186, 187; attitude to de Gaulle, 128, 129; factionalism of, 156, 169; unity of, 126, 151 manifesto of June 1942, 136–7 Moulin’s Lisbon report (October 1941), 106–8, 115, 126, 222 Moulin favours unified military command, 108; achieves it, 140 northern movements, 157, 164, 172; sets up ‘central committee’, 187 organising against the Relève, 161 party of, 163 political activity, 111 post-Moulin, 186–9 publication, 102 ‘second generation’ leaders, 148 security lapses, 178 steps to unity, 141 work with SOE, 145 see also sabotage Resistance Council see Conseil National de la Résistance Résistance group, 172 resistantialism, 198 Ressier, sub-prefect, 85, 103 revolutions of 1917, 16 see also Soviet Union Reynaud, Paul, 57, 67, 68, 77, 138 as Prime Minster, 81, 82, 85, 89 in wartime, 153 ‘Rex’, 6, 100, 123f. Rhineland remilitarisation, 54 Rhône river, 133, 148 Riom trial (1942), 53, 56, 59, 61, 99, 101, 104, 107 Ripoche, Maurice, 140, 163, 164 Rire, 67

Rivière, Paul, 126, 225 Robinson, Henri, 207 Rodez, 5, 62, 65–9, 190 Rolland, Romain, 98–9 novel Jean-Christophe presented to Moulin, 98–9 Rollin, Henri, 129 ‘Romanin’, 24, 45, 97 Gallery, 134, 226 Rommel, Erwin, 136 Roosevelt, Franklin, President, 145, 146, 147, 151 Roque, François de la, 20, 40, 62–3, 66, 190 Roques, Philippe, 228 Rosselli, Carlo and Nello, 61 round-up of Jews (1942), 137–8, 140 Route Jean Moulin, 198 Rouen, 84 Rousso, Henry, 208, 211 Roussy, Gustave, 93 Roux, Pierre Paul, known as SaintPaul, 35 Royal Air Force (RAF), 125, 158 Royal Albert Hall, 122, 144 Royal Victorian Patriotic School, 113 Ruffery-sur-Seille, 158 Russia, 57 Sableau, Marcel, 69 sabotage, 107, 111, 117, 142, 149, 163, 179 Sachs, Antoinette, 26, 78, 84, 104, 105, 109, 119, 135 after Moulin’s death, 195, 211 resistance work with Moulin, 133, 134 Saint-Andiol, 10, 17, 24, 44, 97, 103, 104, 125, 134, 191, 198 Saint-Anignan-sur-Cher, 104 Saint Cecilia, 66 Saint-Étienne, 136, 137 Saint-Exupéry, Antoine de, 37, 56 Saint-Pierre-et-Miquelon, 120–1 Saint-Saëns, Camille, 67 Saint-Tropez, 73 Salon-de-Provence, 198 Saône-et-Loire, 161

Index Sarraut, Albert, 38, 46, 57, 78, 78, 79 Sartre, Jean-Paul, 78 Savoie Department, 23, 28 prefecture, 23 Conseil général, 24, 31 Savoy Hotel, 142 Schumann, Maurice, 97 Schumann, Robert, 154 Schwartzfeld, Emil Colonel, 181, 183, 185 ‘Secret Army’, 7, 8, 102, 115, 124, 141, 142, 149, 158, 160, 167, 170, 179, 181–3, 232 ‘secret funds’, 60 Sedan, 82 Selborne, Lord, 112, 145 Sémidéi, Armand, 115 Senate, 42, 57 Senegalese soldiers in the French army, 88, 90, 91 Serreulles, Claude, 181–3, 187, 188, 189, 233 Service de Liaison Radio, 133 Service des Opérations Aériennes et Maratimes (SOAM), 125, 133 Service de Travail Obligatoire (STO), 161, 162, 168, 181 Sisters of St Vincent de Paul, 87 Sister Henriette, 91 Socialist Party (SFIO), 4, 28, 32, 40–1, 63, 65, 69, 163 1936 Luna Park rally, 55 1937 Congress, 56 cooperation with Radicals, 20, 21, 24, 33, 36 Frenay attacks, 201 in the Popular Front, 51, 52 in the resistance, 132, 138, 147, 154, 157, 171, 175; calls for common resistance programme, 155–6; leaders meet Moulin, 156–7; contrasting attitudes of Brossolette and Moulin in 1943, 167 joins PSF, 197 Moulin close to, 190 moves towards Radicals and Communists, 44

271

prominent members, 131, 138 Society for Popular Education, 12 Solidarité Française, 20, 41 Somalia, 110 Somme Department, 45–8 Conseil général, 47 Sorbonne, 71, 202 Soustelle, Jacques, 123, 191, 196, 206 Southern Zone see Unoccupied Zone Soviet Union, 36, 54, 55, 57 attitudes towards on the French left in the 1930s, 65 contacts with Free French, 139 invaded by Germany, 139 invades Finland, 79, 80 see also Franco-Soviet pact and Nazi–Soviet pact Spain Catalonian Parliament, 49 Civil War, 4, 5, 43, 50, 51, 53–7, 67, 73, 190, 207; British government attitude, 54; French attitudes towards, 51, 53–7; nonintervention, 51, 54–5; ‘relaxed non-intervention’, 55–6; Spaniards les espagnols, 55, 101 traversed by Moulin, 101, 103 Special Operations Executive (SOE), 105, 111–12, 119, 120, 127, 130, 133, 140, 145, 146, 149, 166 action of agents, 136 assessment of Caluire events, 186, 187 assessments of increasing support for de Gaulle, 140, 150 assessments of Moulin, 150, 156, 173, 226 considers rescuing Mandel, 153 Country Section F, 112, 116, 187 critical of Moulin’s successors, 189 failure to recruit Moulin, 114 RF Section, 112, 114 unimpressed by Giraud supporters, 179 Sporborg, Harry, 116 St-Clair, 148 St-Nazaire, 125 Stalingrad, 144 state of siege, 41–2

272 Index Strang, William, 118 ‘Strange Defeat’ (1940), 76, 135, 155 Stavisky, Alexandre, 40, 44 street violence in February 1934, 39f. strikes and sit-ins 1936, 46, 49, 50 52–3 30 November 1938 ‘general strike’, 67 miners in May 1941, 105 submarines, 157 Suffert, Georges, 196 Sutton, Nigel Colonel, 116–17 ‘Swiss Affair’, 171, 185 Switzerland, 171 Syria, 110 Tardieu, André, 19, 30, 32–3, 34, 40, 41, 43 Taittinger, Pierre de, 20 Teitgen, Pierre-Henri, 103, 132 Témoinage Chrétien, 196 Texcier, Jean, ‘Advice to the Occupied’, 101 Thonon-les-Bains, 36–8, 44, 45, 194 Thorez, Maurice, 41, 52, 154 Tillet, Colonel du, 84–5 Tixier, Adrien, 145 Torquat, Commandant, 88 Toulon, 125, 126, 144 Toulouse, 55, 58, 60 Toulouse-Lautrec, Henri de, 34 Tours, 104, 109 Touvier, Paul, 208 trade unions, 124, 127, 131, 136–7, 147–8, 150, 151, 152, 155, 156, 159, 163, 172, 174 Trepper, Leopold, 207 trials, 177, 186 ‘tripartism’, 190 Union Républicaine Démocratique (URD), 32 United States of America (USA), 103, 120, 121, 130, 132 opposition to de Gaulle, 143, 158 Secret (Intelligence) Service, 126, 171, 203, 210 support for Darlan, 124, 144

support for Frenay, 172, 200 support for Giraud, 124, 146, 158, 187 Universal Assembly for Peace see Rassemblement Universel pour la Paix Unoccupied (Southern) Zone of France after June 1940, 96, 102, 103, 121, 127, 129, 149, 152, 156, 178 after November 1942, 187 Utrillo, Maurice, 135 Valadier, Jean, 76, 81, 93, 98 Vallin, Charles, 142, 154 Valmy Battle (1793), 14, 137 Vansittart, Robert, 110 Vendée, 70 ‘Venona’ transcripts, 205 Vercingétorix, 14 Vercors, 158 Vergès, Jacques, 186, 202–3, 209 Vergez, Bénédicte, 203 Vérités (resistance paper), 102 Versailles, 60 treaty (1919), 46 Viala, Paul, 67 Vichy Régime, 20, 98, 100, 149, 175 anti-semitic measures and dissolution of democratic bodies, 96 opposes North African landing, 144 see also French state Vidal-Naquet, Pierre, 208 Vidon, Maurice, 87, 89, 93 Vildé, Boris, 102 Villeurbanne, 128 Villon, Pierre, 174, 175 Violette Madame, 91 Violette, Maurice, 4, 5, 69, 72, 76, 80, 81, 83, 84, 85, 91, 98, 104, 193 Voizard, Pierre, 79 Voltaire, François, 198 Waldeck-Rousseau, René, 11 Wandsworth, London, 113, 114 War Office (British), 112

Index Weygand, Maxime General, 42, 58, 82 Whitley aircraft, 125 winegrowers revolt of 1907, 3, 13, 43, 190 wireless see radio Wolton, Thierry, 206–8 Wright, Peter, 205

273

Yeo-Thomas, Forest, 164, 167, 189, 229, 230 Yugoslavia, 128 ‘Young Turks’ of the Radical Party, 20, 40 Zay, Jean, 20, 72, 109, 218 Zwiebel, Daniel, 96

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