Le Jour de Gloire (1947)

The bitter glories of the French Resistance had lingered on into the politics of peace. Long after the common enemy was beaten, and the people of the underground had returned to their drab lives, men utterly opposed to Communism hesitated to attack Communists with whom they had shared danger in the struggle against the Germans. Even the Communists had curbed personal attacks on men like Georges Bidault, whose Resistance leadership they had accepted. But it was obvious that sooner or later the Communists would do away with such sentimental nonsense. By last week, the last remnants of France's gallant unity crashed in the treason trial of Rene Hardy.

The worst thing anyone could say (but none could prove) about Hardy was that he might have weakened under the thing the whole Resistance had dreaded: torture by the Gestapo. The Communists could add: he had been a member of the Resistance's right wing. On the former charge, but for the latter reason, the Communists now demanded Hardy's head.

The Man with the Muffler. When France collapsed in June 1940, Hardy became a supervisor in Paris' Gare Montparnasse. He regularly reported troop train movements to London, was jailed for 15 months by the Germans. Released, he made his way into Vichyfrance where he directed the underground's railroad sabotage. Then his path converged (briefly and tragically) with that of one of the Resistance's greatest heroes, a man called Max.

Jean Moulin, alias Joseph Mercier, alias Regis, alias Max, who held the unexciting prewar job of prefect of Chartres, had simply decided to stand up to the boches. Once, after being tortured by the Germans, his courage failed him and he tried to slit his throat (afterward, he always wore a scarf and became known as The Man with the Muffler). Eventually, De Gaulle charged him with coordinating all of France's hopelessly scattered resistance knots. The result was the National Council of Resistance which unified all underground activities. It was at one of the council's meetings (at Caluire-et-Cuire, near Lyons, on June 21, 1943) that Max met Rene Hardy. That meeting was raided by the Gestapo, and all the men there were arrested. Now Rene Hardy was accused of tipping off the Gestapo that day.

The prosecution claimed that, for two weeks preceding the fatal gathering, Hardy had been in the hands of the Gestapo and had, after torture, betrayed the impending meeting. The defense countered with witnesses from the Resistance who claimed to have seen Hardy going about his anti-German work in the south of France while he was allegedly in Gestapo custody.

The Last of the Hardys. As "L'Affaire 'Ardy" wore on, public sympathy swung heavily to Hardy's side. Paris' stuffy Court of Assizes (where Petain and Laval had been tried) was crammed with veterans of the Resistance--and with their memories. Said one Rene Hardouin, owner of a coffee stall at a Paris railway station, who had sabotaged railroads under Hardy: "I don't know whether he denounced anyone. When they torture you, you give away anything, after a time. But Hardy is a hero, anyway." At the end of the trial Hardy, tired and unsmiling throughout, made a final plea: "Never have I given away one of my comrades. . . . My name is Hardy, the last in my family. I don't want that name dishonored."

The jury returned an hour and 15 minutes later. The judge slowly read over the details of their verdict, then he proclaimed: "Hardy, vous etes libre." The spectators stood and cheered Hardy. But the Communists were still relentlessly waging their battle. Headlined the Communist L'Humanite: HARDY THE STOOL PIGEON ACQUITTED.

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