Not in a tumbril but in a Black Maria, Henri Philippe Pétain, 89, hero of Verdun, Marshal of France and chief of the late Vichy Government, rode to one of history's great trials—his own, for high treason. With him rode the France of 1940 to be judged by the France of 1945.
Few of the Marshal's countrymen, who five years ago looked to him as a fallen nation's hope, caught a glimpse of him as he passed on the way from Montrouge Prison to the Palais de Justice. Stiff with age and dignity, Pétain sat far in the back of the van. His wife, two doctors, two nurses and three lawyers trailed him in a five-car convoy. In the Palais courtyard the half-deaf old man was helped down by two gendarmes. "Ah," he quavered, "so we are here."
Next day he donned his khaki uniform with its seven stars (for Marshal of France) and one decoration—the gold-and-blue Médaille Militaire, France's highest award for valor. Then he shuffled from his Palais lodging (a 14 ft. by 12 ft. magistrate's cloakroom) to the prisoner's dock in the jampacked chamber.
Before him ranged the red-robed High Court of Justice, a three-man tribunal headed by stern Pierre Mongibeaux, 65, (in 1941 he had sworn loyalty to Pétain's Vichy Government). The public prosecutor was André Mornet, 75 (in World War I he sent Spy Mata Hari to the firing squad). The 24-man jury had been chosen half from the Resistance movement, half from non-collaborationist ex-parliamentarians. Behind the prisoner sat his counsel, his doctors and nurses, the witnesses (there would be about 50), the tightly packed reporters and spectators.
"I Saved France." The prosecution read the Bill of Accusation: As Vichy Chief of State, Pétain had put the capstone on "a long-prepared plot against the Republican regime. ..." Then the judges (following French legal fashions), turned to question the defendant. The Marshal cut them short.
His old, bony hands trembled as he unrolled a six-page scroll, but his voice held firm as he read: "History will show the evils from which I saved France.... Each day, with a dagger at my throat, I had to battle the demands of the enemy. ... I surrendered nothing essential. . . . My actions sustained France. I assured France of la vie et le pain (life and bread). ... I prepared the road to liberation. . . .
"The people of France . . . conferred power upon me. It is to them only that I am responsible. The High Court of Justice, as now constituted, does not represent the French people. I will make no other declaration. I will answer no questions. ..."
Judges hurriedly consulted. Spectators burst into jeers and catcalls—some aimed at the bench and the prosecution for "political" bias. Said Prosecutor Mornet: "There are too many Germans in this room." The hubbub grew to a tumult of protests and shrieks, scuffling bodies, overturned chairs and tables. In the prisoner's dock the old man sat stoically until he was led away for safety. At Tommy-gun point, gendarmes restored order.