Prison and Deportation, #01
Msgr. Gabriel Piguet's Memoir
Translator’s Introductory Note
Welcome to the first installment of my translation of Msgr. Gabriel Piguet’s memoir Prison and Deportation.1 This is the first time it has appeared in English.
It was 80 years ago this month that the Gestapo arrested Bishop Piguet (1887–1952) as he was leaving the cathedral in Clermont-Ferrand. They claimed but could not prove that he had sheltered a priest who was involved with the French Resistance; what the Germans did not know was that Msgr. Piguet had also arranged to hide Jewish children in his diocese. He revealed nothing during his interrogation, but he was still sent to the Dachau concentration camp.
In this account of his time in captivity, Msgr. Piguet describes life in the camp, his role in the ordination of Blessed Karl Leisner, and his experience as a hostage during the final days of the war.
Given the prominence of the author and the historical significance of the topic, I am not sure why Prison and Deportation remained untranslated for more than 75 years. The bishop’s wartime support for Marshal Pétain may have cast a pall over the book,2 but I suspect it comes down to money, as it so often does; translations are expensive propositions for traditional publishers, and the English market for this kind of title is relatively small. In any case, I am pleased to have been the one to complete this devoir de mémoire.
— Andrew Rickard
Chapter 1
My Address at Pentecost, 20 May 1945
My dearest parishioners,
One year ago, on this very feast of Pentecost, as I was leaving our cathedral after the Pontifical Mass, I was arrested by the German police.
My intention today is not to relate the story of my captivity, or to share all of my impressions with you. I shall confine myself to an initial but important statement.
Until now, it was absolutely impossible for me to express my indignation at the sacrilegious violence that was done to me, in defiance of international law and the guarantees extended to religious ministers. Today, now that I have been freed, I raise my voice in a vigorous and public protest against the odious abuse of power of which I was a victim, and against the interference of a foreign government that made my spiritual ministry impossible.
It was alleged that, in our diocese, I offered hospitality to priests who were hiding from a police force that was inclined to treat all men as criminals — as we know they did from the terrible things we experienced throughout the occupation of our country.
Was this accusation a mere pretext, or were there real grounds? It does not matter very much.
The truth is that the tragic events of 1940 to 1944 constantly forced me to confront the fundamental duties of paternal and fraternal charity which, as a bishop and as a Frenchman, I could not and would not shirk, no matter what the cost.
My response to my accusers was such that it would have been very difficult for them to have me condemned by any court whatsoever. It was therefore without trial and without any possibility of legal defence — which is something available in all civilized nations, and only by means of a tyrannical police force and a system of cruelty beyond comprehension and imagination — that I was arrested, imprisoned, and deported from France.
I was rudely insulted, beaten, put into a concentration camp, stripped of everything I owned, and subjected to treatment abhorrent to any free man. It was an outrageous insult to the episcopal dignity with which I am invested. Finally, in the last days of my captivity, I was held hostage during the German retreat. I gained my freedom after the Allied victory when, quite suddenly, we were liberated by American forces on 4 May 1945.
As you know, dear parishioners of Clermont, I have always stayed clear of politics in my religious ministry and, to the best of my ability and with God's grace, I have tried unceasingly to care for your souls, defend Catholic truth, and be an apostle of charity.
I make these remarks because, in the proceedings brought against me, it seems quite obvious to me that I was specifically and personally targeted. This is also the opinion of those who were in a position to take an interest in my case.
My frequent evangelical work, the protection I offered to the weak and the persecuted, and the completely independent way in which I cared for the temporal and spiritual needs of those for whom I was responsible — did these not influence what came to pass?
In any case, I have no regrets about the many services I was able to render. Under similar circumstances I would act the same way again, for we cannot bow to injustice or iniquity, nor remain deaf to the appeal of the oppressed and unfortunate, nor neglect our solemn duties as spiritual leaders.
During my imprisonment I was able to see, in the minutest detail, what I already knew to be true — namely that the Nazis' abominable ideology and monstrous system were diametrically opposed to all religion, and particularly to our own Christian doctrine and morals, which are based on a love of God and love of one's brothers and sisters.
I denounce the way in which the Nazis trampled on the consciences of civilian detainees in Germany, the merciless way they refused religious succour to the dying, and the hardships that we priests faced while trying to provide spiritual support. We worked in secret and under dangerous circumstances that were just as difficult as the ones that the early Church faced in the Roman catacombs.
The civilized world needs to be made aware of the moral tortures that were imposed on souls as well as the physical pain that was inflicted on bodies. So, I consider that my testimony of this ordeal is of no small benefit.
My protest is neither a complaint against the suffering that I have endured, nor is it a vain and impudent personal undertaking, nor is it an emotional outburst inspired by hatred or the spirit of revenge.
I know and I declare that many of my brothers in exile have, alas, died. Among the survivors, some suffered more than I did. I will show my loyalty to the former through unwavering remembrance and prayer. As for the latter, the living, I honour them with a friendship that hopes to see them form closer bonds with the France of today and tomorrow — relations where broad-mindedness, nobility of feeling, shared esteem, and affection are the rule, and which have been cemented by so much blood and so many tears.
As far as my persecutors are concerned, for my part I retain no feeling in my heart that is contrary to Christian charity. I forgive them as I have always forgiven those who have offended.
But as an official representative of Christian morality, as a minister of God and a bishop of the Catholic Church, the fact that I am willing to treat men according to the spirit of the Gospel, even if they are guilty, does not mean that I will take the side of evil or overlook the atrocious crimes of the German concentration camps.
On the contrary, the light-filled truth of the Gospel compels me to denounce the errors, lies, and abominations that were the doctrine, methods, and practice of Nazism.
By adding my testimony to that of my numerous companions — far too numerous — my aim is to ensure the triumph of justice, which was so obviously outraged. I wish to help safeguard Christian civilization, and to support the spiritual forces that are indispensable to the world's renewal and reconstruction.
The criminal institutions I observed, and was persecuted by, carried within them all the scourges of ancient barbarism and slavery. They added a new systematization and a methodical approach that used modern science to exacerbate human misery to its utmost limits. I therefore believe it is a work of truth and charity for me to fight with all my strength, inspired by the principles of justice and fraternal love, to prevent similar catastrophes from reoccurring, and to make it impossible for inhumane systems like the infamous concentration camps to ever exist again.
I believe that true justice would not be served by collective and indiscriminate reprisals, nor would they be in the interest of the general public, who are always at risk when the individual's rights of conscience are disregarded.
I believe that the penalties warranted by abominable crimes should be preceded by the necessary investigations and inquiries, proper trials, and guarantees of legal defence. In this way the spirit of justice will overcome that of hatred and vengeance, and the guilty will only be punished in the serene atmosphere of fairness, and not in a prolonged storm of conflict which would never be appeased and, always rising up again, would continue to pose the gravest danger to men and nations alike.
I thank God for having kept me alive and healthy, for such paternal care, for having kept me completely serene throughout my imprisonment, for having brought me into such close and intimate contact with the suffering of so many men and families in those painful hours, and for having brought me nearer to the cross of our beloved Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. My dear parishioners, even though I was separated from you for a long time, and by a great distance, I hope that, through the light of the Redemption, I continued to serve you faithfully and effectively through my persistent prayers and by bearing the weight of my trial.
After God, I give thanks to Our Lady, who provided me with maternal protection when I called to her daily and invoked the kindly Virgins of Auvergne.
I thank you, my dear parishioners, for your earnest prayers. They brought me back to you, and they have given me new and precious proof of your fidelity and filial attachment — your warm and unforgettable welcome has been a comforting assurance.
Finally, I would like to thank everyone who gave me much-appreciated help and relief during my captivity. I thank the Sovereign Pontiff in particular, who took such an interest in all prisoners; there is no doubt that my material circumstances began to improve on 22 January thanks to his intervention on my behalf.
My dear parishioners, my affection for you continues to deepen, and it has even been strengthened by my suffering. I repeat that I am wholeheartedly devoted to continuing in my work as a pastor and priest, and to pursuing along with you the great task of breathing life into the unhappy world
It is up to us Christians, united with all “people of good will”, to remain witnesses to Christ, and to place His supreme maxim of loving one another at the heart of human institutions, for without this there will never be true peace.
Chapter 2
My Testimony
The designs and ways of the Lord are inscrutable. It would be presumptuous to claim that one can interpret them with complete certainty and clarity. But it would be skepticism and vanity to neglect the providential indications that are intimately woven into the fabric of all life, and more significantly into that of tragic times.
The visible and effective protection of Divine Providence throughout my captivity, like the spiritual position that I hold as a successor to the Apostles — the authentic witnesses of Christ — these most authoritative of voices compel me to offer my testimony.
The ordeal brought me into contact with an immense number of compatriots, with the sons and daughters of all nations, and with people from all walks of life.
Much has already been said and written about this subject during the momentous trials. My testimony will be one of many other statements, observations, and publications. My heart knows no hatred, my soul holds neither anger nor a desire for vengeance, but my conscience remains faithful to the words that were spoken when I was made a bishop: “You shall not call good evil, nor evil good”.
At first glance, this simple formula might seem superfluous, since truth and its loyal affirmation seem to be the first duty of every honest man, of every leader worthy of the name, and all the more so of a bishop. Alas, modern errors and cruelties have been accompanied by such a procession of duplicity and hypocrisy that the 20th-century successors of the apostles, like their great forefathers in the early Church, are faced with contradiction from all sides: foris pugnae, intus timores.3 There was fighting without and fear within, and brothers whose faith was weakened or whose judgment was uncertain.
In the footsteps of Christ, it has been the mission of the Church and its hierarchy to bear eternal witness to the truth. It is made with clarity, simplicity, and peaceful moral force: “You shall not call good evil, nor evil good”.
And how can we forget the many, well-loved people who died in the concentration camps, all too many of them, or the appalling regime of servitude to which they — and we the survivors — were subjected?
But concern for the future haunts my mind just as much as the inalterable memory of the past.
The world must be freed from the threat of slavery at all costs; it hangs over us, and darkens the horizon.
The fiercely statist, totalitarian theories of Nazism, of Fascism, of all kinds of authoritarianism, whether they come from the right or the left and by whatever name they are called, combine all too easily with the worst tendencies of the human heart. They resolve everything through violence and brute force, relying on simplistic and perfidious “one way” ukases. Operating with indifference and contempt, they ultimately crush humanity, freedom, family, and all spirituality. In short, they break up all of the components that make up the honour, duty, and joy of life. This is the monstrous crime of yesterday and of Germany's concentration camps. This is the permanent danger of today. Even after the defeat of Nazi Germany, men must not be allowed to suffer under the harsh rule of their totalitarian victors.
The principles and methods of hatred, the cult of violence, and the committing of atrocities are contagious.
The fall of the Nazi regime and even the repudiation of its doctrines are not enough. It is essential to rid ourselves of the Nazi “system” entirely, that is to say, of their ways of doing things — the mores and habits implanted throughout Europe by the German occupation, by the Gestapo and its collaborators, or by those whose doctrine and actions have always been, or have more recently become, their rivals, imitators, or successors.
To become a tyrant over other men, over one's brother, to find an alleged justification for doing so in totalitarian and fallacious reasoning, in vain pretexts of personal ambition or national hegemony — this is indeed the approach which must disappear once and for all from both national political life and international relations.
I considered releasing my memoir earlier, after I had returned from deportation. However, because of the unrest and moral unease I felt and deplored in the depths of my soul, I decided to postpone publication.
It would seem that the benefit of hindsight only serves to strengthen the force of a testimony that has no other ambition but to be objective, impartial, and even spiritually serene.
If my account manages to serve this ideal and unmasks the most abominable of systems and leads to the abandonment of the most inhumane methods of governing individuals and nations, I shall have achieved my goal.
Chapter 3
Arrest and Interrogation
It was Pentecost Sunday, 28 May 1944. After I had celebrated the pontifical Mass, a German policeman approached me on the steps of my cathedral and invited me to go to the head of the Gestapo in Clermont-Ferrand immediately.
“I am not accustomed to being summoned by people who want to see me,” was my spontaneous reply. “It is easy for them to find me here.” But I did not dwell on the imperiousness of the order, and complied.
In my own car, driven by my own chauffeur, I travelled up to the Gestapo headquarters in Chamalières, accompanied by one of my vicars-general and the policeman. It would not have been impossible to flee, but I did not act because I realized that it was full of dangers for my entourage, priests, family, servants and for the offices of my bishopric, since the people of Clermont had been under the Nazi boot for eighteen months.
In his office, the head of the Gestapo informed me that I was under arrest. When I asked why, he told me that I would soon find out. The vicar-general, the driver, and the car were then sent away. It was not quite noon. I was now a prisoner.
The first interrogation took place at about 2 p.m. It was conducted by a young man who, alas, I later learned was French. He was assisted by a secretary, another woman who appeared to be his wife, and two Germans.
After collecting the usual preliminary information such as my surname, first name, age, etc., the interrogator made the mistake of levelling accusations under Canon Law about a certain celebret, which is an episcopal document that allows a priest to celebrate Mass. The celebret in question was issued under an assumed name to a priest from outside of my diocese, who had a false civil identity card and was employed as an auxiliary vicar in the parish of Saint-Genôs-Champanelle, up in the mountains of Clermont-Ferrand.
I in turn asked which article of Canon Law he was referring to, so that I might provide the exact interpretation and, if necessary, an explanation to this budding investigating judge. He refrained from venturing any further onto this uncertain ground, and confined himself to incriminating material facts.
There is nothing in ecclesiastical law, and nothing in French law, that prohibits a bishop from giving a priest a celebret that bears the same name as the one that appears on his identity card — a card that was issued by the civil authorities. The issuing of “civil identity cards” is not a matter for the church, but for the civil government, and the granting of a false civil identity card cannot be imputed to the ecclesiastical authority. What's more, a celebret can only be of value to a priest from outside the diocese if it corresponds to the name on the identity card itself. Last of all, a bishop may only refuse to issue a celebret if the priest has shown himself unworthy and deserves to be deprived of the right to say Mass.
These various propositions sum up my defence. They seemed to embarrass my interlocutor. Finalising the wording of this interrogation in German proved so difficult that the German police officers who were present had to come to the aid of their French agent. The report was finally drawn up and presented for my signature.
I may be wrong but, after my explanations, I do not believe there were any grounds to charge me with the crimes I was accused of committing.
Be that as it may, two days later, despite the apparent closure of the case with the defendant's signature, I has to submit to further questioning. It was conducted by the head of the Clermont-Ferrand Gestapo, who added two new charges. These were even more inconsistent than the first, but no doubt intended to make the case more complicated by multiplying the reasons.
Standing in front of this German chief of police, who himself reported directly to the head of the Vichy Gestapo, my impression was that he was an veteran Nazi functionary and quite familiar with their way of doing things.
After waiting two and a half hours in an antechamber, I was interrogated for three consecutive hours. This was done at night, between half past ten in the evening to half past one in the morning, and it was constantly interrupted by telephone calls and conversations that had nothing to do with my examination. Everything took place in oppressive heat. The chief of police comforted himself with multiple packages of cigarettes and bottles of lemonade which he shared with his two assessors: a secretary who took notes, and a policeman who had been specially assigned to my case. In addition to all the other things that separate us, the latter added that he does not understand French. My German was not fluent. One might think that this was not much of a guarantee for a fair trail. For my part, I was no longer surprised by the Gestapo approach to justice, and saved my astonishment for more serious anomalies.
The chief of police told me that I had been implicated in three cases, namely in Saint-Genès Champanelle, Médeyrolles, and Brassac-les-Mines.
I was not at all disturbed at the mention of these cases; in my opinion, they did not involve anything very compromising, and I could have been charged with much worse. There were my pre-war pastoral letters, newspaper articles written before and during the occupation, sermons and instructions on doctrinal and practical matters, my constant interventions on behalf of refugees, the oppressed, Jewish people, the hospitality we provided to the University of Strasbourg and the Grand Séminaire de Strasbourg, and finally the shelter my diocese offered to so many people who were on the run, such as the famous Sister Hélène of the Daughters of Charity of Saint-Vincent-de-Paul — any of these could have provided the basis for much more serious accusations.4
But silence and circumspection were the rule for me and those around me during this delicate period. This is how I had managed to keep the many services I had rendered in the shadows. If the Germans and their accomplices had known anything about them, they certainly would have indicted me.
The charges the Gestapo had against me were insignificant or non-existent in law; if all of my protégés followed my advice and directions, as most of them did, they should not have been able to detain me.
Still, I was never so prudent that it prevented me from resisting German encroachments vigorously and personally, whether it was a question of the Major Seminary, the installation of military posts in the cathedral towers, or other incidents in which I had a say.
My impression is that I was specifically targeted by the police. This is what Prince Xavier de Bourbon told me later, and also what I later heard during my captivity in Germany, when a leading figure of French socialism who was also a prisoner told me that he believed the same thing based on different and convergent sources.5
Members of the clergy and my own family took steps to obtain my release, but it was always in vain; they noticed a mysterious reticence about me every time a chief of police opened my file. I must have been singled out.
In any case, on Tuesday 30 May, during this nighttime interrogation, in the presence of the head of the Gestapo, I affirmed clearly and categorically my dual position as a Catholic and patriot, which stemmed from my dual status as a bishop and a Frenchman.
With regard to the facts themselves, I will endeavour to demonstrate that they are unfounded from a legal point of view. I would point out that offering assistance the many refugees was part of my ministry of Christian charity, that in no way did it entail for me the duty or even the simple possibility of exercising additional supervision over priests; I was only concerned with, and had control over, their dignified conduct as priests and the correctness of their professional duties. I also pointed out that changes in identity were quite common in France during the foreign occupation, and that no one was unaware of this, not even the German police. If every leader, whether religious or civil, were deemed responsible for changes in identity that they knew nothing about, then they would all have to be arrested.
I also insisted that, given a bishop's higher position, it was impossible to remain informed about all the minute details that might be of interest to a police force whose various points of view were so far removed from own my daily work and concerns, the focus of which were entirely religious and spiritual.
The Saint-Genès-Champanelle affair was mentioned first. I realised that the Gestapo were aware of every little detail. The arguments I made in my defense did not need to change from the ones I offered in the first case. I presented them as I have outlined in the preceding pages. Alas, I realise that some French people betrayed their country and their compatriots. They have paid for this indignity with their lives. May God forgive them their heinous crime!
As for Médeyrolles, this case was about a year old, and it involved preventing a serving priest, a refugee, from being arrested. My answers were straightforward. Médeyrolles is 120 kilometres away from Clermont, how could one know who was visiting the priest? Furthermore, I never considered it inappropriate for a priest to associate with a member of the French army. Finally, did my own personal complaints to the Gestapo the previous summer about the parish money they had seized from the rectory at Médeyrolles not prove that I was not worried about being implicated in this case involving a priest who had taken refuge in that commune?
In fact, in the summer of 1943, I had collected the parish cash box from the Gestapo; they had seized it, along with the priest's personal funds, when they searched the rectory.
The Brassac-les-Mines case was no better founded. This parish and the region connected to it were served by a religious order, the Fils de la Charité. The Bishop of Clermont came to an agreement with the Superior General of this order on the choice and appointment of the parish priest and ratified the choice of vicars proposed by the same superior, without knowing them personally.
The chief of police was already aware of all these details and did not press his point, although he reproached me over the fact that one of the vicars had changed his name to evade the German police and, before his departure from Brassac, had been involved in activities relating to compulsory labour that were contrary to German interests.
My questioning over the first two cases took place so quickly that the incidents as Saint-Genès-Champanelle seemed to dominate the proceedings against me, making it the main focus of the proceedings.
Shortly before three in the morning, I signed this second report again, which was supposed to be the end of all legal proceedings against me. I would never be questioned again.
The chief of police said that he wanted to “wrap up my case quickly” so I spent several weeks waiting and hoping to be released. A vain illusion! Later I learned from a great many prisoners that they too had been encouraged in the same hopes without ever being discharged. This is indeed one of the aspects of the Gestapo's typical hot-and-cold approach — they would make promises and threats alternately, offering first terror and then freedom, granting favours and then inflicting cruelty. This is how mental warfare is conducted.
Enjoyed this installment? Support my work by buying me a coffee.
Prison et Déportation (Paris: Éditions Spes, 1947)
In 2001 Yad Vashem recognized Msgr. Piguet posthumously as one of the Righteous Among the Nations. “They say that he was a Pétainist, but what of it?” commented Élie Barnavi, Israel's ambassador to France at the time. “I would say that it is precisely his Pétainism that makes Msgr. Piguet's actions all the more remarkable. Confronted with evil, he chose good.”
2 Corinthians 7:5
Hélène Studler (1898–1944) was a nun from Metz who helped more than 2,000 prisoners escape the Nazis, including General Henri Giraud and the future French president François Mitterrand.
Likely Léon Blum, who is introduced towards the end of the book.