Berthe

Someone was following him. They had been following him for some time – weeks, months. He felt their eyes on his back. It made him feel like he was carrying an extra load on his back, those spying eyes of the man following him were heavy and full of menace. He was too scared to look back, he knew deep inside what they wanted, they wanted his treasured Berthe. Every time he entered the apartment and closed the front door safely behind him, he dashed to the hiding place, just a glimpse of the ornate goldleaf frame, or a slight touch of the cold hidden object – his Berthe. It made him feel elated and at the same time relieved.

He kept having the same nightmarish vision at night, he was walking home from the Cathedral, across the bridge of Pont Jeanne d’Arc over the river Seine, along those old, cobbled streets of Vieux Rouen. Illuminated by the drooping lamp holders which looked like morbid black profiles of the drooping heads of flowers. The lamp holders were designed to light the streets and aid the passing pedestrians at night, but their solemn pose saddened the thoroughfare with foreboding. The district was full of the homeless, misused vagrants trying to erase a past or a future all huddled in shadowy doorways.

He always heeded the advice of his grandmother; “Don’t walk on the pavement or near those doorways at night, you will be either trip over those sleeping drunks or be attacked by them looking for a free bottle.”

“Walk down the middle of the street, time to run, if they come out hunting you out of the shadows”

Useful advice. He missed his grandmother; she was all he had. Now she was gone, and he was alone. She had bequeathed to him Berthe, his grandmother had gifted him the most precious, valuable miniature, and now he treasured it like a religious icon, a relic to be concealed. It lifted his depression in these challenging times. Especially since Rouen was now occupied and conquered by the greedy twin headed Reichsadler. Greedy to control the hearts and minds of their designated lower cast of humanity, greedy to conquer and occupy lands, but most of all greedy for art, masterpieces like Berthe.

Berthe - the masterpiece represented something beyond power and status. Berthe like all matter and subjects in the dictatorial regime of the Reichsadler, all must be controlled. If it was deemed impure or distasteful, then Berthe‘s style of art would be censored and banned. Berthe was part or a cornerstone movement of modern painters from the 19th century; named the impressionists. The result of the brush strokes of a famous female painter and a member of the innercircle of painters in Paris, known as "les trois grandes dames"

How she became part of his legacy was a matter of gossip for ghosts from the past. Perhaps it was a past liasson of love from his grandfather’s life before he met and married his grandmother. His grandfather; a predominant citizen of Rouen, from a stellar legacy of generations of inhabitants living in the Seine valley going back to the original Gaul tribes, through the Roman and Norman conquests, and its conflicting history with the settlement of Jewish people, who were sometimes welcome, sometimes exiled. But, it was his marriage to his grandmother, and the gift of Berthe, in the form of a dowry for her hand in marriage, that became the richest paradox of all time in his family’s history. It set him on a course of conflict with the invading Nazi regime.

Berthe must be protected at all costs, away from the black eyes of the Reichsadler, in the same manner as his grandmother’s Jewish legacy needed to be erased and forgotten in these terrible times.

Thankfully, his parents who died during the Great War, followed by his grandfather’s broken heart at witnessing his cherished son and daughter-in-law having died so young were not around to witness these bleak days. He was left alone with his grandmother, who was build from a stronger spirit than that of many men. She became his Berthe, before he knew of the whereabouts of his legacy, and the masterpiece.

With all his might, with all his body and soul, he must protect her.

He touched the miniature painting, the inanimate object hidden away. It gave him strength when his spirit was fading, it gave him a feeling of reassurance. Hoping that all would end well.

He returned to the vision in the district Vieux Rouen, too scared to turn around, he scurried along the middle of the street, the cobbled stones glistened under the illumination of sad dropping street lights, made wet from the recent rain, his heart rate quickened as he started to jog, he must get home to make sure his Berthe was safe in her hiding place.

The man following also quickened his gait. The vision suddenly turned from the viewpoint, the vantage point of someone following the man that was following him. Now he could see he was a tall man and wore a fedora hat with a wide brim, and three-quarter length coat, but his full intention was on following his target, who he saw further in the distance. He saw himself in the vision being followed. It was a visual confirmation of all his worst fears. He knew he was in mortal danger. The noctunal scene was a subliminal message, he was being followed, his future pathway would only lead to danger. Berthe was in danger, and his own life was in danger.

He awoke to reality, the vision, the dream he was certain was a awful premonition. He immediately went to the hiding place, and touched Berthe for reassurance.

It was 1940 and thankfully his Jewish Grandmother had died some years ago. Following the arrival of the German 5th Panzer Division during June of that year, Rouen, regional capital of Normandy, was occupied by Nazi Germany. That same year the area between the Rouen Cathedral and the Seine River was burned for 48 hours as the conquering Germans started a blitzkrieg to rid Rouen of any resistance. To demonstrate that  resistance was futile the Nazi invaders did not allow firemen access to the raging fire. The consequent destruction an announcement to the arrival of a new regime, a new power.

The first Gestapo headquarters were set up in Rouen within weeks of occupation and became a feared place for the people of the city. People started to disappear or were sent to internment camps in the summer of same year.

During the occupation, Geheime Staatspolizei, (Gestapo, secret police) operated in Rouen to control the entire region of northern France. A feared organization, they tried to stamp its authority on the community, carrying out operations to find anyone active in resistance networks. Suspects were detained and brought for questioning. There were reports from civilians stating they heard screams and cries from those tortured within cells and interview rooms at the headquarters.

​​The Gestapo formed networks of civilian collaborators, including men and women from different backgrounds and social circles. Those used by the Gestapo reported back on civil matters as well as those connected to resistance networks. For those persecuted by the Gestapo, consequences included being killed or sent off to internment camps. In many cases the latter also led to death, through hard labour or disease. Those that helped the Gestapo were rewarded, no doubt believing it would make their lives easier. In general, the Norman people of Rouen did not suffer food shortages like other areas across Europe. The region was rich in agriculture; however, some restrictions were implemented. There were curfews for civilians and identity document inspections, but they tried to continue their lives as normal. 

He lived alone, always a private man. Even in the days prior living with his grandmother, leading a simple life. He worked in the Cathedral for years as a cleaner, setting out the service order sheets for Mass, and the many other events the famous Cathedral attracted. It was the walk to and from the Cathedral each day and night which he dreaded; it was a walk of fear knowing he held too many secrets. He never looked behind him; he didn’t want to see the person following him with the wide brimmed fedora hat.

At night he would gather the bed clothes around him, and sometimes in the worst moments hold Berthe close to his body. Always listening, waiting for the bang on the door. His day of reckoning.